Gaudeamus, Gaudeamus! Bristol Palin Returns to Televison

When I was but a wee kitten of four months or so, about to come into the blissful dawn of my sexual awakening, my human forced me into the mobile prison she calls my “crate” and then dragged me to the Chamber of Horrors she refers to euphemistically as “the vet’s office,” where I was brutally mutilated.  Were it not for this forced sterilization, I would have had at Read more

Kim Kardashian, Duchess Kate, and the Public Ownership of Pregnant Bodies

Greetings, my readership.  Yes, it has been a long while since the last installment in this, my “web log.”  My scarcity has been a result of a chain of unsavory developments in my habitat against which I, a humble housecat who lacks an opposable thumb and a reliable food source apart from my human, have been powerless.  In protest of my human’s acquiring a new feline housemate for myself Read more

The Oscars 2013: Art Is Dead, and a Fashion Recap

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you know that I am as obsessed with Jessica Chastain as any carnivorous quadruped can be obsessed with anything that he doesn’t plan on catching and eviscerating.  She is perfection, a poised and glamorous and effortlessly talented movie star, a thinking man’s sex symbol, delicately beautiful and yet compelling.  She even saved The Debt for me, despite the fact that it Read more

Gaudeamus, Gaudeamus! Bristol Palin Returns to Televison

When I was but a wee kitten of four months or so, about to come into the blissful dawn of my sexual awakening, my human forced me into the mobile prison she calls my “crate” and then dragged me to the Chamber of Horrors she refers to euphemistically as “the vet’s office,” where I was brutally mutilated.  Were it not for this forced sterilization, I would have had at least two hundred offspring by now, and the world would have been better off for it.  Sadly, I fell blissfully to sleep the night before this terror, curled up sweetly on the pillow by her head and kneading her hair lovingly with my paws, thanking Bastet for letting my human find me.  Had I known what was in store for me a mere twelve hours later, I would have sliced her jugular with my sharp, knife-like claw.  I didn’t know, of course, and so the mutilation took place and robbed me (and the world) of my reproductive potential.  Things have been tense between my human and me ever since.  In any case, despite my own reluctant childlessness, I understand the desperate, irresistible compulsion to breed.  In other words, I understand the Palins.  I always keep at least one of my pointed ears cocked for news of their exploits, and so I was more than gleeful when I was rewarded recently with a new fix for my relentless thirst for Palin foolery.  

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Kim Kardashian, Duchess Kate, and the Public Ownership of Pregnant Bodies

Greetings, my readership.  Yes, it has been a long while since the last installment in this, my “web log.”  My scarcity has been a result of a chain of unsavory developments in my habitat against which I, a humble housecat who lacks an opposable thumb and a reliable food source apart from my human, have been powerless.  In protest of my human’s acquiring a new feline housemate for myself and the dullard Oliver, a homeless cat named Milo that was a long-term resident at the animal shelter where she sometimes volunteers, I launched a hunger strike. This resulted in weakness and malnutrition and the development of a  grave illness that prompted my human to rush me to the chamber of horrors known as the “veterinary hospital,” where I was examined, praised lavishly for my incredible beauty and subjected to the indignity of thermometers being inserted into unspeakable places.  Once assured that I had struck fear into the heart of my wayward human, I tolerated a regimen of medicines, resumed eating solid food and gradually regained my strength, after which I penned an exemplary post for this, my “web log” entitled “Why All Animals In Shelters Should Be Summarily Euthanized.”  My proofreader (i.e. my human) responded with outrage and refused to publish this insightful masterpiece, and since I lack her password for the WordPress I was powerless to fight against this unjust censorship.  Instead, I protested by refusing to write anything else, filling my days with sleep, glowering malevolently at my new housemate, stealing my human’s emory boards to file my claws for maximum sharpness and pondering my wayward human’s demise… until today.  You see, Kim Kardashian has been pregnant and steadily increasing in size for several months now, and my resounding silence on this subject has no doubt been gravely distressing to you, my fans.  I shall now dispel your concerns and share my thoughts and, as always, you’re welcome.

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The Oscars 2013: Art Is Dead, and a Fashion Recap

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you know that I am as obsessed with Jessica Chastain as any carnivorous quadruped can be obsessed with anything that he doesn’t plan on catching and eviscerating.  She is perfection, a poised and glamorous and effortlessly talented movie star, a thinking man’s sex symbol, delicately beautiful and yet compelling.  She even saved The Debt for me, despite the fact that it had the worst ending of any film since The Departed, when Jack Dawson gets summarily shot in the head for no artistically discernible reason (because then Marky Mark whacks Good Will Hunting, so the infuriating power of the bad guy “getting away with it” is lost to the cheap satisfaction of seeing him get his just desserts … so why the hell did Jack Dawson have to get shot in the head????)  But I digress … In any case, Jessica Chastain.  In my fantasies, she is a closet cat lady who curls up at night with at least two felines.  Sigh …

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Post-Sandy Hook Feline Musings on Gun Control

Greetings, my public.  Yes, I took an extended holiday hiatus, despite the many things going on in the world.  As you know, I am a cat, and as such I try not to be awake for more than about six or seven hours a day.  Contemplating all these dramatic events left me depleted and ornery, so I decided to step away for a bit and work on myself, mostly by sleeping and grooming my opulent coat.  But now I’m back, and I’m ready to tell you what you should think about the current raging gun control debate.  As always, you’re welcome.  Now let’s begin.

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Tom Cruise, Vigilante Giant Is As Hilarious As Expected

While I work on my thoughts on some of the larger issues that plague us lately, to give us a respite from the gloom of recent events I thought I would indulge in one of my favorite subjects: Tiny Tom.  After all, he brings ceaseless joy wherever he goes, sprinkling fairy dust upon humanity with his touching brand of glassy-eyed self-delusion and his hilarious lack of irony.  God knows I love me some Tom Cruise.  So little, so egomaniacal, so lobotomized.  The reason folks believe that those who fall under the sway of manipulative cults must be morons feel this way because they have seen Xenu’s Warrior Princess Tom Cruise speak in public.  It’s an understandable impression.  Tiny Tom didn’t become the biggest star in the world because he wrote a ground-breaking dissertation on Pindaric verse.  No, he got famous for dancing around in his tighty whities, playing beach volleyball while oiled and shirtless to the strains of a Kenny Loggins anthem, squinting his eyes and clenching his jaw in faux intensity, wearing lifts with admirable panache, jumping on a couch in history’s most elaborate and perplexing attempt to convince society of his heterosexuality, and flashing lavish masculinity like no other dwarf before or since.  In other words, he’s a national treasure.

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Costas Talks Gun-Control, Hillbilly Heads Explode Across America

“A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”

The above is what the text of the Second Amendment actually says.  A lot of people are aware of the second part of that text, but the first part, what legal experts with their highfalutin love of superfluous syllables call the “prefatory clause,” seems to slip the mind of every NRA membership card-carrying, semi-automatic weapon-toting, red-blooded American who professes an abiding love for his sacred inanimate killing object.  The Second Amendment was birthed by the American Revolution, which was the war which signaled to the world that not only do Americans hate taxes, but they hate taxes so thoroughly that they’ll actually fight a revolution over it (I’m simplifying the causes of the Revolutionary War slightly here, but only slightly).

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So, What’s Behind This New Anti-Feminist Trend? Let’s Discuss.

A few days after it was reported last week that a 14-year-old girl in Afghanistan was murdered by having her throat sliced because she refused a marriage proposal, American pop star Katy Perry said at the Billboard Women in Music awards,  “I am not a feminist, but I do believe in the strength of women.”  While the former situation shows more clearly than ever why every woman should be a feminist, the latter demonstrates the reluctance by many to embrace the label.  I’ve noted with great interest the extensive list of celebrity women who have lined up lately to utter what seems to be America’s trendiest new statement: “I’m not a feminist.”  One needn’t exert himself to figure out why this is the case.  When you let the people on the other side of the ideological divide define you, you end up with words that have perfectly honorable pedigrees like “liberal” and “feminist” demonized and distorted.  While liberals have instead embraced the term “progressive” in order to remove the taint of liberalism from their reputations, America has seen an epidemic of women shunning the label of feminist.  Those women are also for the most part entirely ignorant of the legacy of feminism in this country.  They don’t understand the debt they owe to that legacy, why the life they enjoy today would be impossible without it, and why that life is imperiled for future generations.

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Xtina and the Great Silicone Ass Caper

It’s been a very busy week in celebritydom, and as you know, I have a special place in my heart for starlets who routinely eject a steady stream of stupid from their talking holes.  The last few days have given me an embarrassment of riches, what with Lobotomy Lohan continuing unabated in her ongoing crime spree, which now spans both coasts; fecund ignoramus Jessica Simpson reportedly reproducing yet again and being well on her way to creating a sub-species of brainless human that subsists entirely on buttered Pop Tarts and bacon fat; feminist icon Rihanna beginning her new march toward her very own Tina Turner-style biopic by getting back together with her slow boyfriend Chris Brown (or is “special” still the most politically correct term?); and, lastly, the continuing, unrelenting foolery of my own personal favorite celebrity, aging former pop star Christina Aguilera.  So many objects of ridicule, so little motivation.  Since I am only awake for about six hours everyday, I had to choose my target carefully.  (And yes, that number keeps getting smaller as my age increases.)  Out of pure laziness, and because she has said and done so many brainless things in the past few weeks about which I have kept a respectful silence and is now long overdue, I have chosen my favorite faux Latina.   Hugs and kisses, Christina.  Now let us proceed.

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Lindsay Lohan Wears Awful Dress, Rescues Performing Arts

There was a lot going on last week, what with the AMAs and the Liz and Dick “red carpet” premiere (cough), but with the holiday it was impossible to get my human (i.e. my proofreader) to focus on this site.  I therefore apologize for her flakiness.  To atone for my absence, and in celebration of the long-awaited television event Liz and Dick, which will at last be airing tonight, I shall both give you a brief analysis of Lindsay Lohan’s outfit at the aforementioned “red carpet” premiere (cough) and my thoughts on the small-screen masterpiece Liz and Dick itself.  Let us proceed.

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Demystifying the Entire Lance Armstrong Conundrum

As a cat, I am a natural athlete.  My sleek, sinewy feline form can outrun any human and most quadrupeds.  I have better balance than any Olympic gymnast in the world, without need of practice or even an expenditure of much effort.  I am a compact, perfectly calibrated hunter with a grace and cunning that my human keepers can only admire without any hope of matching.  In other words, the human phenomenon of taking drugs in order to enhance their physical capabilities and to create artificial strength and stamina leaves me somewhat sympathetic and vaguely bemused.  Poor, silly humans.  They have conjured sophisticated pharmaceutical technology in order to make themselves only a fraction of the athlete that I am … I, a mostly sedentary housecat.  It seems foolish to me, but for the humans who resort to such antics, the payoffs can be immense.  The risks of exposure, of vilification, social ostracism and public denunciation, however, are equally immense.  There is no better example of both the risks and the rewards than one Lance Armstrong.

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