I Hate You

I Hate Friday Nights

2006-03-10T14:07:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know what you fuckers are thinking..."Oooo! It's Friday! Time to relax and unwind!" Uh uh, you assholes.

Friday nights mean the bitch and My Human Crush come home, take off their stinky-ass shoes, and talk all night (or bang around in the bedroom--ick). I fucking hate this shit. Meanwhile, I try to tuck myself into a tiny dark corner, praying for Lucifer or at least one rabies-infected mongrel pit bull to come and fucking put me out of my misery. Fuck! Friday nights are the one fucking decent excuse for getting put down. I'd do it every week if I fucking could.

So, it's Friday fucking night, and I've got a different strategy. Fuck it. I'm rollin' over to Samson's house. We're gonna do the slow grind to the hand organ, smoke some doobies, and watch my favorite movie.

Fuck, yeah.

It's a long, hard road to Hell

I Hate Sharing

2006-03-08T20:50:00.000-05:00

First of all, it's MY fucking bed. It's not THE bed. It's not THEIR bed. It's MY fucking bed.

Secondly, I sleep the way I fucking sleep. I make no excuses for my fucking sleep behavior. I'm a CAT, for crissake's. Fucking lions in the fucking sarengheti fucking sleep for twenty-two hours and NOBODY fucking bothers them, except for poachers. And fuck them.

So, I'm asleep where I SLEEP which is between the bitch's broad, fleshy thighs. And she kicks me. She FUCKING kicks me. I move diagonally. This way, I'm catty-corner between the piano legged snatchy whore. Whatev, right? I'm all, "Fuck you, I'm sleepin'!" when BAM! she clocks me on the ass. What'd I do? I fuckin' did the same thing you would, so stop judging.

I bit her. On her ass. You'd think she couldn't feel a damn thing through that love pad she's got, but she woke up and screamed. And when she screamed, secret lover man screamed. Someone got a bat out from under the bed. Goddam it, I just want to FUCKING sleep. I slid off the bed and growled. I'm sick of this shit.

I'm sleeping in the dryer from now on. Suck it, whores!

I Hate Surfing the Net

2006-03-07T08:42:00.000-05:00

I don't have opposable thumbs. Typing is not something I'm interested in. The fucking mouse has that problem where the dust builds up and it can't scroll the right way and then I just want to chew it.
All you bloggers out there are fucking losers. You spend all day surfing the net for decent things to write about. I don't need to do that. I'm a cat. I've got better things to do than putty around with this shit.
Now, I'll leave you with this:

This moron got stuck in a grate in a road in England.

No, he didn't die. Go read about it.

I Hate Cable TV

2006-03-06T12:26:00.000-05:00

I hate cable tv so much, I'd rather watch this shit all day.

I Hate Being Neutered

2006-03-06T10:38:00.000-05:00

I used to piss everywhere. It was fun and destructive. It also smelled good. Then, I got snipped. Now, I can only pee in the catbox, even if I want to drop a load on the bitch's bed. I've got a thing for her man, though, and kinda want to pee on his shoes to show my devotion. But I can't bring myself to do it. Ever since I lost my lady business, it's only been fucking clay for me. I feel like a fucking eunuch. No wonder I goddam eat so much. I'm fucking neutered, for Crissake's.

Let me piss or die, asshat.

I Hate the Sun

2006-03-04T17:39:00.000-05:00

I start everyday out hoping the zookeepers will leave me alone. If I'm lucky enough for this to occur, I fart in pleasure and then eat some of that crap dry food the bitch feeds me. After I eat, I want to tear some shit up, so I rip up the leather sofa for awhile. I might eat some houseplants. Then, it's time to take a nap. For half a day, or so.

Look, the bitch hasn't bought me own catbed because she told me I'd never sleep in it. I'm like, "Duh, no shit, bitch, if you're just going to buy a bed that's really for a small dog. Whatever!" The honest fucking truth is that I wouldn't sleep in a bed if she wanted me to sleep in a bed. Dammit, I'm a fucking cat, for Crissake's. I'll sleep wherever the hell I wanna.

Of course, the bed generally is covered in unfolded laundry or atleast smells like human sweat and sperm, so I'm all, "Fuck that, I'm sleepin' on the floor." I mean, getting baby batter in my fur would be hellacious.

So, I chill out on the carpet. You know, where the motherfuckin' sun shines in, so it can warm my ass up and make it nicer to clean. I lick myself for awhile, dreaming about Samson and his barbed love machine, and then I fall asleep. And then, I wake up. And the fucking sun has moved. My ass is cold. I heave myself over to the sunny spot and bake there for awhile, imagining what it would be like to puncture the zookeepers' eyeballs. And then I wake up. And the fucking sun has FUCKING moved again.

For four hours, I chase that bitch all over the room until I realize it's worthless, and then I park my ass in the dryer. The bitch about it is: I keep forgetting how this works. I do this on a daily fucking basis. What I need is a fucking Palm Pilot.

I fucking hate the sun.

Get the fuck out of my face and bring me some fucking tuna.

I Hate the Vacuum Cleaner

2006-03-01T21:39:00.000-05:00

It came out. It roared. I fucking peed all over the place.

That thing is fucking scary as hell. It's a demon from the basement of Hell. Even I don't come from such evility. I swear, I need a damn Qualude after that shit.

I think I'll take a big dump in the middle of the carpet, now. Yeah. That'll show 'em.

I Hate Being Lactose Intolerant

2006-03-01T08:42:00.000-05:00

I hate the fact that I was made with an innate desire to lap up milk. It's like a damn nectar or something...I freakin' smell it like I smell two day old tuna. This morning, the bitch was up and eating her cereal. After waiting for about five minutes for her to finish, I put my head in the damn bowl and started drinking. The human made some noises for awhile but quit soon after (she knows she can't argue with me).

That milk tasted pretty freakin' good. It was like getting high again...I haven't had milk in a long ass time.

Then, like ten minutes later, I could feel the milk sloshing around in my stomach. I felt gross. Before you know it, I'm blowing chunks all over the living room, and the milk is coming out of my fucking nose. I felt like Courtney Love after a long date with her psychiatrist. The shit was just spewing in a big geyser. After I hurled seven or ten times, I felt a lot better. Some spots where I puked actually looked kinda appetizing, but the Bitch cleaned it all up before I could go back for a snack. That psycho-obsessive woman. Freakin' cleaning after just a touch of lactose intolerance.

Anyway, I think the real problem was that is was fucking SKIM milk and not the good ol' whole milk I should be drinking. Forget this shit...I gotta go lick my ass.

Yeah, I puked. What the fuck are you going to do about it?

I Hate You and the Other Cats

2006-02-28T21:54:00.000-05:00

Here's a fucking fact: felines don't dig other felines. If felines would fucking get along, we'd have control over this entire world. We would bite, scratch, and devour any human that tried to cage us or cut our privates out. It would be an easy empire to build. The fact is: we all fucking hate each other.

Like, my stinking fleabag of a mother. Yeah, she gets knocked up, realized she couldn't feed me, and started to eat me when I was born. Why? Because I was the black one. That's why.

There's this one cat in particular I really fucking hate. It's the one that lives downstairs from me--he's this faggy Persian cat with that stuffed in face. What the fuck? No decent cat would be proud of that ugly mug. He's stupid and ugly. I sit in the window and yell at him, "Hey, girly-boy, too bad your pussy is bigger than mine!" But he just sits there, staring at me with that ugly stuffed in face. My GOD I want to kill him. I hate him so much it makes me vomit hairballs. I want to vomit them and then pitch at him.

One time, I was sitting there, and his human zookeeper came outside to pick him up. The human called him by name. You know what his name is? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT FUCKING LOSER CAT'S NAME IS??

His name is Samson. I kitty-shit you not. His name is fucking SAMSON and my name is DELILAH.

Does that mean I can chop off his fucking tail and stuff it up his ass? Bastard...probably named that for all that gay-ass hair he has. Whatever. He's so UGLY. My GOD, how does he wake up knowing he's that UGLY? Just put him down, man! Spare us the indignity of that ugly ass creature named SAMSON.

What that ugly-motherfucker looks like. Bitch-ass.

2006-02-28T12:05:00.000-05:00

The fucking birds keep chirping at me in the window. I'm gonna fucking kill them. I chirp at them. They fucking sit there, those vapid eyed asshats.
I remember one pigeon from the hood. He would fly crack in for me from College Park. I would smoke that shit up and then zone out listening to Barry White. I fucking hate him, too.
I want to say I'm living the high life, but these asshats who cage me give me substandard food and a ridiculously small catbox. Fuck that shit. I need a fuckin' sandbox to take my craps in. I mean, who in the hell wants to pinch a loaf in two foot wide box. How the hell am I going to fuckin' read up on my horoscope when I'm crouched in that box? I lay my ears back in rage.
Bitches.

But listen up. This journal is going to be an undertaking of my plans to slay, maim, and destruct the zookeepers. I know...it might be commonplace, now that all these other felines are making their way into the world as a coalition of haters. I'm telling you...my hate runs much deeper and stronger than any of those faux pussies.

This shit is for real. I hate you.