corrente

...would like to have his way with you. I mean, a word!, a word with you... heh heh...oh-boy...


update: PUSSY - For a really good time!: send your cat to Kevin Drum so he can stick it in his sock drawer:

I don't know what it is about this drawer, but he goes into ecstatic spasms of purring and rolling and smooching once he gets in. This is about as close as it gets to cat heaven.

She can stay there for hours, alternating between making work difficult by sitting in front of the screen and making it impossible by aggressively smooching the mouse.

Jeezis huh? Supposedly a grown man wrote this twaddle. Smooching the mouse? Yeah, well, ok, then put the slobbering thing in the sock drawer for christ's sake will ya. It can smooch itself into a state of paradisiacal delight in there from the sounds of it.

Somehow the very notion of associating Kevin Drum's sock drawer (and whatever else might be in there), with purring, smooching, rolling about, and/or spasms of any sort, be they estatic or heavenly approximate, or even palsied for that matter, in general, makes me uneasy on so many levels I can't even begin to explain it. I just don't want to know what kind of cloying hedonistic orgies take place in Kevin Drum's sock drawer. Period. Especially if they involve a overheated cat in Kev's drawers.

I don't care if the cat belonged to Isis or likes to fall asleep at the feet of Liberty. I don't want to hear about any of it.

Unless Drum slams his penis in the sock drawer by accident and the cat starts chewing on it or something like that. That would be interesting to hear about; maybe. But, anyway, if I ever write down some ghastly saccharine gibberish about cat heaven or cat smooching or estatic spasm rolling cats or etc... I want one of you to come to my front door, stuff me into a nylon feed bag, and fling me off a bridge into a river.

meanwhile ...this is CAT BLOGGING

Although, I'll admit, it looks like these cats live in a bus station restroom. At least from the looks of the tile on the wall. But, then again, they probably don't live in a bus station restroom. Not really. And I don't mean to interject my own disturbing life experiences into the story so just forget it. Ok?

Verily,
Angry Mr. P. Niss,
Catskill Game Farm, March 6, 2005.

update - farmer note: Mr. P-Niss isn't supposed to to post here until next Friday. But there was nothing I could do about it. And I really don't want to have anything to do with a bent angry penis going off half-cocked at 5am. So please send your complaints, if you dare, to Leah.

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