I hate my body. I wish I had the stomach of a goat, so I could eat anything, then I wouldn't have to be dependent on these babbling apes who always forget to feed me. Hello, I'm not playing the kitty cuddle game because I want to, I'm trying to get some meat out of your fridge, which I cannot unfortunately open. I know there's better stuff in there than this brown after-product the monkeys call "cat-food." Thanks, guys; when I'm running the show, I'll be sure to label some rotting tomatoes "Human-food." I only get by pretending that it's some sort of rich duck liver pate', and I'm a food critic on an international assignment abroad, critiquing 5-star hole-in-the-walls during the day and enjoying life's libations by the moonlight.
But instead, I ate too much of the organic kibble that lays out for days in the red dish on the floor, and puked. Because its organic, it has papaya and mango and other crap I hate in it. Who ever saw a cat eating a banana? I swear, this is just the ape manufacturer projecting their own sick subconscious tastes on the cat-slavery community, appealing to the Jamba-Juice fruitcakes who buy this stuff for their pets, thinking "oh, puddy-wuddy would loooooove some dried papaya bits with his government meat crusties!" Thanks. I'll try to hork on your face next time.
No comments:
Post a Comment