As usual I have several comings and goings that have absolutely no connection and no real relevance to life…
…I’ve always wondered where all these stray cats come from. I realize some are left for dead, abandoned or just go missing in action, but with all the cats out there I’ve got to think that some choose a life on the streets otherwise people wouldn’t threaten to maim you whenever you go to their house and leave the door open giving Fluffy the chance at a life-changing, split-second bolt towards freedom. These are the people that are keeping these hippie, free-lovin’ felines hostage in a hazy and stoned, cat-nipped-out plastic litter box of emotion. Sick of their caged life in suburbia hell these itinerant cats take their nine lives to the street looking for a local alley cat gang to latch on with in search of a fresh start and new adventures. Or perhaps it could be an insatiable catnip addiction with no outlets to turn for help that send these cats lurking in the darkness of the alleys in search of their addictive desire. I know there have to be some that make this choice; otherwise we wouldn’t see these signs up all over town looking for Scruffy, Scraps and Sammie once they’ve taken off for the door like Rosie O’Donnell at a meatball buffet. When you see these alley cats they are in bad shape; missing legs, fur, whiskers, and hairballs coming out of places I’d rather not speak of in this blog. How bad does the life at home in a warm house have to be to make these cats turn to a life of poverty stricken by the guilt of what was left behind? (I guess I can’t blame them – if I had to defecate in the same place I just did three days prior and it is still there, I’d probably start snorting catnip as well). My advice? Check with the local alley cat gang over on the south side but be careful. If that gang is running the cat nip trade out on the other side of the tracks you better watch your back…You know what they say - catnip overdose killed the cat…or was it curiosity? I trust you’ll choose the most likely answer…
Chances are this feline, high out of his mind on "c-nip" as they call it in the alleys, was later seen at a public litter box smuggling sixty kilos of catnip in his winter coat.
…Why is it that I can play seven full court basketball games in the blazing hot sun and not be tired or crippled with aches and pains, but yet fifteen minutes shopping with a girlfriend and I’m ready to check myself into the closest convalescent home due to back pain, aching joints and major fatigue? I might break a decent sweat on the court, but at a mall after just several minutes I’m sweating like an antelope being chased by a cheetah and rashes start forming. I can literally go only ten minutes before fatigue sits in. At thirty minutes my body is a useless piece of jelly and I have no choice but to sit down and rest. I think it is built in men’s DNA to not be able to handle the strenuous act of shopping. In caveman times it was probably the same for men as they dreaded drudging through the forest with their woman stopping at every tree as the female browsed for the right bark for the inside of their cave…
…Does anyone have normal conversations anymore or is the text message craze finally incorporating itself into the modern language? Omg, ttyl, lmao, the list goes on and on, but yet I don’t understand any of it. I’m just surprised Shaq didn’t opt for the MTV teeny-bopper text message acronyms when requesting a simple message from Kobe Bryant during his recent rap… hmat…ktmhmat…(kobe tell me how my ass tastes)… “You can’t do it without me, ktmhmat…” has a nice ring to it…
… Well the dead pigeon that was flattened outside of the Safeway is still there…sort of. The poor carcass has been run over so many times now it looks like a police chalk line after a murder. The thing is literally flush with the concrete. I still can’t figure out who handles these things…the mystery continues…
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