I’m all out of words today. I have a headache and I think I’m coming down with something which seems unlikely as I don’t often leave the house, so where would I catch it? From Dumbcat? Probably cat scratch fever, then? Thanks a lot, Dumbcat. ZOMG, I just looked up the symptoms of cat scratch fever and headache and fatigue are TOTALLY SYMPTOMS. As is MALAISE. I have all the malaise! All of it! Oh, this is bad news. Or, wait, no, it isn’t, it just goes away on its own and I’ll be FINE. Well, I bet I have the WORST case of cat scratch fever EVER. That will probably KILL me. That’s just like this cat scratch fever to be the most deadly thing ever. JUST LIKE IT.
Well, I suppose I’d better write SOMETHING before I succumb to this very deadly cat scratch fever. I mean, who knows if this will be my last ever post before you all hear that I’ve died and you’ll be donating to one of my favorite charities or possibly to Victims of Cat Scratch Fever, which would be VCSF and not a very good or memorable acronym for a charity of people like ME who have died of CAT SCRATCH FEVER.
Dumbcat would like you all to know he does not think he has cat scratch fever, and he feels fine, but I’m pretty sure that’s what victims of cat scratch fever all say. Or those who are TRANSMITTING cat scratch fever to their supposedly beloved owners. But, FINE DUMBCAT, I will go on WebMD and put in my symptoms and see what it says is wrong with me. I bet WebMD says I have cancer.
WedMD said I had 99 possible diseases, and a bitch ain’t one (but one of which *was* TOTALLY cat scratch fever) but also I could have post-partum depression (I’m depressed just thinking about that, because if I have that, WHERE IS MY BABY?), brain aneurysm, typhoid fever, or cocaine withdrawal. As you can see, I’m most likely dying and have only days, NAY MOMENTS, left to live. (Also, I was doing cocaine? Man, did I enjoy myself? I can’t imagine I did. Cocaine always scared the beejeebers out of me. I think we can all agree I don’t need a drug that makes me speedier.)
Because I am dying, I should probably leave you with some cheerful things to remember me by, right? I mean, that’s important.
Here are Anzac and Peggy, and they are the best of interspecies friends.
Aw, you GUYS! Even though I am DYING I can appreciate the cuteness of this magnitude! Look look look! A joey and a wee wombat! They have been sharing a pouch because they are both ORPHANS. Aw! This is like the beginning of every Disney movie ever. This is like the Fox and the Hound! Only it’s the kangaroo and the wombat! Also, apparently they get along very well because they have similar personalities: Anzac the kangaroo is “very social” and Peggy the wombat is “boisterous and cheeky.” Aw! CHEEKY! Cheeky is my favorite!
The article goes on to say that the zookeepers don’t know if Anzac and Peggy will stay friends when they grow up, because they will differ wildly in size, and wombats are all waddly like little furry piggies. Aw! Poor Anzac and Peggy! I hope you stay friends FOREVER, you two! DAMN THE MAN! Don’t let ’em tell you who you can be friends with, you two crazy kids. Make it work! AGAINST ALL ODDS! Just like Phil Collins says!
And if you thought THAT was cute, here is Orbit the owl and HER BFF. They’re not interspecies friends. They’re…um…interobject friends? I guess?
Baby Orbit was also orphaned, so the lady raising him gave him a cuddle object and he TOTALLY took to it. ZOMG, you GUYS! Could this be any cuter? Also, baby barn owls are ADORABLE. All little puffs of fluff. I mean, I love owls anyway, but when they’re babies, I want to snorgle them. (Also, why so many orphaned babies? This is very sad.)
Look what baby Orbit will look like when he grows up! Listen, I totally missed my calling and should have been a raptor rehabilitator because I love birds of prey more than almost anything, I swear.
Oh, this isn’t so much “cheerful” as it is something I’ve seen a billion times over the past week or so and it makes me laugh every time.
OK, so since I don’t ever leave the house, I watch more television than is probably healthy? And this one commercial keeps coming on. And I can’t find it online. It’s apparently TOO SHOCKING FOR THE INTERWEBS. Nah, probably no one uploaded it because no one finds it as humorous as I do. Anyway, it’s a back-to-school commercial. It’s either for Kmart or Walmart, I’m not sure which. I thought Walmart but then I started second-guessing myself and now that I WANT to see it, of COURSE it’s not on. Anyway, it’s this hidden-camera thing, where this SECRETIVE VOICE-OVER GUY is all “we invited these families over so their children can try on these clothes for back-to-school” and it shows these women and girls all laughing and smiling and the girls modeling their new clothes. You know. Like you do with your friends and their girlfriends. Then SECRETIVE VOICE-OVER GUY is all “what these people DON’T KNOW is that these clothes are ALL FROM WALMART!” (Or, like I said, it might be Kmart, because I can’t find it anywhere. They’re both kind of the same place anyway.) Then the adults and kids are all, “What? Hee hee hee! I NEVER WOULD HAVE GUESSED! I will buy ALL of my clothes at Walmart (maybe Kmart, whatever) from now on!”
Every single time this commercial is on, I give it my OWN voice-over. “What? These clothes are from WALMART? Get ’em off. GET ‘EM OFF! Walmart clothes don’t touch my children’s skin! BURN THEM WITH FIRE! KILL THE CAMERAMAN! HOW DARE YOU!” Then I get the giggles. Because I’m effing hilarious, yo. Is it really so tricky? Kids are refusing to wear clothes from these places? Shit, when I was little, if I refused some of my back-to-school clothes, my mom would have just said, “Fine, wear last year’s shit, see if I care?” And then I’d be wearing the same clothes two years in a row and everyone would start calling me names. So I took what I was given whether I liked it or not, because that’s what poor people do.
(Please note my sarcasm, because I have nothing against either Walmart or Kmart clothing, as a rule. If it fits, I’ll wear it. If you came up to me wearing clothes from either place, I would have no idea where you’d purchased your clothing. Well, unless, I suppose, it said somewhere ON your clothing – say, on your shirt, “PURCHASED AT WALMART” or something. I have no eye for fashion. The closest I come to caring is watching Project Runway on a regular basis. Well, I don’t care much for t-shirts with wolves silk-screened on them. But does anyone? Does anyone, really? Wait, people do? Oh, ok, I’m sure they’re lovely on YOU. Carry on, then.)
I had something else to tell you but I’ve clean forgotten it. I’m going to assume that’s because of the cat scratch fever, or maybe the cocaine withdrawal. GIMME MAH BLOW YO.
Off to watch a billion more episodes of Grimm so I can get caught up by Monday. I’m totally getting sucked into this show. Oh, guess what I learned on it? Listen, you know how I love love love all the German, right? Well, it’s all about fairy tales, so there’s lots of German in it. And in the episode I watched last night, I learned that the German for poison is – ready? Well, Ken already knows and I can sense him rolling his eyes with barely-controlled “OH AMY”-ness right now – the German for poison is gift. So if someone says they’re going to give you gift you, but they’re German, it might be wacky wordplay and they’re totally going to serve you an iocane powder smackdown. Gift, you guys! Could that BE any more wonderful? No, it could NOT, I won’t hear a single argument against it.
Alright, off to swoon and also malaise. SIGH SIGH SIGH DYING.*
(*Probably not at all dying)