Hello, good morning, good afternoon, how do you do? Are you familiar with any of these phrases? It sure seems as though they are foreign to you. I hope it does not come as too much of a shock, but I checked in to it and “I need” is not an acceptable greeting in any part of the world. So before you bombard me with demands, take a deep breath and please acknowledge the fact that you are talking to a person, not a machine or giant clown with a speaker in its nose. I don’t expect you to care about my day, as I surely don’t care about yours. I merely request the simple courtesy of a “hello” before any further yelling commences.
Preface: I’m not a cat hater, I have owned cats and like cats. This is not meant to be taken seriously. It is more of an outline for a book I’d like to write. The different paragraphs pretty much represent different chapters. If this offends you, then you take life too seriously and should concentrate on real problems, like toenail fungus.
Your cat wants to kill you. Really, it does. Before you laugh this all off, stop and think for just a moment. It’s true. Now just try to stay with me for a while, because I can prove it.
One fine April 15th good old Pemberton McNimble woke up at 3PM (like every day) and started to go about his business. He, of course, skipped his shower. He ate the slice of pizza that had been stuck to the floor for the past week. Orange strands of carpeting were embedded in the crust. The cheese was hard, like rubber used for tires. Even the pepperoni had some unknown life form attached to it, which resembled wild mushrooms. Pemberton didn’t care, he devoured the slice in a few bites. He tried to turn on the television, but it didn’t work. Pemberton didn’t pay his cable or electric bill, so his power was turned off. He wandered into his kitchen and checked out his fridge. There was a thin coating of moss on the inside of the refrigerator. He grabbed the red cardboard carton of milk and tried taking a drink. He was not surprised to find the milk had again solidified in the carton. He tossed the milk back in the fridge next to a carton of eggs so old, that they could probably hatch chickens. Pemberton stepped outside to check his mail. He had received two things. The first was a postcard from the post office saying that his mail would not be delivered until he cleared a path through the garbage that cluttered his front lawn. “Great,” he thought, “No more bills.” The second piece of mail was a final notice on his water bill. Pemberton mumbled some obscenities to himself and tossed both pieces of mail into the heap of trash on his yard. Pemberton then returned to his couch and his slumber.