No!! I wanna holler the loud funny words!!

(In a quick side note, I'd just like to state that this blog was originally written in February of 2007. At that time, Jerry Falwell was, unfortunately, still alive. Trust me, this actually does relate to the following blog...)


"I'd like to be under the sea
In an octopus's garden in the shade
He'd let us in, knows where we've been
In his octopus's garden in the shade..."

Yeah. The Beatles weren't smoking insane amounts of pot when they wrote that or anything. I once saw a guy eat a live baby octopus. Apparently you eat them head first. The thing clung to this guy's face for dear life. He actually had to peel its pathetic little tentacles off his cheeks in order to swallow it. Then he sucked it down like so much shpa-gett.

I felt sad after seeing that. A general sort of malaise. Sort of like the time I "accidentally" poked that chipmunk with a twig.

But I like animals as a rule. I'm a big fan of foxes and dogs and basically anything canine-related. I care a great deal for rodents as well - though naked mole rats make me want to puke, vomit, spew, hurl, toss my cookies, and other synonyms as well. I'm tempted to step on their wrinkly, pink, shriveled, trembling little bodies - but I never really would. That's just mean.....

I'm not the biggest fan of cats, I have to admit. I find them lazy, smelly, at times violently unstable, and generally rather useless. They kind of just wander around aimlessly and gain weight. And occasionally they'll cough up fur-logs that, at first glance, I always mistake for scat or a dead mouse. Out of those three possibilities, I'd be hard-pressed to say which is the worst case scenario.

Unfortunately, I have a cat. She's an odious, psychotic, venomous, she-bitch straight from the ninth circle of HELL. Yeah, that's right - the NINTH circle of hell. She and Judas Iscariot hang out every other Thursday to watch re-runs of "Dharma and Greg."

She refuses to catch mice and I refuse to lay traps because I find it nauseating. So I have to rely on my dog (who's practically perfect in every way, mind you) to hear them, sniff them out, then point to them, which - AMAZINGLY! - she does! Then I can corner it, catch it (usually by the tail), bring it over to my neighbor's property, and finally set it free....... if it hasn't already had a heart attack by that point.

Then it gets into my neighbor's house and it's their problem. I just hope they have a cat who is not a complete waste of space. But, in any case, I'm still stuck with the reincarnation of Jezebel for a cat.

But whatever hatred I have for my cat, it pales in comparison with my almighty hatred of turkeys. Turkeys are the only animal I think I'd not only have a single problem killing, but would probably revel in the act of killing. They are, by a cataclysmically high percentage (and I've looked into it, by the way - the data is perfectly cromulent) , the ugliest, stupidest, goofiest, most abysmally retarded animal ever to walk god's green earth (which is decidedly more blue than green).

One year there was a turkey epidemic (I swear it was literally an epidemic) in the southern part of Rhode Island, where I went to college. These little fuckers (who aren't really all that little) made me late for class on no less than three and no more than five occasions, because - get this - they will NOT cross the street in groups. They feel the need to cross the street in a single, slow-moving line. One-by-one they waddle across, looking all huge and clumsy and vacuous. I swear I should have just mowed them down with my car, then sped away, cackling madly while flipping them off - exactly like I plan to do to Jerry Falwell and Jimmy Kimmel, both of whom are remarkably similar to turkeys.

On one occasion, a turkey desperately wanted to cross the road, so, like an idiot, I slowed down. It started to walk across, then it was suddenly struck by a random fear that I would change my mind and run it over. So it started to run at full speed. Turkeys are not built for "full speeds." So it tripped, stumbled, landed on its head while its momentum caused its body to skid - so its neck just collapsed and folded under its body. I could have sworn this thing had just broken its own neck! This would be enough to kill any other bird, but not a turkey. It recovered, stood up, and continuued on its way - while I was left dumbfounded, unable to laugh or cry or swear.

And have you ever seen one try to "fly"? They look like Hefty garbage bags gracelessly billowing in the air. Uusally they land on their face, or sometimes their back.

Fucking turkeys. Good thing they're delicious.

And now I'm all upset. My blood pressure has sky-rocketed and I need to go to the bathroom. Do me a favor and go eat a turkey. The more we kill and consume, the better I'll feel.

In a quick side-note, I do not feel this way about all large, clumsy birds. I like penguins and emus and albatroses. The difference being that these birds never made me LATE, and they're not fucking retarded.


Happy hunting.
Your ex-lover,
The Cage.