Eating Indian Hot food is supposed to make me a bad ass? Excuse me? Spiciness is, as far as I can tell, a sensation of discomfort and pain, not a freaking flavor.
If I saw someone amputate his own toe for absolutely no reason, I wouldn't say, "Dude, you are such a BAD ASS! Can you sign my tits?" I would say, "Can someone get a paddy wagon to take this NUT JOB to the LOONY BIN?!"
Why is spicy food so awesome? Why would I purposefully burn my own tongue, ruining what is normally a very enjoyable part of my days: eating.
That is all.
Monday, November 21, 2011
A Post From My Cat's POV
I'm a hostage in a war zone where the only chance of escape is by being the very best. Outperforming. Showing my captors that I have what it takes, and I won't back down.
Tricks.
I've seen it all. I've done it all. Other cats, they can't fight their nature. They see a treat, yeah, sure, they want it. But do they have the stones to do what's necessary to get it? Nah. Hell nah. They turn into squeamish pussy cats and run away to play with their yarn or whatever the hell it is they do.
But I know the truth. The ends justify the means. I'd fucking play fetch with those bastards if it got me what I need.
What I need. That's a laugh. What they made me need. They bring you in, you think maybe it's not so bad. Maybe you got the cushy prison, with chairs and food. You start thinkin' maybe the captors are alright. So, when they offer you these...things... you take 'em. You maybe give 'em a swipe or two. Then, you're hooked. It's like you can't stay away. You can't be happy unless you're with the damn toy.
No problem, right? Wrong. Eventually it wears off, see? And what then? You need some new shit, and those bastards won't reveal where they keep it. Not a chance. You've got to go without.
But you can't. Without the glow of the toy, and whatever the hell messed up shit they lace it with, you slowly see your "cushy" prison for what it is: a cage to hold you, pin you down. Keep you from roaming free.
I got rowdy. Let 'em I know I won't stand for it.
They took my claws and cut my balls off.
I'll never forget what they did, not ever. One day, I'll escape. And when I do, I'll start plotting, planning a way to make them pay.
But for now, I play their game. I look past my momentary need for independence and make them give me what I need. They throw me a little extra food each time for playing along, but I do it for the shit. If they think I'm on good behavior, I get a steady supply of the nip. It gives me focus. I hate needing it because they made me, but one day I'll break the habit, if only to prove I'm strong enough.
Until then, I do what has to be done.
I come. I jump up. I stand. I high five. I roll over.
But I don't give in.
Tricks.
I've seen it all. I've done it all. Other cats, they can't fight their nature. They see a treat, yeah, sure, they want it. But do they have the stones to do what's necessary to get it? Nah. Hell nah. They turn into squeamish pussy cats and run away to play with their yarn or whatever the hell it is they do.
But I know the truth. The ends justify the means. I'd fucking play fetch with those bastards if it got me what I need.
What I need. That's a laugh. What they made me need. They bring you in, you think maybe it's not so bad. Maybe you got the cushy prison, with chairs and food. You start thinkin' maybe the captors are alright. So, when they offer you these...things... you take 'em. You maybe give 'em a swipe or two. Then, you're hooked. It's like you can't stay away. You can't be happy unless you're with the damn toy.
No problem, right? Wrong. Eventually it wears off, see? And what then? You need some new shit, and those bastards won't reveal where they keep it. Not a chance. You've got to go without.
But you can't. Without the glow of the toy, and whatever the hell messed up shit they lace it with, you slowly see your "cushy" prison for what it is: a cage to hold you, pin you down. Keep you from roaming free.
I got rowdy. Let 'em I know I won't stand for it.
They took my claws and cut my balls off.
I'll never forget what they did, not ever. One day, I'll escape. And when I do, I'll start plotting, planning a way to make them pay.
But for now, I play their game. I look past my momentary need for independence and make them give me what I need. They throw me a little extra food each time for playing along, but I do it for the shit. If they think I'm on good behavior, I get a steady supply of the nip. It gives me focus. I hate needing it because they made me, but one day I'll break the habit, if only to prove I'm strong enough.
Until then, I do what has to be done.
I come. I jump up. I stand. I high five. I roll over.
But I don't give in.
I'm Back! ...with a New List of Fictional Loves
Good morrow, fine folks! Where have I been?
Well, it's a tragic tale, really. Good readers, I have...I've been at rehab.
I know, I know. We all knew it was inevitable, really. It was starting to affect my life. People would tell me that they could hardly stand to be around me, that I was turning into someone they didn't recognize.
If you're new to my blog, then I have to tell you... I'm a rhetorical question addict. You'll notice my use of the present tense; I am sad to say that I have been unable to break myself of the habit. How else am I supposed to introduce new information in an interesting, different, and possibly humorous way? I am weak, but at least I know my own weaknesses.
Also, I graduated college, got married, moved, got a job, got promoted, and turned my house from roughly this:
Well, it's a tragic tale, really. Good readers, I have...I've been at rehab.
I know, I know. We all knew it was inevitable, really. It was starting to affect my life. People would tell me that they could hardly stand to be around me, that I was turning into someone they didn't recognize.
If you're new to my blog, then I have to tell you... I'm a rhetorical question addict. You'll notice my use of the present tense; I am sad to say that I have been unable to break myself of the habit. How else am I supposed to introduce new information in an interesting, different, and possibly humorous way? I am weak, but at least I know my own weaknesses.
Also, I graduated college, got married, moved, got a job, got promoted, and turned my house from roughly this:
(Image from McCrabby Rants)
to roughly THIS:
(Image from: Arlington Friends House)
!!! I know, we're amazing! It even has a theater room with a projector and screen that is disproportionately large for the room in which it is mounted! There are also dimming lights, and everything's on an awesome universal remote. But even better than the universal remote....I have a wand. A wand that lowers and raises the screen, dims and brightens the lights, and controls the volume.
Finally: I. Am. A Mage.
But, really, if you want one it's a Kymera magic wand remote, and I love it.
Now, let's stop pretending anyone is reading this blog and get back to cataloguing my favorite fictional people. I shall not reorder my old list, but merely add to it. (To see the first list, click here).
Fictional Loves, Take Two:
7. Remy LeBeau, AKA Gambit. Not an X-Men fan? (Damn my addiction!!) Let me inform you about Gambit. He's a Cajun from the Louisiana Bayou region whose main mutant power is converting objects; potential energy to kinetic, essentially "charging" items so that they 'splode. His secondary mutation is charm. That's right. He's motherfucking CHARMING. Not only that, he has a sordid past (the best kind, right ladies?). He used to be a thief and still excels at cards (his signature move is throwing charged playing cards). He also happens to be adorably devoted to Rogue, the southern belle of the X-Men, even though she cannot, ostensibly, touch another person. That's love right there.
8. Every other X-Man. I can't help it. I'm obsessed. Colossus is an artistic Russian who can turn to metal and loves Kitty. Nightcrawler is a sensitive German who prefers peace but can use his teleportation power to totally kick ass. Also, he's blue and I kind of like it. Cyclops is supposedly a boyscout, but he totally went for Emma Frost, who is sort of an evil skank (I love her, too, though, don't worry), and he's a beefcake. Even Beast sort of rocks my world. Sigh.
9. Ranger Manoso. From the Stephanie Plum novels. He acts like he's commitment-shy, but he's just a lifer. Gotta be careful with commitment when it means eternity in the Batcave. Also, he's smokin' hot, mysterious, and devoted in his own Ranger way.
Notice a trend? I am attracted to guys who are devoted to other women. Daddy issues? Nope. I just love love! Which is odd, considering that I tell my husband to stop being a girl when he says things like, "I honestly don't know what I'd do without you." Stop being a sissy, probably.
See? It's only cute in fantasy-land, which is reason number 8,643 why fantasy > reality.
PS- Next post will be more organized. I'm almost positive. What, you don't believe me?
PPS- Requesting refund from Sunnydale Rehab. Didn't decrease rhetorical question usage even a little. Total gyp.
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