June 10, 2003
Today's Terrorist Threat Level: Fired!
Happy Birthday, Gina Gershon!
[ * The Scrolling Idiot * ]
Welcome to the new Y.P.R. Book Club! This week's inaugural selection: The Idiot by Fyodor "Don't call me 'Fyo'" Dostoevsky. Discussion group to follow. (There will be booze.)
[ * Here we go: New Soapbox, the first of the week's many upcoming new bits of newness. * ]
[ * Enjoy.* ]
L A D Y , W H A T ' S W I T H
A L L T H E C A T S ?
Lady, Whatís With All The Cats?
Honestly, this place smells like Ed Begley, Jr.ís place up in Zuma Beach after a visit from the Orkin Man. Iím having trouble breathing. Do have an oxygen mask? Or maybe a lead pipe so I can bludgeon the sense of smell out of my brain? Good lord. I donít know how much longer I sit here.
I keep tripping over them. Donít they have a room or something that you could put them in? Iíve probably stepped on about six tails by now. Donít you hear that angry mewing sound that continues to echo through this house? Yes, thatís me, stepping on another one of your damn cats. How many cats do you have? 36? Why? Why would you have 36 cats? What is the purpose?
They are like your children? Lady, you are either insane or just stupid. Iím not sure I want to hang around to find out which.
A glass of water would be great. Thank you. Oh, gross. Is that cat hair in your water? How did you get cat hair into this water? Iíll pass on the water for now. Thereís cat hair everywhere. Why did I wear black today? Thereís hair on this couch. Thereís hair on your clothing. Thereís hair on the walls. Thereís hair on theÖ oh my God. What is this carpet made out of? Is this carpet made out of cat hair? Lady, please tell me this carpet is not made out of cat hair. It is? You wove it yourself? O.K., this is getting creepy.
Do I want to know what you collect? No, Iím not sure I do. O.K., O.K. What do you collect? Pardon me? Iím sorry, Iím just not getting it. It sounded like you said ďFeces.Ē You didnít say feces did you? You did. You know, Iím set. I just went to the Cat Feces Museum last week, so Iíve seen all I can handle for the meantime. What? You mean there really is one? OK, I was lying to you. I didnít go to the Cat Feces Museum. I just donít want to see your stockpile of decaying cat waste matter.
All right, look, lady, I gotta get going. Well, for starters, I feel like if I spend another minute in your demented world, I donít think Iíll be able to escape. Also, Iím not really into cats. What are they doing now? Why are they all lining up like that? O.K., look, itís been fun, really. But I gotta go. What is their deal? Can you get them to move away from the door? Did you make them build into a pyramid like that in front of the door? Thatís actually pretty cool, but really, really weird. O.K., get them to stop. I need to get out of here. All right, enough really. Donít make me start throwing them. OW! What the fuck? That little bastard bit me. Iíll kill you, you little son of a bitch. OW! OW! Get them to -- OW! Stop biting me. OW! You little fucker -- OW!
This is my last Internet date. I swear to God.