Skin this cat...

So I was walking down the street listening the to the new Scissor Sisters on my Zune [is it just me, or does it sound like it could have been produced by Groovie Mann and Buzz McCloy...?] when I spied a sandwich board on the corner advertising a discount Brazilian wax with an arrow pointing down the next street. Well, it is summer, and I have been remiss in the grooming of my Boo Boo Kitty, and you know much how bitches love a good discount... so naturally I turned the corner as the arrow directed.

After a few feet, I came upon another sign. "This way to your super discount Brazilian!" that pointed down a dark alley. I had already invested a few paces into this venture and there was no turning back now. So I continued on... into the dark damp alley... a cat awkwardly jumped across my path [almost as it somebody just out of frame chucked him at me] and darted towards a dumpster, knocking over some bottles as it hurried away.

I went to see if the cat was okay when I saw a strange figure stooped suspiciously behind the dumpster. My first thought was that it was just a misplaced bridge troll, but I was suddenly gripped by fear... it was as though I might be channeling Jamie Lee Curtis. I approached cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest. I slowly reach my quivering hand toward the hunched creature.

"Oooo girl, don't do it!" an unseen black girl screamed off in the distance, but I couldn't help it, and I wasn't sure why, but I was compelled to see the creature. Then I saw what it was holding in its stubby little hands and I couldn't help but let out a startled gasp...

The figure quickly turned turned toward me after hearing my gasp. I could see more clearly the large rat [I suppose it coulda been a nutria, I mean it was pretty big] he was holding, a huge bite taken out of its side.

"I must feed!" Glenn Beck snarled, as rat blood [nutria blood? I still couldn't really tell... you know, the more I think about it, it coulda been that stupid cat] ran over his lips and down his chin.

"Oh, I was right, it is just a misplaced bridge troll," I said, regaining my composure and continuing on my way to my super discount Brazilian. The slurping sounds from Glenn slowly faded into white noise as I approached the third and final sign pointing into the back entrance of an abandoned Millers Outpost.

"Hello, pretty lady, you here for discount Brazilian?" a polite man with a thick Russian accent asked as I entered.

"You know it!"

"Good, good, you lay down here," he said, directing me to the old check out counter.

"Its been a while, is this gonna hurt?" I asked.

"No, no, not at all," he said, pulling out a thick roll of gaffer's tape. "Like big band-aide, very quick." I raised an eyebrow with suspicion. "Very good discount," he added and I was sold. I mean how could I say no, it was a good discount... and he was kinda hot...

---

Meanwhile, in the alley, the only sounds were that of the misplaced bridge troll feasting hungrily. It had been weeks since it had last fed and he worried that the lady would come back and take his food. It continued to look around cautiously back in the direction that the lady had went. Then, suddenly a piercing scream slashed through the quiet of the alley and scared the little bridge troll. It dropped its meal and ran blindly in the other direction, right out into the street, where it was promptly struck down by a street sweeper as it drove down the street picking up trash.

I guess I should really get a TIVO...

Oh man, can I just tell you how pissed off I am? Last night I rushed home to watch Tuesday nights episode of “Lost” that I had set the VCR to tape [I had a previously scheduled date to take George Clooney to Yogurtland for his birthday, and I couldn’t bear to listen to him crying if I canceled on him... again... sometimes I just wish he would just man up]... anywho, so I walk into the living room and find the Ghost of Michael Jackson, Gore Vidal, and George Takei hogging up the sofa.


“Excuse me guys, but ya’ll need to beat it,” I said.

“We were just watching ‘This is It.’ This is the best part,” Michael Jackson’s Ghost said, adding an “Eee-hee” while grabbing his crotch.

“Myra, can you move, you’re blocking the TV and I don’t want to miss it,” Gore Vidal said, shooing me away with his hand.

“Right, well, you are going to have to finish watching this later, I need to watch Lost. And besides, what are you still doing in my house, Michael?”

“Oh Frau, yer such a card! You know we’re roomies now,” he answered.

“Roommates?” I scoffed. “How ‘bout paying a little rent then!?”

“Myra, if you are going to just stand there, be a doll and top me off,” Gore said, waving an empty glass in my direction. I glared back with silent sass, the deadliest of all sass, but he just feigned being parched by making a dry noise with his mouth. Damn, this queen was good.

“Whatever,” I continued, “you guys are just going to have to wait.” I turned and stopped the DVD, then pushed play on the VCR. I was gripped by a silent Pavlovian rage as a familiar theme song filled the air.

“She’s fantastic! Made of Plastic! Microchips here and there!” the television sang.

“What. The. Hell?” I said as I turned back toward the sofa. There may have been fire in my eyes, I’m not sure.

“Oh yeah, there was a ‘Small Wonder’ marathon on channel five, so I taped it! I just love that little V.I.C.I.,” The Ghost of Michael Jackson said, adding, “jammon!”

“Voice Input Child Identicant,” George Takei chirped in with a smile.

“I hope you don’t mind, I used that blank tape you had in there,” Michael said. I would have been seething with animosity if I hadn’t been paralyzed by anger. It took me a few seconds to regain my motor functions.

“Do you not realize how awesome that episode was supposed to be? Jin and Sun both died in the helicopter crash!” Oh sorry, spoiler alert if anyone hasn’t watched it yet.

“Myra, since your show isn’t on, can you put our DVD back on?” Gore Vidal said, breaking the proverbial camel's back.

“STOP CALLING ME MYRA!” I screamed. “I am a one hundred percent natural woman! SEE!” I added as I impulsively flashed him my koochie.

“Oh my!” George Takei exclaimed.

My rage quickly turned to red hot embarrassment, as I realized that I still had my winter coat and hadn’t shaved or tapered the growler in months. I sobbed and ran upstairs like a teenage girl. I ended up spending the rest of the evening scouring the web for a bit torrent of the Lost finale. Turns out the whole thing was just a dream that Bob Newhart was having, what a disappointment. Well, at least Kate didn’t turn out to be Mitochondrial Eve.

freaking guys with iphones

I was enjoying a Vanilla Ice Blended Ultimate at the local Coffee Bean when I felt a movement worth of Beethoven coming on. The place had been empty since I walked in and as I made my way to the restroom, I was looking forward to the reassurance of a cold toilet seat [really, there’s nothing grosser than a warm toilet seat… well aside from a wet one].

I opened the door to the unisex restroom, and was greeted by some tween toe-head standing in front of the sink staring at porno on his iPhone while rubbing one out!

“What the French, toast?” I exclaimed.

“Oh my goodness! Please, please, please,” he begged as he scrambled to pull up his pants, “you can’t tell anyone you saw me here.”

“To be honest, I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m Justin Bieber.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Justin Bieber.”

I paused for a second, “Who?”

“Singer, songwriter, Justin Bieber. I was just on Saturday Night Live,” he said. I stared blankly at him. “People were trampled at my concert in Australia,” he added.

“Nope, sorry,” I said, still drawing a blank. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I mean really, how creepy would it be for a thir—er—twenty five year old woman to go on about catching some teen twirp rubbin’ one out… be he vampire or not.”

“Oh thank you! Thank you, I really appreciate it,” He gushed as he walked past me. “Oh and I’m sorry, I peed on the seat a little,” he added as he closed the door behind him. I turned and looked at the drenched toilet seat. Fucker even pissed all over the walls and the toilet paper [which all the more shocking because it was one of those toilet paper dispensers with the huge plastic cover and just the little hole underneath].

“Oh Fuck that!” I yelled, “Game on Bieber, whoever the fuck you are! Game on!”

Carlo to the rescue...

Last night, I had to run into the Ralph’s to grab a couple of things for a dinner party I was having. I really wanted to do it up nice, and boy was I in luck! Carlo Rossi was two bucks off with my Ralph’s Club Card. So I grab a jug of Chardonnay, some frozen empanadas and rushed over to the “10 items or less” line when I see a pair of those Kardashian girls in front of me in line. I couldn’t tell you which ones they were, it was definitely the whore one [I know that doesn’t help] and then the other one… was it Krystal? Karmen? Klu Klux Kardashian? I dunno, it was the one who had just shit out a baby, whatever, that’s not the point.

The point is, these bitches are in the 10 items or less line with a cart filled with groceries. Of course I am instantly annoyed, as my guests were going to be arriving any minute now and it’s taking forever for the guy to ring everything up. Yeah sure I could have grabbed the wine earlier, but I’m a procrastinator, what of it? Still, I manage to maintain my cool, cuz I’m cool like that [I’m also chill like that, and peace like that].

Then, after he had finished scanning everything, little Koozie Kardashian whips out a book of WIC stamps! So then cashier has to go through the tedious process of removing all the wine and cigarettes off their tally. Now I’m pissed, as it’s been twenty minutes and I’m starting to get nasty text messages from Martha Stewart [she can be so impatient!]. I start throwing mad shapes in the direction of the sisters [after all, my scowl can kill a bitch dead, watch out!]. Then I notice the other Karshashian slut trying to pull a fast one as she carefully maneuvers their cart around to the end of the checkout so that the cashier doesn’t see the stacks of bottled water they have stashed underneath.

Koozie doles out a stack of WIC tickets and then pulls out massive roll of cash to pay for their booze and cigarettes and they are getting ready to walk out when I all to the cashier.

“Excuse me,” I say as I point at their shopping cart. “Don’t forget to ring up their water.” At which point both the bitches whip their gaze in my direction, their faces contorted into hideously grotesque sneers [it wasn’t really much different from how they look anyway, so its pretty easy to picture].

“Somebody need to be minding her own bin'ess,” the whore one said, well, not the one whore one, but the other… confusing, I know… but then her eyes begin to glow red and she starts shooting fireballs from her eyes! I dive out of the way just in the nick of time and counter attack by hurling my jug of Carlo Rossi straight at her head!

Needless to say, I got mad skills, as the jug cracked her head open and roaches started pouring out as the shell of her body collapsed to the floor. I looked around for the other one just in time to see her running out the door pushing her cart filled with stolen water. She’ll have to wait for another day, after all, I had empanadas to heat up.

“Thanks for your help, Frau,” the cashier says, with a bit of a swoon.

“Anytime, cutie,” I reply with a wink, then we went into the back room and snogged on a palette of Purina. Martha was mad that I was an hour late, but she loved my empanadas so much, she forgot all about it!

Video [Game] Killed the Radio Star[let]

A good friend of mine, well lets just call him Torrent, gave me a copy of the hot new Sim game called SimChina! So I installed it last night and played it for a few hours, and then, talk about crazy, I looked up and its freaking February! Talk about falling into a two month k-hole!

The game is pretty awesome though! The goal is to keep your factory running at top capacity. You can import workers from rural villages, and then when they sass up and disrespect your absolute power as factory owner, you can have them put in jail for expressing freedom of thought. My first factory was producing dog food as an export; I was able to cut costs by supplementing the ingredients with workers who were producing below efficiency. Luckily, switch from the production of dog food right before the American market found out the food was essentially poison. My new production line was up and running with the proverbial Big Leagues, producing plastic keytars for the XBOX game “Keytar Hero: Kajagoogoo.” My factory quickly became a massive conglomerate with the mission to sabotage the American education system by subverting the youth into not doing their math homework, thus positioning my conglomerate to take over the world!

No, the irony is not lost on me… but whatever, my dream to take over the world is very nearly realized… granted, only in simulation form, but you gotta start somewhere, right? Now if only I could educate my little sim workers so they would be smart enough to hack into Google and steal their corporate secrets before they pull out of the country. But the only way my SimWorkers can learn is through access to interweb classes from DeVry, but I had to set the interweb to “censored” so that my workers do not have access to radical ideas… oh the irony, indeed…

I should probably get something to eat...

Sinderella

I was getting ready to go to a Halloween party at Jack Nicholson’s house with my friend Pygar last night when I received a Robo-Call from Ticketmaster telling me that I needed to call them to correct a problem with my Miley Cyrus / Hannah Montana tickets [don’t judge, I mean how often do you get to see not one but TWO superstars on the stage… I wonder if they’ll do a duet…]. Of course I immediately put everything on hold in order to call back. I had front row seats after all. Well, let me just say, dear readers, that the US Government is doing this whole “Gitmo Interrogation” thing all wrong. They don’t need to be blasting Van Halen's “Panama” or doing water-boarding torture to these suspected terrorists… they just need to have them call Ticketmaster customer service. Now that’s freaking torture, I tell you what. After being on hold for four hours, turns out the show has been moved to another venue and I no longer have front row seats. Bullocks to that, I say, I didn’t really even want to go anyway… I was just talking it up so that I could jack up the price when I scalped them to Roman Polanski [I was even going to throw in some ‘Ludes…].

After getting off the phone, Pygar is all pissed off because he’d been waiting the whole time and we’re totally late for the party, but whatever, he was dressed all Ren-Faire. Which is totally weak, because he goes to Ren-Faire every year, so it’s not like he really even put any thought into a costume, he just pulled it out of the closet. Lame. I do have to hand it to him though, he may be a blind angel, but at least he isn’t totally affected like those other Ren-Faire people, fucking Ren-Faire, I swear. Actually, I take that back, instead of Ticketmaster-boarding, we just need to stick terrorist suspects in a room with Ren-Faire people, oh man, that would be torture. Gives me chills just thinking about it.

Anywho, so we finally get to this party, and yeah it was totally bumping, but by the time we get there, all the booze is gone, and everyone knows that “All Cranberry and No Vodka makes Frau a dull girl!” So I need to play catch up, but all they have is freaking Coors in a keg [Really. Coors. In a keg]. So I pop the ‘Ludes that I was going to give to Roman and everything is going pretty cool. I’m all mellow yellow, and this hot guy dressed up as Lindsay Lohan come up to me and starts putting the moves on, and I’m all cool, and we totally go out to the hot tub and start making out and he is a super hot kisser. Just as things are heating up, Pygar comes over and he wants to leave because he’s bored and he hates Coors [not that I blame him, but still, he makes a horrible wing man]. So then I’m off like Cinderella, I don’t bother to give my snogging partner my number or even tell him my name, I love to leave with an air of mystery. Though I don't leave a slipper behind, clearly Cinderella wasn't wearing Pradas, otherwise that bitch would have made sure she didn't drop no slipper.

This morning, I rolled out of bed around, well, who am I kidding, it was just half an hour ago [I can’t miss Oprah], and I’m reading the paper but when I see the headline, I nearly choke on a Boo Berry. Turns out that the guy dressed like Lindsay Lohan wasn’t a guy dressed like Lindsay at all, it was Lindsay Lohan. And there, on the front page, above a picture of Lindsay giving me a tonsillectomy is the headline “‘Samantha Who?’ Lindsay makes nice with new gal pal!”

"Scissor-me-timbers!” I exclaim to the Boo Berry Ghost, who says nothing. Though I can feel him silently judging me with those sleepy eyes of his. Well I certainly hope she wasn’t having a flare up… thats the last thing I need...

When life hands you lemons...

I was cold chillin’ at the local Coffee Bean with Angie talking about our plans for Halloween. I had asked her what she was going to be, and she said she was going to dress up as “Octomom.”

“Ah, a little ‘Victor/Victoria’ there. That’s fun,” I said, but she just stared at me as if she didn’t quite understand. “Julie Andrews?”

“No, Frau, Octomom has nothing to do with ‘The Sound of Music.’ Surely you’ve heard of her,” She said. I paused for a moment then sucked up the last of my Blended Ultimate. “Isn’t that your third one?”

“Yeah,” I answered sleepily. I explained to her that for the past month I had been staying up all night trying to capture some activity of the paranormal type on my fancy new digital camcorder, and it had started to really take a toll on me the past few days, so I was hitting the caffeine harder than I usually do.

“But you told me that you already knew that the ghost of Michael Jackson was haunting your place.”

“Yeah I know, but I was just trying to get some footage that I could sell to include in the final cut of ‘This is It.’ So far the only thing I got was some ghostly footprints when Michael moonwalked through some baby powder I put on the floor.”




“But, Frau, the movie came out already. It started playing yesterday.”

“Dang it, seriously?! Hmmm… well maybe I can use the footage and make like a total low budget horror movie out of it.”

“Uhm, Frau…,” she started, but then trailed off. Clearly jealous of my freaking fantastic idea. It’ll be like the “Blair Witch Project,” only better! I'll show her... I'll show all of them *MWAHAHAHAHA*