Are You Smuggling Dead Fish Or Is Your Cat In Heat?; Rick Santorum Quits

 

So. I’m flummoxed, and dear god how I love that word. Since I’m more than bewildered, way passed confused, and said simply, as I’m dumbfounded and baffled to the max, I am, therefore, flummoxed. Since I have a limited vocabulary of words whose meanings I truly understand, there are few words I can use that are as fully descriptive as the word flummoxed.

I mean, OK, I’ve got the words shit and fucked and asshole and republican down pat as far as knowing precisely all their meanings and literations. And don’t even start on me that literation isn’t a word. A literation is, “The iteration of a word when you don’t mean the simple repetition of said word but, rather, you are speaking to that word’s unique combination of meanings that allow it to be used repeatedly in the same sentence without being repetitive, and boring.” [Id.- Mooner’s Dictionary of New American Words]

Perfect example: “The ignorant shit, Rick Santorum, shit all over women yesterday when he made a shitty comment regarding a woman’s right to make decisions about her own body and shit.”

To belabor my point, try this: “The ignorant fuck, Rick Santorum, fucked all over women yesterday when he made a fuckheaded comment regarding a woman’s right to make decisions about her own body, and other fucked up stuff.”

See—literations.

I could go on and on and on with other examples but I’m too flummoxed to give a shit. If you haven’t gotten my point on that one, you’re a right-wing conservative christian fuckball and, as I said, I don’t really give a shit. And speaking of the pompous asshole, Rick Santorum, he is why I’m flummoxed. Specifically, his not winning the GOP Presidential bid to become their next candidate has me flummoxed.

And holy shit is my ADHD on fire this morning. Have you guys ever been around a female cat in heat? Hey-sus-fucking-christimino but that is an annoying trick Mother Nature pulled on us. I was awakened last nigh at 2:31 in the am by my fucking cat, Honor. I’m all asleep and dreaming about having three-way sex with Joan Rivers and the Queen of England. Under normal circumstances, I would find both of those ladies somewhat out of my price range.

But with SAC Ellen out of town twenty-eight of every thirty days, my dreamscapes have become more widely populated. Now I’m getting the message that dreamscapes isn’t a word. Bite my ass Microsoft Word.

In this dream last night I was in a field of fresh mowed hay. It was sweet alfalfa and it smelled of chlorophyll and retsin as I lay on my back in a soft pillow of grass. I had Joanie at my right side and Her Highness on my right. Each was snuggled up and both were naked as Jaybirds. I want to say that if my dream is accurate, the Queen has got herself quite a rack. And Joan’s skin is remarkable.

Anyway, the three of us were deciding how they were going to divvy-up their individual slices of Mooner when the rank odor of spoiled fish ass invaded. The terrible stink was followed by the Queen screeching like a banshee and Joanie trying to rub her ass in my face.

I awoke with a start and was startled to find the fucking cat was standing on my chest, and rubbing her swollen little kitty poontanger in my face. The sound she was making reminded me of what the lamenting of those Sirens of ancient Greece must have sounded like.

I’ve washed and scrubbed and shaved my face six times and I’ve still got the smell in my nose. At breakfast this morning, I asked the table what I can do to stop that cat madness. Other than, “Drown her,” the best ideas were to simply wait it out. This freshening event must have been what spurred Honor’s desire for a mate. I likely should have seen this coming.

I did see Rick Santoria’s dropping out of the race coming, but I’m flummoxed none the less. My flummoxing comes at Ricky’s hands. While I have always felt the Herr Schmidt Rommel would be the republican nominee, I have always wondered if the republicans were really that stupid.

He is, they are, and I’m flummoxed. Do enough Americans hate our President so much that they would vote for a two-faced, lying, job killing chickenshit asshole instead? Are there that many people who will ignore the fact that Obama has done a remarkable job in getting America’s ship righted, and focus on the stupid, fake issues? Are there enough women in America to vote this particular republican into office?

I keep asking myself these questions. I keep hoping the answers to all are, “No fucking way!”

Then I see a 350-pound woman wearing a leotard and belly shirt over to the hardware store. There are rolls of fat pinched above her waste by the tight fabric of the pants, and her camel toe has double chins. The belly shirt—a tight, white cotton tee-style shirt with a deep V neckline—says, “Nobama in 2012—No Mo Monkey Business.”

I was with Streaker Jones or I might have done something stupid myself.

“Let ‘er be, Mooner. She won’t unnerstand.”

Streaker Jones is right. And the answers to my questions is, “Oh, man, I hope not.”

Anyway, I’m headed to the cheese store to get some Limburger. I’m going to wipe a little smudge on my upper lip and hope it cancels out the smell of horny cat’s ass. Manana, y’all.

 

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2 Responses to “Are You Smuggling Dead Fish Or Is Your Cat In Heat?; Rick Santorum Quits”

  1. mel says:

    I have been meaning to tell you this a while, but I love the fact that she is your “fucking cat”. This makes me laugh because, while I enjoy the animals that we have, I only really like one of my cats and I call the rest of them our “fucking cats”. That’s all.

    We got out whining heat ridden cat fixed and she stopped making that horrendous sound – there really is nothing quite like it and I too have had that sound incorporated into dreams that were not so bad and then became nightmares. Good luck with that.

    Just a reminder, Thursday is anesthesia day. I am thinking about writing my post for Friday right when I get home. It might be about those hot dog stuffed crust pizzas that Pizza Hut is marketing in the UK. Or something else. That is the fun.

  2. Father-of-the-Year Nominee, Mooner Johnson says:

    Mel. I’ve got but one fucking cat and that’s one too many. If you’ve never experienced the racket that is a female cat in heat–avoid it at all costs!!!

    Have your hubby take a recorder to surgury and start recording you as you come to in recovery. Tell him to ask you deep questions, no wait. Have him treat it like a first date, you know, the “getting to know you” stuff. That would make classic radio.

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