It’s Friday. I’m still sore and north of 275 pounds. Still, any day I manage to stay out of Jackson’s is a good day.
This is supposed to be a funny blog. It’s also supposed to be a blog about what’s on my mind at the moment. Most of the time I can reconcile the two fairly easily. Not today.
For me, Memorial Day is a source of depression going back decades. This has nothing to do with military service, and I certainly don’t mean to belittle the holiday’s meaning by dwelling on myself. Still, personal history weighs heavy on my mind.
And as with any other artistic endeavor, trying too hard at humor often leads to disaster.
Image credit: ponyboy-draws
Hi there. This is Djoser. Lane isn’t back from Wyoming yet, so I’m writing today’s post for him. Yeah, I know I don’t have opposable thumbs and all, but I found this feline voice recognition software on The Pirate Bay which allows me to blog. It’s pretty sweet, and who the hell is going to sue a cat?
Sneferu and I have been chilling this weekend. He even took time out of his busy schedule of dropping things in the toilet to help me clean up around here. I hope Lane appreciates all the work we did.
I think we did a good job.
Last night we got on Netflix and checked out this movie called Cats & Dogs. Disgusting. Kids’ movie my furry, tabby ass! I can’t believe they let kittens watch this speciesist, canine supremacist filth. Once I’m done here I’m sending a big, nasty hiss to Netflix. If any dogs out there are reading this, you should do the same if you have any sense of shame whatsoever.
This morning we got up early to play some Blinx on Lane’s old Xbox. Sneferu is really, really good at this game. It’s those fast reflexes he has. He made a point to take a picture of my shame after he humiliated me. “Hey, where did you get that camera?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it, D. Don’t worry about it.”
I hope Lane gets home soon. The food bowl is almost empty, and Sneferu is not fun to be around when that happens. Frankly the box needs changed too. We’ll definitely bring that to Lane’s attention when he gets in.
I’m starting to get hoarse from all this meowing, trilling and purring, so I’d better wrap this up. Why can’t humans communicate by smell and expression like we do? Oh well. Peace out to all Toms and Mollies worldwide!
– 🐾 Mau Djoser
For the 12th FCR Mau Djoser gave to me, a clawing and a case of TB!
OK, not really, but I often wake up with scratches on my hands. Sneferu does it too. They’re brutal.
“I know you’ll do the honorable thing.”
I’ve made references to it over the past month or so, but now it’s really gonna happen. Next weekend SB goes on the road to visit the teeming metropolis of Thermopolis, Wyoming! Why? Because Daffy Duck told me to, that’s why.
“You will do my bidding, you despicable persimmon!”
So what will I do there? Who knows? Who cares? Remote blogging might be a challenge though, as my laptop has no WiFi capability and a battery life of approximately 38 seconds. I guess I’ll work on those logistics as I go.
Mother of crap! This is absolutely shocking. Switch to hydrogen peroxide before it’s too late!
Rocket fuel? You fiends!
Spike Jones merited a comment here this week. Although he and his City Slickers are long gone, they left us plenty of atrocities against the classics.
It’s another Friday in the 2T, so it’s time to pollute the Internet with another Friday Crap Roundup. Beachy is in a foul mood because some kid trashed a killdeer nest at school today. As for me, it was yet another boring-ass drive down here. At least I got to use the air conditioner today.
But come Monday, bullies goin’ down.
Image credit: Вasil
In terms of finding stuff that’s funny and/or stupid, this week sucked. Maybe I should try harder, or maybe people should try to be funnier and/or stupider.
Well, this guy opened a library, but who gives a rat’s ass?
Anyway, for lack of material the week’s highlight is that I officially became a union thug. That’s right, I’m now a member of the National Writers Union, which is a local of the United Auto Workers. I figure it’s high time I went out and shopped my skills for income, or something like that. So if you wanna hire me, you know where to find me.
And no, I don’t get the juxtaposition either. Just go with it.
Cute kitties! You can friend cute kitties on Facebook, or something ….
Ah, what the hell. Let’s take it down another notch to finish the week.
There are two types of people in this world: people who occasionally Google themselves, and damn liars. Last night I felt that self-congratulatory urge.
Wait, Myspace is still around?
I’ve been on the Internet for some time. It’ll be 20 years in October as a matter of fact. As a result there’s a lot miscellaneous electronic flotsam related to me. For example, a Google search might lead you to incorrectly assume I’m still an insurance agent or even running for Governor of Idaho. Sadly, neither has been the case for years. You might also notice I edited a book many moons ago. That remains true.
Pictured: Hardcore writer’s narcissism.
I admit I have an easier time finding information about myself on Google than some. “Lane Startin” is a fairly distinctive name, much more so than, say, a “John Smith” or a “Jennifer Jones.” That means I can reasonably assume anything that turns up is about me.
Which makes results such as this all the more perplexing:
I suppose when and if this blog becomes an integral part of society they’ll let me have a Wikipedia article again. But knowing Wikipedia as I do, probably not.
There are advantages to having cats. Once they realize you’re not a threat, they’re very loyal. They pretty much take care of themselves, so leaving them alone for a couple days is no big deal. I haven’t had a dog since I was 10, so at this point I’m just used to having them around.
They’re also royal pains in the ass. Especially my cats. Especially lately.
A couple weeks ago I mentioned my allergies and the havoc they cause to my upper respiratory system. A primary cause of this is the Pyramid Brothers, who both revel in such things as waking me up by sticking their faces into mine, as well as giving the sheets a nice, thick coat of cat hair.
Because of the way the Command Center is laid out, I have to keep my bedroom door open to allow them access to the cat box. There’s simply no other place to put it. However, I have a second bedroom which is strictly off-limits to the Pyramid Brothers. It’s the room Beachy uses when she’s here. When she’s not here it’s simply left vacant. Until recently, that is.
A few days ago I got the bright idea to sleep in there to alleviate my allergy problems. I can close the door, and kitty cats can’t get inside to irritate me in every sense of the word. Brilliant! Why the hell didn’t I think of this earlier?
Nothing but clear skies, chirping birds and shit like that now!
Image credit: David Benbennick
Well, you’d think that, but no. Both cats, Djoser in particular, have become particularly clingy and codependent since I made the switch. I can barely go 10 minutes on the computer anymore without him nosing my hand in a blatant attempt to be petted. He’s done so once already during this writing.
Periodically during the night, they try to break into the room. When I wake up in the morning, they’re both sitting in the doorway. When I go to the bathroom, I always have company. During the few moments they’re not in my face, they’re chasing each other, tearing ass all through the Command Center. Yeah, they did that before, but not to this extent or ferocity. They run as fast as they can, claws fully extended, back and forth, over and over again. I’m surprised they haven’t torn a hole in the carpet yet.
They didn’t exactly install high-end Berber in here.
Feline behavior modification techniques have proven futile. Neither one likes cat treats. Neither one responds to being sprayed with water (hell, Sneferu actually LIKES it). At this point I merely hope they mellow out as they age, as the late, great Loki did.
He didn’t give a rat’s ass about much of anything.
Problem children they are, they’re still my buddies. I guess I’ll keep them around for awhile.
I don’t have my daughter this weekend. There’s nothing on my social calendar either. While this gives me plenty of time to write, it doesn’t do a whole hell of a lot for inspiration.
Besides, Djoser is a terrible copy editor.
And so once again thoughts drift back to a simpler time. A time when I was still young, vigorous and under the impression a college degree actually meant something in this economy. I was also broke.
I think you see where this is going.
The legend of Thunderbird dates to well before my time. Even so, I never actually got around to trying it. That’s probably just as well. However in my 20s I became somewhat familiar with some of its cousins, especially after I started to seriously question my college degree. Primary among these was a concoction called Olde English 800, also known as OE or 8 Ball. For lack of a better description, this is what you drink when you no longer give a shit.
And look where Eazy-E is now. Oh wait ….
By the time I got to Philadelphia on those nights when I only had quarters from the change dish I occasionally got St. Ides too. What’s the difference? Um, a different label as far as I could tell. Yeah, I was a straight-up gangsta’ outta south-central.
For those who don’t get the reference, the 2T is in south-central Idaho.
The real nastiness didn’t hit until I moved to Las Vegas in late 2000. When I was living in an apartment behind Palace Station, I made the unfortunate decision to hit a 7-11 to try this:
It still gives me the jibblies.
This was without a doubt the worst drinking experience I ever had in Vegas or anywhere else. And this coming from a guy who several years earlier walked back to the hotel from a strip club goosestepping down a high crime area on Las Vegas Boulevard whistling the Hymn of the Soviet Union at the top of his lungs.
I don’t plan on dying boring.
If you want to learn more about this subject, check out Bumwine.com. It’s yet another valuable Internet resource on a subject not many people think about. And for good reason I might add.
Mmm. Devil’s food cookies.
ED NOTE: We here at Superfluous Bloviations no longer engage in these activities. We don’t recommend anyone else doing it either. Seriously. Listening to right wing talk radio or beating yourself with a shovel accomplishes the same thing much more efficiently.
This week’s FCR was written with a slight headache, a sore shoulder and a spotty memory. I feel a bit better than yesterday though. Thanks for caring.
I caused quite a kerfuffle on my Facebook page when I re-posted this Someecards.com meme:
Note to Sarah Palin: a bell, not a gun.
Needless to say, given that I live in Idaho and all, this brought the NRA lobby out of the woodwork. I think a few clarifications are in order. As I’ve mentioned earlier in this space, I don’t support banning THINGS. Things include guns. If you want to build a collection of whatever to obsessive and sociopathic heights, go for it.
Pictured: obsessive, sociopathic and perfectly legal.
Image credit: PINKÉ
However, I also think health is more important than having a gun. It’s basic psychology. Recall your studies of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs in high school. You did study that, right? It’s pretty simple, really. Health is at the base of the pyramid as a physiological need, while gun ownership is further up. At best, it’s a safety need. Therefore, health is a more fundamental need than gun ownership. Call me crazy, but I think government policy should reflect that.
As fate would have it this conversation took place mere hours before my accident, so for me it hit home literally. The ER bill is going to suck ….
Much to my surprise my previous post about the adventures of Djoser and Sneferu, such as they are, is one of the more popular on Superfluous Bloviations. Only my missives on being fat and adopted have more hits. Since I’m still fat and adopted, here’s a bit on the cats.
Caught them hitting the ‘nip again.
Sneferu’s fascination with standing water in general, and dropping foreign objects in said standing water in particular, keeps growing. I woke up a few days ago to two $5 bills in the water dish. Most recently I found a piece of a plastic bag in there. Give it a few hours and there will be something else.
Djoser has been a crushing bore lately. The older of the two, it’s as if he’s settling down and becoming an upstanding member of society. Well, as cats go. He’s not waking me up every couple hours like Sneferu is, and he’s not nearly as claw-happy as he used to be. This could very well be due to the recently-installed ceiling fan. He’s constantly entranced.
In any event I’m hoping Sneferu, who’s about six months old now, follows suit one of these days.
So, uh, that’s what’s up with them. Hope you enjoyed it. Maybe next time I’ll borrow a chihuahua from someone for a better story.
Well hell, I could have told you that. The real tragedy is we’ll probably re-elect this goofball next year.
Sorry about that.
Dedicated to myself:
Ah, the DNS has renewed. Setting up this web site stuff is not only a pain in the balls, it forces me to recall arcane computer knowledge I learned 10 years ago and hope to YHWH (1) I remembered it right and (2) that it still works. It’s kind of like working on a Lexus when one only knows how to fix Model Ts. The only upside is that I only have to do it once. If you’re reading this, I succeeded without violating the Geneva Convention. That’s more than I can say after I tried to assemble my computer desk. Bent nails galore …
So anyway, I suppose the best way to start a blog is to bore the ever-loving crap out of my audience by talking about my cats. It’s a tradition, and I understand a legal requirement in parts of Scandinavia. That said, my cats are foul, disgusting creatures. Oh sure, they may look cute and cuddly, but they have some bad habits. I adopted them from the Idaho Humane Society back in October, a few months after my previous cat, Loki, went to the great litter box in the sky. Loki was pretty much copacetic with everything, so it was a bit of a shock to encounter these behavioral traits.
Sneferu, the smaller black one, has a penchant for dropping things in standing water. This is usually a cat toy and/or a feather in the water dish, but it can be other things in other places. About a month ago I woke up to a dollar bill in the toilet. It didn’t occur to me to take a picture, as visually documenting the contents of my toilet is not high on my to-do list. You’re welcome.
Earlier today I went to check the water dish (these cats, especially Sneferu, drink water like nobody’s business). What I found was a puddle of water approximately the same color as green death NyQuil. Apart from a small bell, There were no other foreign objects. I can only surmise Sneferu took it upon himself to a destroy a catnip-laced cat toy and dump it into the water dish. Disconcerting, but not surprising.
Yes, I did provide clean water. Thanks for caring.
Djoser, the large orange tabby, is not without his quirks either. He’s quite fond of ripping the hell out of the cat box liner. So much so that I’m forced to tape the liner down every time I change the box. If I don’t … well … that makes the water incident look tame.
CRACKED.com update: This is carried over from my Facebook statuses (statii?). I still have two article submissions in the “Ready for Editorial” folder (i.e. they made it past the first round). Imma gonna wait on submitting any more pitches until someone acts on one or the other pitch already in the pipe. Don’t want to overwhelm those guys too much, you know.