thepissedkitty

Because I have all the intellect of a roadkilled squirrel on a Monday…yeah, so it’s Tuesday. You wanna make something of it, pally?!

My ass is tardy.

My ungracious ass had been tagged (not tapped) by Junebugg and it is one sorry tardy ass, indeed.

Therefore, I give you this meme because I can’t think of a better idea today than to send you somewhere else, hopefully to someone with half a brain cell that is not currently occupied by wearing a grass skirt, shakin’ it (badly) and singing “Kumbaya” (also badly).

BLOG IT FORWARD
The rules are really simple. All you have to do is pick someone (or sometwo or somethree) from your blogroll and post (on your site) just what makes them linkworthy. I mean, there’s obviously a reason that you allow them to take up that valuable real estate on your site, right? But who do you pick?

I pick these guys because a) they make me smile and/or snort derisively, b) they do not make me puke (always a bonus!) and c) I think they are deserving of more love.

If I did not pick you, it’s because a) your delinquent ass never posts, or b) you have enough love. Cram it in your toaster, butter butt.

THE ENTITY FORMERLY KNOWN AS BOZ - The fourth incarnation of Boz, to be exact. He is funny. He is cranky. He hates feminine hygiene products, yet he posts girly pics. Also, he reminds me of Dylan, and of this song by Terry S. Taylor:

Tomatoes and potatoes and peas…
I put ‘em in my hat, and I eat ‘em just like that.
I put ‘em in my ears and in my soup.
I put ‘em in my pants, and I do a little dance
It always seems to take away my blues.

I don’t know why. But seriously.
What more do you people want?! You make me sick.

AVATAR - yeah, I know, she gets enough (ha) but The Avatar is a most gracious provider of free ass. FREE ASS-! WARNING: ASS AREA! Need I say “free ass” some more…? No, I think not.

At times, so NSFW you will experience whiplash as you scramble in vain to get away, but alas, you cannot - the ass is mesmerizing you. Fortunately she has provided one of those nifty “Run Away! Run Away-!” buttons. Also, she can write. There are many hilarious anecdotes as well, if you’re not a fan of ass. (Personally, I’m trying to cut down a little.)

Also, just because she provides free ass? Does not mean you should send her photos of your meat and two veg. Just because she likes her meat and two veg doesn’t mean she wants to see YOUR peas ‘n baby carrot. That is just uncalled for, unnecessary and very uncouth, not to mention…well, just gross. What the hell is wrong with you people…?

KAT’S STUFF - Kat is in the process of moving, so like, don’t hassle her too much. However, she f—ing KILLS me. A Texas girl, who, like myself, wonders what the hell with our bass-ackwards state…eh. It’s not nearly as bass-ackwards as CA, but isn’t there a happy medium?! We do not know. Kat has a real way with words and I find myself repeating humdingers like, “freaked me right the (censored) out” and “hot as all damnit.” I will miss her accounts of her good ‘ol boy (sexually harassing) boss, but I’m sure she’ll have many wonderful new adventures when she relocates to a state farther east (such as attempting to buy canned chili beans without some sort of disgusting spaghetti innit.)

JOE MCPUPPET - Dirty Dan introduced me to this boy wonder. I still don’t know quite what to make of him, but what I do know is…his name JoE! He used to have a puppet show for Jesus! Then, something bad happened, Joe almost died, and CHRIST DIDN’T SHOW UP! How rude.

Fortunately JoE has GIRL! Girl go to methadone clinic, but she fine now. Go! GO! Go and see JOE!! Even though sometimes, he scares me.

ALL ANNE, ALL THE TIME - This woman has a quirky way with words. She also has a (deceased) hamster and the lovely Janet, who has a deviant, cross-dressing ex called “The Tapeworm.” Also a car named Spot who craps out a lot. Again, I repeat - what more do you people want?! Jizzmus Creeps Almighty.

Go on, now. Shoo.

So I’m the only sucka-fool in my position in the entire company who is stuck here while the rest got to go home early for the holiday weekend and are probably happily boinking away and getting paid to do it.

Meanwhile, I am being screwed in a different way. Let’s just say it’s just a good thing I don’t have access to a blowtorch right about now.

Thinking I was going to get home early today (ha ha, snort), as I was under the misconception that I would be given equal and fair treatment, I didn’t change the cat box this morning.

Now I shall return home at my regularly scheduled time to find a new and exciting article of my clothing decoratively peed on by Katina, no doubt.

Last time this happened, she peed my pants (no, I was not in them.) The time before, she went into the closet and peed in my shoe.

Now it squishes when I walk.

Well, shit on fire.

If you would like to attempt to relieve the wrath of One Pee-Shoe (my Indian name), please leave your least favorite song title in the comments of the previous post (below). I am starting a collection for Music To Slit Your Wrists By II. ™.

I think I’ll send one to our corporate office.

Thank you.

Ever wanted to get all of your least favorite songs together into one rockin’ collection, so that you could physically burn them all at once - but that would cost you hundreds of dollars!?

Well, now you can have the world’s most annoying songs all in one great CD set for only $19.95!

You can’t buy this in stores!

The Pissed Kitty™, together with Time-Life® Records, bring you the The Bipolar Collection: Music to Slit Your Wrists By - ass seen on TV’s American Idol!

Including:
1. Free Bird by Leh-Nerd Skin-Nerd on endless loop! This song still makes me want to off myself every time.

2. Bidi Bidi Bom Bom by the dead Selena! If she wasn’t already dead, wouldn’t you would want to find out where she lives, and wring her tiny Latina neck with a concho belt…?

3. Do You (YOU!) Feel Like I Do? by Peter “Look at My Pants Bulge” Frampton! When it gets to the part with the devil-voice harmonizer, you’ll want to die all over again…! Just like back in the good ol’ days!

4. Afternoon Delight - my friend, in her impressionable childhood, loved this song. She used to pretend like she was a “sky-rocket in flight.” Little did she know, it was referring to nasty, smelly, hairy man-parts. It ruined her innocence and for that, I hate this song.

5. That Dog by Dangerous Toys. Chances are, you do not know who this is. Good. But let me assure you, it is the worst song ever: That dog-!/He’s in a fog-!/But in the dark/he’s a hungry shark. That dog/that dog/that dog! Watch his eyes turn whii-yi-yiiite, GET FUNKY! …see? Can’t you just hear the longhairdeded stoner dude sitting around, counting on his fingers, “uh…dog…fog…(bong gurgling)…frog…uh…clog…”?

5.5. Footloose by Kenny Loggins. He is in the Paul Stanley/Bob Seger Hair Club for Men of Over-enthusiastic Singers. Also, I hate feet, and the last thing I want to think about is Kevin Bacon. Therefore, I hate Footloose. Stupid word.

6. Anything by Bob Seger. God, I hate him. He just sounds like a hairy guy in a white polyester suit with a puffy beard and mustache, spraying spittle in the air with his over-enthusiastic “singing”. His “Katmandu”, which is sadly inferior to Cat Steven’s, has that dumb stoner rhyming thing: I think I’m going to Katmandu/That’s really, really where I’m going to/If I ever get out of here/That’s what I’m gonna do/K-K-K-K-K Katmandu…ugh. This is so bad, it gives me the shit shivers. I especially loathe “Hollywood Nights.” And those Hollywood nights/In those Hollywood Hills/she was lookin’ so right/in her diamonds and frills! Uh, no. I have news for you, Bob. Women in Hollywood wear ultrasuede Juicy Couture sweatpants and Ugg boots. Now go rinse the spittle out of your mustache.

7. Can’t Get You Out of My Head - Kylie Minogue. Sorry, Mange, I agree, her ass is hypnotic - but I can’t handle the “la la la’s”. Also, this ran during a Bally’s commercial, which gives me bad flashbacks from when I used to frequent their Hollywood location, which smelled like rotten egg and featured naked, Asian women with cellulite who did everything naked (even weighing themselves), illegal nudity in the sulfurous sauna, lecherous Russian men, and “No Spitting” signs everywhere.

8. You Make Me Wanna La-La by The Dread Butt Pirate, Ashlee Simpson - what a fucking stupid song. I’ve never actually heard it, but if and when I do, I will start biting people and will have to be put down. You know I can’t handle alien-looking chicks singing “la-la.” And that effing Teletubby makes me homicidal, too.

9. The entirety of Paris Hilton’s yet-to-be-released album is featured in this collection, because it will make you want to pick up your homicidal, axe-wielding self and dance, until you mercifully slip and axe your own head.

10. Anything by No Doubt’s Gwen Stefani - Sorry. I generally like her songs the first 9600 times I hear them, but that affected, faux Hispanic thing she does with her voice (jou wewee wuv me) makes me mental. I think she got it from Madonna, who used to do the same thing.

11. (This one goes to eleven!”) Mystery bonus track ca. 1988! Bad sexist metal lyrics galore! The likes of Geoff Tate and Yngwie Malmsteen’s vocalists are guaranteed to make your head explode!

12. It Must Have Been Love - but it’s over now. Because I found out who sings this, and mangled her for causing my bipolar disorder to kick in every time I hear this in the grocery store, and am not carrying my lithium.

13. Ironically named Sublime’s “Caress Me Down”, with World’s Most Disgusting Lyrics: so she told me to come over and I took that trip/and then she pulled out my mushroom tip/and when it came out it went drip drip drip (BARF!)/y su hermana si me quiere y ahorita tenemos un bebé (English translation: nice to meet ya my name’s Bradley I’m hornier than Ron Jeremy/on the other side is where I used to live/with my girlfriend named Mixie/and her sister if she wants me/and now we have a baby)?! YUK.

Plus, wel’ll throw in an additional volume of Mexican Rap, the most annoying music in the WORLD!

Only $19.95 (payable in four easy installments), for the entire contents of four albums - WHAT A BARGAIN! Buy one for your parole officer, your dentist, your ex-wife - anyone you want to kick off - today-! Quantities are limited because the people on the production line keep snuffing themselves out!!!

Next time on Infomercial Planet, we bring you Songs That Make Pisser Jump Up and Down.

I think this guy said it best.

JUST NOW, a woman I work with chewed me out because her mail was two weeks late and she couldn’t take her evil spawn to some premiere or the other.

Look here, Little Miss WIC-in-Waiting:

a) I do not get the mail. Our driver was on jury duty.
b) If you really wanted it, you should have had it sent to your home.
c) Do not be trying to shaft your personal bullcrap on me.
d) You spread for some nose-honking clown, and spawned several mini-assclowns. It is your own fault. SUFFER.

Normally I am nicer to her because her kids look like The Devil. I am serious. They have squinty eyes and red hair like Malachai from Children of the Corn (no offense to Courtney Gains, who is a sweetheart.)

The Devil-ettes are on that jr. high pep squad dealie you don’t have to try out for, they just let any mini-cow who wants to cheer, cheer. Which I figure they should enjoy while they can, before they get to high school and find out they are butt-ugly.

I hate people who act like you should feel obligated to help raise their village idiots.

You know those stupid fake Indian dreamcatchers, that are supposed to filter out your bad dreams or some crap…?

Yeah, well, around here, I’m the shitcatcher.

Even though I have absolutely nothing to do with these things, I have to hear people bitch about them.

Can’t find parking? I catch shit.
In a bad mood with your boss? I catch shit.
Your printer isn’t working? I catch shit.
The IT department sucks? I catch shit.
Your pad is riding up in a wad? I catch shit.
The phones are down? I catch shit.
Your kid is a teenage fuckhead with an attitude problem? I catch shit.
Your dog took a big, steaming dump on the floor because you didn’t walk him in time? I catch (and smell) shit.
You got a bad haircut? I catch shit. Then, I have to look at you.
An actor wants a ham sandwich? I catch shit.
They are running late on set because the anorexic actress is M.I.A. and is snorting coke off a toilet seat in a trailer somewhere? I catch shit.
Got a problem with the drinky-drinky? I catch shit.
You don’t like the weather? I catch shit.
Couldn’t get laid if you stapled Brad Pitt to your schlong? I catch shit.
A stitch in time saves nine? I catch shit.
The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plane? I catch shit.
Somewhere it Utah, a gnat queefed in some Mormon’s soup? I catch shit.

You get the idea.

Got a problem? Try not to bitch at the person who is tethered to her desk, so she can’t do anything about it even if she did give a hot (or even a lukewarm) damn.

Thank you.

This morning, my slow a.m. brain had an amazing revelation:

ME: Why does it smell like cat pee in here…?
BRAIN: …
…
…
…maybe…it’s cat pee.

Brilliant. I worry me.

Then, our office can of Lysol® died.
Now what am I supposed to hose myself down with in the morning?!

Sheesh.

So the dark lords of television cursed me last night for mentioning that Paris Hilton, Jr. commercial - I actually saw it. Twice. Oi, me eyeball-!

First of all, she is washing a car. WHY would Paris “Useless” Hilton be WASHING A CAR?!

Next, to add insult to injury, it abuses the song I Love Paris, which I previously enjoyed in the film French Kiss, as Meg Ryan sang:

I love Paris in the springtime
I love Paris in the fall
I love Paris in the summer
because my love is there…with his SLUT GIRLFRIEND!

Which is how they should have modified it here, as well.

Never again, with the Carl’s, Jr. Not that I ever have, but if some day I get I wild hair, I will yank that sucker with Brazilian wax. And I will not think about Pee-ris’ foul hole, which they practically show, while I’m doing it.

Now, please allow me to share this darling poem from Los Angeles Magazine’s comedy issue, which I must say is otherwise mierda pura (it kisses old school SNL ass and claims Bob Saget is funny, if it’s any indication):

From GIVE ‘EM THE BOOT: LA’s Ten Unfunniest People by Ed Leibowitz w/ drawerings by Drew Friedman - xo!

[Lovely illustration of Paris staring dejectedly at a large hourglass which is about to run out of sand. Her chihuahua is saying, “time’s almost up, señorita.”]

What to do with the boorish Hilton
Who can’t tell Velveeta
from royal blue Stilton?
Great-grandad knew hospitality
But Paris is all banality
And Tinkerbell’s tail is a-wiltin’

Thank you, E.L, and D.F., for making my day/Steal yourself an issue of Los Angeles Magazine today…!

And pick me up a can of Lysol Fresh Pants® Scent while you’re at it.

*Pisser actually has no idea what she thinks about these movies, because she hasn’t had time to see an actual movie since South Pacific came out. She is just making shit up again. We apologize. Please disregard. - Ed.

1. Kingdom of Heaven - wha…?

2. Monster-In-Law - Uh, no. Just…no.

3. Crash - Jaysus, cripes. I worked on this back in 2003 (?) Is it still not out? Wait…is that Matt Dillon? Well, then! Holy fuck almighty, I’ve wet myself. I’ve had a massive, throbbing crush on Matt ever since I pubertated to Little Darlings (1980). Two thumbs up…never mind what they’re up.

4. House of Wax - As much as I’d enjoy seeing Paris Hilton die, H-to-the-El NO. Isn’t it bad enough that we’ll have to be seeing her skanky ass in a Carl’s Jr. (King of Bad Ideas) commercial, saying “that’s hot” (is this the only line she can ever memorize?) Die, Paris, die. You are about as sexy as Molluscum contagiosum. What-? No, I’m not going to tell you! You have it - YOU go look it up. I did not come here to discuss your venereal diseases. Now please go away. Far, far away. Like, Poland.

5. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Some of my esteemed colleagues worked on this, and from listening to the soundtrack over and over, I can tell you…it will make you laugh. It will make you cry. But mostly cry. What did you really expect from a screenplay written by one of the Ephron sisters? There is so much estrogen in this film, you will spontaneously start to menstruate even if you are a guy.

You were warned.

Stay tuned for more! Or, not.

Dear Mr. Flight Captain Person,

It is not necessary to tell me how many feet about ground we are currently located. I really do not want to know as I’m quite phobic of heights (and airline stewardesses. I hate suntan pantyhose.)

It would also be nice if the “fasten seatbelts” warning chime sounded more like “ding dong” and less like an ominous “uh-oh.”

And please put more than one barf bag in the seat back behind my upright tray table.

Also, I would really appreciate not being seated next to a morbidly obese couple from Arizona who are flying for the very first time, to see their momma (yes, they have the same momma) in Texarkana. They will only order six miniature Jack Daniels and proceed to pass out, and then, in his sleep, between sawing logs, the husband will cough up approximately six (6) phlegm globbers, which he will spew like Old Faithful into the air. One will hit my tray table in its upright locked position and begin its slow and insidious descent towards my naked knee.

And your stewardess won’t be able to do anything about it because you have overbooked the flight and I cannot escape or move, not even to cower in the blue water of the flying, metal robot crapper, which would be preferable to Captain Horky, but there is no standing allowed outside the restroom because I just might be a toilet-bombing terrorist.

Which is why I am asking for the barf bags. To cram onto Horky’s head - I promise to cut out the eye holes, but no mouth hole, okay? Or else, please provide a button which will cause the oxygen masks to descend so that passengers plagued with a seatmate’s b.o. can continue to breathe, or alternatively, strangle them with the tubing.

I will be sure to thank you next time I decide to hurtle through the air at 500 mph in a souped-up can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

I was going to write about this Newsweek bullshit, and how I don’t think one journalist’s mistake, or allegations about an alleged Koran being flushed down an alleged toilet anywhere, anytime is an excuse for a bunch of fanatics to kill people; and how religious convictions are in your head and in your heart, NOT in a fucking book (or in a toilet, for that matter, unless you’re a total amoral bullshit artist), but I was getting too angry and hateful towards hypocrites and religious extremists, so here are some cat pictures instead.

This is my Katina. She is helping me cat-sit The StoOpid Kitty and she isn’t exactly thrilled about this, hence her nasty expression:

Or maybe she is mad about the Koran b.s., too.

This is The StoOpid Kitty. She isn’t too ecstatic about this whole cat-sitting thing, either:

Now, c’mon, girls. Tell me how you really feel.