Animal

September 2010
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Swimming In Mayonnaise

Jun 172010

I was outside today at lunch and I saw a rabbit eating grass. First he would nibble on some grass and then turn around, and right in the same place as he was sitting, he would nibble again.

My first thought was that he was working on some kind of age-old, rabbit fart, microwave technology. I thought, “Maybe this rabbit likes his clovers warmed through and funky.” I then considered what he was actually doing; he was eating ass grass. Gnarly/Far out.

That started me thinking about when people act similarly; where they touch their consumables with their groty ol’ butts and then eat. It’s like when, after a coke mule gets through airport security with a bag of Colombian marching powder stuffed three inches up his rectum, he then relaxes by removing the bag and sampling his tainted goods. (Keep in mind that the relaxation isn’t from removing the drugs; it’s the reinsertion that feels so good.)

That totally reminded of those times I drank all that pool water last summer. I got so sick. Was if from ingesting too much chlorine? We’ll never know.

Oh, that made me think of when people get submerged in liquid to have their body fat inspected. What if they used stuff other than water like chocolate sauce or dollar coins to test body fat? You know, like Scrooge McDuck? If I had a tower of gold coins and I was made a toon by the great God Himself, I’d totally swim in that filthy, filthy, dirty, wonderful money.

What if instead of a vault of money, I had a vault of cool and refreshing mayonnaisse? I would totally swim in that. I would probably fart in it and watch/smell my bubbles as they gurgled to the surface (because that’s what you do when you go swimming). And just like that rabbit in the grass today, I’d probably eat it.

Gorilla Baby, Maybe

Animal, Poop Related, Story, family, kids No Responses »

Feb 202010

My mother is a big, hairy gorilla. That’s right, stay with me. She’s an ape.

If you ask her about it, she claims to be of a young evolutionary age. Her name is Simeon. She was born in a jungle, she fishes ants out of logs with sticks and she has a hairy back like all the other gorillas.

She talks to me using the monkey sign language that she learned at the institute.

You’re probably wondering where I came from and why I don’t look much like a baby gorilla. First of all, you haven’t seen my hairy back and secondly, my father was a run of the mill banana salesman. Mom was his best customer and paid in full with premium primate lovin’.

Come 'ere, Gorilla Baby...mmmuuah

Thankfully, I only got Dad’s good looks and not his lust for monkey meat.

Dad died when I was just a boy of ape. During one of her sh&t fits, mom accidentally suffocated him with poop. I tried to figure out why she was so mad I got confused when she tried to use her monkey sign language while hurling feces.

I found out later that Dad was cheating on mom with some overgrown chimp named Buttons. After that they sent her to sit behind bars at the zoo.

The zoo keepers try to get her to mate by putting male gorillas in her cage. She mates, but I can’t bear to watch. I can see the pain in her eyes when she’s getting aped from behind.

She told me that she misses Dad and that no other gorilla can take his place. I said, “What about another man?”

A switch flipped. She got so excited that the zoo keepers tazed her. I went to the only place I know to find an ape loving man…the “Miscellaneous Romance” section on Craigslist.

I found my gorilla mom a human man. He is ironically named Evolution. He and my mother, Simeon, have fallen in love. She is going to remarry. I am happy for my monkey mom, but I’m disturbed by Evolution’s motives. It’s a sick thing for a man to lust for a gorilla.

I’m not going to their wedding. My mother went ape shit when she heard this and sent Evolution to come talk to me.

Evolution said to me, “Marriage of man and ape is the natural progression.” To which I replied, “Evolution, you can take your love a step farther, but I won’t have you as a step father.”

Fighting Your Lover…In Bed

Animal, Hate, Injury, Life Lessons, Tookie, Versus, love 1 Response »

Feb 072010

Every once in a long while, the animosity you bare for your fellow earthlings falls by the wayside. You learn to live and let live and even love and get head. I am convinced the formula for such change heavily relies on one’s ability to share.

I recently acquired an animal pet. Her name is Tippi Nunu but I call her Nu for short. She is black and white and pees in the sink. I really like her and the story of how we found her is amazing. As much as I like this cat, my old cat, Tookie or Grandpa for short, hates her. Or at least that’s how it’s seemed since I brought her home.

For the first two months, they have been fighting and mangling each other in only the way cats can; loudly and with the removal of fur. The points of contention are usually related to food or territory or fiscal responsibility. Tippi says, “My space” and Tookie says, “I’ll claw your eyeballs out! Facebook, bitch!” And a kitty quarrel ensues.

The other day I awoke to the frisky felines contending over the warm spot between my legs (the place where my sleep-farts live). At first it seemed like they were actually sharing the spot until I realized a thousand small incisions covering my shins. Apparently, I was a victim of circumstance in their battle royal.

Today I saw Tookie and Tippi in one of the special cat beds I bought for them. This is a scene I’ve seen before and, like those times before, I feared there may be blood. Something unusual happened, though. Instead of fighting for the small island nation of Catbedonia, the cats were sharing. In fact, Tookie, my old, large, white sour-puss was licking Tippi, the smaller, blacker cat.

I was astonished so I took a video on my phone. It was short lived, however, when Tippi made a sudden move that spooked ol’ Tookus. He went from licking to biting in a matter of milliseconds. I assume Tookie has marinating agent in his saliva that enables his fangs to sink more easily into skin. I took video of that as well. Completely amazing. Regardless of the circumstances, they are making huge strides in sharing and love. See for yourself…

The calamity that ensued…

Tookie vs. Tippi

Animal, Tookie, family 4 Responses »

Jan 062010

There’s a new sheriff in town. She’s a kitten named Tippi (temporarily). That’s right. We got another cat. JDub’s aunt and uncle were driving along the treacherous back roads of gritty Colorado Springs and heard meowing. There was Tippi, trapped under the hood.

As the story goes, they think Tippi had a brother. Apparently, in addition to Tippi, there were several other cat parts including a kitten penis and balls. It’s sad, but I never had the chance to know him, so I don’t feel all that bad unless I think about it.

So, JDubs and I adopted a new pet. She’s black and white and runs all over.She’s playful and adds a little more life to the house. There’s just one problem. In all her antics and misbehavin’, she tends to take what she wants and keep what she kills. Tookie, our preexisting feline friend, hates Tippi.

Tookie’s not good at sharing. He always has her backed into a corner so he can pee in her food dish. Tookie has turned from a lovable old scalawag into a bitter old coot. Because of his bad attitude, we started calling him Grandpa. My God, does he hate that. He gets extra bitey when he hears “Get Tippi’s head out of your mouth, Grandpa!”

It’s been two weeks since our acquisition and, hopefully, Tookie’s cat-titude turns around soon. Otherwise, we might have to get rid of Tippi the same as her brother by turning her into car parts. Let’s hope not.

Tookie is not happy

Tippi is an African name. It means "short for tall cat"

Dream Analysis

Animal, Life Lessons, Tookie No Responses »

Dec 282009

I’ve been having these really weird dreams. They’re vivid and sometimes they’re kind of freaky.

Last night I had one where I was walking around in my condo and stepped on some nails. The nails popped right out of the top of my foot and I was bleeding all over the carpet and then the carpet turned into a sea of nipples. Another dream I’ve had was one where I’m in line at a Taco Bell drive-thru and someone asks if I want hot sauce.

These dreams seem so real. But because I half a logical brain, I’m able to deduce that they’re not real. For instance, I know the Taco Bell excursion was a dream because I couldn’t find a receipt for tacos, nor were there any left over hot sauce packets or napkins. Additionally, my bowels seemed to be intact and in normal working order the next three days which is evidence that I never ate any damn tacos.

Anyway, I was curious as to what these dreams all mean so I kept a journal of them and looked up the meanings. Discovering each translation was like opening a bitter fortune cookie. Here is a short list of dreams I can remember having over the last week:

Blue tea kettle in an open microwave – Something mysterious will happen to my testicles
My older brother – I stand to lose my hair
Jared Hood’s (childhood friend) old kitchen – Success followed by failure

Dreaming of Taco Bell can only mean one thing; Gay

Hamster/gerbil – Abundance/scarcity

Gift from my older brother – A sign of heartbreaking love
A golfer – Traveling a great distance by goat
My car – Putting a lot of money into a “sinking ship”
Open car windows – Making a new friend who steals from me
Desert – Sexy new beginnings with cacti

Mattresses – Support from gloved ones
Parking lot – Finding meaning in life
The YMCA – I’m gay?
Kindness of stranger named Angie who goes by Anne – Penetration by sword or writing tool
A baby – Impending doom
My cat, Tookie – Terrible, hurtful things

Traveling by car – Diabetes
My mother – Birth of a relative
A piercing through my inner ear – Successful homicide

Bear Creek High School (the name and the physical site) – I will go horseback riding soon
Toilets outside – A plentiful garden
Pooping – Transitioning from one part of my life to another
Wiping but not being able to clean it – Lying to the people I love
Best friend asking me to hurry or he’ll leave – Afraid of success
Throwing soiled toilet paper at my friend – An exchange of gifts

So what does it all mean? Good question. Using some very valid/nonsensical online resources, I can tell it’s all very good/bad. Apparently, I either stand to inherit a good bit of wealth or I’m doomed to roam the world sad and dead. It’s really all up to interpretation.

New Tattoo For You Plus Two A.K.A The Jackalope

Animal, Food, Life Lessons, Story No Responses »

Dec 142009

Things to consider when getting a tattoo:

1. The tattoo has a unique story behind it

2. You have no personal biases against tattoos

3. The tattoo incorporates pancakes

The vegetarian diet of a butterly makes its magic look like poop

I’d never considered a tattoo. My wife has one of a magical butterfly and she resents it every day. I’ve always been told modifying the body in such an unnatural way goes against the Jewish religion (a faith I used to subscribe to). And I’ve never seen a piece of art or cartoon that I loved so badly as to prominently display it on my human flesh. From this, I can say that without a doubt, I’m not much of a “tattoo guy”. That was until Saturday night.

I spent several really good hours this weekend at my friend’s wedding–for the sake of naming names, let’s call the wedding the union of A Wat and Mel Wat. It’s no big deal or nothin’ but the governor was there–for fun’s sake, I’m not gonna tell you which one. The ceremony was all churchy and nice and junk, but the reception is where things got all friggin’ awesome.

It was at said reception where I encountered a gentleman who, for the sake of anonymity, we’ll call C. Lav. Mr. Lav was kind enough to humor me with a wonderful anecdote from his past that has quite possibly altered my perception of tattoos and friendship for the rest of eternity.

The story begins with an innocent marriage proposal. C. Lav’s best friend, let’s call him B. Mav for the sake of this story, was to be wed to a woman. B. Mav was expecting a bachelor party to be held in his honor by his two very best friends, C. Lav and his other friend, for the sake of the story and for purposes of anonymity, we’ll call A. Nav.

To honor the time old tradition, C. Lav and A. Nav planned a party for B. Mav which entailed a trek across these late, great United States via passenger rail car from Denver to Chicago and then to Milwaukee and back again. B. Mav was excited for the journey as it was the popular style at the time.

It was in this honorable and timeless journey that the most incredible thing happened. Along the way, somewhere between here and there, the three decided to do something radical. Dazed from the toxins that one ingests during a bachelor party, the men wound up in a house of pancakes. (An international house, no less.)

It all started with a conversation about B. Mav’s reoccurring dream of a soaring hawk swooping down into a pond and, delivering to the sky a lily pad that was locked within the deadly clutches of his talons. As majestic and vivid as the dream seemed, it all sounded hokey and gay to A. Nav and C. Lav.

“Nobody’s going to recognize a tattoo of a lily pad, dude,” they said, “Why don’t you make it something cool that looks like a lily pad but is way cooler?”

As the three pondered the suggestion, they gathered ideas from their surroundings. What looks like a lily pad but is more stately and ultimately cooler? Pancakes!

B. Mav agreed to an artist’s depiction of a hawk soaring above pancakes so long as C. Lav and A. Nav also plated a tattoo incorporating pancakes. And so it was.

Pokey the Unicorn in all his majesty

The boys embarked on a second journey…to get tattoos of pancakes. On their way, A. Nav and C. Lav decided what tattoos to get. A. Nav decided on a beast that represents mystic wisdom and grandeur hurdling a short stack…he picked a unicorn. This was no ordinary unicorn, however. It was an expression of his boyhood hero, Pokey from the claymation cartoon series, “Gumby”.

C. Lav went for another creature of mystic proportions. He picked a creature more elusive than the unicorn…one that had captivated his imagination ever since seeing the head of one prominently displayed on the wall of an Applebee’s. He chose the mighty jackalope making quick work of pancakes.

So it came to be that these three best of friends would be joined spiritually and emotionally with iconic beasts and their pancakes tattooed to their skin for all time.

Afterwards, they traveled home only to share their tale with trusted contemporaries. I enjoyed the story very much but was skeptical. Determined to prove his anecdote, C. Lav took me to the bathroom and exposed me to the markings of his hind quarter. It is with great pleasure that I share the glory with you, my faithful readership. I give you what must simply be called the Jackalope…

The Jackalope

This representation changes my perception of tattoos all together. I anticipate the day when I can vandalize my skin with the same creative display as C. Lav. I can only hope that it comes out of the same love and passion that only best friends can share. Thanks for the story, buddy.

Do you have a tattoo story that you love, or hate? Feel free to share it in your comments…

10 Reasons I Should Get A Job

10 Reasons, Animal, Half-ass, Hate, Life Lessons, The Future, family, work 4 Responses »

Dec 112009

About three months ago, I decided that quitting my sh*tty job would be a good idea. Even though the action temporarily halted my night terrors and self-mutilation, it has led to a host of other problems. I have since been diagnosed and treated for depression and a disease simply known as the gay. These ailments have caused me a host of other problems that I could not have predicted. Tension is mounting between my wife and me as I sit at home all day. Despite my reluctance, there seems to be only one solution; I should get to f*cking work. Here, then, are 10 reasons that I should get a job:

10. A job provides an opportunity to have money, to give back to society, have a bigger purpose in life, meet new people and be mad at something other than my wife and the house cat

"I've been workforce ready since my conception"

9. There are no more dishes to clean and the floors are as swept as they’ll ever be

8. The fern I planted to provide me with a sense of fruitfulness and hope has died

7. Water cooler talk about Seinfeld reruns is turning me into a schizophrenic

6. I’ve been taking public buses just to see where their routes end

5. Investing money in my home business of cashing in on the Internet has amounted to numerous porn site subscriptions and dozens of pills that combat erectile dysfunction

4. My home office consists of a barcalounger, a box of colored pencils and a guitar I plan on learning

3. Anticipation of checking the mail keeps me up all night

2. Getting drinks “after work” starts at nine in the morning

-and, finally-

1. I spend more money than my wife makes

Hot Shot Cat

Animal, Tookie, family 4 Responses »

Dec 092009

Hotter than a fat chick at a holiday sweater party. Yee Haw!

From Cat Photos

Tookie is my cat. When it gets cold outside (subzero temps and other temperatures ), Tookie hides in the warmest part of the house. Normally, he lays on our guest bed underneath a heat register that rains warmth upon him when the furnace kicks on. That rarely happens.

Because I’m out of work and JDubs and I don’t like wasting money on energy, the furnace is set at a cool 62 degrees F. That invariably means that our house is f-f-f-freezing. I can get by with an extra layer or ten. But even with a thicket of cat fur and a big F.U.P.A., the cat can’t get warm. He is cool to the touch even when balled up in his spot under the heat.

Every once in a while, I’ll cave. ”It’s too cold,” I’ll say. Instead of turning up the furnace, however, I’ll turn on a little space heater that JDubs bought. She got it at an after winter sales event at Target (we’re talking 90% off this heater…what a Jewy kind of deal!). The money saved on the device warrants splurging on electricity. So, that’s what I do.

All of a sudden Tookie has a new favorite spot…where ever the space heater is. It’s really hot but he curls up in front of it anyway. Here’s a video to show how comfortable he is:

Sorry for the sideways filming, porno-style handy cam work and the water mark…I’m only pretty good at this stuff, not really good.

Bless This Sex

Animal, Ball Sport, Hot Chicks, Life Lessons, love 8 Responses »

Dec 072009

Lets take this a step farther, Evolution said to the monkeys.

"Let's take this thing a step farther," Evolution said to the monkeys.

There’s no doubt about it…I know sex. I’m expert in hot, naked relations with other humans. My expertise comes from years of field research and years of hocking sexy (used) wares and information around town to prepubescent teens.

Before that, I voluntarily trained in the mystic arts of “sex safety practices and proper penile insertion techniques.” It was for college credit.

Today, I’m here to tell you that power of great sex can be yours by simply following and practicing a few guidelines. Soon, you will be showcasing your sexual prowess like a boner in sweatpants.

The first step to having the best sexual experiences of your life is honesty with yourself. Learning what your mildly crazy and dangerous side wants out of sex is half the battle. The other half is listening to that craziness. And the third half is accepting it’s okay to want and have those things. You want missionary, that’s great. You want fisting, fantastic. You want anal with a pocket knife, have fun.

The second step is starting and maintaining great communication with other people. Got it? Great…next point.

The third step, and this is important, is trust. Trust starts by building a strong foundation on reciprocating information through active listening will open the door to the best sexy (or bexy) encounters of your life. No foundation means no trust. For example, if you don’t listen to me, I can’t trust that you know that the safe word is “polyester pajama hat.” All of a sudden you’re looking at 15-20 years for rape.

So, there you have it. Find out what you want. Tell someone that you can trust. Get crazy. It’s that easy. If you’re having trouble figuring out what you want, see the list of activities below.

Rate how willing you are to try each one (Afterwards, have your partner(s)/sheep(s) fill one out too and compare. Just discus the activities that match up and get crazy.).

Directions:

Rate these sexual activities in order of your willingness to do them and then share with your partner. Use these four rankings:

“I will absolutely do that”, “I would try that”, “I would never do that…with you”, “I would never do that”.

Conversation at a Table Conversation in the Nude

Role Play Naked Spooning

Erotic Massage Mouth Kissing

Kissing the Body Using Toys

Touching Genitals Using Food

Blowing Genitals with Open Mouth and Hand (Cunnilingus/Fellatio/Hand Jobbing)

Fisting Missionary Position

Doggy Style Position Cowgirl/Reverse Cowgirl Position

T-Square Pile Driver

Rusty Bike Pump Anal Insertion/Licking (Anilingous)

Stimulation Using Props Introducing Another Person

Introducing Yet Another Person/Group of Persons

Trapeze Bondage

Filming a Sexual Session Selling that Tape for Profit

Introducing Animals/Midgets Introducing a Street Performer/Busker

Prostitution Physical Manipulation/Abuse

Using a Condom Marriage

Look At This Damn Cat

Animal, Life Lessons, Tookie 8 Responses »

Nov 102009

This is how Tookie gets home on the third floor of a condo building. What’s weird is he goes outside all the time but I’ve never seen him come in until today.

He does it all of the time, once with a dead rabbit in his mouth

Once he gets to my patio he comes inside through a dog door. The cat weighs almost 20 pounds…This is amazing to me.

10 Reasons I Get Up In The Morning

10 Reasons, Animal, Hate, Tookie 2 Responses »

Oct 222009

: “Chop wood naked”

There is seldom a time when I just pop out of bed. The anticipation that most days will undoubtedly drag on with mindless chores and endless Charles In Charge reruns justifies at least a half dozen strikes of the snooze button. Some days, however, have potential to be the best damn days I’ve ever seen. When I was a kid, for example, I don’t think I was able to sleep a wink the night before Christmas and I’m a big, fat Jew. I just love something about those elves…I think it’s what landed me on the federal child sex offender list (talk about a reason to get up…all those little minors). Here is a list of ten other reasons that give me a rise in the morning:

10. Breakfast…Yeah, breakfast has it all and it’s absolutely worth getting up for. Not only is it the most important meal of the day, it’s the meal that keeps on giving. Typical breakfast fare (cereal, eggs, bacon, pizza, milk shakes) account for over ninety-two percent of my daily calorie intake. The other eight percent…cat food sandwiches.

9. Cat’s Hungry…Tookie’s my cat and he get’s hungry for breakfast, too. Unfortunately, in the animal kingdom there aren’t nice little cravings to remind you that you’re hungry. What Tookie has are urges (usually for flesh). He keeps what he kills, and today it’s Friskie’s. Some days I just wish he’d learn to sharpen his claws opening cans of cat food instead of my face. He’s a real cutie.

8. Internet Porn…It’s free of charge and as viscous as milk. Internet porn (or pornography for art) changes so often, if you see the same video twice in your lifetime, well sir, that’s amazing. The other thing that gets me jazzed before I get jizzed is that you never know when you’ll be hit with the urge to splurge. It’s usually when I’m at the mall or a day care. Thank God for the 3G network.

7. Court Date…(see above) Sucks. Don’t even get me started on the parole hearings…who the hell is up before 10 in the A.M? Lawyers, that’s what.

6. Vacation…It’s worth getting out of bed in tropical paradise when the hotel room is hotter than a jungle and it’s as humid as the ocean. Nothing says “seize the day and explore the world” like swatting at mosquitoes the size of small owls in your room.

5. Bachelor Party…Get up? I never went to bed. Besides, I can’t trust a bunch of dudes that get drunk, strip down to their dicks and ass, endlessly chant “chop wood naked”, and dance around an open fire pit. I couldn’t make this stuff up.

4. Halloween…It’s like a modern-day Christmas. Free candy…check. Ghosts and ghouls…check. Slutty girls dressed in nothing…check and check. Halloween Eve (or Hallow’s Eve Eve as the Christ lovers exult) is like waiting for your son to be born…so you can finally touch him (see above).

3. Election Day…It’s the only day I know of that I get to choose which minority I sympathize with the most without giving money, the blacks or the retards.

2. Beer…If I know I’m going to be drinking at any point during the day, you can bet your sweet, fat ass I’m waking up. Put it in my coffee!

-And Finally-

1. Work…I f*cking hate work. I f*cking hate it!

Living Equals Spending

Animal, Life Lessons No Responses »

Oct 192009

There are two things you need to know about me. I like kittens and I have questions about Capitalism. There is something about furry little cats that really gets my motor running. You can see for yourself Kittens by kittens. The part about capitalism is a little less obvious. We can all agree that in capitalism, time is money. You’ve heard it before in movies and from your mom’s friend, Aunt Rita. This is where my grievance begins. To understand what “time is money” actually means and why it irks me, it’s imperative that you consider a short thought experiment that reflects real life.

It begins now…Say you’re an American and you’re born. (Congratulations! You’re now entitled to a percentage of the world’s wealth.) You have just become a burden on society and on your parents…I’m sure that they made the right ‘choice’. Well, what you don’t understand at that ripe age of five-minutes-old is that you cost money just to exist here. There are doctor bills and hospital bills before you’re even born. After delivery, you’ll need to eat and be clothed and live somewhere otherwise you’ll end up like some of those rotting dumpster babies that you’re not supposed to know about. The cost that you require to live increases dramatically as you age. You’ll need more food, bigger clothes, more stuff. It’s all free at first. For most people, you don’t start paying your way until you’re sixteen or twenty. All of the cash that you need to live is provided for you until your parents accept your state-declared adulthood. At that point, you’re supposed to go out and make it on your own.

Hopefully, you’ve learned some useful skills or have discovered a talent or a dream that you can use to your advantage. Hopefully, you’ve been prepared properly to take on the upcoming changes. This part of life gets chalked up to responsibility. If you fail to take responsibility for your survival, you’ll be labeled as a lazy free loader. This is the part I’m not quite sure about. What is the responsibility you’re taking on? In my opinion, you’re absolutely directly responsible for your survival because the system mandates it. If you don’t pay, you’ll end up like one of those dumpster babies that everyone is always talking about.

Indirectly, however, you’re responsible for maintaining the capitalistic norm. What will people think of the guy who just pursues personal interests with a total disregard for making money? Is he an artist? Nope…just a free loader and lazy. Your existence is expensive and if you’re not fitting the bill, you’re taking advantage of the system (specifically, advantage of other people). Even though your entire upbringing maintained that you would be taken care of by other people, you’re immediately expected to take on the expenses of your life.

I’m confused. Life is pleasant when it is spent doing the things that you love to do. As a member of the Capitalism Club, you’re not always welcome to do the things that you love. You’re expected to toil. It is often said that only the lucky few of us get to make a living doing what we really love to do. Your chances of being one of those lucky few are slim. The chances are so slim that most people don’t even try to live for their passion. And of the people who do, there is a great chance that they’ll fail. Capitalism dictates that you suck it up and do whatever you can to pay for you existence. It’s a cheap trick that has no morals. I don’t know that I’m prepared to accept it. Do I have a choice? Are there any other options that would make life seem less like a chore? What do you think?

Milking The Cat, Mom

Animal, Story, Tookie No Responses »

Oct 152009

Tippie NuNu was the neighbor’s cat. Tippie NuNu was an outdoor cat and was often seen retreating to the shade provided by my neighbor’s broke down, four-door jallopy. My neighbor was an idiot who lived with his mother. It was to my amazement that she let him keep that car in the drive for so long. Either way, Tippie NuNu would lie so that his hind quarters were hidden behind the back tire of the car. Tippie NuNu’s signature look was a thousand yard stare into oblivion. I never figured out what Tippie NuNu was gazing at, but I got the sense that there was no where else he’d rather be. I could tell because under Tippie’s squinting eyes was a smile that stretched from ear to ear as he radiated peace. Seeing that happy cat every day temporarily took the stress out of my life. Every once and a while I would see other cats come by to see Tippie NuNu. What’s strange is that usually cats don’t get along very well. They’re defensive and often fight for their territory. Not Tippie. He just sat there and grinned as the other cats would often join him in the shade.

After several unsuccessful attempts to fix his rust bucket of a car, my neighbor sold it to an Irishman. Tippie NuNu had nowhere to rest and suddenly days didn’t seem so great. Tippie NuNu would pace aimlessly for hours looking for the shade that my neighbor’s car often afforded him.

One day Tippie gave up and took refuge in the summer sun where the car used to be. Eventually, a strange cat wandered by and came to rest next to Tippie NuNu. As I watched Tippie NuNu and his feline friend, I noticed that the grin returned to Tippie’s face. I was suddenly startled to see that his friend was licking Tippie’s junk with such veracity that it caused Tippie NuNu to grin even wider and squint even harder. Using his sand paper tongue, the young, feline friend was attacking Tippie’s boy parts as violently as a cat would attack a scratching post or new furniture.

Just as I noticed Tippie’s kitty junk bleeding from over stimulation from his friend, my neighbor ran from out of his house waving a broom screaming back, “Mom, another one of them cats is back and he’s milking Tippie again! He’s milking the cat, mom!” It was a dark day for us all. Things never seemed as pleasant for Tippie as they did before my neighbor sold the jalopy. I guess you just do whatever creams your Twinkie. That was Tippie NuNu’s philosophy, anyway.

Get Back On That Horse

Animal, Driving Car, Food, Half-ass, Life Lessons, The Future, work 7 Responses »

Oct 132009

Two weeks have come and gone since my fall from grace. I quit my job, I started working out, and I’m drinking again. The cosmos have been set into motion and my universe has been chaotically shredded by the lawn-mower blades of fate. The baby step I took to reclaim my life turned into a stumble that left the virtual pages of WordPress blank. Aside from myself, the biggest losers in this mess have been all of those who look to these posts for motivation and an excuse to mock me. I apologize to all four of you. As for me, however, I made a mistake. While I’ll never regret getting out of that soul-stealing, slave mill I called a job, I regret my preparation for the next step in my life. My goals of becoming a comic/writer/chauvinist have fallen flat, but not for long. I made another step.

I ventured out. Money has been tight since I quit. In an attempt to save on automobile gas, I journeyed by foot to the stable to see my sweet ponies, Success and Virtue. Due to extremely long stretches of immobility indoors, my muscles and lungs had weakened and my tan had all but disappeared leaving my newly acquired bed sores exposed to the elements. Regardless, I found motivation and made my way to the street. I stepped out of my home only to feel my pasty skin bake from the torturous blazes of the autumn sun. My heart rate surged creating a gentle sweat which, while cooling my skin from the sun’s intensity, stung my open bed sores. The sunshine glistened off of my sweaty skin directly into my eyes. As a result of the glare, temporary blindness caused me to see eye-worms; glowing dots in my retinas creating stabbing pain and tears. The eye-worms took the form of Success and Virtue, the fore mentioned ponies I had started out to visit. In all but five minutes in the real world, I had no choice but to second guess my actions. I went back into my home.

Summoning the courage to leave my apartment after the solemn events I conjured, proved to be a difficult task. The heavy burden of taking on a new adventure was scary. Attempting to find my own Success and Virtue caused blinding pain from hot flashes and sweat. The real world’s sun is brutal. Its warming light shines down allowing us to forge a path toward our goals. However, the light can be intense and if a person is not prepared, his journey will be riddled with burn and eye-worms. Ironically, the only way to prepare him is to set him on his journey in the sun’s blazes encouraging each small step forward.

My journey has just begun and there are many steps to be taken. Although the latest action may have been a misstep, it wasn’t all bad. My tan is back and my muscles and lungs are strong again. The sores on my skin have healed (sans my genitalia…that’s right…Herpes). Unfortunately, in the time it took me to build up my tolerance of the real world, my ponies died. Oh well. Success and Virtue don’t always take the form you first expected. At least there will be enough meat to last through winter, thus saving money on grocery meats. Now, I just have to go out there and retrieve it. Ah, sh*t.

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