Hair Of The Cat

Getting near the end. Not much toilet paper left on my roll, and now the cat has moved next door. Won't talk to me any more, at all, so I have to go it alone. Things are getting scary.

Have you ever wondered how big the biggest possible cookie could be if it was the biggest possible cookie yet you were completely sure that it contained cat hair? And maybe that ruined the whole deal?

I had a cat once, until it ate Mom. Then I had to get rid of it. I think. I still have the court papers around here somewhere. It was big news for a while, though I still find hair on my pillow sometimes.

I'll be trying out some new food for lunch to improve my bodily processes. Up until now everything I've eaten has turned to shit. If successful with this test of mine, I'll have to try it on the cat to be sure that it really works. So far he at least seems doubtful.

I've always wanted a wombat but couldn't afford the payments, and the cat also refuses to play dressup. (Yes, it's in his contract. He pointed it out, so that option is closed.) So now what? I'm still on square one, and completely wombat-free.

I've been appointed emperor for life, starting immediately, so let's look sharp, gang. From now on, someone else will be feeding the cat. OK then, next up on my list — who is going to be washing my toes from here on out?

 

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Me? Possibly.

Going Pear-Shaped

Captain Pear-Shaped Almond just does not fit in anywhere. Maybe eBay will take him, if that's still a thing. Is it? Someone must care.

Captain Puckered Fuss is off in the other room throwing hissy fits at the wall, apparently hoping to find one that remains in place after impact, so, if you are not quick on your feet and also not good at rapid ducking to avoid encounters with turgid balls of hiss, maybe you ought not go there then.

Captain Thesserelda Woofenpickle is still on hiatus from the "The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show" since she first asked for a week off in the early 1960s and never found her way back. At this time it is generally thought to be too late to hope to ever see her again, or to see fresh episodes of said show either, so we're focusing on our ice cream collection until further notice.

Captain Thirty-nine Winks is still asleep. This, it is true, can be annoying, but is, however, not unheard of. Updates will be posted as they arrive.

Captain Total Solar Eclipse is still lurking in the shadows and refuses to admit that his moment of glory has passed.

Captain Toxic Energy Drink just shot right off the end of the scale and went sailing into space, howling in pain. I.e., his usual Friday night performance.

 

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Me? More like an escaped almond-shaped pear.

Nosing Around

Captain Bushy Nose Hairs is back. From where? No one seems to care. This is not news to anyone who lives around here.

Captain Endless Prancing is auditioning yet again for acceptance into the Maude Stomper School of Ballet and Square Dance Moves. She turns 63 next week, and is still ornery as hell, so let's wish her success this time around, because the alternative is too predictable to be acceptable. And what's-his-name? How about him? Meh.

Captain Explosive Diarrhea is still locked out of the clubhouse, additional guards have been posted, and larger-caliber firearms acquired, since we prefer not to receive our share of what he's got on offer.

Captain Fuzzy Thinking is still trying to understand the question. It has been only a year since it was put to him, and no one seems to be in a hurry for an answer, if there is one, so we'll just wait it out then. Sounds good. Plenty of time for another beer.

Captain Growly Barker says "hi". As opposed to "lo", though both work, I guess. No, really — either one works, but he likes to mix it up sometimes. Maybe that's why he does wear a bikini to work, on occasion, which is also a chance to show off his martial arts tattoo collection, which he carries around on his chest, though you do have to pay extra to peek under the bikini top.

Captain Inscrutable Mumbling is off on a tangent again. It is suspected. Though, since no one can understand anything that comes out of his orifice, it's only a guess.

 

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Me? I'm not like that, really.

Captains Never Hardly Ever Quit

Captain Flexible Toenails is now "Professor FT", currently teaching philosophy "from the sandals up", as he says. And he has a new book out, titled "The Ancient Philosophy Of Toad Sucking, From A To S". Available at all fine bookstores and adult novelty shops, we hear. Or not.

Captain Bushy Nosehairs has taken up knitting. The winter weather is nipping icy bites out of his upper lip since his mustache fell out, but a fecund abundance of curly nose hairs just might be enough raw material to knit up a lip cozy to keep him comfy during the frigid months. It might also be a hit with certain of the ladies too. Certain ones. Perhaps. You never know, and I don't judge, mostly.

Captain Pansyass Tissue-Pants is not on my team. Not this week, anyhow. We're thinking of relocating before he gets back from vacation, to save ourselves a bunch of grief. (The usual, if you were wondering, and we don't need grief like that anymore — the hidey-hole hideaway bunker is already overflowing like nobody's business as it is.)

Captain Refreshing Creme Dip doesn't get out much, and may cause diarrhea if experienced intemperately.

Captain Tom Foolme can't fool me. Not since I changed my game he can't. Even so, he does sneak up on me from time to time and manages to tickle my fancy without even a peep of warning, so I have to work on that yet. It's actually a little fun sometimes, but I really don't need all the derisive laughter that goes with it.

Captain Tuna Casserole is definitely off his noodle. Someone — anyone — please take him shopping this week. Pick up some sanity if you can, or real noodles, in his size, or even just close to his size. (The rest of us are still booked through the end of the century, so this one is up to you.)

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Well, I did, and glad of it.

Captains Arr! Us

Captain Terminal Twitching was arrested just last night for "illegal wiggling after dark", though that is merely offensive and not a true offense where I'm from, and he did have most of this clothes on at the time, with the possible exception of pants, which are considered optional in many jurisdictions these days, by tradition if not by statute, so we'll have to wait and see if a solid ruling will be coming down within a reasonable amount of time. (Can't wait, hardly.)

Captain SBD has recently accepted a position as assistant editor of "Kitchen Farts Magazine", one of the very few magazines still in print, and likewise holding on to its niche ranking in the very tiny population of edible fart magazines. We do wish him or her well, and hope he/she/it does not feel compelled to come and visit any of us.

Captain Tulip-Lipped Fish Kisser is not like us, we profoundly hope, and will henceforth be encouraged to stay on the other side of the fence.

Captain Tutti-Frutti was the leading candidate to head up the upcoming Pride Day Parade, until revealed to be straight-up Plain Old Vanilla simply dressed up in Grandma's dusty ancient festive costume from ye olde Fruit Salad Days. Some were reported to be sorely disappointed by all this while others claimed to be more focused on having another slice of apple pie, and who could really blame them, or anyone?

Captain Twinkle Toes is just to much for us right now, especially if we're expected to provide the batteries.

Captain Two-For-One Turd Celebration Month is becoming moldy. (Again!) We would do something, but were hoping that you might step into the situation, so to speak, and clean it up, so to speak. (The rest of us will be out of town for a while. Probably quite a while.)

 

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Me? Why not?

Used Too

I tried the selfless checkout over by Wally Mart. Not bad. After doing 25 people they let you out of the store, after checking your DNA and looking in your pants.

I used to be a boy scout but quit when the marshmallows ran out.

I used to know people around here, before they used up all the oxygen. Guess they all musta died or sumthin. Anyhow, I can breathe now.

I used to work in a junkyard. One summer. Before I got myself re-chromed. Got a haircut too. Now I'm street legal. Sweet.

I voted, but not for you, so why are you still here?

I want to tell you something but I can't remember how to say "Fuck Off!" in a polite way. Am I being too precious again?

 

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Me? I'm mostly like that.

Last Lasts

If I were the last person on earth farting contests would be less fun. Maybe no fun at all, and would I always win or always lose, and how about ties? Or would it even matter?

If I were the last person on earth how long would there be sardines, assuming that I cared?

If I were the last person on earth I could try being a slime mold without worrying about how I smelled.

If I were the last person on earth maybe I still couldn't get a date. In fact, I believe I would still be out of luck. (My life in a nutshell.)

If I were the last person on earth would fart jokes still be funny? Which ones, for example, and am I being too fussy?

If I were the last person on earth would my driver's license still expire? How about my birthdate? My finger prints? And how about if I forget to trim my nose hairs? Any downsides to that any more?

If I were the last person on earth, I bet I'd still get parking tickets, maybe, even if I was required to issue them to myself, but if so, I could also wear that nifty uniform, so maybe it would be a win after all.

If I were the last person on earth, then I could toot my tooter with no apprehensions about being stopped by the tootie police, or anybody. Very cool.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still trying to come in first, as long as I can do it after my nap.