Cats, Prison, and Two Songs I Hate

I got nothing. I mean, seriously. Not a fucking thing. I was going to write about Noelle and her cats, and the fact that she spoils her fucking cats, and I realized that I didn't care enough to write it. Zero Fucks Given. There was going to be a whole lot of build-up just to say that Noelle spoils the shit out of her cats and we refuse to let our cat have nice things. Why? Because if our cat knew that he could have new, or more enjoyable shit, then it would give him the idea that nice things exist. And we don't want to waste that kind of money on the cat. I'll tell you what I will buy though: fucking catnip. Have you seen a stoned cat before? That shit's funny. Especially when they try to walk or do something and they can't. It's hilarious to see a high cat, but not as much for a high person. When people get high, they sit there eating all of your goddamn food and talking about the most useless bullshit. When a cat gets high, it tries to walk and either falls or face-plants into a wall. That's it. That's my rant on cats.

Then I started thinking about all the other shit that I could write about. The problem is that I have two many "one-liners". Example: The other day, our game group was discussing what we would expect everyone to get arrested for. Todd went down for public intoxication. We have a friend named Wilson, who would make a hilarious joke at the airport, be suspected of terrorism, and get tasered by TSA. My wife would be arrested for some sort of espionage, or for randomly murdering a person. (Here's hoping that it is not me). Noelle was going to jail for attacking a person and stealing their cat. Her boyfriend, Brandon, was going down for feeding children LSD and teaching them mathematics. Because, "you know, why not?" Those are all fun anecdotes, but are they really worth spending a whole lot of time writing? No. The answer is "no". If you said yes, then you were mistaken and should change your answer.

On a completely unrelated note, my folks still have a fucked up sense of humor. They gave my wife and I a CD of children's songs, for when we have a kid. That sounds considerate, but the cover of the CD is "The Chicken Dance". It should be noted that I detest this song, and they know it. I threatened to call off the wedding, if the DJ played that song. And we were already fucking married! That's right, I hate the song so much that I would ruin a marriage and second wedding over it. This is not to be mistaken with the "Chicken Dance" from Arrested Development.

Do you know another song I can't stand? "Santeria" by Sublime. The tricky part is I like one part. The lyric changes, but the tune stays consistent. One lyric says:

"What I really wanna know, mah baby, mmmm
What I really wanna say I can't define
Well, it's love, that I need."

That part of the song? Great. I love it. The rest of the song? I hate it. It makes my skin crawl. If I ever kill myself, that is the song that will be playing. I will be in the bathroom stall of a Dairy Queen in Georgia, wearing a tattered white tank top, and shooting a metric fuck-tonne of heroine and meth into my veins as the song goes "I don't practice Santeria..." Why a bathroom stall at a Dairy Queen in GA? Because there is a random ass Dairy Queen in the middle of fucking nowhere, somewhere between TN and GA, in the middle of the forest, and the bathroom stall is so narrow that I have to pee sideways. There is no air-conditioning in that stall, and I'm pretty sure you can contract a venereal disease from just walking in.

How do I know this place exists? Because I once had to stop there to fill-up gas in the car and go pee-pee. I always knew that, if I were to kill myself, I would have "Santeria" and a metric fuck-tonne of heroine and meth. I also knew that it would be in a bathroom stall. I just never realized that I would actually find the stall, or that it would be in a fucking Dairy Queen. At least I can get a Heath Blizzard before I die. Or a Grape Mr. Misty. And to clarify, that's what they called the slushy drinks before they changed the name to "Arctic Rush". It was a Mr. Misty. How do I know? Because that son-of-bitch always gave me the worst cold headaches. I mean, talk about pain and agony. But that shit was delicious.

Great. Now I'm craving Dairy Queen. Fuck it, I know where I'm taking my wife for date night.