Friday, October 08, 2004

What is with that cat?

While drinking, I found myself staring at my cat. The cat was going nuts on a drawstring (like cats do) from a pair of shorts that was hanging out of the laundry basket. He was batting it around, biting, smacking it again, going back and forth. Then he would get up and walk to the other side and jerk his head back and get ready to pounce on the string. I tried to figure out what the cat was thinking. Was the string talking shit to him? Hey, you pussy, that all you got? I swore the cat thought the string was talking to him because he would stare at it, cock his head back and jump all over the string. Kinda like me and a beer.

As of this day, I am not going to the Dallas Cowboys game in GB. Not yet at least. And I blame my friend's penis. Yes, Jame's dick has caused me to not have tickets at this time. He was going to get the tix but he had to go and impregnate his wife. I mean, he could have kept it in his pants until after football season. I am (or at least not by choice).

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