| (no subject) |
[May. 22nd, 2007|12:33 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Dad's PC | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  bouncy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Pagans 'Shit Street' | ] |
I found to my surprise that there is nothing quite like a springtime baseball game to get some excitement going on a boring night when there is nothing else to do. And all this time I thought baseball was for lamers who listened to John Mellencamp and got lit on appletinis. Who knew?
Anyway, Mom and Dad were out and my lame-o sister and I were lying about downstairs having our usual early evening TV war (I want to watch Battlebots and Ghidorah wants to watch freakin' Charmed). At some point in the back-and-forth, we zipped past ESPN right in time for me to catch a glimpse of this huge fist fight going on between like 30 people in uniforms somewhere!
"WHOA WHOA WAIT!!" I yelled, "GO BACK TO ESPN FOR A SECOND!!"
"Nooo!!! I'm gonna miss the part where Phoebe has to use the herbs from the cursed flower to reverse the spell on Piper's husband!!" Ghidorah wailed miserably.
"COME ON!!! FLIP IT BACK OVER TO ESPN!!! SOMEONE IS GETTING TOTALLY BEAT UP!!!"
"Noooo! I hate violence!"
"Well look, I'm gonna get violent in a minute if you don't put it back on!! Besides, you already know what happens to stupid Piper's husband anyway! What does it matter??"
"But I like Phoebe!!"
That was enough. I charged on to the couch to seize control of the remote and we fought and snarled for a couple of minutes until Mom and Dad walked in the front door and started admonishing me for "being bad" as they always do whenever Ghidorah starts to rumble with me. Yeah, that's fair.
Anyway, Ghidorah got to watch the rest of her stupid show thanks to Mom being home, so I headed upstairs to sulk for a bit. Luckily, Dad was listening to The Specials (and you, the reader, should be listening to them too at ALL TIMES), which always helps to lift my mood.
After a few minutes, Dad reached down to scratch me behind the ears and I told him about the big fist fight I saw on ESPN and what that was all about. He said "oh, that was a baseball game from last night, Moe" in such a blithe "ehh, no big deal" fashion that I prodded him for more information.
"Do these happen a lot?"
"Well, every once in a while, yeah. Usually one team does something the other team doesn't care for, like the pitcher throws intentionally at the batters."
"Whoa! They can do that???"
"Well, not really, but it happens sometimes. Usually, that gets the other team so mad that they'll start a fight right there on the field if things start to get out of hand."
“Does the winner of the fight win the game?” “Heh, nooo, they aren’t exactly the point of the game, you see…”
My mind was working quickly. "Do these happen at minor league games too?"
"Uhh, I don't see why not, I guess. The principle is the same." He looked at me funny. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, just wondering..."
* * *
I waited and watched for a couple of weeks until another game came along on a night I knew Mom and Dad would be out, and I managed to score two behind-the dugout tickets to a Lake County Captains game from Mr. Peepers, my bitter bookie across the courtyard (saddled with a name like that, you would be too). While I would have preferred trying for Indians tickets instead, Classic Park (where the Captains play) is not even 2 miles away from here: a straight shot down N Marginal Road. We could go to a game without having to take a bus or train and be back before Mom and Dad even knew we were gone! Perfect!
Talking Ghidorah into this idea, of course, was problematic. She is twitchy at the best of times, and she tends to freak the hell out whenever she has to be in close proximity to anyone aside from our parents. Getting her porky butt into a 7000-or-so capacity minor league ballpark even 1/50th full was going to take either the threat of grievous bodily harm or some major league downers, and the latter was not really an option. Unfortunately, threats of violence weren't doing much either. It was only then that I remembered that, being a modern facility, they must serve those fruity foofy foamy coffee drinks all girls love and it was only the promise I would get her one with a little umbrella thingy, whipped cream and little green sparkles on top that got her to agree to the idea of attending a game.
That night, the instant Mom and Dad left, I streaked out the back door and to the garage where I stow my skateboard and wheeled around to the back door so Ghidorah could pack herself into the sidecar (after strapping on her elbow pads, knee pads, helmet, goggles, red scarf, fireproof boots, shoulder seat belt, waist belt, and getting her pillow set on the floor just so). Once she was all ready (and I checked to make sure I had the supplies I needed), we set off down N Marginal Road, making a point to avoid the back streets so we wouldn't run into any stupid gangsta dogs on the way there.
Save for Ghidorah nearly wigging out every time a car passed us, it was a pretty uneventful trip. We then coasted into the parking lot across from the stadium, paid the day-glo wearing attendant five stupid dollars (to park a SKATEBOARD for Pete's sake), bounded up to the pedestrian footbridge across SOM Center Road and then down the stairs on the other side, which left us right at the entrance to Classic Park. People were already saying "OMG LOOK HOW CUTE!!!" at us as we made our way to the gate, tickets in mouth. I ignored them as best as I could, though Ghidorah was starting to whine and tremble like she always does.
"Will you quit it?" I hissed in exasperation as we waited in line, being cooed at and petted by the people in back of us.
"Waaah waaah I want to go home! I hate this place! There are strangers everywhere!"
"Look, you don't see those witches on your retarded Charmed show flipping out whenever someone comes over for tea and scones do you?"
"Not unless they turn out to be demons!"
"There are NO demons in the park!"
"Are you sure?"
"Look, do you want that iced coffee latte thing or what?"
That shut her up. Once we were in the park, I steered her towards our seats and told her to calm the heck down, which she did once I brought her that wussy faux coffee concoction she wanted. I then took a sneaky look around us and started quietly unloading some stuff I'd smuggled along in my belt pack. People always see this bulge at my belt line and figure it's there cos I was spayed (which is true), but that little fleshy spare tire also makes for a great place to stick a little bag of stuff that can be easily sneaked into, say, a minor-league ballpark. While Ghidorah noisily sipped unawares on her foofyccino and sniffed at the sleeve of the person sitting next to her, I was quietly piling up an arsenal of pine tar-smeared baseballs, cream pies and Gatorade-filled water balloons under my chair. There was gonna be a great fight tonight, one way or the other. Mwaahahahahaha!
Now, being what I am, moving awfully quick and staying low and out of sight comes pretty easily to me. Patience, however, does not, and looking back on the way the game went, I might have been a bit too eager to stir things up : maybe lobbing a cream pie at the very first batter up that night during the very first pitch was tipping my hand a bit early, but I was so caught up in the excitement of the moment that I let fly before I even knew what I was doing. It was a good shot, too: just as the guy made contact and sent the ball on a high arc towards the outfield fence, he caught my cream pie missile right in the phiz. Ha haaa!
Immediately, there was a big ruckus as the opposing dugout emptied and the players all started yelling and pointing at the home dugout (from their vantage point, it looked like someone on the home team had lobbed the pie) and using some pretty cool bad language. The home team left in the dugout and on the field was too busy laughing themselves into a hernia to respond and the umpires managed to calm the visitors down before things could get out of hand. Rats! Ah well, if at first you don't succeed ...
Once the first batter had cleaned himself up a bit and trotted out his home run, the second batter came up and made a couple of swings while aiming his meanest stare at the home dugout. I decided to play it a bit cool for this guy and waited until he had a full count before I whipped a Gatorade balloon at his head. Direct hit! The batter, catcher, and umpire were soaked, and all of them immediately started furiously jawing at the home dugout (but only after the umpire had called strike three). The visitor bench cleared again and I jumped up and down and waited for mayhem to break loose, but once again all I could hear from the home dugout was a dozen different people laughing like hyenas. Still no fight. Tough crowd. Time to break out the heavy artillery.
A couple of security people walked by when the third batter was up and stared up and down our section, watching for something to happen. I made myself sit still and poker-faced and pretended to be interested in the game program Ghidorah made me buy when I went to get her faux coffee. The batter managed to get on base without incident, and the security guys were then called away to stop a fight breaking out by the funnel cake vendor.
I was once again in the clear, and this time decided to whip a baseball at the fourth batter, timing it so it nailed him at the same time the incoming pitch reached him. Incredibly, all he did was drop his bat and trot over to first base! What was this all about? Granted, the pitcher and catcher were arguing with the umpire, saying that pitch was nowhere near the batter, but the ump heard the ball hit as clear as day, and also mentioned that it left a pine-tar smear on the batter's uniform. The pitcher was immediately thrown out, which emptied the home dugout but still failed to precipitate a confrontation on the field. The catcher was screaming and yelling and pointing at the dugout to the umpire, but it was too late: he was thrown out too. Hee hee!
It was at that point that things started to go the wrong way. While a new catcher put on his gear and a replacement pitcher was warming up, the staff of Classic Park had started to figure things out and they sent the team mascot "Skipper" over to our section. The giant shaggy green goon ambled happily over and sat down right next to us, darn the luck. Someone was definitely getting wise and had sent him over there to keep an eye on the situation.
Now, we had a problem: I did not come all this way to watch a stupid boring baseball game all the way through or listen to Ghidorah slurp away at her lame-o latte: I wanted a brawl and I wanted it NOW. Problem is, I was now being watched. So, I adjusted the plan. I handed Skipper one of my tar-smeared baseballs, grabbed another from beneath my seat, and scampered down to just behind the dugout as the next batter came walking up. There was an alarmed squawk from Skipper, who then flew out of his chair and came after me, reaching out one furry green paw to grab me by the scruff of my neck, but it was too late: just as I was in reach, I let fly with another baseball that landed right between the letf-handed batter's shoulders.
The batter spun around cursing, grabbing at his back, and the first thing he saw was Skipper the mascot standing there, frozen, a baseball in one hand, looking like he'd just delivered a split-fingered fastball. Immediately, the batter tore out of the batter's box and after Skipper, while I giggled madly and zoomed away to take in the fisticuffs from a safe distance. My ruse worked even better than I'd imagined: the whole vistors dugout cleared and they were all charging over and dragging Skipper onto the field, delivering punches and pulling angrily at his hair. The crowd, who until now had been taking all of this in with a bemused smile on their collective phiz, suddenly went all Ancient Rome and started cheering and yelling like the Captains had just won the freakin' World Series. This was more like it. Yeah! Kill kill kill!
Unfortunately, security was not fooled: while the crowd were busy watching Skipper being eviscerated on the field, a couple of cops walked up behind us and grabbed us both by the scruffs. Ghidorah immediately went completely apeshit and started attacking, which surprised the cop so much that he let her drop to the ground, after which she was off like a shot for the ballpark entrance chanting "omigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigodomigod" all the way there. The other cop gave me a very sour eye before lifting my seat up and spying the remainder of my stash. Ruh roh.
Before I had a chance to contemplate exactly how I was gonna call Mom and Dad and ask for some bail money, the cop holding me suddenly sneezed violently and let me go, cursing madly as he yelled at his partner to ignore the escaping Ghidorah and arrest me instead while he fumbled helplessly for an allergy tab from his breast pocket. I didn't waste any time regarding my lucky break, I took off after Ghidorah and hoped the cop hadn't had a chance to read our tags.
We beat a quick escape and made it home just in time to see Mom and Dad pulling into the parking lot. Ha ha! True, I didn't quite to get to see my full-fledged benches-clearning brawl, but seeing the mascot beaten to a pulp by a couple dozen pissed off ballplayers was good enough for now. Next time, though, I'm gonna bring my spitball launcher and make sure to empty a four-day old litterbox under the opposing dugout bench before the start of the game. That oughtta work... |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 18th, 2007|05:56 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Dad's PC | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  indifferent | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Operation Ivy | ] |
My blanket fuzzy
Snow outside cold and fluffy
Heater vent is warm
I rock and kick ass
Ghidorah thinks she is cool
She totally ain't
Tim Armstrong is cool
You'll ask "who in punk isn't?"
Blink 182!
Surveying the scene
Lounging atop the armoire
I am the king here
Waiting for my piece
Perching on top of Dad's chair
Roast beef for dinner!
If I had a thumb
This house would be my oyster
(Whatever that is)
Master of the house
I need to roam where I please
Scat mats are evil
You know he feels it
He has got ants in his pants
And he needs to dance
Who made up haiku?
I find the form restrictive
Last line is a pain
Got up from a nap
Just a half hour ago
Sleepy time again |
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| ROAST BEEF SALE!!!! |
[May. 28th, 2006|09:34 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Dad's PC | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  enraged | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Dead Boys 'Young, Loud & Snotty' | ] |
Over the last few months, I thought we (that is, my parents and I) had been making progress in the department of trading good behavior for material rewards (i.e., money), but apparently that has fallen through. I am still drawing no allowance whatsoever and am frankly more than a little dissatisfied with this situation. I have taken this up with Dad on a couple of occasions, and he has been less than sympathetic to my plight: "get a job" being his usual riposte.
Yeah, right. A job ... like he would know what that means. Seriously, has anyone here ever found a place that will hire someone who has been spayed and declawed? Didn't think so.
Anyway, earlier this morning I was chatting with some buds on Punk Chat, dissing on Angels & Airwaves and offering up different opinions on which of the traitor Dead Kennedys most deserves a swirlie in a Greyhound Bus Station when someone mentioned that Arby's was running a sale on roast beef sandwiches today: 99 cents a piece!!! I about flipped out right there on the spot since Arby's Roast Beef sammiches are my #1 favorite most awesome food in the whole world and Dad only gets one like once a week if that. This was a one-day offer -- a once in a lifetime opportunity to load up, and I needed to make a run before the 'rents woke up. I needed a Plan.
 After about two seconds, I the best idea ever: you see, Mom and Dad watched some ultraboring supertalky movie called Primer last night that was centered around time travel (I think) and despite the lack of ANYTHING blowing up and not one single rock song anywhere in the soundtrack, the plot really fired up my imagination. I asked my supposedly brainiac sister Ghidorah if it was possible that we could build our own time machine with which we could obtain some roast beef sammiches. She asked what the heck I was talking about and why on earth would we need a time machine for that. Excitedly, I made my argument: "imagine the potential if we pull this off! We could go back in time and send doubles and triples and fourtuples and fivetuples of ourselves to Arbys and have them all leave the roast beef sammiches they buy in the same place for us to go get later on!"
Hardcore lamer that she is, Ghidorah didn't seem very enthused by this idea at all, insinuating that my doubles would merely eat the sandwiches before they even had the chance to hide them in one of our designated Hiding Spots (either under the couch or behind the dryer in the utility room). In desperation, I appealed to Ghidorah's raging insecurity and said that she could send back doubles and triples of herself to beg Mom and Dad for pets and attention simultaneously, but that failed too.
OK, it had to be Plan B: The Hard Way. After banging away on Mom and Dad's bedroom door for a few minutes to make sure they were still asleep, I grabbed Mom's iPod, accessed my "Totally Rawkin' Ska/Punk" folder (I have it labeled Radiohead Moan Moan Waaah Wail Oh No I Am Kinda Worried so she never notices it, hee hee), grabbed a twenty dollar bill from Mom's purse, and then headed out to a neighbor's garage space and retrieved my skateboard from the secret hiding place I keep it in, motioning Ghidorah to pile into the sidecar. She, of course, wouldn't get in without putting on her stupid brilliant-orange-and-yellow crash helmet, biker goggles, elbow pads, knee pads and seat belt, but once she was ready, we set off through the side streets of Willowick in search of cheap roast beef sammiches.
It didn't take long for trouble to emerge as we buzzed past someone chatting on their cell phone while walking their huge honkin' Great Dane down Bayridge Road. Man, you should have seen the size of this guy: zipping past him was just like that scene in The Lost World where that one dude drives a motorcycle between the giant dinosaur's legs. After we did this, Mr. Great Dane immediately did what all dogs do: rearing up and bellowing "WTF BWAAUUGH WTF WOOF WOOF WOOF OMG WOOF" and tearing after us, dragging his terrified owner along for a ride while she yelled "AAAUGHH OH MY GOD MY DOG IS FREAKING OUT YARRGH HELP" into her cell phone.
Ghidorah, of course, started wigging out completely and tried to leap out of the sidecar even though she had strapped herself into it, and it took all of my concentration to keep her writhing lardy butt from flipping our skateboard over, but we finally started to pull away from Mr. Great Dane, who was thankfully weighed down by his master digging her heels in the pavement and yelling "HEEL! STOP! HELP! QUIDDIT! SIT!" (while still on her cell phone). I cackled in triumph and gave him a two-digit British salute as we rounded a corner. Mr. Great Dane barked some more and shook his paw at us, bellowing that we were going down next time we met. Whatever.
We got to Arby's a few minutes later and Great Stinky Shiznit, there were cars and people everywhere. Apparently 99 cent roast beef sammiches had everyone else making their own plans as well. A problem quickly emerged from this situation: I had intended to do the drive-thru, but there was this big conga line of SUVs and Minivans snaking all the way around the restaurant already and I didn't relish the idea of being muzzle to muzzle with someone's tailpipe for ten minutes while waiting for my order, so I took a parking spot in the lot. We'd have to be ordering indoors.
Ghidorah had just started looking up from underneath her paws when I parked and immediately started her panicked whining again. "Oooooo, I don't like this, I'm scared, I wanna go home there are definitely way too many people and cars around here I wanna go back hooooome."
Cripes, for a smart cat as she supposedly is, she sure is jumpy. "Come on, we gotta get the sammiches and get back before Mom and Dad wake up!"
"Nooooo, I wanna go home I hate and fear this place you always get us in trouble I wanna go home!"
"Look, you knew the plan all along! I need help carrying this food! How the heck am I supposed to do this all by myself??"
(Blah Blah Blah Whine Whine Whine)
"Ok. Look, what do you want?"
Ghidorah stopped whining immediately. "I wanna T.J. Cinnamons Mocha Chill."
"A whaaaat?"
"It's a coffee beverage, topped with cream and cinnamon and served on ice. Participating locations only, and I see that this is one of them."
"You're kidding, right?"
(Whine whine whine)
"This is totally going to cut into my roast beef plans! Why the heck didn't you bring this up earlier?"
"I didn't know there would be dogs and people and cars and things everywhere and I don't like this place and I wanna go home and ..."
"Fine! Fine! All right!" I stalked away from her and steamed for a few seconds, and then motioned her to follow me in. Girls.
We scampered into the restaurant as soon as the next people exited (you know, people really need to work on making their doors more cat-accessible), and took our places in line. Actually, I took my place in line: Ghidorah flipped the hell out seeing the six strangers standing in line in front of us and immediately bolted for the floral arrangement separating the kitchen from the restaurant itself.
I rolled my eyes and held my place in line, wishing I'd worn my spiked leather jacket instead of my beat-up G.B.H. t-shirt since people started cooing "awwww hello, kitty!" and reaching down to pet me almost instantly. I ignored them as best as I could. Sure, I would have snapped at them and gotten in their faces, but the smell of roast beef was so thick in that place that I swooning it was sooo overpowering and I knew I had to be good for a few more minutes in order to get my own.
At last, I got to the front of the line at last and put up my twenty dollar bill and asked for Ghidorah's stupid dumb girly drink and as many roast beef sammiches as I could get with the difference. The girl said I could get sixteen sammiches on the difference (plus some change), which made me grumbly again since I wanted twenty, blast it all. I said okay and waited as patiently as I could for them to get going.
 Meanwhile, things were starting to unravel quickly behind me. A couple of people yapping away on their cell phones ("HALLO?? HI! WHERE ARE YOU?? I AM IN ARBYS AND WE ARE DISCUSSING WHAT TO ORDER AT THIS VERY MOMENT! OH MY THERE ARE SO MANY CHOICES I JUST DUNNO WHAT TO DO! WHAZZAT? HEH. YEAH. YOU? HEH. YEAH. WHAT? NOTHING MUCH.") had spotted Ghidorah crouching in the garden (it didn't help very much that she was still wearing her stupid silly nuclear-orange crash helmet and pads) and started reaching in after her, cooing that "awwww someone's poor retarded kitty had got lost come here little sweetie" into their cell phones as they did so. Ghidorah, of course, was starting to freak out, and finally bolted from her perch and raced towards the front counter, then up and over and into the kitchen area.
Immediately, all hell started to break loose as people began to yell and scream and throw sammich buns everywhere as they spied this panicked tortie in day-glo safety gear racing around looking for a hiding spot. The people in line, of course, immediately started calling their friends on their cell phones to let them know what was going on. Amazingly, my order was done and I grabbed the bag and her stupid drink and made a run for the door, calling out to my stupid sister to hurry up and meet me in the parking lot.
Ghidorah, who had been trembling behind the shake machine, finally made a break for it, charging past the Crew Chief, the Soft Drink Lieutenant, the Earl Of Market Fresh Sandwiches, and the Apple Streudel Technician, heading straight for the drive-thru window, as everyone was yelling, running around and throwing curly fries at her. With one leap, she cleared the drive-thru window and landed in the lap of the person who was waiting at the window in their red convertible (said person shrieked in surprise and her Mr. Pibb went sailing into the drive through window, splashing onto the people who had just been chasing Ghidorah around ha ha!). With another leap, she was on the pavement and racing towards my skateboard. Unfortunately for her, I had to use the sidecar to hold the sammiches and her Cinnamons Mocha Chill, so she had to leap onto the front of the skateboard and navigate while I got us going across the parking lot. This was kinda difficult since she immediately put her paws over her eyes and started wailing, so we charged out of Arby's and straight into traffic with me only having the slightest idea where the heck we were going.
We quickly barrelled through Vine Street and on to the first side street we came to, and over Ghidorah's non-stop mewling I could clearly hear the squealing of brakes and lots of crunching of bent fenders behind us as we made our quick escape. I think one of them was a police car too! Totally sweet!
We'd made it back to Bayridge Drive and Ghidorah had started to relax and drink her Mocha thing when we rounded a corner and saw that Mr. Great Dane was there waiting for us, looking all badass in his shades, cigar and bowler hat, while a couple of Siberian Huskies in saggy-ass jeans and pricey Tommy Hilfiger shirts squatted on either side of him, licking themselves all gangsta-like. I barely had time to squawk in alarm and surprise when the Great Dane barked "WOOF WOOF AUUGH THERE WTF THERE THEY ARE GET THEM WOOF GO!!"
With a "RARR WOOF LOL WTF" the Huskies took off towards us (I think Ghidorah pooped on the skateboard right then and there). I swerved quickly and headed down a side street with the Huskies just about breathing down my back. I was yelling at Ghidorah for directions, but she had gone all fetal and useless again, so I just aimed for the nearest parked car and we scooted underneath. The Huskies plowed face-first into the car's bumper (ha haaa!), but quickly shook it off and started circling us, taunting us and wondering aloud how long we could stay underneath there on such a hot morning, and then adding how they'd be waiting for us when we made a break for it, adding a really irritating "LOL" at the end of each threat. Huskies, man ... all muscle and zero brains, I swear.
Anyway, it was becoming clear that dummies or not, we were in a tight spot with no method of easy escape possible. We had to make a sacrifice to get those Huskies distracted long enough for us to make a break for it. Of course, the first thing I threw out from underneath the car was Ghidorah's T.J. Cinnamons Mocha Chill (she was too busy wigging out and saying "FORT FORT FORT" to argue this idea, hee hee hee). However, that gambit didn't work: the huskies only watched the foofy drink crup skitter across the pavement, splattering whipped cream and iced coffee all over the street. Instead of offering chase, they started up more of that their brainless barking: "BWAAA WOOF WOOF NICE TRY, HOLMES AHAHA WOOF LOL"
We needed another Plan B, and while the idea of throwing Ghidorah's useless butt out in the road was tempting, I'd never hear the end of it from Mom and Dad, so that left only the ninety-nine cent roast beef sammiches. Unbelievable. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I started tossing the foil-wrapped sandwiches out onto the street. The first was immediately smooshed in its wrapper by a passing car, the second bounced directly into a nearby sewer grate. The third one finally got the attention of one of the huskies who looked at it hungrily with a famished whine. The other one barked at him to knock it off, but the fourth one I tossed out suddenly got him all "hmmm lol" or something since he shut up in mid-bark. Finally, the fifth one seemed to seal the deal and they both went charging away from the car and towards the sandwiches, wolfing them down with idiotic glee.
I tossed another two sammiches out to keep the Two Stooges busy and then got the skateboard going again, zooming down the street until the huskies were out of sight. I had three more sandwiches ready as we came back around to where Mr. Great Dane was waiting for us, and tossed them quickly out of our path as he came charging at us like a locomotive (only instead of "CHOO CHOO" he was barking "HAY! WTF WOOF WOOF" at us). The trick worked again, and Mr. Great Dane quickly lost interest in us and started chowing down on Arby's roast beef instead.
A few minutes later we got back home and I sat with my half-empty paper Arby's bag, chomping away on a delicious sammich and trying not to think about how I'd lost ten others just like it to those stupid goons, not to mention three or four more I could have had so my sister could have her stupid poofy trendoid drink (which she had all of like six sips of when all was said and done). I'll give Ghidorah a smidge of credit, however: she at least had the good sense not to whine about her lost iced coffee or I'd have chased her all over the condo for a good hour or more.
So, I got me some roast beef. Yaaay! If I can restrain myself, I should be able to make them last until about 3 or 4 A.M. tonight. :-)
Next time Arby's runs a sale, though, we're building the frickin' time machine... |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 10th, 2006|12:57 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  mischievous | ] |
| [ | music |
| | None (I have cotton wads in my ears) | ] |
I don't often get a chance to get into the office at night, hang out for a while and listen to the music being played in there ... probably has something to do with me getting distracted by all the neat-o gadgets and tempting goodies on Mom's computer desk. Tonight was different, for whatever reason, and I was allowed to chill out while Dad listened to some records as he did some work. Too bad his taste in music sucks.
The first thing he played was one of his innumerable weirdo Pink Floyd live recordings (he calls them "boots"). He's a real Pink Floyd fan: he has more CDs of their live shows than my entire CD collection put together, for pete's sake. Anyway, this one was from June of 1971, he said to me semi-breathlessly, and contains an early version of "Echoes" (whatever the hell that is) under the title "Return Of The Son Of Nothing."
Uh huh. "Return Of The Son Of Nothing." Right on. Sounds like something from Tales Of Topographic Oceans, doesn't it?
Actually, I will say this about Pink Floyd based on what I heard tonight: while I generally find their music unbelievably boring (did these guys miss the day in English Rock School where they taught songwriting?) and I'll bet you a million bucks that Roger Waters guy wrote most of his lyrics after sticking his head too far up his butt while he was cleaning himself, there is some cool stuff going on with them once in a while. Example: during that retarded-souding "Son Of Nothing" song, they made their guitars go all high pitched and echoey and the sound of that made Ghidorah run away. Ha ha ha! Cool points for that alone!
I also liked that song later on that had all kinds of gongs and cymbals, crazy drums, piano nonsense and all kinds of mayhem going down during the middle part. That was pretty neat, and it made me wonder what the mosh pit was like during that part of the show. Must've been a hell of a scene.
Cool parts aside, the problem with Pink Floyd is that they'd have these great ideas about once a song or so, which would be fine except that their songs apparently went on for like fifteen freaking minutes each!! I am not making this up!! Jeez, I have albums that are shorter than that!! If only these guys could have combined all of their best cool ideas into one song (and then sped the tempo way the hell up), I might even become a fan of theirs. Maybe I'll see if I can make an mp3 of their best bits all sped up and mixed together. That would rule.
Well, it got worse from there. Once that Pink Floyd set was finally over, Dad produced a CD he borrowed from work whose cover art alone made me cower under the desk in dread: it was another volume in that incredibly stupid Another Lost Decade: The '80s series I wrote about before, only this one was called Hard To Find Hits.
You know, Dad, there is a REALLY GOOD REASON these hits were hard to find ...
1. ABC "When Smokey Sings" (7" Version)
All right, who the heck is Smokey? A cop? A bear? That guy in Friday? He sounds like he sucks whoever he is. I think even this fruitball ABC singer guy agrees since he keeps saying "when Smokey sings, I hear violence!"
I might have to agree here since I have never even heard Smokey sing, yet just hearing about him singing made me feel violent.
2. Hipsway "The Honeythief"
Good grief, two songs into this thing and I'm already wishing to hear the other one instead. This is a really irritating song sung by some haughty Euroweenie who thinks he's King Funky with his stupid little horn section behind him. This guy wouldn't know real funk if he was thrown into a briny, shark-infested ocean of it with no life preserver.
3. Deon Estus "Heaven Help Me"
Oh GAWD. Ghidorah Music Alert!
You know, this sounds kinda like something George Michael would record when his husband was mad at him. Oh!! Wait, it is him?!?! Bwaahahahahaha!!!
4. Daryl Hall & John Oates "Method Of Modern Love" (Single Version)
I have a theory that, aside from "R-A-M-O-N-E-S," there has never ever been a cool song in all of history anywhere that has people spelling out the title all the way through it. This song only further reinforces that theory. You know, if I'd wanted an half-witted spelling lesson, I'd go read Yahoo! personals.
5. Thompson Twins "Lay Your Hands On Me" (US Single Version)
More Ghidorah music! I'll bet she's happy.
You know what scares me about bands like these twerpy Limey dandy-butts is that a lot of them were once part of a so-called "post-punk" movement that happened over there in the late 1970s and early 1980s. What the heck is that all about? Post-punk!? This is more like post-dump music (not that I'd toddle over to the nearest gospel choir and sing like a hard-up strategy club geek after a satisfying trip to the catbox)!
Really, did they poison the water supply or something in the U.K. around 1978 or so? Were the punks so big of a threat that the only way to stop them was to create "post-punks" so everyone would point and laugh? Why did these "post-punks" write such ineffectual, limp, trite and feebleminded songs like this? What on Earth happened over there? Did the British Government drop an Idiot Bomb on them or something?
6. Arcadia "The Flame" (Remix)
Oh, so these guys were all in Duran Duran? Big deal. They should have stayed there. Then, when they got together to plot their next hairstyles and who got to wear the loudest shirt, we should have nailgunned the studio door closed, and airlifted the whole studio complex over to the nearest rocket space and shot them all into space, aiming for that big black monolith I saw in 2001: A Space Odyssey the other day. That way, Duran Duran could spend all of eternity driving alien races bonkers with their overproduced nu-romantic dreck instead of me.
7. The Lover Speaks "No More I Love You's"
There was this one time when I was younger that I was poking around behind the TV set box downstairs and I saw a really yummy-looking power chord just lying there and I couldn't help myself from taking a little chew on it, and guess what? I got electrocuted! Seriously! It was really cool! The vet said that the electric current went in through the roof of my mouth and came out of my foot. It felt pretty weird, but maybe no weirder than falling facefirst onto the concrete floor at a Rollins Band show (well O.K. actually that kind of hurt a bit). All in all, that was a pretty wild experience, lemme tell ya.
Umm, anyway, where was I going with this, OH YEAH, I guess what I am trying to say here is that maybe when these guys do a show somewhere for whatever losers would actually pay money to see them, we can lay out a whole bunch of power cords across their stage (we'd need to one way or the other since all of this music sounds like it needs about fifty electronic gadgets on stage to recreate it), only these will be much bigger power cords with like 90,000 volts of juice running through each one! Then, we can dump a whole bunch of ketchup and mustard and onions and pickles on top of them and then maybe these pipsqueak ultradorks will be in the middle of performing whatever stupid song and the lead singer will be singing "BLAH BLAH BLAH I SUCK BLAH BLAH NO MORE I LOVE YOUUUUS" and he'll finally see my booby trap and he'll then say "OOOO I CAN'T RESIST KETCHUP AND MUSTARD AND ONIONS AND PICKLES!!!! SORRY LADS!!!! BRB!!!" and munch on one of the power cords and then we'll never have to hear any of this drama-queeny WAAAH I CAN'T GET A DATE AND GIRLS ALL MAKE FUN OF MY LIME GREEN LAME POST-PUNK HAIR crud forever.
This is a brilliant plan! Then, we can do the same thing to that Hipsway guy!
8. The Fixx "Deeper And Deeper" (Short Version)
OH MY GOD A SONG THAT ACTUALLY ROCKS...ok, well, it rocks in a relative sense to the rest of this compilation, I guess. Figures this would be a "short version," eh?
Um...question: what the heck is with all of that silly burbly stuff going on in the background? Ohhhh, right, those are SYNTHESIZERS. How very ROCK AND ROLL of them! I suppose this beats listening to more insufferable, foppy British vampire people trying to sing like they actually like girls ... but not by much.
9. Face To Face "10-9-8"
Good gravy, it really says something when a piece of stray poop like this is somehow made almost tolerable by all the stinking wonders of the world grouped around it.
I wonder if Mom might like this song, since this girl singing it is always watching Countdown (or something like that).
10. One 2 Many "Downtown"
11. Times Two "Strange But True"
Aaaaand here are two more utterly faceless and amazingly aggravating exhibits in this endless display of chunky, clunky, anti-funky, robotized white-boy paeans to cultural and intellectual underachievement.
Wow, I impress myself sometimes ... I think the above should have been the title of this collection instead of Hard To Find Hits.
12. Wa Wa Nee "Sugar Free"
LOL.
Wow! Now this is something ... a "pop funk" song so feeble, helpless, and stupid that it makes even that Hipsway track sound like James Brown in comparison.
Editor's Note: When I say "stupid," I mean really amazingly earth-shatteringly stupid. I mean "happy poppy frothy cheez whiz for the ears that is kinda like being dragged to the circus and instead of getting to see cool trapeze stunts, elephant poop and tigers, you have to watch the Berenstein Bears doing the Macarena for four hours."
13. The Models "Out Of Mind, Out Of Sight"
Oh, sorry, there is no review for this song since that last one filled me with the urge to run downstairs and cough up a hairball.
I'm sure I didn't miss anything.
14. Oxo "Whirly Girl"
...
Jeepers, I wish I'd waited a song to get rid of that hairball now.
After hearing "Whirly Girl," I have never in my life wanted so badly to see a band standing blindfolded against a concrete wall awaiting execution in the form of three-dozen fire hoses aimed right at their faces (with fire hose hooked up to a full-to-bursting septic tank that has been sitting in the desert sun for two weeks). This is, without a doubt, the most inane, offensive, asinine, flat-out cruel excuse for a "pop song" I have ever heard (and, you know, in the context of the rest of the material on this collection, that really says something). We are lesser of a planet for even allowing these evil, depraved men to record it, let alone actually releasing it on compact disc 23 years later.
Joe Strummer is laughing at us all right now, you realize. He thinks we're lame.
15. Big Pig "I Can't Break Away"
Yeah, nor can I, from this onslaught of catastrophic butt stink.
Bah. I quit. I think that last track before this one gave me brain damage. Good night, and don't stop skankin'! |
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| I KU YOU KU WE ALL KU FOR HAIKU!!! |
[Feb. 9th, 2006|11:57 pm] |
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A tang in the air!
I smell something! Is it food?
In a bag? Must be.
Idle fantasies
Dreams of eating plastic bags
Shower full of straws
And Out Come The Wolves!
Bedtime For Democracy!
Indestructible!
Cleaning out my butt
Why do people use paper?
Very confusing
A sound from below!
Charging down the stairs in haste!
All fun is mine! MINE!
Checking the closet
How can I get into there?
I need some catnip
Lying on the bed
I watch the bubbles drift down
Dr. Phil's a quack
I'm king of this house
A heating vent warms my butt
Ghidorah is not
It now comes to me:
I decree a new house rule
All the food is mine
If a Q-tip falls
And there is no one around
Can I have it, plz?
East Bay Ray sold out
Jello Biafra is cool
NOFX are dorks
Roses are reddish
And violets are bluish
Ah crap, out of lines |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 1st, 2006|01:51 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | hyper | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Dead Kennedys 'Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables' | ] |
Christmas was kinda lame this year! I was having a killer time messing around with the Christmas Tree and chasing Ghidorah around the house non-stop, but what did we get when it came to gift-giving time? Nothing!!! Not even a box of Q-Tips (or perhaps some replacement Swiffer heads)! I only put Q-Tips on my list like twenty times in a row!! Can't they take a HINT?! This is what I get for behaving like an angel for those six arduous, unending hours before Christmas day?! FASCISTS!!! WILLOWICK UBER ALLES!! UBBER ALLES WILLOWICK!!
What makes this even more unfair is that they got presents, blast it! And that was a real undertaking, pal.
Ghidorah and I decided to go shopping a couple weeks ago for Christmas gifts for Mom, though we had to cash in some 'nip to make the trip. That totally hurt, but we were in the spirit, and I felt I at least had to try and make amends for being busted while trying to eat some of the Christmas tree lights the night before. NOTE -- I wasn't trying to eat them, incidentally. I was just testing the strength of the plastic casings around the lights, and I don't have thumbs to do this with. What am I supposed to use? My good looks?
We decided on the Great Lakes Mall in hoity-toity Mentor since they offered the widest array of gift ideas. I will also add that these choices were offered at the most unreasonable prices imaginable, to boot -- what the hey, how do they charge twenty bucks for a CD with a straight face at F.Y.E.? What the heck do they ask for Snickers bars in there? Four bucks?
Anyway, we finally got into the mall without being trampled by crazed people with exotic-smelling boxes and paper bags. Once inside, chickenbutthead Ghidorah takes one look at the hundreds of people milling about like multicolored bipedal cows and immediately freaks out. Before I could even get a word out, she races to the nearest small and confined space she can find, which happened to be a supply cabinet at the back of the Taco Bell in the food court. Ha ha ha. That was hilarious, since the employees with their poser-ass Blink 182 neck tattoos all started yelling "CAT CAT OH NO CAT OH GOD HELP OH JEEZ" while all the people waiting in line started to throw stuff at each other since no one was working the Taco Assembly Line to make their cruddy Mexi-melts. I managed to scam a soft taco from the floor while all hell was breaking loose. Ugh, I've had wet food that tasted better.
I trotted around for a few minutes looking around for ideas while Ghidorah stayed out of reach in the stinking catbox depths of Taco Bell. People kept reaching down to pet me (or maybe stroke my spiked leather jacket with the bitchin' Exploited design I painted on the back), and I nearly got distracted from my mission when some baby dropped an oatmeal cookie from her stroller near The Gap, but I had to get shopping and the less horrid Christmas muzak I had to endure at that awful mall, the better. Hey, all you people who listen to Christmas music for pleasure? You suck. All of you. Mannheim Steamroller makes me want to bust heads with a pool cue, and Trans-Siberian Orchestra fills me with such rage that I could write about it here, sure, but I'd have to kick litter all over the screen afterwards to soak up the stink.
Speaking of things that smell, Ghidorah wanted to get Mom the new Madonna CD for some awful reason. God, she can be so lame sometimes. I swear we aren't related. I decided to supercede that gift idea and grab some Magma instead since Magma is a billion times cooler than Madonna could ever hope to be. In fact, Madonna could team up with Jello Biafra and scream "Stealing People's Mail" until 2015 while it rained spiders and ladybugs from the sky and she still would never be 1/1000th as kickass as Magma. Problem is, F.Y.E. had no Magma AT ALL, and, get this!, the ONLY Ramones CD I could find in stock there was some HILARIOUS tribute album that had the RED HOT CHILI PIKERS, U-freakin'-2 and KISS and EDDIE VEDDER on it. This is a "tribute album"? Good grief, they could have just peed on Joey's grave and achieved the same end!
OK, I got off on a tangent there. I hate all tribute albums. Even more than I hate scat mats. Bear with me.
So I got the stupid Madonna CD instead, and the "limited edition" copy at that, figuring that maybe it might be .000000005% cooler being seen with that while waiting in line than with the super-fruity regular edition (at least this version was all black and didn't have her red butt all over it).
It was while I was waiting in line about 150 people back from the counter that I started to notice the cell-phones. Dad tells me there was a time not even ten years ago when, like, 1 in 1000 people had a cell phone, but man has that turned around: I'd bet you a dozen cat treats that the above ratio is now completely the opposite as it seemed like half the people in that stupid line were just yammering away and flooding the atmosphere with absolutely pointless and inane vapidity. I actually was starting to wish the F.Y.E. people would crank up their hellsent Kenny G Christmas compilation to ten so it would drown out all the incredibly stupid conversations going on around me. Is it absolutely IMPOSSIBLE for some people to even decide on ANYTHING without calling someone to see what they think about it? "OH NO THERE IS A FOUR WAY INTERSECTION AHEAD OH MY GOD I COULD TURN LEFT OR TURN RIGHT OR DRIVE STRAIGHT AHEAD I THINK I WILL CALL MY PAL AND TELL HIM ABOUT THIS!!!"
I headed back to Taco Bell after I bought the CD and Ghidorah was still in the cabinet and people were still screaming at the employees and it was like the world's most awesome food fight about to happen, but I still had to get one more gift. Darn it!
I scampered down to Suncoast next. I figured anywhere would have been better than F.Y.E. was, but I was wrong!!! While Suncoast is, like, all-DVDs and stuff, they had hardly ANYTHING cool at all in it!!! In fact, they were ALSO playing hideous Christmas crud on their in-store system!! Not ANY Christmas crud, mind you, but some indescribably terrifying abomination from Video Hell called NESTOR THE LONG-EARED CHRISTMAS DONKEY!! I am NOT making this up! It was awful! MY GOD WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!?!
Anyway, I wound up getting Mom a DVD of From Dusk Till Dawn which is one of the very greatest movies EVER made, in my opinion. Vampires are cool! The Death Cab For Cutie-looking lamer at the counter tried to make cool with me and say "oh yeah, cool pick man!" but I just gave him a sneer and got the heck out of there, wanting very much to scream "YEAH COOL MAN I'LL BET IT'S EVEN ALMOST AS COOL AS FRICKIN' NESTOR THE FRUITY LONG-EARED FLIPPIN' CHRISTMAS DONKEY PAL?!?!" in his face and dunk him with a pitcher full of six-day stale Iron City Light but I was a bit rushed since we had to get back home before Mom and Dad knew we were gone.
I reached Taco Bell just in time to see Ghidorah bolt from the supply closet and streak for the employee restroom. I yowled and got her attention and we bolted for the doors with our Christmas purchases, chased by an angry mob of tattooed kids with bleached ends and paper hats while their customers continued to punch each other in the face. Anarchy in the mall!!! It was sweet! I wish I had taken a video to give to Dad for a Christmas gift but I don't think Todd, Bethany, Skye, and rest of the Taco People were in a mood to pose for action shots, you know?
Anyway, Happy New Year to everyone!! Mosh your heads off!! That is an order!! |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 10th, 2005|07:33 pm] |
So, there is a compilation CD playing on my dad's stereo right now. It's called Another Lost Decade - The 80's: Second British Invasion. Woooo, what a presumptious album title ... and what utter cheese twaddle exists on the disc itself.
1. Squeeze "Black Coffee In Bed"
Snooze. Jeez Luh-wheeze, you'd think a song about spilling something in someone's bed would involve something more fun, like styrofoam packing material or maybe M&Ms. But black coffee? BORING!
2. Billy Idol "Rebel Yell"
YEAH!!! NOW WE'RE TALKING! RAWWK!
*/me dons leather jacket and moshes about on the stairs*
Hey, notice that "she" cries "MOE! MOE! MOE!" when the hypothetical midnight hour strikes. Things that make you go "hmmm."
3. Duran Duran "The Reflex"
Upbeat and frolicky, but rilly damn annoying. This song makes me wanna throw a 32 oz. cup of rancid beer in the lead singer's face and then demand S.O.D. to barge onto the stage and kick their lily asses into the mosh pit for the crowd to eat.
4. Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark "If You Leave"
Music Ghidorah would probably like. I want to go to England and find Andy McCluskey and stick his head in a snarky catbox and give him a swirlie (assuming I could find a catbox that flushes).
5. The Human League "Fascination"
My GOD, how did people exist in this decade? This is so frickin' fruity it makes my Moe-hawk hair rise in fury. I wanna stick these twerps on a supersized scat mat and make them cover "God Save The Queen" to repent for this.
6. Thompson Twins "You Take Me Up"
BLAAAHHH!!! This is kinda cartoony "working on the railroad" blues pop as recorded by Smurfs with a head cold. Didn't anyone besides Billy Idol do rock music in the 1980s? I feel like coughing up a hairball and mailing it to these Thompson people.
7. Culture Club "It's A Miracle"
At least this cheese smorgasbord has a semblance of a pulse to it, though I'll bet the Mighty Mighty Bosstones would use these pansy schmucks as floor mops for the mens room at the back of their tour bus.
8. Go West "Eye To Eye"
Eeeesh, more Ghidorah music. WAAH WAHH WAHH WHINE WHINE GIRLS HATE US AND WON'T LET US HUMP THEM ON THE BACK WAAAH WAAH WE ARE SO SAD.
9. Spandau Ballet "Gold"
ROTFL
10. ABC "How To Be A Millionaire"
This song bothered me in the extreme. The title is "How To Be A Millionaire" so you think "yeah cool I wanna be a millionaire so let's hear how to do it!" and yet the singer with the prissy accent and I AM SOOOO COOL I AM A SYNTHPOP SINGER phrasing doesn't know how to be one either and he's asking ME instead!!! Like I know!! And like I would tell him if I did!!! I wouldn't!! Instead I would pay my million dollars to throw all of his records in front of a freight train loaded with 10,000,000 lit sticks of dynamite!!! This is CRAP!!
11. Tears For Fears "Mad World"
Even more Ghidorah crap. This guy needs to be locked in the bathroom with the lid up.
12. Howard Jones "Will You Still Be There?"
Same as above, only I'd also remove the flusher from the toilet in his case.
13. Ultravox "Dancing With Tears In My Eyes'
OK, this is kinda pogo friendly, I suppose, but something about this guy's voice makes me think that they are all a bunch of euro turbodouche poseurs with pencil moustaches and parachute pants. I'd get them all megawedgies in gym class if I had the thumbs to do so.
14. Heaven 17 "Let Me Go"
OK, prolly the coolest song on this whole collection after "Rebel Yell" by default, but that's like saying that drinking the soapy shampoo-y water from the recently-used shower isn't quite as refreshing as drinking from the water fountain downstairs.
Back later, I need to listen to 'Rockin' The Ascot!!!!' and clean my ears out. |
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| TIME FOR SOME MORE HAIKU WITH MOE!!!! |
[May. 5th, 2005|01:11 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | creative | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Various Artists 'Rockin' The Ascot!!!' | ] |
on top of the chair
i'm surveying my domain
ghidorah is scared
dad calls me a spaz
mom thinks i am a goofball
the bugs say nothing
stealthy quiet noise
it's new and black and scary
hate the new printer
up the stairs i trot
to the bedroom door i wail
squirted in the phiz
i sleep and i dream
one thousand strings tipped with bells
spiders taste like fish
ghidorah runs off
did i bite her neck too hard?
it appears that way
bowl of food is full
water fountain hums softly
dinosaurs were weird |
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| ROCKIN' THE ASCOT!!! |
[Apr. 17th, 2005|03:15 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | giddy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Bob Marley & The Wailers "Iron Lion Zion" | ] |
I have just made the greatest CD EVER. That means since the beginning of time. There will never ever ever be a CD better than this one. I will play this forever and ever and ever.
Rockin' The Ascot!!!
Primus Here Come The Bastards
The English Beat March Of The Swivelheads
The Trashmen Surfin' Bird
Tipsy Space Golf Madness
Madness House Of Fun
The English Beat Mirror In The Bathroom
Rancid Time Bomb
Love Sculpture Sabre Dance
The Mighty Mighty Bosstones Someday I Suppose
The Selecter Too Much Pressure
Bob Marley & The Wailers Iron Lion Zion
The Specials Ghost Town
The Stray Cats Stray Cat Strut
Madness One Step Beyond
Tipsy Grossenhosen
The Rezillos Somebody's Gonna Get Their Head Kicked In Tonight
The Ramones Cretin Family
Primus Tommy The Cat
The White Stripes Fell In Love With A Girl
Frank Stallone Far From Over
The Ramones Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue
Tricky Tricky Kid
Bob Marley & The Wailers Exodus
You all can make "!!!!" comments if you want or you don't have to 'cause I know there is only so much you can say after looking at the greatest, awesomest, bestest, kick'in buttest CD compilation all of time. You are free to use the song order and make your own if you wish. I can't blame you for wanting to. Gonna go skank for a bit. |
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| Resolution |
[Apr. 1st, 2005|10:14 pm] |
|
I have decided today that it would be in the best interests of me, my parents, and my stepsister for me to become a more well-behaved, considerate, and obedient cat.
A lot of soul-searching went into this decision, and I must admit that it pains me somewhat that I will never be able to do the following again...
1. leap out from hiding places to scare the daylights out of Ghidorah
2. bite Ghidorah on the neck for being a sissy
3. dry-hump Ghidorah's back for whatever reason it was that I once did so
Even harder to let go will be the following...
4. eating expensive headphone wires
5. eating plastic bags
6. attempting to eat boxes left in the foyer from the USPS or UPS
7. knocking things off of mom's desk
8. knocking over and shattering tiny glass containers full of spice while leaping from the kitchen counter to the top of the giant humming illicit food bank
9. opening the hall closet and eating delicious Swiffer mop attachments
10. making as much noise as possible in the morning hours to get my parents out of bed
11. attempting to steal into the upstairs bathroom and hide behind the toilet while munching on tasty morsels from the wastebasket
Most regrettably, I will no longer be able to exceute my ultimate plan -- which was to somehow move the scat mat downstairs and under the dining table and then chase Ghidorah onto it. This was a good plan, and I'll have to leave it to a less obedient, ornery rascal since I am as of right this moment Born Again as a good cat and thus above such petty, childish, and destructive temptations.
Oh, and one more thing...
HAPPY APRIL FIRST!!!! ULAGUGHAULAGUGHAULAUGHALUAGHULAUGHAGH
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