|The quality of this blog is greatly improved tonight because|
I took over.
Purrrrrrrrrr. Excuse me while I stroll across the keyboard. a;dfjqoiuewrlkjnmvcx k.
I prefer books that are wide enough for sitting upon, and preferably in a place I can knock onto the floor. If that's not enough to go on, though, I like a book about a cat. Or a book in which people die. Or just a whole lot of bad things. Purr fuckers! Let's face it, The Cat in the Hat is stupid without the cat, and The Master and Margarita is a snooze without the giant devil kitty, and I Could Pee on This is just another excrement poetry book without the cat.
The greatest poet of the 20th Century's most auspicious work is all about cats. It's the greatest work of literature in the English language. It spawned the standard for all Broadway shows. "I laughed, I cried, it was better than Cats?" Pfft. Nothing's better than cats. Or nothing is better than T.S. Eliot's Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. Greatest work of literature of all time.
[Zorro, that's a bit of a stretch.]
Keep yapping, human victim. You were too tired to write your blog, so this is my show. Ooh! Rubber band! I can chew on that!
|Proof that humans wish they|
were like us. Also, that they
are freaky scary.
[Hey! Your predecessor was named Fluffinella, and she was a great cat.]
Silence, human victim! Think how great that cat would have been if she'd been named Macavity. "Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity."
[I really want a nice cat.]
I really think there's a strong chance that you're going to cure your case of the vapors with a bloodletting tonight.