Merry Reverse Christmas!!!
WARNING: The following update centers around the activities of my cat, Spaz. The reason I feel the need to preface today's update with this warning is due to the recent controversy surrounding all cat-related material on Something Awful. Whenever I even briefly mention my cat, I get two very distinct types of feedback that soon fester and multiply in my emailbox like some kind of thing that spends a lot of time festering and multiplying. Here's an example of the two different camps that lobby against each other following a cat article:
The "Pro-Cat" Demographic:
The "Anti-Cat" Demographic:
So, as you can plainly see, I'm torn between two polar opposites here. For some mysterious reason, my cat-related updates easily draw the most controversy from readers. I'm not exactly sure why this is, but as long as it keeps people from writing flame mail to Jeff K. and accusing him of not being a "real hacker", I'm happy.
--- BEGIN CAT ARTICLE ---Spaz as a kitten. Quite a cute cat, despite his lack of functionality.
As mentioned in previous articles (which I'm not going to bother linking to, as I can't really remember if these articles exist or not), ever since picking up my cat from the Animal Impound Facilities I have had nonstop doubts regarding his supposed functionality. I've owned all kinds of animals before this cat and all of them at least had a purpose or something they could do. For example, my dog would allow valuable papers and clothing to enter one end of him and be chewed up, then somehow miraculously produce the digested remains of these items out from his opposing end. My ferrets would steal everything I owned and deposit it under the couch with their cache of Gatorade caps, pens, and spent bullet casings. My bird would attack and try to kill anybody within a 500-mile radius of the house, and if nobody was around, he would attack and try to kill the house. When I went to purchase a cat, I wasn't really expecting much, but I was expecting him to do something. I'd seen the cartoons on television that featured brightly-colored cats holding amusing conversations with 8-year old children that attempted to solve crimes, and thanks to Joseph Lieberman, I truly believed everything I saw on television and any other forms of media. When I originally got my cat Spaz, things were looking good and he seemed to be interested in doing stuff. Just to name a couple things offhand, he participated in such exciting activities as biting me and running into stationary objects. Many of my friends would claim that he did those things because he was a goofy kitten, but I secretly harbored the notion that perhaps he was just really stupid. Of course I didn't voice these concerns to my cat, as I know all felines simply look for an excuse to pounce on their sleeping owner's face and claw their eyes out.
Cut to half a year later. Spaz has grown out of the "cute kitten" phase and has now entered the "not so cute cat" mode, where his head has finally reached an equal proportion to the rest of his body. In addition to forfeiting all his kitty-like physical cuteness, he now has the same activity level as a bowl of oranges. Most of his day is spent lurking underneath a filing cabinet or dresser, and he usually only comes out to eat, drink, or leave cat chunks in his litter box. Whenever I go to pet him, he gets up and tries to escape from my apartment and flee into neighboring countries. If he knew how to use my cellphone, I bet he would try to reserve plane tickets. Since evolving into "full cat" mode, Spaz has almost totally stopped doing anything at all. Or so I thought...
A few days ago, I was lamenting the absence of holidays in between the Christmas and July 4th lull. Nothing pleases me more than witnessing a full multimedia assault of products aimed at celebrating a holiday that revolves around people who died violently a long time ago, and the half-year absence of any real holidays between these two is overwhelming. I don't really consider Valentine's Day to be a legit holiday because there's no way in hell I'd ever spend money on a bunch of crap that's pink and red and has sentimental calligraphy scrawled by a robotic machine across it. I'd much rather die in an IRA carbomb detonation than go shopping for, ack, Valentine's Day crapola. This isn't because I'm not a "sensitive, new age kind of guy," but is mostly because I'm a lazy asshole. Oh yeah, and I haven't had a girlfriend since the Cuban Missile Crisis, but that's another story.Spaz as a full grown cat (computer simulated aging and growth). Not so cute anymore.
So back to the story. I'm sitting in my underwear at 6:30 pm and listening to various Snog and Pig singles which I spent too much money on, and I go to drink a glass of water. Upon putting the glass to my lips, I immediately realize the water has a grainy, stringy feel to it. This conflicts greatly with my normal expectations of water, which I count on to be simply "wet" and that's about it. I set the glass down and realize the extra bonus ingredient in today's cup o' love happens to be a lump of cat hair the size of my left hand. I head over to my sink so I can wash out the cup and begin the water drinking process all over again, but I quickly notice that the sponge (which used to be orange) has changed color to black after being wrapped in thousands of fluffy cathair strands. Then it all dawns on me. Do you remember the first time you saw "Aliens" and realized that the farther the Marines got into the space base, the more it looked as if they were actually entering the inside of a giant alien? The same feeling encompassed me at that point, as I looked around my flat and realized that cat hair was everywhere. On the walls. On the floor. On my clothing. On the cat. EVERYWHERE. I can't even begin to imagine where the hell all this hair even came from in the first place. Judging by basic laws of mathematics, if my cat lost this much hair from his own body, he should be completely stripped bare by now and unable to produce any more hair for the next six decades. I assume he's importing cat hair from various felines across the globe and the deliveries are taking place at night when I sleep. I don't even want to know how he manages to hold the pen and sign for them.
A few minutes after registering this shocking discovery, Jim Bagleaducia arrives on my doorstep, eager to get something of his I stole from him a few weeks before. While walking across my living room, I notice each step he takes causes a gigantic explosion of cat hair to balloon from the floor and into the air. Jim notices this as well, as he starts furiously blinking his eyes like a contact wearer does when he accidentally uses hydrogen peroxide instead of eyedrops.
"Jesus Christ, your carpet is ATTACKING ME!" Jim begins to shriek while attempting to retreat to the safety of the linoleum-floored kitchen. At that point all the cat hair begins to slowly fall back to the floor and I realize what sacrifice Spaz had made for me. He had been shedding nonstop and importing bonus external cat hair just so he could give me the ultimate gift: the gift of another holiday. Yes, Spaz had successfully introduced me to the holiday only cat owners get to experience, which I call "Reverse Christmas." Instead of snow falling from the sky and landing on the ground, cat hair raises from the ground and floats around in the air. Instead of reaching under a Christmas tree and pulling out a gift I really wanted, I get to reach under the couch and feel claws tear my skin into neat little strips of flesh. Instead of hearing cheery, heartwarming Christmas carols, I hear nonstop inhuman noises emanating from Spaz's mouth, as if people were being liquefied by an alien ray gun and their cries for help were being broadcast through Spaz's throat.
I can't imagine that at one point in time I so ignorantly believed that my cat had no feelings for me and was merely trying to wait it out until I choked and died from the 50 cubic pounds of cat hair drifting through my apartment. I had been taking his precious gift of Reverse Christmas and completely ignoring it. Next time your cat begins to murder you by clawing your throat out and ejecting enough cat hair into the atmosphere to clog jumbo jet engines, think of his actions as a gift to you, one that only cats can give. You'll have more than enough time in the hospital to think about it.
Wrestle Those Problems Away!
Something Awful, ever eager to cash in on the current hype surrounding America's most popular sport of backyard wrestling, has started another biweekly column which probably won't be updated biweekly. Regardless, I'd like to take this moment to introduce the new love / advice column which will be sweeping the nation by storm. That's right, we've managed to merge backyard wrestling with love and advice columns! The result?
We've scouted backyard wrestlers from across the world, and brought together the top five rising stars into one single column, ready to answer any relationship or personal questions you might have for them! Check out today's article, which features advice from world-famous backyard wrestling phenomenas "Badass" Shawn McCullum, El Terror De Fuego, Servants of Misery, MC Caucasian Ghost, and Geoff "Skeleton Spanks" Krakes. You know you want to!
Bjørnar's Got Yer Damn Art Right Here
The ever-prolific Bjørnar B. has three brand new drawings and a poem up on his wonderful work of art site. Today's contributions to the world of art include Donald Duck winning the 5000 meter competition in the Olympics, Donald's "nevues" stealing his "hand knitting", and some random shapes that have something to do with picking potatoes or "bloodtype 0" or something. It's kind of hard to tell. Head over and see for yourself.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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