Hello, good people of the Interweb. I hope you are enjoying all that the Internet has to offer today.
But anyway, Mother's Day is quickly approaching. Sound the alarms! They're coming! The mothers are coming!
For those of you who are unaware, a mother is a woman-person who has a child, kind of like a father, except so much better because mothers, unlike fathers, do not say things like "Don't come home after college!" and "Why are you so stupid?!" and "I paid so much money for you to go to Northwestern and now you're not even doing anything with your life!" etc.etc.and so forth and so forth.
Yes, yes. Mothers are the best. And we need to present them with presents on Mother's Day (May 13th!). Here is a list of presents that you should first consider buying and then actually buy for your mumsie. She'll love you forever! (Or until she's too old to remember who you are)
1. Moms love animals. That goes without saying. (Well, great! Now I regret saying it!) Bring her to a furry convention. I don't know what that means, but I'm sure it's completely harmless and not at all inappropriate.
2. If you take a survey of all the moms in the world (as I have done numerous times) then you will discover that their very favorite show on television is Mad Men. So, Mad Men gifts are all the rage this Mother's Day. Buy her things like: cigarettes. Or sexist gifts such as: kitchen towels. Or 1960s-themed gifts such as: an iPad. Or empowering gifts such as: The Feminine Mystique.
3. If I know moms (and I do, having lived inside one for nine months (and not the nine months you're thinking of)) then there's nothing they like more than seeing their children. So, this Mother's Day, surprise your mum with your constant presence. Now, some of you may incorrectly interpret that to mean "frequent" presence. Nay! Read my words and gather meaning from them: constant presence.
Is she trying to sleep? Lie down on top of her, and turn sleeping into a gross bonding activity.
Is she trying to comb her hair? Step in and do it for her. Moms like it when you surprise them by pulling out scissors and cutting their hair without giving them any prior warning.
Is she trying to relieve herself in the washroom? Unlock the door using a hairpin and surprise her with flowers, freshly stolen from your neighbor's garden.
Is she at the store? Attach her to you using a child safety leash. She'll appreciate it. Also, it will bring up good memories of when she used to do this to you.
Do you find that she's trying to escape from you? Use chloroform to make her pass out. Then superglue her body to your own. When she wakes up, she'll be shocked (in a good way!) at all the effort you went through to spend more time with her.
4. Impress your mother this Mother's Day by showing her how much you know about her. Now, if you're like me (and let's face it, no one is, but just pretend for one quick moment that you are) then you don't actually know anything about your mom. I vaguely remember my mom mentioning that her name was Katie but I may be confusing that with myself. So anyway, fill the enormous gaps in your knowledge of your mother with blatant lies. That's right: lie your patootskie off! Lie like your life depended on it! Say things like "Mom, remember when you were a little kid and you had to wear braces on your legs, causing the other kids to bully you? Then you went to the University of Alabama on a football scholarship, before being sent to fight in the Vietnam War and getting a bullet in your bum. After that, do you remember how you purchased a shrimp boat and started a successful shrimp company?" If your mom tells you that no, that's not her life but the plot of Forrest Gump, then look at her in a concerned way and make her think that she's the problem, not you.
Hope this helps! I know it will.
Loveskies,
Katie
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Wait, There's a Phantom in this Opera?
Good evening people of Earth. You must forgive me for failing to blog sooner. My polio was acting up, and it was difficult for me to use my fingers. Not that any of you care about my finger health...jerks.
Enough small talk. On to medium talk. Perhaps in a short while we'll even venture into large talk. Can you handle it? I doubt it. You seem like a little sissy baby of a blog reader. Just kidding. You've never looked better. And, your cologne is delightful.
Anyway, recently I traveled to the great (read: polluted) city of Los Angeles, California, USA, Earth for a bit of vacationing as well as interviewing for entertainment jobskies. Unfortunately, my dear old Croatian pa-pa tagged along, and ruined the entire week for me. That man is insufferable! GAH! Let me tell you why:
1.)As I have mentioned numerous times before, my father loves telling jokes, despite the fact that he is not now, has never before been, and will never be funny. He refuses to stop telling jokes in public, even though my family is constantly telling him to just shut up already. So, I spent the vast majority of the trip fighting back my tears of embarrassment. As an example, one of his "jokes" was just him asking the busy/annoyed flight attendant if he could have a pepperoni pizza instead of pretzels and a milkshake instead of pop. She politely laughed. I told her to stop encouraging his bad behavior, and I slapped him thrice. Additionally, he took every opportunity to perform his award-winning (FALSE) standup routine, in which he pretends to be an elderly/senile man named Grandpa McCoy. Luckily for him, I had a difficult time determining when he was being Grandpa McCoy and when he was just being himself, because the two are so similar really. So, I was powerless to stop him. Everyone in LA thought my father was insane. They were right.
2.) I am 22 years old, and my father has known me for 20 years (he doesn't like babies, so refused to meet me until I was 2). And yet, for some reason, the man still does not remember what I look like. In fact, he constantly confuses other people for me. This would not be so bad if the people he kept mistaking me for looked anything like me. But, nay, they did not. In addition to any girl roughly my age with blondish/brownish hair, he confused me with a 12-year-old boy riding a skateboard, a Latino man trying to sell bracelets on the street, a homeless crack-whore, and a woman in a wheelchair. For this last victim, he physically started pushing the wheelchair, saying something along the lines of "Katie, wherever did you acquire this wheelchair?!" The woman was so shocked by his blatant insanity that she allowed him to push her 50 feet before she pulled out her pocket knife and started stabbing him nearly to death. I was so embarrassed, all I could do was find the nearest Pinkberry and eat some delicious frozen yogurt.
Now, I know what you are thinking: I should have taken advantage of my father's frequent confusion over who his daughter was, and run far, far away from him when I had the chance. Sadly, I could not. You see, I am a truly good person and a wonderful daughter and my kind heart and sense of familial obligation made me stay at his side (Also, I needed access to his money. My frozen yogurt obsession is not cheap, people).
3.) My father has an unhealthy obsession with cacti. Indeed, he would stop at every grocery store and plant-selling location to look at the cacti they had. If there were cacti in front of people's homes, we stopped to look at them. After looking at the first cactus, I had no need to look at anymore. In fact, I feel confident in saying that I could have gone on happily living my life without even seeing one cactus. My father was a different story, unfortunately. At the end of the trip, he shed quite a number of tears because he would no longer be around "his" beautiful cacti. I had never seen my father cry before then. It made me laugh.
As you can see, my father ruins everything for me always. The man should be shunned by society. He should be forced to wear a white mask on half of his face and to sing opera music in the attics of opera houses in France.
Love,
Katie
Enough small talk. On to medium talk. Perhaps in a short while we'll even venture into large talk. Can you handle it? I doubt it. You seem like a little sissy baby of a blog reader. Just kidding. You've never looked better. And, your cologne is delightful.
Anyway, recently I traveled to the great (read: polluted) city of Los Angeles, California, USA, Earth for a bit of vacationing as well as interviewing for entertainment jobskies. Unfortunately, my dear old Croatian pa-pa tagged along, and ruined the entire week for me. That man is insufferable! GAH! Let me tell you why:
1.)As I have mentioned numerous times before, my father loves telling jokes, despite the fact that he is not now, has never before been, and will never be funny. He refuses to stop telling jokes in public, even though my family is constantly telling him to just shut up already. So, I spent the vast majority of the trip fighting back my tears of embarrassment. As an example, one of his "jokes" was just him asking the busy/annoyed flight attendant if he could have a pepperoni pizza instead of pretzels and a milkshake instead of pop. She politely laughed. I told her to stop encouraging his bad behavior, and I slapped him thrice. Additionally, he took every opportunity to perform his award-winning (FALSE) standup routine, in which he pretends to be an elderly/senile man named Grandpa McCoy. Luckily for him, I had a difficult time determining when he was being Grandpa McCoy and when he was just being himself, because the two are so similar really. So, I was powerless to stop him. Everyone in LA thought my father was insane. They were right.
2.) I am 22 years old, and my father has known me for 20 years (he doesn't like babies, so refused to meet me until I was 2). And yet, for some reason, the man still does not remember what I look like. In fact, he constantly confuses other people for me. This would not be so bad if the people he kept mistaking me for looked anything like me. But, nay, they did not. In addition to any girl roughly my age with blondish/brownish hair, he confused me with a 12-year-old boy riding a skateboard, a Latino man trying to sell bracelets on the street, a homeless crack-whore, and a woman in a wheelchair. For this last victim, he physically started pushing the wheelchair, saying something along the lines of "Katie, wherever did you acquire this wheelchair?!" The woman was so shocked by his blatant insanity that she allowed him to push her 50 feet before she pulled out her pocket knife and started stabbing him nearly to death. I was so embarrassed, all I could do was find the nearest Pinkberry and eat some delicious frozen yogurt.
Now, I know what you are thinking: I should have taken advantage of my father's frequent confusion over who his daughter was, and run far, far away from him when I had the chance. Sadly, I could not. You see, I am a truly good person and a wonderful daughter and my kind heart and sense of familial obligation made me stay at his side (Also, I needed access to his money. My frozen yogurt obsession is not cheap, people).
3.) My father has an unhealthy obsession with cacti. Indeed, he would stop at every grocery store and plant-selling location to look at the cacti they had. If there were cacti in front of people's homes, we stopped to look at them. After looking at the first cactus, I had no need to look at anymore. In fact, I feel confident in saying that I could have gone on happily living my life without even seeing one cactus. My father was a different story, unfortunately. At the end of the trip, he shed quite a number of tears because he would no longer be around "his" beautiful cacti. I had never seen my father cry before then. It made me laugh.
As you can see, my father ruins everything for me always. The man should be shunned by society. He should be forced to wear a white mask on half of his face and to sing opera music in the attics of opera houses in France.
Love,
Katie
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Nude Stripper Girls Nude Nude Naked Nude Sexy Two Girls One Cup Nudity Found Here Come One Come All
Good people of Earth, welcome. How are all of you doing? Have you had your vaccines? I'm doing quite well. No complaints here. I am as content as a cock on a cold day (rooster talk). Yes, yes. I am quite happy.
Just kidding: Once again I am miserable beyond belief.
This misery stems from one reason and one reason only: I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of my life.
Part of me always figured I'd be a song and dance man. Alas, that is highly unlikely. I can sing. Heck, I can even dance. But, when I try to do them together, someone always ends up dying.
In high school, I was voted "Most Likely To Own More than Five Cats." Mayhaps I should pursue a career as a veterinarian?
No, I don't like war. I've always been a pacifist.
When I was three, I told my preschool teacher that I wanted to be "The Lion King" when I grew up. Should I perhaps move to Africa and explore this possibility?
No, lions are racists.
Should I move to Paris, France and become a supermodel?
No, that will never work out. I've got a nose that you could land a plane on. And all my fingers fell off last week for no reason at all, after I chopped them off.
So, good people of this blog, what should I do with my life?!
This isn't so much a blog post as a desperate plea for help.
But actually, I want to enter the entertainment industry. Development work. Writing work. Trophy waxing. Turtle waxing. Leg waxing. Anything I can get.
So if any of you can help me out with this little dreamsicle of mine, I will knit you a hat and mail it to you. I will also worship you. After that I will change my name to your name, to honor you. Then I will stalk you, and begin living my life as you. Stalking is the sincerest form of flattery. But you already knew that.
With love,
Kattles McGee, PhD
P.S. I noticed that if I do gross porn titles for my posts, I get more blog traffic. So, expect this for now on. Hey, look: nobody said this was a children's blog.
P.P.S. As always, this blog is intended for children.
Just kidding: Once again I am miserable beyond belief.
This misery stems from one reason and one reason only: I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of my life.
Part of me always figured I'd be a song and dance man. Alas, that is highly unlikely. I can sing. Heck, I can even dance. But, when I try to do them together, someone always ends up dying.
In high school, I was voted "Most Likely To Own More than Five Cats." Mayhaps I should pursue a career as a veterinarian?
No, I don't like war. I've always been a pacifist.
When I was three, I told my preschool teacher that I wanted to be "The Lion King" when I grew up. Should I perhaps move to Africa and explore this possibility?
No, lions are racists.
Should I move to Paris, France and become a supermodel?
No, that will never work out. I've got a nose that you could land a plane on. And all my fingers fell off last week for no reason at all, after I chopped them off.
So, good people of this blog, what should I do with my life?!
This isn't so much a blog post as a desperate plea for help.
But actually, I want to enter the entertainment industry. Development work. Writing work. Trophy waxing. Turtle waxing. Leg waxing. Anything I can get.
So if any of you can help me out with this little dreamsicle of mine, I will knit you a hat and mail it to you. I will also worship you. After that I will change my name to your name, to honor you. Then I will stalk you, and begin living my life as you. Stalking is the sincerest form of flattery. But you already knew that.
With love,
Kattles McGee, PhD
P.S. I noticed that if I do gross porn titles for my posts, I get more blog traffic. So, expect this for now on. Hey, look: nobody said this was a children's blog.
P.P.S. As always, this blog is intended for children.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Love in the Time of Eczema
Walked into the bar. Dressed to kill. Had my skirt tucked into my underwear (if you've got it flaunt it). All eyes were on me.
Saw her sitting at the bar...sitting like she owned the place (which she did)...sitting like her name was Agnes Monty (which it was).
Me: Agnes.
Agnes: Kate, baby, good to see ya!
Me: Likewise.
Agnes: What can I do you for?
Me: You know what I'm after, sweetcheeks. What do you serve at this here bar?
Agnes: Liquor. That ain't illegal anymore, Kate.
Me: Ah course I know that! Give me a Diet Pepsi, straight up, on the rocks, with a twist and an olive. And make it snappy.
She got me my drink.
Me: Now, tell me sweetheart, when was the last time you saw Stevie Twotoes?
Agnes: Stevie Twotoes?
Me: Yeah. His body washed up on the Hudson last night. He was deader than a baby with a bomb for a binky.
Agnes: Ain't never heard ah him.
Me: Ah really?
Agnes: Yeah.
Me: Surely you heard of a man like Stevie Twotoes. He only had two toes. One big toe on each foot.
Agnes: What happened to the others?
Me: They fell off in a freak synchronized swimming accident. Poor guy couldn't go near ice cream after that.
Agnes: Ice cream?
Me: You scream.
Agnes: For what?
Me: Ice cream.
Agnes: Are we done here?
Me: No. Not until I find out what you did with Twotoes.
Agnes: I just told you, I ain't never met him. I don't know what happened to him or nothin'!
Me: Then how do you explain this?!
Pulled out a picture of me at my birthday party.
Agnes: I don't know...
Me: Oh...I meant this! A picture of you with Twotoes!
Pulled out a picture of Agnes gettin' awfully intimate with Twotoes.
Agnes: He told me his name was Tim! Tim Waterglass!
Me: Nice try, lady marmalade.
Agnes: Don't waste your time on this, Kate. I’m innocent!
Me: I'll waste my time anyway I choose, Agnes baby.
Turned to my boys.
Me: Book her, boys!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How did I know Agnes was guilty?! Keep reading to find out!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agnes made the dire mistake of tattooing “If found please return to Agnes Monty at 455 East Broadway. I killed this man, and would like his body back before police find it” on the chest of Twotoes...a common mistake that criminals make.
Saw her sitting at the bar...sitting like she owned the place (which she did)...sitting like her name was Agnes Monty (which it was).
Me: Agnes.
Agnes: Kate, baby, good to see ya!
Me: Likewise.
Agnes: What can I do you for?
Me: You know what I'm after, sweetcheeks. What do you serve at this here bar?
Agnes: Liquor. That ain't illegal anymore, Kate.
Me: Ah course I know that! Give me a Diet Pepsi, straight up, on the rocks, with a twist and an olive. And make it snappy.
She got me my drink.
Me: Now, tell me sweetheart, when was the last time you saw Stevie Twotoes?
Agnes: Stevie Twotoes?
Me: Yeah. His body washed up on the Hudson last night. He was deader than a baby with a bomb for a binky.
Agnes: Ain't never heard ah him.
Me: Ah really?
Agnes: Yeah.
Me: Surely you heard of a man like Stevie Twotoes. He only had two toes. One big toe on each foot.
Agnes: What happened to the others?
Me: They fell off in a freak synchronized swimming accident. Poor guy couldn't go near ice cream after that.
Agnes: Ice cream?
Me: You scream.
Agnes: For what?
Me: Ice cream.
Agnes: Are we done here?
Me: No. Not until I find out what you did with Twotoes.
Agnes: I just told you, I ain't never met him. I don't know what happened to him or nothin'!
Me: Then how do you explain this?!
Pulled out a picture of me at my birthday party.
Agnes: I don't know...
Me: Oh...I meant this! A picture of you with Twotoes!
Pulled out a picture of Agnes gettin' awfully intimate with Twotoes.
Agnes: He told me his name was Tim! Tim Waterglass!
Me: Nice try, lady marmalade.
Agnes: Don't waste your time on this, Kate. I’m innocent!
Me: I'll waste my time anyway I choose, Agnes baby.
Turned to my boys.
Me: Book her, boys!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How did I know Agnes was guilty?! Keep reading to find out!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Agnes made the dire mistake of tattooing “If found please return to Agnes Monty at 455 East Broadway. I killed this man, and would like his body back before police find it” on the chest of Twotoes...a common mistake that criminals make.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Put Your Right Foot Forward in the New Year.
My name is Katie Marovitch and I am a romance specialist, specializing in romance.
Anyway, it is almost New Year's Day, and nearly one of you has been frantically emailing me thrice a day, asking me to provide my expert step-by-step advice on how to become romantically involved in the New Year.
Finally! Here is my advice, you adorable blogthings! Note: advice only intended for women-people. Men-people, don't you dare read this. I'm warning you. Don't you read another line! I know you are reading this! Stop it!
Step 1: Locate the males.
Males tend to hang out in packs, in such places as: the outdoors. They can often be found hunting game and gathering wood. Their hobbies include archery, horseback riding, and gun shooting. They often say things like "Shoot 'em dead, son. Shoot 'em dead." They drink beer by the gallon, and have spit-shooting contests every day at noon. They have names like "Joe," "Elton John," "Dan," and "Steve."
To locate the male you want, simply do as the males do. Once you start drinking beer, shooting spit, hunting game, going by the name "Joe," etc. etc. and so forth, and so forth, the males will come to you. Then, you will be able to pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Step 2: Pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Unfortunately, society frowns upon women who have multiple lovers. Yes, yes. It is necessary to do as the animals from Noah's Ark, and pair off (or should I say "pear" off! HAHA. Fruit humor.).
Your heart will guide you to the male you should pursue. If this doesn't work, choose at random. Not a big deal. All males are the same (I'm allowed one sexist comment, relax!). Ladies, I have excellent news for you: it is now time to start your pursuit.
Step 3: Start your pursuit.
When going after your chosen man, it is necessary to always put your best foot forward. Your best foot is, of course, your right foot. So, stand with your right foot in front whenever your chosen mate (CM) is in the general vicinity. Wiggle it around ever so slightly. CM will be instantly attracted to your fancy footwork, and will surely approach you. When this happens, kick him. Hard. It shows him you are not an object, but a woman: a woman who will kick him again should he ever hurt you in the heart-department. CM will most likely ask you on a date should you follow these steps perfectly. You must now date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Step 4: Date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Practice fancy footwork, hair flipsies, and hip wagging. This will allow you to force him to stay.
Step 5: Force him to stay.
He can't leave if you get pregnant with his baby.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Anyway, it is almost New Year's Day, and nearly one of you has been frantically emailing me thrice a day, asking me to provide my expert step-by-step advice on how to become romantically involved in the New Year.
Finally! Here is my advice, you adorable blogthings! Note: advice only intended for women-people. Men-people, don't you dare read this. I'm warning you. Don't you read another line! I know you are reading this! Stop it!
Step 1: Locate the males.
Males tend to hang out in packs, in such places as: the outdoors. They can often be found hunting game and gathering wood. Their hobbies include archery, horseback riding, and gun shooting. They often say things like "Shoot 'em dead, son. Shoot 'em dead." They drink beer by the gallon, and have spit-shooting contests every day at noon. They have names like "Joe," "Elton John," "Dan," and "Steve."
To locate the male you want, simply do as the males do. Once you start drinking beer, shooting spit, hunting game, going by the name "Joe," etc. etc. and so forth, and so forth, the males will come to you. Then, you will be able to pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Step 2: Pick out the male of your heart's desire.
Unfortunately, society frowns upon women who have multiple lovers. Yes, yes. It is necessary to do as the animals from Noah's Ark, and pair off (or should I say "pear" off! HAHA. Fruit humor.).
Your heart will guide you to the male you should pursue. If this doesn't work, choose at random. Not a big deal. All males are the same (I'm allowed one sexist comment, relax!). Ladies, I have excellent news for you: it is now time to start your pursuit.
Step 3: Start your pursuit.
When going after your chosen man, it is necessary to always put your best foot forward. Your best foot is, of course, your right foot. So, stand with your right foot in front whenever your chosen mate (CM) is in the general vicinity. Wiggle it around ever so slightly. CM will be instantly attracted to your fancy footwork, and will surely approach you. When this happens, kick him. Hard. It shows him you are not an object, but a woman: a woman who will kick him again should he ever hurt you in the heart-department. CM will most likely ask you on a date should you follow these steps perfectly. You must now date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Step 4: Date him, date him like your life depends on it.
Practice fancy footwork, hair flipsies, and hip wagging. This will allow you to force him to stay.
Step 5: Force him to stay.
He can't leave if you get pregnant with his baby.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Friday, December 16, 2011
Tyler Perry Presents
Good people of Earth. Welcome. Please sit down. Refreshments are on me. Youch! Get them off! They're hot and they're burning my skin!
Anyway, I recently voyaged to the exotic country of California (pronounced "cal eek norn ina"). For those of you who are unaware, California is a distant land where ridiculous people put small dogs in large bags and carry them around, pretending that that's normal. It's also where the world's biggest celebrities are. Like David Hasselhoff. And the cast of Laguna Beach (Team Lauren Conrad!).
On this trip, I met a man. He was the kind of man you'd like to bring home to granny. The kind of man you'd like to see wearing your underpants. The kind of man you'd like to marry and then divorce and then marry again.
In other words, he was/is/will always be the love of my life.
I met him in the line for the men's restroom. (Why was I there? As a feminist, I refuse to acknowledge segregated restrooms. I'm sorry, but until women's restrooms have urinals, they are NOT EQUAL!)
He was standing behind me and said "Miss, the women's restroom is over there." Flattered that he knew I was a woman, I turned to thank him. It was mid-turn that I realized I loved him.
You see, while I was turning I caught a whiff of his peppermint breath.
Peppermint breath is, as you all know, literally the greatest kind of breath to have. It puts peanut butter breath to shame. It makes chocolate breath look like child's play.
While I continued to turn (it takes me a good five minutes to gather enough momentum to complete one turn), I said to myself "Katsi baby, it's now or never. You got this lady long legs," and I pounced on him.
My intention was to reenact that legendary scene from my favorite movie (Tyler Perry Presents "A Very Madea Love Story") where Madea makes a man fall in love with her by pouncing on him. (Perhaps. It's possible that this never happened and that I just made that movie up.)
Unfortunately, the move failed. It turns out my dream man was 75 years old. The doctors told me that when I "tackled him to the ground" I "ripped out his oxygen" and "stabbed him with the sword" I was carrying at the time, which resulted in "his heart attack" that "stopped his heart" thus "killing him" and "we're calling the police" because "you have to go to jail now."
California! Jeez! What a silly state! You kill one elderly man and suddenly everyone hates you!
Anyway, I recently voyaged to the exotic country of California (pronounced "cal eek norn ina"). For those of you who are unaware, California is a distant land where ridiculous people put small dogs in large bags and carry them around, pretending that that's normal. It's also where the world's biggest celebrities are. Like David Hasselhoff. And the cast of Laguna Beach (Team Lauren Conrad!).
On this trip, I met a man. He was the kind of man you'd like to bring home to granny. The kind of man you'd like to see wearing your underpants. The kind of man you'd like to marry and then divorce and then marry again.
In other words, he was/is/will always be the love of my life.
I met him in the line for the men's restroom. (Why was I there? As a feminist, I refuse to acknowledge segregated restrooms. I'm sorry, but until women's restrooms have urinals, they are NOT EQUAL!)
He was standing behind me and said "Miss, the women's restroom is over there." Flattered that he knew I was a woman, I turned to thank him. It was mid-turn that I realized I loved him.
You see, while I was turning I caught a whiff of his peppermint breath.
Peppermint breath is, as you all know, literally the greatest kind of breath to have. It puts peanut butter breath to shame. It makes chocolate breath look like child's play.
While I continued to turn (it takes me a good five minutes to gather enough momentum to complete one turn), I said to myself "Katsi baby, it's now or never. You got this lady long legs," and I pounced on him.
My intention was to reenact that legendary scene from my favorite movie (Tyler Perry Presents "A Very Madea Love Story") where Madea makes a man fall in love with her by pouncing on him. (Perhaps. It's possible that this never happened and that I just made that movie up.)
Unfortunately, the move failed. It turns out my dream man was 75 years old. The doctors told me that when I "tackled him to the ground" I "ripped out his oxygen" and "stabbed him with the sword" I was carrying at the time, which resulted in "his heart attack" that "stopped his heart" thus "killing him" and "we're calling the police" because "you have to go to jail now."
California! Jeez! What a silly state! You kill one elderly man and suddenly everyone hates you!
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Murder She Goat
Walked into the police interrogation room. Dressed to impress. Had my new leather underwear on.
Sammy "Birdseye" Montgomery was already at the big table. The lights were shining on him. He was as sweaty as the armpits of an obese man on the Fourth of July.
Lit a cigarette.
Started coughing.
Tossed the cigarette.
Apologized to Detective Finn for hitting him in the eye with said cigarette.
Me: "Listen up, Birdseye, we've got three witnesses saying you were the one who whacked Old Lady Bouvier at her mansion on the Upper East Side. Now, kid, what's your side of the story? And make it fast. I've got a new pair of underwear on."
Birdseye: "Come on, Detective Kate! I've been framed! You know stranglin' ain't my work!"
Me: "Hm...You worked for Bouvier's husband a couple of years ago, didn't you?
Birdseye: "Yup."
Me: "So, you knew that Old Lady Bouvier had inherited quite a pretty penny after her husband died in that freak zamboni accident."
Birdseye: "Yeah, but I wouldn'ta harmed her! I loved her like my own ma! Rest her soul."
Me: "When did you find out Old Lady Bouvier was rubbed out?"
Birdseye: "Not until your boys booked me."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Well, let me ask you something, Birdseye, old buddy old pal. You accrued an awful lot of debt after college, am I right?
Birdseye: "Yeah, that's true. So what? In this economy, who doesn’t have debt?"
Me: “Where did you go to school?"
Birdseye: "Saint Augustine."
Me: "Really? You seem like more of a Lafayette man."
Birdseye: "Naw. I wanted the small college experience. Plus, Augustine had a great Comparative Literature program."
Me: "So I've heard..."
Birdseye: "Is that all then? Are we done here?"
Me: "No...there's just one more thing."
Birdseye: "Oh really? And, what's that?"
Me: "Put him in the slammer, boys. He killed Old Lady Bouvier."
Birdseye was shocked.
HOW DID I KNOW BIRDSEYE KILLED OLD LADY BOUVIER?
Keep reading for the answer.
As you may have guessed, Birdseye made the dire mistake of filming himself killing Old Lady Bouvier and putting the video on YouTube. I came across the video on my search for Beyoncé’s new music video.
It was an open and shut the door it's cold outside case.
God, I love this new underwear.
And remember, if there's a crime out there that’s easy to solve, I will be there to solve it.
Je t'adore,
Kate
Sammy "Birdseye" Montgomery was already at the big table. The lights were shining on him. He was as sweaty as the armpits of an obese man on the Fourth of July.
Lit a cigarette.
Started coughing.
Tossed the cigarette.
Apologized to Detective Finn for hitting him in the eye with said cigarette.
Me: "Listen up, Birdseye, we've got three witnesses saying you were the one who whacked Old Lady Bouvier at her mansion on the Upper East Side. Now, kid, what's your side of the story? And make it fast. I've got a new pair of underwear on."
Birdseye: "Come on, Detective Kate! I've been framed! You know stranglin' ain't my work!"
Me: "Hm...You worked for Bouvier's husband a couple of years ago, didn't you?
Birdseye: "Yup."
Me: "So, you knew that Old Lady Bouvier had inherited quite a pretty penny after her husband died in that freak zamboni accident."
Birdseye: "Yeah, but I wouldn'ta harmed her! I loved her like my own ma! Rest her soul."
Me: "When did you find out Old Lady Bouvier was rubbed out?"
Birdseye: "Not until your boys booked me."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Aw yeah?"
Birdseye: "Aw yeah."
Me: "Well, let me ask you something, Birdseye, old buddy old pal. You accrued an awful lot of debt after college, am I right?
Birdseye: "Yeah, that's true. So what? In this economy, who doesn’t have debt?"
Me: “Where did you go to school?"
Birdseye: "Saint Augustine."
Me: "Really? You seem like more of a Lafayette man."
Birdseye: "Naw. I wanted the small college experience. Plus, Augustine had a great Comparative Literature program."
Me: "So I've heard..."
Birdseye: "Is that all then? Are we done here?"
Me: "No...there's just one more thing."
Birdseye: "Oh really? And, what's that?"
Me: "Put him in the slammer, boys. He killed Old Lady Bouvier."
Birdseye was shocked.
HOW DID I KNOW BIRDSEYE KILLED OLD LADY BOUVIER?
Keep reading for the answer.
As you may have guessed, Birdseye made the dire mistake of filming himself killing Old Lady Bouvier and putting the video on YouTube. I came across the video on my search for Beyoncé’s new music video.
It was an open and shut the door it's cold outside case.
God, I love this new underwear.
And remember, if there's a crime out there that’s easy to solve, I will be there to solve it.
Je t'adore,
Kate
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