I was going to post this post over here, but I couldn’t because I think it’s against my blogher ad contract so instead I posted it on the Chronicle, but I had to delete all the curse words because it goes against the Chronicle’s terms of service. Also, my font is too small here and I can’t fix it, and my “upload image” button is wonky, and my kid jumped on my laptop and broke it. Also, people on twitter keep changing their icons and then I don’t know who they are anymore, and a lot of them don’t even have icons right now, like Maggie Mason who just shows up with a tiny red X where her face should be. And I keep wanting to ask her if she’s okay, and then I remind myself that the red x is a sign of technical problems and not actually some sort of mood ring. It’s moments like these that make me want to quit blogging and twittering, and instead find a less complicated way to communicate with the world. Like throwing leaflets off my roof, or tattooing random thoughts on stray cats. Except I’d have to shave the cats first to tattoo them, and when their fur grew back you wouldn’t be able to see the blog posts I’d written on them any more, which would totally suck. So really I’d need to tattoo those hairless, sphinx cats, except that their wrinkles would probably cover up my writing when they sat down…so if I wrote “I’d pummel Hitler with rocks!” it would just come out “Hitler rocks!” and then all these hairless, suspected-nazi cats would get shot, and then later the gunmen would examine the body and actually see that they were mistaken, and they’d have to live with the guilt of killing an innocent cat who did not think Hitler rocked at all. So to keep the cats safe I’d have to make tiny sandwich boards for them to wear around with my posts written on them. It’d be hard to comment on though and there would be no spam control, so probably by the time you found one of my stray, sandwich-board cat posts it would be covered with badly scrawled viagra adverts. Fuck. Never mind. I’ll just keep blogging.
PS. For some reason, whenever I talk about hairless cats I always inadvertantly call them “skinless cats”. If I had a nickel for every time I told someone I wished I had a skinless cat I’d probably have 80 cents. I usually realize that I’ve said it wrong about five minutes after whoever I was talking to has left to tell other people that I want to skin cats. No one ever lets me babysit their cats.
PPS. I fixed my wonky “upload image” button. Yay?
PPS. I just noticed that on the “More from Blogher” box it now has this post (“Tell me a cat wearing a sandwich board wouldn’t be entertaining”) immediately followed by an ad which reads: “Why don’t you get a cat from the shelter?” Which is weird and kind of insulting. Because it’s not like I’m going to steal house cats to tattoo them and then throw them back into the window of their homes. That would be insane. And also, a horrible waste of a tattooed cat. The mass public is not going to be able to see a tattooed indoor cat, Blogher. Think, for God’s sake.
Also, I would insert a picture here of the “More from Blogher” graphic but my “upload image” button suddenly isn’t working again. Why? No fucking idea. Probably because I ate a pickle, or sneezed incorrectly.
Comment of the day: My cat ate an iguana yesterday, which has me thinking… Maybe you could write your posts with a Sharpie on iguanas. Iguanas shed/molt quite often.The iguana could scoot around town promoting your post, then shed and leave it like a Post Secret for someone to find – then you can reuse the same iguana for a new post. Bonus – the iguana will now be bigger and able to hold a longer post. The iguana my cat ate would have only been big enough to write a very short post like “Giant Squids are %&*#@ scary.” or “Nice kitty. Please don’t eat me.” ~ Vamanos