me: I mean, logically they wouldn’t be related because one is a muppet and the other one isn’t real, but they both speak the same “Meep! Meep!” language. That has to mean something.
Victor: Um…Muppets aren’t real either.
me: Shut your mouth.
Victor: Anyway, Beaker only says “meep” once at a time. The Road Runner always says it twice.
me: So Beaker is just less talkative?
Victor: It might be a different dialect.
me: Or maybe The Road Runner has a stammer?
Then Victor walked off because I think he was intimidated by this level of mental discourse and I went to look up Beaker’s language and it turns out that Beaker is actually saying “Me! Me! Me!” which is sort of the sign of a psychopathic narcissist. I don’t have a point to this except to say that I feel like my whole childhood was a lie.
Question: What’s the difference between kids during summer vacation and kittens at any time?
It’s not a riddle. I just really want to know.
PS. Yes, that is Hunter S. Thomcat when he was still Hunter S. Thomkitten. He was very demanding. He still is, but now when he flops down on my neck in the middle of the night it’s less of a sweet nuzzle and more like a ninja has karate-chopped my jugular. And the ninja wants food. And some snugglin’. And he’s confused about why I won’t wake up because he doesn’t understand that cats and people are always in different time zones.
PPS. Cat pictures and happy songs. This is what I need today. Maybe you do too. So here are two that I’m listening too today. You might hate them and that’s okay. Feel free to share your favorite happy song or cat picture or whatever makes you smile in spite of yourself.
I find it very triggering to talk about a humorist who has lost his battle with mental illness so I’m not going to write about this. I’m practicing self-care by making an appointment with my therapist and avoiding triggers and watching bad tv. I was, however, asked by a lot of people if I would share the post I once wrote about how the full moon makes me feel unbalanced and more willing to believe the lies that depression tells, and considering we’re dealing with a super-moon right now then maybe reading it will help if you’re feeling vulnerable yourself. So it’s here if you want.
Tonight we recognize the battle so many of us fight within our own minds. Tonight we remember those who’ve lost that battle, and we celebrate and salute those who continue fight and win. (And if you are reading this, you are winning even if it doesn’t always feel like it.) And tomorrow we will go back to face life with laughter and joy and ridiculousness because that’s what he would want. And because that’s what we need. And because I said so.
me: Which weighs more? Five pounds of cheese, or five pounds of helium?
Victor: Is this a trick question?
me: No, I’ve been thinking about this for hours. Helium floats so does that mean you could you only make it weigh more if you added more helium? Or would it weigh less because it’s more?
Victor: I’d guess that five pounds of helium would be heavier than five pounds of cheese because you’d have to put the five pounds of helium in something to contain it and the container would add fractionally more weight.
me: Maybe. But maybe helium would weigh less than cheese because helium floats but it could still be measured in PSI. Like, you could have five pounds per square inch pressure of helium which doesn’t actually weigh anything on a scale.
Victor: My head hurts.
me: That’s some deep chicken-and-egg shit there, dude.
And now, time for the weekly wrap-up:
Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
Life-sized weeping angel. I suggest buying it and hiding it behind doors in the bathroom so when people pee on themselves it’ll be easier to clean up.
This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by the lovely Melany of Melany’s Guydlines.All snark, all true. Nine lives worth of short stories, advice and raw judgement on friendships, relationships, products and everything in between. From Melany: “Nothing is off limits. These stories could only happen to me. I will make you laugh and shake your head. Are you ready?” Check her out here.
“Of course not. What the hell is wrong with you?” = 26%
“Now I want donuts. Thanks a lot, asshole.” = 40%
So basically the world can be divided into those whose mouths work properly and those whose don’t. And those who just want donuts. And those who answered “other” just to be purposely contrary.
For our second poll we’re moving to childhood because I insist that everyone in America was taught mandatory square dancing in elementary school and Victor just stares at me and shakes his head.
me: This, Victor. This is what everyone learned in music classes:
me: Who says white people can’t dance?
Victor: Everyone who’s seen that video, to start with.
And now, time for the weekly wrap-up: Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
“BE NICE OR I WILL STAB YOU” plate. Remind anyone eating at your place why they shouldn’t be shitty. Bonus: Since it’s dinner you are likely to be actually holding a knife when they get to the message at the bottom of their plate, so they’re even more likely to take you seriously. Great for Thanksgiving.
Bloody drawstring backpack. Perfect for wet swimsuits or small books or one large human head. The wording is nice because it’s comforting but it also tells people you might be dangerous. Also, good camouflage in case zombies attack.
Shit that I’m vaguely involved with on the internets:
This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Suburban Underbelly, a book by the lovely Michele Theron. “For suburban moms Quinn, Jill, and Lucy, freedom from motherhood as a competitive sport starts innocently enough: three hours a week without kids. Before they know it, things are careening out of control and their lives change in ways that they never could have imagined. Sexy, snarky, smart and funny as hell–SUBURBAN UNDERBELLY invites you into a world with the best friends we all wish we had”. Check it out here.