Posts Tagged ‘cats’

Upon delivering a litter of humans

Friday, February 6th, 2009
Eight is Enough

Eight is Way Too Much.

So there’s all this ire aimed at the lady who just gave birth to octuplets because (from what I can piece together from news story headlines and the banner across the bottom of CNN)

  1. Eight at one time is too many. Eight is not enough; it’s too much.
  2. There’s no identifiable baby daddy
  3. The bill for the delivery and keeping alive of 8 preemies is something like $2.2 billion dollars, and her parents/free babysitters…ahem…don’t exactly look rich.
  4. She already has six other test tube babies, which in a non-agrarian culture is a plenty. An offspring horn of plenty.

Nonetheless, I say give the lady a break. Maybe she had a good reason? Like maybe the ex that provided the ‘man stuff’ for the embryos is a douche bag, and he had it coming and nailing him with child support for eight kids in one fell swoop is three times his take home pay and thus so damn funny it’s worth it? Or maybe she was ticked that the WordPress spell checker doesn’t recognize the word ‘octuplets’ and underlines it as an error and wanted to make a splash and get the necessary press in order to get it added? Or maybe she once had a beloved dog that gave birth to eight puppies and her parents said that was too many at the same time, so they had to give some away and she never recovered and decided to have a litter of her own someday? Hell, maybe she’s had the same realization and is going to give some away in a cardboard box outside her home? “Babies!!! Free to a good home.”

Speaking of which, thanks to a perfect storm of animal friendliness, bleeding heart condition, and irresponsible friends, I once ended up with a total headcount of nine cats at the same time. NINE. Nueve. Neuf.

And I was completely overwhelmed. I could barely remember their names. And they were indoor/outdoor cats. And by ‘indoor’, I mean all but Hosehead and Jerry lived in the basement. And the basement door was kept closed at all times.

I started to develop serious guilt about how massively neglected these animals were. You’d go out back and they’d all want to sit on you and rub you and do that annoying kneading claw thing where they snag all your clothes or put little puncture holes in your arm. I hate that.

OMG I want one!!! Who am I kidding? I want them ALL. Bring it on. Ten kitties? I can do ten kittens in my sleep.

OMG I want one!!! Who am I kidding? I want them ALL. Bring it on. Ten kittens? I can do ten in my sleep. Baby kitties! Here come the names (off the top of my head): Sigfried, Roy, Puttanesca, H.R. Puffenstuff, Stinky, Plaxico, Bengal, Claritin, Boo Berry Crunchy Bear, and Maude.

It got to where I could barely tell them apart, “Hey Tar Baby…errr…Oreo….uh. Black cat over there? You. Yes you. Come here.”

“Wingnut? Liz? Kiwi? Gravy? Whoever you are. Tell Mojo it’s time for dinner.”

My point here is that I could not adequately pay attention to nine CATS. How the HELL does one tend to fourteen children!? Eight of whom are screaming babies. Wait until they’re toddlers. I once had a single toddler come to my home, find a pair of wire cutters (I didn’t even know I owned wire cutters. Maybe he brought them with him?) and chop through the cords of three lamps (two of which were on at the time) in the span of 25 seconds. Imagine EIGHT toddlers running around!? They could blow up an embassy. Vivisect a monkey. Split an atom. It’s madness.

Where am I going with this?

Well, word in the tabloids is that Mama-san is not getting any sponsorship or volunteers or TV shows or free houses. Everyone is disgusted with her flagrant scientific procreating and lack of relationship with Brad Pitt, and I think all she’s been offered is the standard Pampers package for multiple births – one jumbo pack of diapers per baby, which will get her through what? The weekend?

So I’ve been doing a little brainstorming (out of the goodness of my heart and as further effort to point myself out to the [legally blind?] benefactor who will launch me to inevitable fame and fortune), and I think I have a solution: Give them names that scream out for sponsorship. And make it good.

What am I talking about?

Hi ho, hi ho

Hi ho, hi ho...

Well, how about Disney? Name the little buggers in a manner that will twist Disney’s arm. For example?

  • Sneezy
  • Sleepy
  • Happy
  • Grumpy
  • Bashful
  • Dopey
  • Doc
  • Snow White

Hit them with a little Seven Dwarf action and the money will follow.

Family portrait

Family portrait

Or how about the deep pockets of McDonald’s?

  • McRib
  • Shamrock Shake
  • Chicken Nugget
  • Filet O’ Fish
  • Big Mac
  • Egg McMuffin
  • Quarter Pounder
  • Quarter Pounder with cheese (To be nicknamed Mayor McCheese or simply ‘Blanket.’)

Or (and this might be my best idea yet) how about a pharmaceutical company? Those jerks have it coming… And god willing, maybe they could pick up the tab on some of those hospital bills?

This is what Viagra looks like (as if you didn't already know)

This is what Viagra looks like. (As if you didn't already know that)

If I was now the proud yet scorned mother of eight scientifically crafted preemies, I would be seriously eyeballing Pfizer as I unleashed the names of the new additions to my brood:

  • Zithromax
  • Lipitor
  • Zoloft
  • Lyrica
  • Detrol
  • Viagra
  • Celebrex
  • Gelfoam Sponge

I don’t know about you, but I think that sounds like some NFL first draft picks…

Boo rah.

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Ultimate fighting or blogging: Which causes more brain leakage?

Wednesday, July 30th, 2008

If this isn't both the saddest and the cutest thing you've ever seen, you need to get your head checked!

If this isn't both the saddest and the cutest thing you've ever seen, you need to get your head checked!

This was the debate topic posed by Lewis Black tonight on his Comedy Central show. Patton Oswalt was called upon to argue that blogging is the root of all evil. Alongside some weak attempts at amusement, he did point out rather accurately that the average blog contains useless personal minutiae peppered with pictures of the blogger’s cat dressed as Harry Potter.

My own cat, Siddhartha, has way too much self-respect and street cred for that. This is what I get for naming him after the precursor to a deity.

However, Dozer, my Alaskan Malamute, is not so fortunate. Or bright. Or feline. So it is in that spirit that I present you with a photo of him dressed as Superman. Sit back and enjoy the warm, milky feeling of the brain melt…

p.s.

I did enjoy the potential blog name proposed by Patton: “Random Thoughts By a Disorganized Douche Bag.” I wonder if that’s taken???

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