HOW TO WASH YOUR CAT IN 5 EASY STEPS!

For those of you looking for a simple, easy-to-read-how-to on washing your cat -- it's coming, swear to Jesus. And, it IS simple! And it IS easy-to-read!

I just feel as if I have to explain myself first.

On Monday, October 26th, I applied for a writing internship. Yes, I already have a 24 hr internship PLUS grad school but I figured hey, why the fuck not? I can do it, no problem. Besides, I waste all the free time I have either playing videogames or watching Ghost Lab, Ghost Hunters, or Ghost "Place-Noun/Adjective-Here" on DirectTV. Also, let's be honest, I probably won't even get the position. Why? Well, I gave them (possible internship-employer people) the link to this blog. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking. Honestly, though, this blog IS a good example of my writing style (DISCLAIMER: this is only partially true, as only the Paranormal-ly Retarded and maybe two other postings have been humorous, literate type-ups).

I know my shit is crude 99.9% of the time, but, if you remove all the "fucks/shits/cunts/Scott Baio's," you may actually find a readable piece of artwork...albeit sticky from all the jizz stains.

Still, I'm not getting my hopes up...even though (according to the possible-internship-employer's craigslist ad) this place supposedly has a vert ramp in the office space. No shit. How awesome is that? I for one cannot wait to smash my face off the bottom of that vert ramp multiple, multiple times.

Okay, back to the whole "washing your cat" thing.

The reason I'll be discussing wiggling balls of wet feline fur in this blog is because I'd be doing topical issues such as "washing your cat" for this internship...or at least that's what I gathered from their job listing. Here: I'll let them explain it.

Write an online article based on high‐traffic keywords.

“How to get rid of wasps”

According to Wordtracker, a tool that measures search engine traffic, the phrase “How to get rid of wasps” gets typed in 415 times a day on Google, Yahoo, MSN, AOL, AskJeeves, etc. Apparently, getting rid of wasps is a serious problem across the United States, and currently, the #1 site that attracts that traffic (on Google) is …http://www.getridofthings.com/get‐rid‐of‐wasps.htm…an article by Jonathan Hatch. It’s filled with pictures, lots of content, and a lot of information about both identifying wasps and killing them. It also teaches you how to naturally kill wasps, treat wasp stings, and even has a funny element to it in the style of writing. What does this have to do with your job? Your job is to beat Jonathan at his own game by writing an article that’s even better than his. There are a lot of things wrong with Jonathan’s article, from it being too verbose, to not having video, to having pictures that are not that clear, to being littered with advertisements. The list goes on and on. The bottom line is that there’s always a way to make things better‐‐that’s what drives the competitive spirit in this country. Whether you are making a better cup of coffee, a better hamburger, or a better automobile, the better product or service will always win.

...And then there's a PR aspect to it as well but you get the idea.

So, without further ado (what the fuck does that even mean?), here's HOW TO WASH YOUR CAT IN 5 EASY STEPS!***

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Hello there! My name is Kyp Bing, and I'm going to take you on the magical journey known as "Washing Your Cat." (smiles) I hope you're ready, because this experience will leave you scarred for a lifetime, both mentally AND physically! (laughs)

Let's begin!

1) OBTAIN A MEDIEVAL SUIT OF ARMOR.

No shit, you're gonna need it. Your feline companion is a natural killing machine. In fact, if you were a small animal (such as a bird or mouse), Mr. Bigglesworth would have eaten you a long time ago. Now, obviously you're not a bird or a mouse because you found this webpage (laughs), but don't let that small fact make you think you're suddenly superior to that cute little kitten of yours. I assure you, he's still tougher, meaner, and nastier than that lesbian on American Idol, Simon Cowell.

However, if you either can't find or don't have enough money to purchase a suit of armor, those long yellow rubber gloves that brainwashed-housewives of the 1950's wore will do just fine.

2) PREPARE FOR WAR

See, this is where that suit of armor would have come in handy. As General Patton once stated, "war is nothing more than a bunch of 6th grade dick-measuring and sexual insecurity," or something like that. The truth is, however, your cat probably has a bigger dick than you and he's going to prove it. Whether it's a desperate claw to your eyesocket or a sudden nip at your testacles, your cat is going to do his damndest to castrate you like you neutered him. He may not have balls anymore, but he's got enough pent up anger from that situation to kill. In other words, he's Mel Gibson and you're the Bar mitzvah that Mel Gibson was just forcefully dropped into. (laughs) Keep strong!

3) DROWN! DROWN! DROWN!

Even if this is the first time your cat has ever been in the bathroom, the moment he sees that tub his natural survival instincts will kick in and you're gonna be in for a shitton of clawing, scratching, and screaming (kind of like the first time you had sex, eh? Hey, I didn't say it was consensual!). So, before you even bring kitty into the room, have the water running at a comfortable, nearly lukewarm temperature. Remember: you don't want to burn little Tuffles in the bath. Also, plug the drain so that a shallow pool layers the bottom of the tub; this will make Shithead feel more comfortable in the water.

Ready?

Your cat is going to act as if the Second Coming of Christ is about to occur right up until he feels the natural, soothing movements of the water. So, take a deep breath yourself, AND THEN PUT THAT FUCKER'S HEAD RIGHT UNDER THE SPICKET. Seriously. He'll be in so much shock that he won't know what to do. In fact, your cat will probably go limp in your hands after a few minutes of this technique. Don't worry, it's just a natural survival instinct. However, it's still probably safe at this time to remove your cat's face from under the torrential downpour of hell spewing from your faucet.

4) MODERATION

It'll take a few moments for kitten to recover; this is your chance to shampoo him/soap him/have your way with him. If he begins to bitch and moan again, repeat the dunking of the head until kitten's lungs fill with water (again). Just make sure they don't fill too much! (laughs)

5) PREPARE FOR WAR (Part 2)

So you're done drowning --er--I mean, "washing" your cat. After he's dry, you're going to have a beautiful, fluffy, smell-good ball of fuck on your hands. Unfortunately, he's also going to be planning your death. In fact, kitten has probably been planning it from the moment he regained consciousness after the first time you attempted to drown him.

While it's sometimes heartbreaking, you'll have no other choice but to stuff kitten into a plastic bag (double bag it just in case; you can never be too careful!) and throw him out the window as you speedily drive by your local animal shelter.

No harsh feelings, little man! (laughs)

And that concludes, "How to Wash Your Cat in Five Easy Steps!" I hope you enjoyed this lesson, and I hope to see all of you next week for, "How to Successfully Eat Your Partner's Asshole Without Getting AIDS All Up in Your Mouth." Goodbye!

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***DON'T DO ANY OF THAT SHIT I JUST SAID, YOU SICK FUCKS. I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF IT AND AM NOT LIABLE IF YOU TRY IT. PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, DO NOT ATTEMPT ANY OF THESE STEPS.

So, people-I'm-trying-to-get-an-internship-with, what do you think? I for one feel that I deserve it simply because I wrote an entire piece on washing felines without making one dirty pussy joke. Seriously. That's nobel peace prize winning shit. I'd like to see Obama give a speech about washing cats and not throw in a pussy joke or two.

He couldn't. Fucking truth.

well what's attached to a leash that it made itself? the punchline is the way that you've been fucking yourself

It's the Larry Arms 10th Anniversary extravaganza this weekend in Chicago. I, once again too poor, cannot attend.

DEPRESSION.

Honestly, I can't even read the bad sandwich chronicles anymore because I SHOULD FUCKING BE THERE. Blah.

Spending $30 dollars on some stupid Halloween hayride and haunted house tonight. BIG SPENDER RIGHT HERE.

ahldfjadsfjdsfkjsdf fuck.

Tomorrow night, I'll have 24 bottles in hand and the greatest story ever told/cocktails and dreams/apathy and exhaustion/oh! calcutta running on repeat. Maybe some sundowner and falcon thrown in for good mix. Hell, slapstick might even make a guest appearance. Fuck yeah, it'll be like having the 10th anniversary show in my house!

Hahahahahaha no.

Tear us up, and stuff us down the drain.

Tony Soprano: HANDIN' OUT LIFE LESSONS ALL OVER DA PLACE

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Top Ten Reasons Why I'm Gay: NUMBER 1!

I shouldn't even be typing this right now since I've been working 12 hours straight on two separate midterm projects. FML...and, well, FWP's I guess, too. Lame. School's the shit and all but I'm pretty sure I'm not doing what I'd like to do for the rest of my life. I need to be more disciplined and actually sit down and write every day but it's hard to do when you've got 24 hours a week just devoted to an internship, school, bills, apartment to clean, cat to take care of...and on top of it all I'm going to add running three miles a day to my schedule in order to get my fatass back in shape. I hate being a fatty. Weird side to that, though?
More looks from chicks (although this is null and void to me since I have a wonderful girlfriend).
When I was super skinny, I'd only get those weird girls who liked skinny guys, but now that I'm "big" (husky? fuck if I know, but I sure as hell ain't toned) I get looks from girls that used to probably be cheerleaders or whores in years earlier. I'm not used to that, and I sure as hell don't understand why attractive girls like fat dudes and not skinny ones. I mean, I was skinny and shit, but at least I was toned. I had abs, for fucks sake! Now, if I don't start exercising in the next month, my New Year's Resolution will probably be to look down and see my own dick again. I've got 100 Resolutions, but I've got no solutions...well, yeah, I guess I do, running. Fuck you, Chris.

I digress.

I was watching Paranormal State the other night and a commercial for some Lysol kitchen wipes came on. They were extra tough and had dysinfecting superpowers and whatnot and the lady wiped her dirty-ass oven and it was sparkly clean and, well, you get the picture. What was odd to me, however, was at that very moment my mind contemplated the thought of, "man, I cannot wait to have a lot of extra money so that one day I can buy those and really clean my area of dwelling."
I shit you not. I actually thought that.
My next thought, of course, was suicide. Let's face it, how fucking far have I fallen that I'm now thinking of goddamn wipes as some sort of holy grail of middle class awesomeness?
I guess what I'm trying to get at is that for the first time in a very long time, I found myself asking (myself), "Just who the fuck am I?"
I still don't know.

cause I can dish it out, but I can't take it...

So right now I'm poor. Like, epically poor. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm on the same level K-Fed was when he was sucking dick in the back-alleys of LA's finest for a dimebag before he married that rich whore and then divorced her just as quick (say what you want, but that was one hell of a smart move on his part).
While my stomach is still free of semen (at the moment), I'm really starting to feel the pressure of being stuck in such a low SES. Now, I can't complain too much because I have a roof over my head as well as enough noodles for the next three weeks to survive (I hope), but it sucks wondering if something unexpected will occur in that time frame that I won't be able to afford to fix. Health goes bad? I'm fucked. So is my girlfriend. Apartment gets robbed/burns down? We're both fucked again because I don't have the money to pay for renter's insurance anymore. Basically, I feel as if I'm going through life with my fingers crossed at all times just praying that nothing bad happens to us until we both have actual jobs that pay a living wage as opposed to a minimum one. No one should be forced to live like this, and yet the majority of people do. Yay for capitalism, right?
Seriously though, movie stars, athletes, the big money-making businessmen, do you really need all of that money? I appreciate what you do, don't get me wrong, it's just that I really think you're overpaid. You don't need all that money to survive, bro. Let's say you make $14 mil this year. I understand you're never going to see all 14 of those millions. After taxes, maybe you'll take a cool $7 mil cut. Not bad. Not bad at all when you consider that 96% of Americans will never make that much in their entire lives. So, when you're taking home that much bank, why don't you just donate some of it? Like, let's say, half? 3.5 mil to a charity or non-profit in your city would go a hell of a long way. Now imagine if every rich fuck did the same. Shit, no more poverty in this country, at least, right?
Now, if a ran the world, you'd be donating about 5 mil of that 7, because, well, I don't think anyone needs more than 2 million a year to survive "comfortably." Seriously, dawg, you don't need that mansion in New York, a vacation home in the Keys, and a log cabin in...wherever the fuck rich people go to blow snow up their asses. You just don't. I live in a two-bedroom apartment that comprises the bottom floor of a house. You know what? I am fucking happy, minus the fact that I have to worry about paying the bills. If I didn't have that issue, I'd be extremely content right now. So why do other people feel the need to own two houses, four vacation homes, and an illegal immigrant labor force the size of Mexico City? $500,000 car? Hell yeah! Fuck the starving children living in the poor black section of the city just two miles down the road, I gotta cruise in style!
Wouldn't you hate yourself for that? I would. Just knowing that I spent money that could have kept a family warm through the winter months but instead wasted it on my own selfish wants...fuck, how can people live with themselves? You don't need that shit, man. It's fake. I know you probably have a tough job, but hey, you're making the money for it...and it's way too much. I just can't imagine a job out there where the person working it thinks, "man, this shit is soooooo tough. I totally deserve the millions upon millions that I'm making!" Unless you've been the unfortunate soul assigned to removing the barnacles that have attached themselves between Danny DeVito's ass cheeks, I really don't think you have that bad of a time.
You work long hours? So what? So does that young woman who has two kids and two minimum wage jobs. I bet she works just as long and hard (that's what she said!) as you do, and I'd also bet she'd trade you positions in a heartbeat. So you have more responsibilities, or, to be specific, more important ones? Okay, but that doesn't mean what she's doing is any less difficult. Trading stocks on the phone is no less easy than dealing with asshole customers and cleaning toilets all day. Both are just as shitty, but one is a hell of a lot more glamorous.
I don't know, the world is just crazy when you sit back and think about it. I was in a local, family owned hardware store today and the older gentlemen who was probably the son of the original owner was helping me out and was super friendly. The whole time I was thinking, "wow, you don't get service like this anymore and yet I bet this place is fucking struggling to survive." I really hope I'm wrong about that, but let's face it, big box chains have ruined this country in so many ways.
To put my experience in comparison, I went to a Home Depot last week in a predominately African American area that has been struggling for years. Yet these big chains have started moving in to try to "revitalize" the community by offering employment opportunities for the poor and under-educated people in the area. Sure, awesome idea and I'm sure it's helping a few people. But when you put it under the microscope, how much is it really helping? Minimum wage only goes so far, and it shows by how the workers treat you when you walk in the store. Good luck trying to find help, because no one in that place really gives a shit. You know what? I can't blame them, either. They're making shit pay in order to survive in their shit house/apartment in a shit area. I wouldn't give two fucks about the cocksuckers that walk into my store either. Yet when I went to the family-owned store, I hadn't taken two steps before that guy started helping me around the store.
Just think about that. It blows my mind and super-depresses me when I do. Yet there's people out there who think capitalism is still working for our country and that as long as you work hard you can succeed. Okay...but all those people who are preaching this train of thought are the same ones making a shitton of money, aren't they? I would love to ask each and every one of them how they came into their position of power because if I were to make just a quick guess, I'd say more than half inherited the business through their parents, while 30% or so had some serious connections. Maybe 20% are actually hardworking dudes who made it from rags to riches? I don't know, man, but looking around America, all I see are a bunch of self-righteous rich assholes who got where they are through inheritance and luck.
Dear Ronald Reagan Ghost: can you trickle-down some of that luck? Cause I'm all out of inheritance.

By the way, that hardware store is in the South Side, near 18th Street on East Carson. I will never shop anywhere else but there ever again.

The Paranormal-ly Retarded

It’s that time of year again. School’s back in session, football’s in full swing, and the few people that actually give a shit about the NHL are emerging from their parent’s basements in anticipation of the new season. That means it’s fall, bitches, and while leaves migrate to the south and birds drop dead from branches, the mentally retarded everywhere are using Halloween as their excuse to dress up as pop culture icons and get extremely shit-faced. What does this mean for you? Well, if you like parties where all the girls come dressed (or underdressed) as Lindsay Lohan and the only way to tell them apart is how far their camel-toes hang between their legs, then you, sir, are in for a treat. As for the rest of us that prefer our women to have class and be less full of AIDS, we generally like to sit around in the chill air telling ghost stories, visiting actual haunted houses, and shitting our pants in fear to A&E’s Paranormal State (or is that just me?).

Kristen Bell: so classy, and so not full of AIDS.

I am a sucker for the paranormal. Let’s just get that out there. I’m not sure if it’s the cheap scares or the “wonder” of the unknown, but I love ghost shows and haunted houses. The funny part is that I don’t even believe in half that shit. I’d love to believe in it. Hell, I’d love for it to be real. But to be honest, I’m the dude in the group that goes to the haunted house and starts screaming, “You’re not real you pussy-ass ghosts and if you are real, then Scott Baio fucked your mom!” Then I play the Misfit’s Last Caress, hoping beyond hope that something will show it’s face. It never does.

The face that fucks dead people’s mothers.

But why? Why isn’t there any evidence? There are literally dozens of “real life” ghost shows on television, and yet not one has ever captured a real ghost on film. Sure, stuff has been thrown around, lots of “strange” noises have been heard, and people have even been temporarily “possessed” or “attacked,” but yet no actual hard proof has ever turned up. What the fucking fuck?

Let’s look at a show like Paranormal State. The set up: a group of students from PSU go to locations where supposed paranormal activity is taking place. They place about a million cameras at the site and then go to work, trying to figure out who the ghost is, where it’s from, what it wants, and, most importantly, if it could have sex with any person on earth who would it be and why? Then, when the ghost has finally debated for hours over Charlize Theron or Hillary Clinton, they whip out their proton packs and positron discharge all over those ghostly fuck’s faces.

Ghost Hunters, on the other hand, is the story of two dudes who plunge shit from toilets during the day and then plunge shapeshifting shit from people’s attics at night. The show has a similar premise: go to a paranormal hotspot and find the sneaky dead bastards that are ruining late-night booty calls. The only difference is that Ghost Hunters just visit an area and try to prove that ghosts are indeed there. They really don’t do anything about it except tell the owners to call a priest and stick their dick in the sand and pray…or something like that.

While both shows are slightly different, they do share one important thing in common: neither has ever captured a paranormal spirit on camera/film/etch-a-sketch. Odds are that if you place a camera in every room at every possible angle that you’ll catch something eventually. Well, the odds must hate ghost investigators because we’re nearing the 200 year anniversary of the first photograph and we still ain’t got shit.

Much like any recording device, the Etch-a- Sketch is a true ghost repellent.

Now, you may be asking yourself, “But there’s video of tables moving and cups being thrown and Linda Blair fucking herself with a crucifix. Isn’t that enough evidence?” The short answer is no, you dumb fuck hillbilly. I want proof. I want solid, indisputable proof that yes, the paranormal exists, yes you can finally talk to your dead grandparents without having to slit your own writs first, and that yes, I should probably stop mocking demons about how they must be closet-homos since they’re always so damn angry about life. Forget those stupid white orbs in still photographs that guys who have never been laid claim to be proof of the dead; let’s see a full motion video captured by CNN of that Japanese chick from the Grudge. Hell, I invite them to show up at my place right now as long as they give me time to get out my camera before they rip my soul straight out of my ass.

Honestly though, for beings that make a living after they die by haunting crazy people non-stop, you’d think they’d be starving little camera-whores just begging for attention. Instead, as soon as the film starts rolling, they all run and hide as if Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd just popped in to say hello. It simply makes no sense.

Here’s a test for you: next time you’re in your place of dwelling, turn off all the lights, any appliance that could make a sound, and kick your pets out in the backyard for just a few minutes. Now, sitting there in complete silence, make a note every time you hear a “strange” noise. Ghosts? Probably not. No matter where you live, no matter how old your house is, there’s always going to be something making a slight noise or weird vibrations in your ear. Whether it’s the foundation creaking, an old wooden board in your floor expanding or contracting due to slight temperature changes, or even the wind or a bird on your roof, chances are that “silence” you’re sitting in really isn’t going to be all that silent due to the natural world around you. This is why I think all those shows “fail” in trying to prove that the paranormal actually exists. Most of the places these shows visit are extremely old, and they use that as backing evidence that there would be more spiritual activity due to the countless people that have died there over the years. The truth is, however, is that the older a building gets, the more noises it’s naturally going to make. You’re visiting an old mental institution that’s been abandoned for thirty years? That’s not some long-dead crazy dude making those scratching and thumping noises in the hallways, that’s just mice in the walls or something falling apart.

I'm under ur bed, humpin' your mattress.

To the guys and gals from Penn State: I’m really not hating on you. In fact, I think you all have awesome jobs and I’d even sign up to be on the team if given the chance. I’d love to be the skeptic disbeliever in your group, always providing the audience with a reasonable explanation. And if I couldn’t find a reasonable explanation to something? Well, I’d own up and honestly express my confusion and inability to comprehend what I saw. Fair deal, right? The same goes out to you Ghost Hunters and everyone else out there with the sweet employment of trying to explain the unexplained. But until I actually see some real proof (like a ghost inside one of those floor traps used in the movies), I will continue to bust your balls in a critical yet loving way.
What’s that old saying? The simplest explanation is often the right one? I think the next time we’re all thinking about whether or not that growling noise coming from the basement might be Satan’s flatulent asshole, we should just use Occam’s Razor to slice through the television and film bullshit that’s bloated our imaginations to the point of stupidity.

Happy Halloween.