Jesus Just Left Chicago & He's Bound for New Orleans.

In my last post I made mention of my religious zealot cat. Then it occurred to me, "What if there really isn't a tooth fairy?!" After that occurrence occurred I realized that I have not told the story of the spiritual conversion of my cat. I apologize. It is like I was foreshadowing but more like backshadowing with a flair. Makes sense? Good.

My cat found Jesus.

He found him tucked in the corner of the hall closet behind some winter coats.

Hehehehe...

Sorry, that isn't right. Although it does make one wonder. Back "in the day" when Jesus walked the earth I wonder if he played a similar game to hide and seek called Find Jesus. He probably asked Peter to count to 30 then, with James and John, went looking for him. Eventually they would find him on some Judean plain feeding thousands of people with a loaf of bread and a fish. To make the miracle more dramatic I heard he used a small cornbread muffin and a sardine.

Of course, when Peter found him he would yell, "I found Jesus!" The other apostles would come running and then have a good time healing the lepers. They would never let Judas play, though.

My cat has always been one to investigate religions and try to find the meaning of life. He tried Buddhism once and even became a monk. He shaved his fur, put on an orange robe, and lived in a monastery. He soon reached nirvana by overdosing on lithium. He played that song all freaking day. Got really annoying. (For those who don't know the band Nirvana had a popular song named Lithium and...ah nevermind.) He once thought he reached true nirvana but that was only because we finally changed his litter box and put a picture of Courtney Love next to it. Somehow putting the picture in that spot seemed appropriate.

Hinduism was a good a choice...for about a day. The llama kept trying to eat him.

Madonna tried to convince him into joining her little freaked out sect of Judaism. He thought about it for awhile then realized...well...it IS Madonna. So he declined her invitation.

Other religions he tried were the Shakers, Quakers, and the Candlestick Makers. He did give Scientology a try but I refuse to give anymore space to Tom Cruise.

Just about the time he was to attend a meeting with the Jehovah’s Witnesses he had a vision. In the vision he came across a talking bush of catnip. The bush was on fire yet was not consumed. The catnip told him to not join the Jehovah Witnesses because they were "freaky". Instead he should join no religion, go home, and find Jesus.

After finding Jesus in the closet all he does is sit around all day and tell me how I am going to hell unless I find him too. But, since HE already found him I will have to go and find my own Jesus because he is not giving his up.

Hopefully I am not being too sacrilegious here. If I am may God strik

If I Could Pull the Nerves From My Skin, I Would

Once I had this desire to be found on Bloggers "Blogs of Note" list. I know this was a lofty goal. I even impressed myself with it. Eventually it passed through me like some bad Mexican salsa. Occasionally, like some bad Mexican salsa, it comes back to grip me by the throat then yells, "You must get on the Blogs of Note list!". Once again the feeling leaves like a dejected gorilla after losing a mating war.

I still wonder what it would be like; then I don't.

My objective today was to actually speak of the prairie dog family that recently moved into my garage. It was on my way to my car that I noticed them huddled warmly and sleeping under an old rug in the corner. As I pulled the rug off of them I realized that there were four. My guess was there is a mother, father, daughter and son. Such a cute nuclear family of prairie rodents.

They were definitely surprised to see me. The father of the group pushed the other three back behind him and raised his claws to me with a nasty little prairie dog growl. I asked, "Who are you? What are you doing here?" All I got in response was the growls. A prairie dog doesn't really growl I guess. It is more of an evil chirp. Some say the noise a prairie dog makes can be as loud on a decibel level as a jet airplane. A real evil airplane, of course. An airplane that takes off and lands you in the very depths of hell.

I once took Prairie Dog Chirping 101 in college but dropped it after a week. So I could not understand what they were saying. Luckily the cat spent some time on a ministerial mission to a colony of poor prairie dogs, so he can speak the language.

There were some meows and hisses combined with loud and evil chirps ringing in the air. The cat came back and explained the situation. The prairie dogs (Lets just call them PD's, ok? I am tired of typing that out.) snuck into the garage after escaping from a depressed neighborhood nearby. No, it is not the same one that is being run by the guinea pig but just as bad. They heard there were better opportunities here and felt they had a right to move into my garage.

The cat further mentioned that the PD's (See? That was much better.) saw how messy my bathrooms were and said they are willing to do that work if I wasn't going to. Sure there is some underwear on the floor which I haven't moved in 7 months, but it is MY bathroom, dammit!

The last few days hasn't been too bad. I have noticed I am running out of food but those bathrooms are super clean. I know, eventually, we will end up getting along and I probably won't even care anymore.

So the latest tally is: 2 gay hamsters, a religious zealot for a cat, my driveway is being protected by a knife-wielding ferret under the orders of a guinea pig, and now a family of PD's living in my garage. All in all a great way to be a blog of note.

Revvin' up Your Engine

First, a public service announcement:

It probably is NOT a good idea to spend a couple of hours installing insulation then eating two hard-boiled Easter eggs followed by buttered popcorn and topped off with a Diet Coke. Don't ask me how I know this, I just do. Oh, I really do. Believe me. It is ugly.

Now on to my message:

This blog thing is an interesting deal. Those who have made visits here know by now I am a manic-depressive blogger. You may now start calling me "MDB". I can go with multiple posts in a week, those creative and lunatic juices would be flowing, then...it stops. I am not sure why it stops. No...I actually do. Other "things" happen. Like a large guy with two tubs of popcorn and an extra-large drink trying to move his way into a theater seat in front of you; distractions just come along in life.

My distractions were many and varied. There will be no need to bore you with any of that. However, I have decided that maybe I should do this again. Maybe it is an urge to release all of this rage I feel. Or it could be a way to share my secret, and sometimes evil, inhibitions with the world yet still remain anonymous. Mostly I think it is because I need to get my mind off of this Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes crap. Millions of women, and some men who have been probed by aliens, are giving birth on a daily basis. Yet, TomKat (btw...that name is lame...I prefer CruiseHo) act like they are the only ones who can say they really know what it is like.

I hate to break it to Mr. Cruise but I do know what it is like. Essentially childbirth involves a lot of bodily fluid flying about, severe screaming, dramatic swearing, scratching, clawing, ripping of clothing, and her telling me to keep that "thing" away from her.

N...no...that is my sex life. But childbirth is eerily similar.

So, here I am...again.

Those of you still around, thank you. You have greater patience than even I have.