Friday, September 20, 2002

well here I am in blogger, all ready to amaze you with my literary prowess, and suddenly i have absolutely nothing to talk about. I was going to do a little bounce off from Tony Pierce's Ice Cube entry from yesterday, but I don't know, maybe not enough meat there, and I really said all I want to say regarding that in the post's comments section. so go check them out and then come right back. whut, you're lazy? dagnabbit, ok. he basically does a where are they now for cube, dre, and eazy from NWA, but i'm like, what happened to ren and yella? the ren question is addressed, and i make some comments (as kool keith) about the doc and arabian prince, but as for yella, where in the hell is yella at? if anyone knows, please tell me. I mean, the middle east is important, but first shouldn't we solve this debate?

My other idea was to mention this crazy BITCH they caught on security camera in an Indiana department store parking lot beating the fuck out of her four-year-old daughter, and how I think it's fukn ridiculous that the maximum sentence they could give her is 3 years, and how the ultimate victim in any scenario will be the poor little girl who just wants to play with her dolls and chill and not get the smackdown every five minutes. I mean a slap on the butt is warranted and even necessary sometimes, but this fukn lady goes to town and beats the CRAP out of this little defenseless girl. fukn trash.

Another idea might have been to tell you about the crip ass Thai food that me and Mrs. P had for dinner last nite. we are lucky in that there is a delicioso spot right up the street from us. red curry shrimp with pineapple, spicy chicken, and sticky rice, booyahh! dang though i was sweating hard, we always order the food spicy, and after the first five minutes, I'm like, ah this ain't that hot, and then five minutes later, I'm screaming like a cat that just got its tail stepped on.

oh I know, I'll tell you about my little cat Oliver. I was thinking about good ol Oliver last night as I chilled out in our backyard and saw this big fat orange cat that rules the neighborhood. I'm pretty sure it's that fat fucker that killed my poor Oliver. A little background: about four years ago, my sister found a little kitty in the street somewhere running with some stray cats. She was surprised cuz the cat walked right up to her and was real friendly, it was obvious it was comfortable around humans. so she gives the cat to me, without even asking if I want a frikken cat, but it was cool. I named it Oliver because, when I was a kid, my parents bought a dog, and they said ok kids, you guys get to come up with this dog's name. Well one of my sisters wanted to name the dog rusty, one sister wanted the name dutchess, and i wanted the name Ali-Baba. ya know, from that beastie boys song, ali-baba and the 40 thieves. so anyway, my suggestion, which i thought was brilliant, was totally disregarded as ridiculous and stupid. so the official name of the dog was rusty dutchess. that was just a ploy to temporarily make my other sister happy, because the name dutchess was never brought up again and the dog's name was rusty. Cool little sheltie, but that fucker would bite your ankles if you ran. poor little feller got hit by a car years later, he was a trooper though.

anyhoo, sidetrack alert. so i named the cat Oliver because at my advanced maturity i realized that ali-baba was kind of a long name to be saying when you call your cat every time, so i shortened it to Ollie, and then added ver, and well, I might have kind of been influenced by cousin oliver from the brady bunch, but don't tell anyone. So anyway, this cat was so cool. He always wanted to hang out and lounge on me and play with me and chill out and he was superdope. The thing about cats, if you don't know, is you have to decide if you've got an inside cat or an outside cat. cuz once you let that cat out, even once, they'll always want to get out, there's no turning back. keep em in the house forever, and they'll be happy, never know what they missed, but let them out once and they like turn into tarzan and jane is out there and sorry charlie let me out or i'm going to meow all frikken night and drive you fukn crazy.

so anyway, I decide i don't want a little pussy cat, and the fucker's box is kinda stanking the kitchen, so i'm like, time to go explore oliver, see ya. he gets all into it, and it's a good relationship, he does his thing, i do mine, we hang out at nite and talk story about our days, play a few hands of cards, it's all good. but one night, i hear a crazy rustle, serious cat-fight style. so I open the door and oliver comes racing in, and i know he was getting in a fight with that big fat orange fucker cat. so anyway, the poor cat has this big gash along his side, so i gotta take it to the vet and get him sewed up. Kitty surgery. so then after that i gotta keep the cat inside for a few days so he doesn't get his stitches torn out. and oliver's fukn whining and crying and complaining all night, cuz ya know, he wants the booty that's outside.

so time goes by oliver heals up. then i start thinking, i've gotta do my civic responsiblity and get that little feller neutered, cuz I could be responsible for a serious cat popluation explosion if I know my little mack daddy oliver. so get that done at the vet, and once again, i'm supposed to keep the cat inside for at least a week until the stitches heal up. so same story every night, that little fucker whining and screaming, and clawing at the door and scratching my feet and crawling on my head so finally about the third night i get up screaming "fine, you little shit, fine, you want to go outside and get the shit kicked out of you, fine, goddammit," and I open the door, the cat runs out, and i'm so tired and pissed I give him a little boot on the butt on the way out. well oliver squeals and runs and i feel bad cuz I forgot he's got stitches in his rear end cuz some asshole master (me) chopped his balls. so i feel guilty but fall back asleep.

and poor little oliver never comes back. the next morning no oliver. back from work the next day no oliver. go to the animal shelter a few days later no oliver. so i still feel kind of guilty for a) letting him out, and b) kicking the poor little guy in his tender patootie as my final goodbye.

so Oliver, wherever you are, come home little buddy. I'm sorry I kicked you in your butt. I like to think that you got adopted by a nice family at the tuna processing factory, and all you do all day is eat and sleep and purr and you're super happy. ok? ok.