I put my obese cat on a diet, what, 2 weeks ago now. The fucker clocked in at 25lbs and while I could care less about whether he’s winning any kitty swimsuit competitions, I do care about the possibility of diabetes and other health issues that –- apart from drastically shortening the lifespan of F. McEatsAlot -– will cost me a small frickin’ fortune in vet bills. I already have The Fear because of the bastard Orientals pouring rat poison into their wheat crops (or ... whatever), and I’ve recently reinforced my long-held belief that preventive maintenance is really the best way to go.
Anyway. ANYWAY. God, I think the reason I stopped writing anything with any frequency is my inability to convey a point without some disgustingly lengthy and unnecessary preamble. I mean, look at that sentence right there! There were like 17 adverbs in that sentence! OK, maybe like 1. I don’t know, I always screw up the grammar questions up on Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader, which YES I WATCH AND ENJOY.
I don't even know what I meant to say in the first place. Something about my fat bastard of a cat.
Oh. Right. OK. Yeah.
Well, he’s on this diet which allows him X amount of food twice a day. The most convenient times for me to feed him are 6 and 6 – when I wake up and when I get home from work, yeah? However, Fatty’s stomach apparently dictates that he have breakfast somewhere in the vicinity of 4:30ish, and my otherwise standoffish cat takes this as his cue to plant his enormous ass on my chest every freakin’ morning at DARK O’CLOCK. If that fails to sufficiently rouse me, he slams his huge cranium into my jaw 30 or 40 times, and if THAT doesn’t work he will chew on my hands, nose, or any other readily available unclothed section of me. Because he is simply wasting away with the peckishness. And would Joe get any of the side effects of this? Him being right there and all? No. Of course not. Because he is not food-giver. And he never has any damn meat anyway.
All this to say that my already kind of crappy sleeping habits have been pretty much totaled by a score-and-5 feline furbag. And man, am I cranky.
What else? I had an ocular migraine last week, which was so much awesome that I won’t taint its awesomeness with extended verbiage on the subject. And then Tiffany came down to visit mid-week for shits and giggles, and I ended up being a kill party du jour with a stomach virus. Health wise? Not my week last week. I capped it off with getting fairly trashed on Saturday and then sleeping something like 14 hours on Sunday. Oh yes.
Today, what. Cranky, I mentioned. Also crampy, bloated, tired, and impervious to the usual healing effects of tremendous amounts of caffeine. Wtf, I ask. And I have this one line from Family Guy that’s been stuck in my head for at least 36 hours.
“Why don’t you go wrassle up some Chinese food, Hop-along Newsbaum?”
Sigh. Is it time to go home yet?
You should get a job in fast food. Very entertaining. HA.
ReplyDeleteThat was a horrible joke. Why? Cause I work in that industry and nothing screams "Slave LABOR!" than this industry.
"two plus two equals chair!"