(Inspired by Overheard in New York):

On the phone with her sponsor...(that's like a guidance counselor-cum-Big Brother or Big Sister, for you non-A.A. types), "...no, I am NOT 'deceit'! I didn't tell him I had dinner with two other guys because one of them was kicking cocaine, and the other one was half-retarded!"

Sounds like a good excuse to me.
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So many burning questions...so few answers.

Or, it could just be a bladder infection...

BIMBO Bread Company:
Does it mean something other than THIS in Spanish? Like, is it pronounced BEEM-bo, or what...?

Okay, so it actually means "baby" in Italian. Which somehow doesn't make me feel any better at all.

Land O' Lakes Sweetened, Sugar-free, Whipped Heavy Cream:
...I don't get it. If it is sweetened, doesn't it have sugar in it? If it's one of those artificial sweeteners MADE from sugar, isn't it still sugar?! Okay, if I were diabetic, I would just be dead, because this is just too damned confusing to me.

Contadina Sweet and Sour Sauce:
WTF. Is it Italian? Or Chinese?! The hell...?

Shedd's Spread Country Crock Plus Calcium & Vitamins (Soft):
First of all, I like my spread HARD.

Uhh, and secondly, why do they bother putting vitamins and calcium in an artificial, partially hydrogenated, fatty defatted fatty, fatty two-by-four product?! Is the calcium supposed to mask the slow and certain death?!
Country Crock...what a crock.

Apple Jacks:
Okay, someone at Kellogg's is smokin' the Froot Loops, because their new mascot, CINNA-MON™, is a talking fucking STICK. As if that wasn't bad enough? It's a talking fucking, Jar-Jar-Binks-is-getting-royalties RASTA stick.

And their new cereal looks like nothing so much as cow flop and/or dog business:

Kellogg's Mini-Swirlz®:
Especially the Fudge Ripple. This was a mistake.

Something tells me this will not sell well, not at all.
Can you kiddies say "discontinued"...?
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Took this at the DMV (my third trip back) this afternoon. Five bucks says they had to put this up because people were using said counter as a changing table and to dispose of their kids' dirty diapers. Don't doubt it, I've seen some slinging dirty ass nappies on a bus stop bench. In public. In broad-assed daylight. Have also witnessed a woman SPITTING on the bench in order to "clean" it before sitting down.

Nothing surprises me anymore.


Uh...okay. I'll try to keep that in mind.


Too far away, but this one says, "Look! I have a meat beard!" Gotta love Cartoon Network for their non sequiturs. Others: "I pooted!" and "my boogers itch!"

We'z all klass out here, baby.

Attention, Future Homewreckers of America:


Thees es what happens when you reetch, white beetches try to throw down on the East siyiiide.

¡Viva la Raza...Unidad!
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Once upon a time, I lived with some hippies who liked to meditate. People would call and ask, "is Crunchy Granola, the floor-dwelling PitStank, there...?" and I would have to tell them, "uh...not really."

Then, I would trip over their astral-projecting asses on the living room rug on my way out the door to the mailbox to get the electricity bills they expected me to pay because technically, they were a vegetable and could live on photosynthesis.

I have not thought about these hippies until today, when
one of this asshole's 18 bodies cut me off in traffic. Yes, we do not have one body; we have 18, according to this dead guy. I learned this later because on the back of his follower's Tahoma's big ass was this URL:

http://18body.com/ and "There is Only One Way to Purify the Mind!"

I, of course, thinking it was smut, had to investigate. There, I "learned" the following:

1) Obviously he was too busy trying to locate his mind to pay attention while driving, or to wait his turn before barging into oncoming traffic after illegally driving in the turn lane for 2.9 miles, like a weasel, with his bigass truck and his bigass sense of entitlement. ("Enlightenment", my ass.)

2) "The nonsensical things that we think of actually make us sick."
Uh, if that were true, I would be, like, dead already.

3) "Our minds are like clear, luminous crystal balls."
Ben-Wa balls, or...? Shit. I guess my mind is neither clear nor luminous.

4) "The natural, pure center of the mind is clean, clear and luminous but it is tarnished by five entrances: eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin."
Um...I think I have a couple more entrances. What do I do NOW?! Phoning Mommy...am I a freak...?

5) It is important, when your house is considered a "temple", to have attractive metal burglar bars on all your windows. And forget to take out your trash before taking the picture.

6) Here are some people vegetating. I mean, meditating.
Notice that while clearing the mind of material possessions and the "things of the world", it is important to carry a knockoff designer bag.

7) It is also sometimes helpful to hold a really ugly afghan pillow or wear a hideous silky jogging jacket from 1986 with slacks and black dress socks. Also, I think that might be the lady who hit me with her car.

8) You should visualize a clear crystal ball entering your left nostril (for girls) and your right nostril if you have a penis. I guess both if you are Mighty Hermaphrodite.

9) Do not attempt to snort the clear crystal ball. The clear crystal ball is not crystal meth, either.

10) The clear crystal ball's name is "Samma-Araham", which you should say three times, do the Hokey Pokey, and turn yourself around, because that's what it's all about. See, you put your head in...

11) You have now reached third base with Samma-Araham. Don't you feel violated.

12) Samma-Araham is NOT for playing pinball with. Instead, you should visualize Samma-Araham at the roof of your mouth and then deep within your throat.

13) DO NOT entertain fun thoughts about Samma-Araham. Or, for that matter, what Vishnu could do to you with his four horny arms.

Your mind is a filthy, dirty marble that has been rolled in dung. NO kelp biscuit.

13) If you accidentally swallow Samma-Araham, listen carefully when you're on the toilet in case you "pass" the clear crystal ball. Otherwise, Samma-Araham will have to sleep with the fishes and giant pet alligators in the sewer, who will then achieve enlightenment. But you, you will remain shitty, having shat out your crystal ball on the toilet. Loser.

13) You should only name any children you have as a result of "meditating" on Samma-Araham either Dharma, Karma, Ramrod, or Samma-Araham Jr., the third. For the first trimester, you must feed exclusively on mung bean sprouts, after which you may consume only human placenta for the remainder of your pregnancy - no animal flesh is allowed except boiled, poached, or sautéed afterbirth. (Do NOT place your placenta in a Fry Daddy, as this is too fattening.) You will then plant your offspring in the garden and water them once a week.

13) I stopped at 13 because I like 13.

13) I have decided, completely independently of this site, that the world is filled with giant gumdrops and lollipops and that there are no cars, so everyone hops around on pogo sticks naked except for a flowery bonnet (even the boys)(ESPECIALLY the boys), that the sky is not blue, but mauve; and that my head is like an orange filled with lint, except prettier.

13) You should really not attempt to transcend the body while driving, as it still counts as a moving violation even if you are sitting still in the hocus-pocus retarded lotus position, like a dead possum on the highway. Do not attain Nirvana in the turn lane.

Don'tcha just love L.A. sometimes.
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According to one of our editors, what I was having earlier with the maintenance man was not an argument, but an "animated discussion".

Similarly, when I am trying to be diplomatic, instead of saying someone sucks, I say they're "interesting". Others say "he's a character" when they actually mean he is an ulcerated, hemorrhoidal asswad of flaming dickcheese on a stick who probably wears zebra-striped underpants and has a tragically small penis.

Others say, "oh, he's great." Which really sucks when I'm about to go on a job interview, and wastes everybody's time. Urk.

I don't hate people, really I don't.

I just violently dislike them.

What you SAY?!, James Brown...?
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Say you are a stinky person, and you reek.

Suppose you were to bring a bottle of roll-on deodorant to work, because of same.

Then suppose that along comes another stinky person, who just so happens to be a client, and asks to borrow it in a somewhat embarrassed manner?

Be sure to fork over your used b.o. de-o, after clumsily attempting to explain why you have removed the Dry Idea label and written "BEN" on it, instead? And drawn an arrow on it, in Sharpie®, pointing to the roll-on's bald "head", because the dude had just shaved his, and you couldn't help but notice the resemblance, and so you left it outside his office door, then knocked, and ran away...? And eventually he gave it back, but now it smells suspiciously like pee...?

Yeah, things like that won't make them think you're off your nut, or anything.

Hey, if you think I'm so weird, don't be asking to borrow my personal underarm girlie hygiene goop. Plop.

In other pitty news, last night, I went out to eat pho with Cranky et al, and while sitting by his side, was reminded of that old Obsession commercial - "where do I end and you begin...?" (Gag.)

I'm sure they would have sold much less of their musky-butted cologne had it depicted me, sniffing my own pits and then his, and wondering aloud, "is that [stench] you, or is it me...?"

I am sex on legs, I tell ya. Like, practically Gisele Bündchen's armpit.
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I have heard a good practical joke? Would be to get ahold of someone else's cell phone and program it so that whenever they call anyone, Caller ID will display "Mr. Kitten".

Sounds good, but I am not sma...uh, geeky enough to figure that shit out.

Cranky thought it would be funny, while I was in the restroom (peeing), to send an urgent message saying, "Need directions-!" to everyone in my phone, up to and including my boss.

So, I'm thinking I'll either (see above), and/or switch him to Cingular, so when he is not paying attention (peeing), I can change his ringtone to play I Want Your Sex.

(That, or something even more horrifying...hint: rich, skanky, talentless).

Either way, I'll fix his wagon. He might as well legally change his name to "Mr. Gaylord 'Bottom' Kitten, Esq."
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Here goes the neighborhood. Even the kitten has fallen in with the bad element...
BEAKER "BEADY-B" aka GUTTA' PUSSY

"Hey, maaan...whasgoin' on, homie? Ey, you wanna score some weed...? Whatchoo SAY?! Izz dis sum good sheet? Aw, yeaaaah...."

I'm not saying he's black, but he's at least half.*

And this is the splendid view I have from our (shared) balcony, which my ghetto neighbor has decided she now owns 1/3rd of:

Please note: AstroTurf®, Ghetto Plastick chairs, misc. debris, damn windchimes, silk plant collection, half-dead real plant collection, men's shirt, tire fire, washboard, jug band, hoe-down, crawfish boil well, I'm sure any day now...

Yeah, her latest thing is to bring home mostly dead floral arrangements from work and then leave them to finish dying off in plain sight before eventually chucking them into a plastic trash bag, which she also leaves on the balcony for all to enjoy.

That, and I'm pretty sure she's running an illegal youth hostel/boarding house out of her apt. Would explain a lot of things. Like how my kittycat got addicted to meth through the screen door.

And here is what I'm confronted with when I try to enjoy the "view" from MY kitchen window:

I know, I know...my windows could be cleaner, but if THIS is what I have to look at, why bother...?

Hey, at least us po' white trash keeps our dirt on the insides o' our houzes.

*Well, he is...! Lookit 'im-! OK, I'm sounding so much like my late Grandpa F, I'm scaring myself.
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This is Zelda, aka The Stupid Kitty.

Zelda in her luxury cat apt. on top of the fridge, working on her next hairball creation.




She is our foreign exchange stupid kitty while her mother, who is a great friend to my kittays, is in Frahnce.

Zellie's hobbies include horking up hairballs, breaking things that have been in my family for a long time, and shitting profusely. She likes to sit on my (yucch) kitchen counter. One time, she even shit on my tumeric.

Zellie, having recently scarfed her dinner, passes gas on my kitchen counter while simultaneously knitting internal hairballs and shedding.

When kittay-mama sent her with me, she got upset saying goodbye-for-now to her kittay. Zellie just got the shits.

Zellie's week-long struggle with the squirts sent her mom into a panic. In an effort to comfort her from afar, I sent the following bad camera phone images of her kittay successfully using the cat box. Well, semi-.

Please observe the 6,000 tons of gritty kitty litter her mom has so generously provided, for her to poop on.

1. Zellie pees in Box 1.

2. Zellie, for, whatever reason, finds it necessary to exit Box 1 and poop in Box 2.

3. Zellie attempts, unsuccessfully, to cover poop in Box 2 with the floor and wall.

4. There is no #4. That would be a close-up of the poop, which is too gross, even for me.

5. After some heavy-duty pooper-scoopering, I decided to give myself a facial:

Now she has the shits again. No idea why.

Despite of all this, she manages to be lovable...

...stupid Stupid Kitty.

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