What’s The Punchline?

Last Sunday after church the wife and I went to the Asian Bistro for lunch. An older couple came in a few minutes later and sat at a table across from us. They had obviously come straight from church too considering how they were dressed. But then I noticed that the man was wearing black dress pants, a black turtleneck, black belt, black socks & shoes…

And the first thing that popped into my brain was, “I didn’t realize that Mummenschanz was in town.”

Then I realized that I could probably count the number of my friends that would actually “get” that joke on one hand – possibly two, but I doubt it.

And that made me sad.

Say Hello to the Captain

To kick off 2011 in style I have invited a special guest blogger to ArachNerd’s web of ridiculousness. So please welcome with me the newest member of our household, our new kitty, Malcolm.

Greetings humans!

First of all, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way;

YES – I am a cat.

YES – I am on the internet.

NO – I don’t speak that stupid LOLCats language. I mean seriously, who do they think they’re fooling with that? “I can haz cheez burger”? Come on! Cats don’t really talk like that. It’s merely a well-executed plan to fool you into thinking these cats are cuter than they really are. I need no such devices. I am terminally cute without stooping to such levels. I also do not pretend to play the keyboard or make a fool of myself attacking cardboard boxes. It’s just not who I am. Get over it.

My name is Malcolm, as in Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Evidently I was named after some silly science fiction space cowboy or something that my new owners servants are fans of. (Whatever.) Of course, I only really know that this is my name because it is what they have taken to shouting whenever I claw the curtains, attack their toes, or shred their potted plants. But regardless, the name suits me – especially the CAPTAIN part. At least they acknowledge my superiority.

My sister and I moved onto this house’s side patio back in November. It was starting to get cold outside and we knew we wouldn’t survive out there forever on our own. Life on the streets had toughened us up, but we knew in our hearts it wasn’t where we truly belonged. We were only stray kittens at the time, but we were no fools. We could tell by looking through the French doors that these idiots were cat lovers and possibly suckers for a good sob story.  The only competition that we could see on the inside was an old decrepit tom cat named Licker Wayne. Which, let’s face it, was no competition for this level of cuteness.

It took basically no time at all for the maid to start feeding us on a regular basis. And then before we knew it – BAM! – we were being brought inside the house. Sure, it was only for an hour or two at a time at first; but you know what they say, once you get your paw in the door…

It wasn’t long after that they sent my sister Zoe away to live with what they referred to as “five little red haired girls”, also known as Charlie Brown’s idea of heaven – or hell, depending on how you look at it I guess. At first I was disheartened to lose my sister so abruptly. But as time wore on I realized that suddenly the competition for attention was greatly reduced, so I adjusted.

I am utterly obsessed with those little plastic balls with jingle bells inside and climbing the rungs of the barstools in the kitchen like a jungle gym. But one of my favorite pastimes is aggravating the other cat. He’s 18 years old and doesn’t move too fast, so it’s not tough to get the best of him every now and then. I enjoy springing out from under the sofa to startle him, or leaping onto his hind quarters as he’s walking down the hallway. My hope is to scare him enough one of these times to cause a massive heart attack, but so far all I get is a good hiss and an occasional heavy paw thwacking me upside the head. It’s totally worth it though.

Okay, so I am not perfect. I hope you realize how difficult it is for a cat of my stature to admit that, but in my case, it’s true. I have a bum eye, which causes the butler to occasionally break out into a terrible Columbo impression, “…just one more thing.” Trust me. It’s awful and really should be a crime.

And maybe I don’t have the best balance for a cat. I occasionally fall off of the bed or couch and don’t always land on my feet per se. But so what? My modest imperfections only serve to make me that much more adorable. That’s how I prefer to look at it anyway, and it seems to be working (at least on these morons).

But for now, I must excuse myself. I hear water running. I love running water! Have a good day and feel free to stop by any time to worship me. It is a rewarding experience – for me. And that’s all that really matters isn’t it?