Pleased to meet you …

Have you ever seen a cat eat too much string or ribbon? It comes out their rear, like dental floss for their colon. On the surface that is a funny statement and the visual that it evokes is quite amusing.

But there’s nothing funny about ass flossing a cat.

And how do I know this? Because I have had to chase a cat around a house for 20 min as it flees from its own feces attached to the end of a bright red Christmas ribbon hanging 5 inches out of her rear. The attached “gifts” behind her is scaring her so bad, that she puffed up to the size of a Butterball turkey. This is a sight to fear even the most jaded hazardous materials operators.

What’s worse was the poor cat is panting and so damn tired it’s about to drop. Why you may ask, because no matter how fast she ran she can’t out run that brown demon chasing her. This is a situation of understated and tragic proportions.

Now, several things might run through your mind as to how to deal with this situation. Do I shoot the cat? No might hurt the walls. Do I glove up and chase the cat? If I do what streaks will she leave if she makes it up stairs? Maybe gloves are not enough; do I have a spare HAZMAT suit around? No!

But I do have an old surgical mask and some gloves… that might do? (NOTE to self, cat is afraid of the mask and is now upstairs. Painting the hallway this weekend is a certainty.)

What happens if I grab the cat by the tail? Oh, what happens if I miss the tail and grab the string, do I turn the cat inside out?

My God, I am now chasing ten inches of ribbon and two brown demonic eggs.

This was an incredibly long and painful embarrassingly event. Let me just say that the cat was caught. The string was extracted and to this day, that damn cat is mad at me.

Not thankful at all. Not appreciative or even humble. Just angry.

I chased that thing around the house with ten inches of red Christmas ribbon hanging out of it’s ass and it’s angry at ME!

It never ends. Happy Fucking Thanksgiving

Ahh, the American work place of the 21st century…

Are you being driven crazy with nonexistent requirements, inadequate budgets, and unrealistic deadlines just so you can declare marginal quality artifact as an “accomplishment” by the end of the year?

If so, count your blessings, because at least you (probably) don’t have a job taking DNA samples from various mammals.

Most people don’t like talking about work when at home; workplaces are stressing that employees maintain a good work/life balance (mainly because stressed out employees tend to be sick a lot, but that’s an item for another day).

It’s difficult to imagine how this kind of work makes for comfortable discussion, when the natural discourse would involve questions from caring family:
“Daddy, what did you do at work today?”
“Honey, what’s the matter? You hardly ever look at me anymore.”
“How do you want your chipped beef?”

What to say to them?
“We have a joke around the office, ‘It’s not just a job - oh, wait…’”
“Man, those jerks at work are really getting to me.”
“I can’t handle this anymore.”

Still, it could be worse.
It’s a good thing animals can’t write performance reviews.

bc

A lot has been said and written about the problems of terrorism and cultural dissonance in the 21st century.

Military arms and munitions are available to groups all over the world who are fighting for their Promised Land, who are unhappy with secular Western Culture, who are unhappy with Capitalism and Globalization, who are unhappy with Religious Sectarianism, who are unhappy with the Infield Fly Rule and Designated Hitters, Instant Replay and the Tuck Rule, the Lucky Dog Rule and Restrictor Plates, etc..

These Armies of the Disaffected have a seemingly endless stream of young men, indoctrinated and ready to sacrifice everything for The Cause. It may be an oversimplification to say that these young men, wanting desperately to belong to something great, and wanting to rebel (as young men are wont to do), are susceptible to dogmatism. Everyone wants to believe that everything they’ve been told all their lives is right, and coupled with the self-righteousness of the underdog, of the little guy “stickin’ it to da man,” it’s easy to see how this can be compelling to young men who want to feel like they matter in the grand scheme of things. This can become acute in highly formalized proscriptive cultures where there is little freedom of expression; where oppression, supression, fear and violence are seen as tools for maintaining civil order.

Given this background and the instability in many parts of the world in the wake of the collapse of Soviet Communism, it’s not difficult to see how terrorist organizations found fertile ground for young men with a promise that they would fight to make a difference.

So, then, how does Western culture in general - and the US Government specifically - attempt to address these issues, as they are now on America’s plate of problems?

Frankly, we don’t see any easy answers.

However, we recently stumbled across a draft memo reportedly from the White House. No one there will speak to us about its veracity on or off the record. We have removed the names because we “don’t want no trouble,” just like Bob Woodward.

See the memo here.

Piece out.

bc

Over the last 12 years or so I have been looking at web pages I have seen some fairly disgusting things, there was the mentally ill resume, there are web sites of frat guys hurting themselves but then there is the review of breakfast soda. Please take a second and click on the link for Liquid Cereal and then tell me that, short of third world porn, there is anything more disgusting than; a can milk and fruit loop soda.

I dare you.
And you can’t, can you. The whole idea of milk, apple and cinnamon in a can is bilious.

What happened to the good old days of bunny extortion. Now that is some disturbing shit I can get behind. So for my money this weeks “Disgusting Web Phenom” award goes to Liquid Cereal.
Thanks BevNET for the Winner. Like Bongwater for the soul.

Woke up, showered, dressed, downed 450mg of Wellbutrin to stop me from killing myself, 100mgs of Lamictal to stop me from killing you and 54mgs of Concerta to speed me up enough to function without trying to tear off my skin in order to let the spiders out; a better morning rush hour cocktail can only be had with the addition of 100mgs of Zoloft, which on occasion gives you the feeling of driving from the back seat of the car behind you (the problem being there’s no guarantee and I’ve been know to react negatively to disappointment). Anyway, this Thompsonian concoction wears off by late afternoon, which is why 4PM meetings should be renamed “Let’s All Watch My Head Explode Again,” but I digress. The remedy to this massive neurochemical let down requires the consumption of quantities of gin soaked olives that simply cannot be contained within a standard Martini glass; kudos here to the inventor of the in car refrigerator, perhaps the greatest leap forward in evening rush hour intoxication technology since the little known Model-T under-the-seat-ice-box. So, being that Martini’s should be categorized as food (especially when you stuff the olives with blue cheese), upon arriving home, I can move onto the enjoyment of a postprandial libation, but not before stripping down to boxers, ’cause lets face it, who likes waking up with their clothes on?

Welcome to a place where three friends are going to try to recreate some of their internal and external conversations in a manner that can be shared.