Inbred cats
Michael, task master that he is, politely informed me that I hadn't updated my blog for a while. So I put aside my audit case (due in one week), and postponed the necessary cramming for my auditing exam (writing in two weeks), to impart my words of wisdom and wit to the two people that read this.
On Saturday night I met up with a couple of stellar ladies at Section 3 downtown. I must say the tapas were divine. There was an illuminated sign spelling "NERD" over the bar, which I found overwhelming and intimidating. Highschool memories tend to linger... The fun part at Section 3 was our waiter. He was pretty. I don't want to say anything too vicious, because I am sure he is a great person. I will instead tell you a story about a cat. You know how the bible is full of the action adventure parables of Jesus Christ? This is similar. I will play the role of Jesus.
Many moons ago, Michael and I took a trip to Lethbridge. I know, WTF, right? Maybe I should back the story up a bit further. Michael's brother Rod and his family live in Lethbridge, and Rod was able to get a screaming deal on a Chevy Lumina through his work. Since Michael was driving a Sherman Tank at the time (every time he got into the car there was an air quality warning in the GVRD and Osama sent him a thank you note), it was decided that we would fly to Lethbridge to visit with his relatives, and then drive the new car home. But we're here today to speak of the cat.
Because of allergies, Rod's family had a hypoallergenic cat. I'm not specifically sure how this works, but I went with it. The cat was very beautiful, with regal composure and a long, powdered gray coat. It walked like a supermodel struts. They also had a new puppy with those cute, razor sharp puppy teeth that manage to penetrate thick socks as though made of butter (oh - remind me to tell you about the time Michael wore butter socks). At any rate, I can testify that the teeth were very sharp, like my wit. I lost about a pint of blood over that weekend. So one day the dog goes after the hypoallergenic cat. I braced myself, having a flashback to what happened the day we brought my dog, Blacky (shut up) home: my cat climbed to the top of the curtains and hung there as the dog tried to eat him. At any rate, sure that fur was about to fly and someone was going to lose an eye, I looked on. The dog went for the cat and started chewing on the thing's tail! And the cat just sat there. Unflinching. The razor sharp teeth were paring down on this cat's bony tail and it looked mildly perplexed, like it was thinking of having a reaction, but wasn't sure which one to have (like when Michael asks me for sex). And then I realized that this poor cat was so inbred or genetically modified that its brain was mush, and it couldn't even react normally to the most basic things. And that is my parable about the pretty waiter.
In other news, Michael and I returned to Mahoney's at UBC for lunch, this time with my mother. We sat outside under a tree and I promptly became infested with aphids. My mom told us that ladybugs eat aphids. So I ate my pesto chicken ciabatta and patiently waited to become infested with ladybugs.
On Saturday night I met up with a couple of stellar ladies at Section 3 downtown. I must say the tapas were divine. There was an illuminated sign spelling "NERD" over the bar, which I found overwhelming and intimidating. Highschool memories tend to linger... The fun part at Section 3 was our waiter. He was pretty. I don't want to say anything too vicious, because I am sure he is a great person. I will instead tell you a story about a cat. You know how the bible is full of the action adventure parables of Jesus Christ? This is similar. I will play the role of Jesus.
Many moons ago, Michael and I took a trip to Lethbridge. I know, WTF, right? Maybe I should back the story up a bit further. Michael's brother Rod and his family live in Lethbridge, and Rod was able to get a screaming deal on a Chevy Lumina through his work. Since Michael was driving a Sherman Tank at the time (every time he got into the car there was an air quality warning in the GVRD and Osama sent him a thank you note), it was decided that we would fly to Lethbridge to visit with his relatives, and then drive the new car home. But we're here today to speak of the cat.
Because of allergies, Rod's family had a hypoallergenic cat. I'm not specifically sure how this works, but I went with it. The cat was very beautiful, with regal composure and a long, powdered gray coat. It walked like a supermodel struts. They also had a new puppy with those cute, razor sharp puppy teeth that manage to penetrate thick socks as though made of butter (oh - remind me to tell you about the time Michael wore butter socks). At any rate, I can testify that the teeth were very sharp, like my wit. I lost about a pint of blood over that weekend. So one day the dog goes after the hypoallergenic cat. I braced myself, having a flashback to what happened the day we brought my dog, Blacky (shut up) home: my cat climbed to the top of the curtains and hung there as the dog tried to eat him. At any rate, sure that fur was about to fly and someone was going to lose an eye, I looked on. The dog went for the cat and started chewing on the thing's tail! And the cat just sat there. Unflinching. The razor sharp teeth were paring down on this cat's bony tail and it looked mildly perplexed, like it was thinking of having a reaction, but wasn't sure which one to have (like when Michael asks me for sex). And then I realized that this poor cat was so inbred or genetically modified that its brain was mush, and it couldn't even react normally to the most basic things. And that is my parable about the pretty waiter.
In other news, Michael and I returned to Mahoney's at UBC for lunch, this time with my mother. We sat outside under a tree and I promptly became infested with aphids. My mom told us that ladybugs eat aphids. So I ate my pesto chicken ciabatta and patiently waited to become infested with ladybugs.
posted by Duder at 9:17 PM
3 Comments:
Hey, I read this blog. I find it scintillating. You sure go out to eat a lot. Doesn't Michael cook for you?
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Sometimes he does, when I let him out of the basement (which is rare, because we don't have a basement). But he often then does something dangerous, like cook splattering bacon naked.
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