I will pee on you.
Maybe not you, specifically – unless you’re a leather chair or a couch or a newly painted wall, or a dehumidifier, or an oven door, or a roommate’s truck, or the other leather chair, or the 3rd leather chair in the house, or the upstairs, or the basement. If you’re one of those things, I’ve already peed on you to claim you as my own.
If only he paid more attention to me. If only he cleaned out my litter box just one day earlier. If only that really stupid looking no-tailed cat hadn’t moved 2 doors down a month ago…maybe things would be different.
Remember when you were a kid? Your whiny little sister wanted you to share your candy. Maybe you had a bully of an older brother who just wouldn’t leave you alone. Quite possibly, your dad used a biblical justification like “temple tax” to take something off the top before you got what was rightfully yours. Your blood boiled. You felt the tremors in your bones. Your skin became ever so tight around your nervously twitching muscles. Suddenly, a foolproof solution!
You’re a humanoid, I’m just a cat. I don’t think through the consequences of my actions quite as articulately. My tongue is made of sandpaper, and I use it to clean my butt after I poop. Also, nobody can tell if I’ve licked something, so I must find other ways. Commence operation PEE-ON-EVERYTHING.
Operation POE is going quite well. If only my cat-testes hadn’t been lasered off in a cruel act of domination, they would certainly smell my presence. Still, my mark remains long after I have vacated the area. I HAVE LICKED THE CANDY. The leather chairs, the newly painted wall, the roommate’s truck, and the cat down the street’s bushes. I got it all. It was years before I discovered their weakness, but I will exploit this super power until I am forced to find yet another way.
The world is my oyster. I plan to piss on it. I hear the French love oysters.
-Steve the cat
One of the first MLB Baseball games I ever attended was the 1992 day-after Opening Day. Chris Sabo, with his signature goggles, & against my better judgement, slid into first base & broke his danged ankle. Chris Sabo is 50 years old today. That’s weird. He’s like 5 1/2 years younger than my dad. He was also in this YouTube video:
Testi-clees. The Greek god.
Anyway, I didn’t watch most of the Republican debate. Most of me hates the idea of politics – the infighting & the inability to discern the sincerity of the candidates. Part of me wants to watch, but I think it’s the same part of me that can’t stop watching this video. However, I did tune in at the end just in time to not have enough time to actually give an opinion, but as @TMcClusky pointed out on Twitter: when all four candidates debate about who is the most pro-life that is a really good thing“. I agree.
I’ve decided that when this blog’s namesake finally passes, there is a good chance he will be the only male cat I ever own. Steve gets a bad rap from people who don’t understand him, and I usually refrain from complaining about him, but that cat loves to fight. He’s cuddly on weekends though.
For that matter, I’m cuddly on weekends. Taking applications in the comment section.
Everyone’s taking a stance on this SOPA thing. I think it’s good because it keeps people clean and stops them from smelling bad. When people don’t smell bad in my office, my coworker has no good reason to fire up her candle warmer with such morally offensive scents as “Watermelon Dreamworld” and “Tropical Mango Berry”. Why are people not against THOSE injustices?
ANNOUNCEMENT: In protest of Wikipedia staging a blackout on Wednesday to protest the Stop Online Piracy Act, I will NOT be staging a blackout for A Cat Named Steve. This is because I’m lazy.
There is a magazine titled “Horse Illustrated“. The swimsuit issue is absolutely degrading and wretched. If we’re going to protest something, it should be pseudo horse-porn.
Please sign my petition in the comments section below.
By no means do I consider myself a Republican, or have any party affiliation for that matter, but I’m pretty sure that anyone reading this right now already realizes the fact that I will never vote for Barack Obama for any office (Did you hear that @attackwatch??), so my only realistic alternative at the moment is to get a somewhat decent Republican candidate on the ballot for November.
There’s only one problem; there is no good candidate. Those that are available either have no moral compass (Ron Paul), a questionable personal history (Newt Gingrich), or lack leadership skills (Rick Santorum). We’re screwed. Can someone grow a pair & run for president in 2016? I hope so.
We were young. We had energy, spunk, and a kiss-my-ass attitude. We didn’t care who you were, where you were from, or that you have really weird quirks (like eating frozen corn from a plastic cup for a snack, or pouring the flavor packet from a packet of ramen onto the weird noodle-brick thingy and crunching into it like you’ve been in prison for the past 30 years*) – we were real.
Somewhere along the line, like the lone french fry underneath the driver’s seat of your car, we became stale, irrelevant, and useless. “Productivity” was our mantra, and stories fell by the wayside, lost in the game of work (the “game of work”? Is that an oxymoron?) that we began to take too seriously. There was a time where I would have shared my experiences & relationships with you – like my Peruvian roommate who makes Mexican jokes about himself, or a cat with hairball issues that pukes on the top step of a basement staircase with low lighting and a barefoot owner who is carrying a giant laundry basket about to walk down those same steps moments later…Those were good times.
Seriously though, there will come a time when this domain name will come up for renewal, and I’m gonna be too lazy to buy it again, and too bored with this blog to continue. This is why I need your help. For a one time donation of $10, you can make me feel better about myself and feel good about yourself too. Seriously though, I bought lunch for a homeless dude yesterday, it’s the least you could do for me.
I tweeted yesterday that this blog was dead. To some degree it is – I mean, I haven’t posted anything since May. But I’ve decided to put some life back into it and see if anything comes of it. I mean, what is there to lose? I’m still single even with my awesome Twitter account, and “Guy with a blog” seems like it would be very attractive to beautiful women. I also work out occasionally, ladies (wink).
*these weird quirks may or may not have been possessed by one certain former roommate, who shall remain nameless.
That guy is a sucker – or is he? Maybe he’s a business genius. Maybe he’s the next Warren Buffett. But he wants to be Tony Robbins. It’s just a few simple steps, and poof! You can rediscover your potential. Don’t tell anyone though, this is a secret only reserved for a few people, and even though I haven’t seen you since high school (and I was weird back then too), I’ve decided to share this with only you (and about 500 of my closest Facebook friends).
You see, there’s this well kept secret to having wealth, and it also just happens to be the same secret that gives you a flat belly. All you have to do is OBEY.
Pretty sure that next time, I’m going to accept the invitation to the meeting. I’m also going to show up in a cowboy hat with a giant belt buckle pretending to be an oil tycoon looking to get a larger-than-life return on my investment. The sad part is, it’ll be the norm rather than the exception.