Curiosity Fucking Killed the Cat
You may be familiar with the old adage "curiosity killed the cat." Of course you may not be. If you are not, hello, welcome. This is what we call "earth." We live here.
I've spent the last few days being preposterously sick and under self-imposed house arrest, which in the hands of a more capable man, could have spent learning French, developing a cure for childhood obesity, or rolling massive spliffs and melting into a wall.
Hillary, venez mettre ce contondant dans le vagin!Instead of doing all these excellently useful things, I've watched way too many quasi-futuristic action-thrillers, downloaded and listened to Ender's Game on audiobook. Let's break this down, shall we? If you said "No, we shan't," then fuck off. This is my blog.
1) Quasi-Futuristic Action-Thrillers:
Here's the list...
The Island
The 6th Day
Minority Report
I, Robot
The Running Man
Robocop
The entirety of the show "Firefly"
2) Ender's Game:
The epitome of sci-fi geekery. Reading Ender's Game is like a right of passage for nerds. I read it as part of required summer reading for seventh grade, because honestly there's enough pre-pubescent angst in it to make any rising middle schooler feel potent. The audiobook features a cast of a handful of voice actors, a few of which are exceptionally annoying but some of which have just...epic voices.
So there's that. But let's get back to the subject at hand, fucking ridiculous cats. We've already covered how I feel about cats and cat ownership - kind of unbelievable that I own one. Also kind of annoying from a cat's perspective to know that he is considered "owned." Frederick Douglass would be pretty pissed off about this whole article, I imagine.
Do you own a cat? Yes? Then you may stop reading. You already know this. Do you not own a cat? Welcome. This is my life.
Nothing is sacred to a cat. Every last atom that makes up the fabric of your world is privy to the imagination and wonderment of your feline friend/enemy. A dangling shoelace, a wiggling toe, a flaccid penis, all these things are as interesting a plaything for a cat as any commercially available toy could ever be. Much like with children or puppies, you learn to "cat-proof" your home. If you ever want your fingernail clippers to be seen again, you find a tight cubby for them to be placed in lest they be molested by your cat. I have learned these lessons. Everything I own finds its way into a drawer or other cat-proof locale to prevent the loss of my multitude of exceptionally valuable small items (read: testicles). Even then, there are few places that are ultimately inaccessible to your cat.
Velocicattor
1) Quasi-Futuristic Action-Thrillers:
Here's the list...
The Island
The 6th Day
Minority Report
I, Robot
The Running Man
Robocop
The entirety of the show "Firefly"
2) Ender's Game:
The epitome of sci-fi geekery. Reading Ender's Game is like a right of passage for nerds. I read it as part of required summer reading for seventh grade, because honestly there's enough pre-pubescent angst in it to make any rising middle schooler feel potent. The audiobook features a cast of a handful of voice actors, a few of which are exceptionally annoying but some of which have just...epic voices.
So there's that. But let's get back to the subject at hand, fucking ridiculous cats. We've already covered how I feel about cats and cat ownership - kind of unbelievable that I own one. Also kind of annoying from a cat's perspective to know that he is considered "owned." Frederick Douglass would be pretty pissed off about this whole article, I imagine.
Do you own a cat? Yes? Then you may stop reading. You already know this. Do you not own a cat? Welcome. This is my life.
Nothing is sacred to a cat. Every last atom that makes up the fabric of your world is privy to the imagination and wonderment of your feline friend/enemy. A dangling shoelace, a wiggling toe, a flaccid penis, all these things are as interesting a plaything for a cat as any commercially available toy could ever be. Much like with children or puppies, you learn to "cat-proof" your home. If you ever want your fingernail clippers to be seen again, you find a tight cubby for them to be placed in lest they be molested by your cat. I have learned these lessons. Everything I own finds its way into a drawer or other cat-proof locale to prevent the loss of my multitude of exceptionally valuable small items (read: testicles). Even then, there are few places that are ultimately inaccessible to your cat.
VelocicattorYou see, I've come to find that this sonuvabitch is pretty intelligent. He knows how to shut a door with his head, preventing a canine companion from joining me in the bathroom, for example. He's learned when the best times to capitalize on his curiosity are. For example, this evening I opened the above cabinet to fetch a few slices of bread. I turned my back as I prepared to slather some crunchy peanut butter (I used to be a creamy guy, but I figure if I'm already chewing, why not chew with purpose?) onto the recently acquired bread. Without thinking, I closed the cabinet door and went about making my deliciously simple treat. It wasn't until I got to a particularly annoying segment of Ender's Game that it occurred to me that there was another, more foreign sound making up the cacophony of my evening.
There was a persistent mewing, a thrashing and crashing that sounded like Helen Keller trying to bathe a drunk. As I hesitantly approached the source of the noise, I found a young catling struggling to open a box of Cheez-Its perched on his chest.
Actually, screw off. Nyquil rocks. You suck. Actually you rock. Tell other people that they suck on my behalf. Unless they read me, too. Then tell them you're sorry for saying they suck and kiss their baby. If they don't have a baby, impregnate them or give them the privilege of carrying their spawn within you. Then, when the child is born, kiss it. Now we're even. You're welcome.
Within 36 hours you shall find that I have posted part two of my ever popular "Things I've Learned From Unemployment" series. And by popular I mean...you've read it. And I've read it.
So stop thinking. Seriously. No, seriously. Fuck! What? Stop it! You're going to....oh! And there it is. You put your eye out.
There was a persistent mewing, a thrashing and crashing that sounded like Helen Keller trying to bathe a drunk. As I hesitantly approached the source of the noise, I found a young catling struggling to open a box of Cheez-Its perched on his chest.
Actually, screw off. Nyquil rocks. You suck. Actually you rock. Tell other people that they suck on my behalf. Unless they read me, too. Then tell them you're sorry for saying they suck and kiss their baby. If they don't have a baby, impregnate them or give them the privilege of carrying their spawn within you. Then, when the child is born, kiss it. Now we're even. You're welcome.
Within 36 hours you shall find that I have posted part two of my ever popular "Things I've Learned From Unemployment" series. And by popular I mean...you've read it. And I've read it.
So stop thinking. Seriously. No, seriously. Fuck! What? Stop it! You're going to....oh! And there it is. You put your eye out.
