The Man and I were laughing last night that Avian Swine flu is, of course, breeding grounds for "when pigs fly" jokes. If either of us could remember the stellar one he made last night, I'd post it. Sadly, we're brain-dead dorks today.

[It's even funnier to us because we've probably had ASF -- both of us had monster flu recently, in TX, that had us both knocked flat and dead sick (me with eventual pneumonia) for two weeks at minimum.]

So make with the lulz, mah peeps. Share ur flying pig jokes!

Found cat's membership card for Society of Evil Geniuses. Argued that does not entitle him to my Doomsday device. Found poop in shoe.

[MrZ: @
ladycaviar but I needs the Doomsday Device. It is full of warm and my toes are cold. Plus I can explode stuff.]

good god my butt makes these pants look HUGE

Today, the weather was nice, if a bit wet, and The Z chose to do his Mighty Panther impression in the enclosed backyard as he is often wont to do.

It's funnier to watch when the grass is wet, because he will carefully lift each paw to minimize the icky damp contact, and he won't stalk the grass as low as he does when it's dry so his Predator Belly doesn't get drippy. But The Mighty Panther does his rounds in the Backyard Veldt, taunting the dogs with his Catly Aromas, which waft through the fence and drive the Evil Dog Things insane -- much to the amusement of The Z.

MrZ attacks the grass with his four remaining teeth, all Siamese fangs, until he's got enough to barf back up, whereupon he prefers to return to the house to deposit said barf offerings inside on the clean tile. Just one of his quirks. Because barfing outside is Icky, you see. I think cleaning up barf is Icky, but I don't get a lot of say in this... The Z's system is The Z's system and I am merely his servant. *sigh*

Apparently, going potty outside is also out of the question. I'm not sure why. Perhaps since we don't go potty in the backyard, he won't either. Perhaps he just doesn't like anyone watching. In any case, MrZ returns inside every time. Strange cat. I didn't really think much of it today.

Until we heard a different repeating "mao" than we'd heard before. A LOUD MAO. When we looked at Z, he was wearing cement shoes. It seems that soggy paws and scoop litter is a Mafia hit on a cat.

Poor muffin. Nobody likes being cuddled in a towel by your Mama who's laughing so hard she can hardly clean your paws right. Mao! Mao! How can something so poignantly sad be so hilarious? The trauma... oh god I think I hurt my pancreas... ahahahhaahha

omg my cat @MisterZonker has four times as many followers on Twitter than I do. Something is crazy here. Must contact @socevilgeniuses

The cat now has his own Twitter account. However, I can't get it to post to this LJ without overriding my own, so at the moment, he also has his own rss feed. If anybody knows a windows alternative to LoudTwitter, that'd be great. Strangely, the cat also has over 500 contacts already, so I'm not the only one whose grip on reality is tenuous.

The Society of Evil Geniuses also has its own Twitter account. Insert evil madman laughter here. Good lord, I'm turning into [profile] ioseph_locksley .

Mr. Z made it back from the vet yesterday with no ill effects. The strange lump on his head was apparently just one of those benign strange lumps that 104 year old geezers just make from time to time. However, he'll go back soon for kidney function tests to find out why he is losing weight. Me, I chalk it up to The Chef no longer cooking chickens for him to his specifications, but I'm not going to take chances with my love.

Caught cat Googling 'thumbs,' 'evil geniuses,' and 'Doomsday device, best offer.' Cannot trust cat with car keys anymore.

I'm considering getting the cat his own Twitter account. I'm certain it would look just like this:

Annoying Bird Noises
Typed with braiin.

Because [personal profile] brock_tn  and [ profile] saoba  asked for it, I made this:

Society of Evil Geniuses is apparently attempting to contact cat for Doomsday Device. Must be vigilant.

[Error: unknown template qotd]Strangers. I like to corner them at the Wal-Mart and terrify them into providing me free counseling. Then, if I'm feeling particularly generous, I'll load them up with free copies of The Watchtower and ply their children with tasty candy. Funny how nobody wants to give me their addresses after that, can't think why...

junk mail from Society of Evil Geniuses says I can make $$$ from home with my Doomsday Device. Yeah, like I'd share, fools. FOOLS!

Or just as lame, depending how one looks at it.

Took a break from painting the endless Poles of Hilarity to acquire household appliances yesterday. Now I am running them all at once. Mwahahahahhahahah! Dishwasher, washer, dryer, and -- well, actually I'm attempting to make head or tails of the floor cleaner thingy. The Man is renovating like a madman, and I have hope that soon I will no longer live in a mottled green bedroom with one dark purple accent wall. The rant on the former owners of this house and their taste -- or lack of it -- really deserves its own post at some other time.

How did people deal before appliances? Six months of washing dishes, the laundromat, and scrubbing a house full of tile on my hands and knees (the cat barfs a lot) has driven me around the bend. Around the bend for me, and that's saying something. Can you imagine me 200 years ago? Let's just hope I was a man. Or brain-damaged in some way. Or had the mad love for the washing of things. Good God.

Hell, one day of this shit even with appliances and I'm over the novelty. Whoo hoo, I'm a grownup with appliances yay. Time for the cabana boy with little umbrella drinks in my universe. As I recall, I wasn't so thrilled with playing house in kindergarten, either. There was this bossy girl who tried to make everyone else eat her Play-Doh food (it's non-toxic, after all. Hell, I bet her cooking to this day is non-toxic, too). There was the weird kid who ate her Play-Doh food. That game got old fast.

The good news is that we will have clean clothes and dishes for the first time since Gulf Wars (stop saying "eeeuuw," I can hear you from here, dammit). The only downside of the fun of running all the appliances at once today was now there's no hot water for either of us to take a shower. Must re-think this idea of "appliance fun."

For the last oh, I don't know, ten years, I've been wanting to paint my ger poles like a real mongolian ger (below -- not mine). It's about time I did some damn thing about the poles anyway; they're starting to get mildewed and they needed sanding and a coat of paint to protect them anyway.

So when I got back from Gulf Wars, I got myself some paint (I think that orange and turquoise crap is eye-stabbingly horrid, so I'm doing red and black and gold -- ha! go figure). I thought I've only got a little 10 foot ger with 27 roof poles, it's not like it's a 16 foot with the 50-some poles, how long could it take?

Ok, the first week of painting was fun. The second, not so much. The third was tiresome. I'm in the FOURTH WEEK OF PAINTING these kefarging poles, and I don't have ONE GODDAMN ONE finished yet. And I simplified the fucking design. You know, I'm fairly certain those Mongols find the fat kid who can't ride a horse and sit him in the corner, give him some paint and the goddamn poles and say, "Here, Dorkatai, knock yourself out. Take your time, just stay out of our fucking way," and figure that ought to be good for a year. Or hell, two.

I will be painting these poles for the rest of my natural life. I did all the large swaths of color outside, and I'm doing the detail sitting at the coffee table in front of the tv. As a result, I'm watching a hell of a lot of tv. Did you know that even with satellite daytime tv is mind-numbingly stupid? Jeez, I guess everybody's supposed to be at an office job or something during the day. So I'm turning my brain to jello on paint fumes and stupid tv.

Emeril Lagasse is an idiot. BAM! You'd think that a trained chef could properly pronounce fruits de mer (a mixed seafood dish). He says "froots da mare." No, Emeril, it's pronounced "free d'mare." Moron. Neither is fra diavolo "fried diablo." Where is Donald Trump to say you're fired? I know why Elvis shot his television. 5000 channels and nothing on.

As for the rest of you who are waiting for your art commissions, now you know why they're late. I'm high on paint fumes. Sorry.

There's this electrical switch in my house that goes to nothing. I labeled it DOOMSDAY DEVICE. Now I'm kinda afraid to touch it.


Mar. 26th, 2009 12:44 pm
Gulf Wars pic.

I added the caption. )

Twizzlers do not make good lockpicks. Must also remember to carry more bail money next time.

another STFU, n00b!!eleventy!! message from Anonymous. Confusing addition of XOXOXO and multiple smileys. Wish me luck with new blind date!

y'know, for all the great literature Anonymous has written, you'd think he'd come back with a better comeback than STFU, n00b

my nemesis Anonymous has found me again. Note to self: buy more tinfoil, out of hats.



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