Monday, October 29, 2007


Also, it's not even my story. But his is better than mine, you'll see, you varmints.

I got it again the other day. The surprise. Oh, but you're so mad all the time.* Uh, yeah. See: thepissedkitty@geeyouareslow. Mail. Dot com.

Ding dongs (merrily are high...)

Speaking of dongs, I gave blood the other day. The bloodsucky coordinator person asked for my e-mail address, since them swoopy folks at See Dorks Sigh-and-Die, despite having a state-of-the-art facility, have just discovered this newfangled e-mail thingamadingy.

So I gave it to her, and the bloodordinator asked me to double-check my info as she handed back my paperwork.

What she had typed out under "e-mail" was:


I drew a line through that, corrected it, and added the note:

You do not want to be taking the blood of a person who calls herself The Piss Kitty.

Maybe it's just me, but then I also get asked if I've had sex with a man who has had sex with another man since 1979, I mean, how should I know.

(Does anybody really know that?! I really don't want to know.)

(And what do they mean by, with. Like, in the same room? Same person? Same orifice?!)

I also like how they ask you all these obscure, malaria and mad cow-related questions, then abruptly blurt out, DO YOU HAVE THE AIDS?!!! Like, ha-HA!! We tricked you, again, with the surprise AIDS question!! How clever are we? GOTCHA-!

My bad, sorry, AIDS is still not funny. Although one time, at the clinica, my friend was asked ARE YOU THE HOMOSEXUAL?! Like he was the only one, aHA! So, YOU'RE the guy who's been...anyway, after that, the "doctor" just said, "hoboy." And backed slowly out of the room.

But that's neither here nor there. The moral of the story is, there is no moral. Or morals. And people are downright dense, darn tootin'. The End.

*Furthermore? When people say oh, I'm sorry you feel that way, they're not.
That means they think you are Chock Full O' Poo, just don't have the balls to say it to your face.



Monday, October 15, 2007


With so much blah and badness and just plain pathetic behavior afoot, I need nothing so much as pure stupidity these days.

These things do help:

1) The following jingle for a local furniture store:

The only way you can get furniture for less
is to iiiimpoooort it yourself,
and you don't know

(I also enjoy Cranky's version, which he sings to Tulip & Bosco, and has something to do with them fecklessly not knowing how to import furniture, either. Because they are kittycat dogs. And their brains are the size of a piece of used chewing gum.)

2) Mike Diamond, "the smell-good plumbers". Am tempted to call them and perform a sniff-test myself. But I suspect they just purchase cheap cologne in bulk, something named Armenian Club Promoter, perhaps, or Hispanic Valet #2. However, if they are also the asscrack-free plumbers, I would be willing to throw in another $10/hr.

3) The fact that parents in So. Cal are so goddamned lazy, they will pay to have someone else remove their child's head lice for them. I thought that was a rite of passage. They are missing out on valuable quality time, here. Why, I remember my grandmother picking nits off of my head (and chasing down fleas on the dog, and drowning them in a mayonnaise jar ) like it was only yesterday...sigh. Scritch, scritch...I wonder if they do pubic lice? Because they could really rake up some business there, among the Paris Hilton set, no?

4) When all else fails, have someone shove doggie treats* in the back pockets of your pants (and down your non-smell-good plumber's crack), release the hounds, then attempt not to laugh for one half-hour. Wahoo, instant attitude adjustment.

They should offer this treatment in your doctor's office on an outpatient basis, instead of Prozac.

*May I suggest Buddy Biscuits™ Bacon & Cheese Madness for maximum efficacy.


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