The Good News is...
I think I am mostly going to be very bitter and jaded today. I am, with very little exception, disgusted with my species... at the least the North American portion... and I'm thinking that it would be nice if we all would act more like my cat.
My cat would never, ever bury a child alive. My cat would not put a child in a garbage bag with a stuffed animal, then leave her there to suffocate. As long as the child fed my cat, she would never have to fear my cat. Even if she forgot to feed my cat, my cat would do little more than try to attack her as she walked past the pantry.
My cat would NEVER allow Bolton to get away with all his shenanigans. My cat would not cater to the press and the president (notice how closely those two words are to each other?). My cat would simply turn his back on Bolton... in fact, my cat would sit 3 feet away from Bolton and show him the sack where my cat's balls used to be. He would. I know. He's done it to me.
My cat would not have cast a vote for Benedict XVI because my cat would remember that as a Cardinal, Benedict did his part to sink the election for Kerry by publicly announcing that Kerry and all those other "pro-choicers" were hereby denied communion. My cat would NOT do that. As long as Kerry scratched behind his ears, my cat would allow Kerry to drink the blood of Christ from his catfood dish.
This place is mighty fucked up these days. Someone throw me a lifeline. When I die, if reincarnation is an option, I think I'll come back as my cat. Just feed me, give me water, let me watch you pee, NEVER close the door when I'm on the other side, and above all, don't cut out my testicles. If you do that, we'll get along just fine, and I'll stay out of your business. Deal?
My cat would never, ever bury a child alive. My cat would not put a child in a garbage bag with a stuffed animal, then leave her there to suffocate. As long as the child fed my cat, she would never have to fear my cat. Even if she forgot to feed my cat, my cat would do little more than try to attack her as she walked past the pantry.
My cat would NEVER allow Bolton to get away with all his shenanigans. My cat would not cater to the press and the president (notice how closely those two words are to each other?). My cat would simply turn his back on Bolton... in fact, my cat would sit 3 feet away from Bolton and show him the sack where my cat's balls used to be. He would. I know. He's done it to me.
My cat would not have cast a vote for Benedict XVI because my cat would remember that as a Cardinal, Benedict did his part to sink the election for Kerry by publicly announcing that Kerry and all those other "pro-choicers" were hereby denied communion. My cat would NOT do that. As long as Kerry scratched behind his ears, my cat would allow Kerry to drink the blood of Christ from his catfood dish.
This place is mighty fucked up these days. Someone throw me a lifeline. When I die, if reincarnation is an option, I think I'll come back as my cat. Just feed me, give me water, let me watch you pee, NEVER close the door when I'm on the other side, and above all, don't cut out my testicles. If you do that, we'll get along just fine, and I'll stay out of your business. Deal?
posted by Robin at 8:37 AM
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