Restaraunt Quality Cat Food

So we fed the cat some of that high-falootin' cat food out of the can, and now refuses to eat anything else. He lets the dry cat food sit in his dish while he goes through withdrawls.

I thought about trying this cat food. It's gotta be more potent thatn heroin.

He does have a little burlap sack that says "catnip" on it. We though he'd go all crazy and shit when we gave it to him, but he just kind of sat there. He's like Garfield--his only drug is food.

Lord of the Flat Screens

I was at Wal-Mart when the doors opened on Black Friday. There were hundreds of people lined up outside, a full host of bargain hunters yearning to get their hands on a $100 20" flat screen TV.

I wasn't standing in line, I was only casing the situation out for my sister and sister-in-law. The shoppers were dressed for deer hunting, covered hear to toe in toasty carharts, carrying thermoses of coffee )though mine would've had whiskey.

They looked like American refugees straight out of War of the Worlds. That tired, soulless look in their eyes. Their faces numbed blue by the cold. They tempers were shortening. They had been waiting too long, and longed for the taste of battle.

The crowd wound tighter and tighter as it came closer to five. It was like the clock hands were pulling some sort of string tied to all their hearts and it was about to snap. When cars tried to poke through the lines, they people laughed at them. They pounded on the glass doors. Shouted at the clerks inside.

I ran back to the car and dove into the warmth, chattering, "This is a dark, wicked place. We must flee." My sisters gave me the look. The same look your mom gives you for playing "Lord of the Rings" in a K-Mart, when you're still in your mid-twenties. The "please don't talk like Aragorn all day look."

I paid them no mind.

When the doors opened, my sisters slammed into the crowd, blindly following the pack to whatever treat they smelled in the back of the store. I had to find a different road.

There was one way that would take me there quickly, a route wholly avoided on Black Friday: women's lingerie. This was a dark path that had frightened me since I was a small boy.

When I was still a tot, I was hiding from my family inside a round clothes rack. I waited for someone to yell at me, pay me some attention. When they didn't I poked my head out and found I was alone. I searched blindly for them. After a few wrong turns and I found myself surrounded by women's undergarments.

Vast towers of pink and lace and silk, closing me in, pulling every masculine breath from my tiny lungs. Thousand of pink terrors staring down at me, an army of brasierres sleeping and waiting to stike if I made the slightest sound. Those were--those were--boobies up there!

Vile!

Although my opinion of women's undergarments has changed significantly over the years, I still find the underwear aisle a little frightening. Still, I struck outward, like Frodo going through the mines of Moria. What foul, scantily clad orcs would meet me here, I didn't know. But I had a quest, and a prize to attain.

And there they were. Hundreds of televisions stacked taller then my head along the aisles leading to electronics. A Wal--Mart worker ran off to help someone and abandoned her cart.

In moments I spirited the television away and was first in the checkout line. In and out, just under five minutes. I should have won a prize.

New Jesus Calendar

I have this new calendar from the insurance agency, with Jesus on the front of it. He's holding a Shepard staff and he's standing next to, you guessed it, a bunch of sheep.

This sort of bothers me, because it's purely metaphorical. Jesus represents himself, the sheep represent us.

Jesus was never a Shepard. He was a carpenter. He probably got work from the Romans crafting the same crosses he was crucified on. That's what I'd like to see on the front of a calendar. A happy Jesus, content in his work, merrily nailed two large pieces of lumber together.

Letter to the Hospital

Administrator,

I’m very pleased to see that the hospital levy passed. I voted for it, and encouraged others to do so. I have faith that they will put these new funds to good use in service of the community. I also hope that, as part of the clinical campus they hope to build, they will consider building something we’ve never had, but also needed: an elephant clinic.

A proposed Adams County Elephant Clinic could care for area elephants in a variety of ways. For instance: thorns caught in paws, tusk replacement, and trunk physical therapy. The clinic could also care for mental ailments, as well. Mouse phobias, peanut addiction seminars, and the Dumbo Complex could all be treated.

I can hear the naysayers already: “But there are no elephants anywhere near Adams County.” To which I reply with two words: “Not yet.” We’ll never attract elephants and to this area unless we appeal to their needs. The sooner we build the Adams County Elephant Clinic, the sooner we can bring pacadern dollars into our community.

Sincerely,
Ryan Arey

I Shaved My Head the Winter My Dog Left

It's been sixteen days since my rooommate and best friend, Rambo, walked out on me. He didn't leave a note, just a visitor in my shoe.

Damned cocker spaniels. The old gypsy man at the pet shop warned me about them.

I miss him so much. Why couldn"t I be enough for him? What's wrong with me?

I hate my clothes. They have his fur all over them. My bottom drawer is full of doggy sweaters and tiny Halloween costumes.

I'm find more hairs in the sink everyday. Wrinkles. Gray eyes. I'm dead without Rambo. I can't stand to be old. I can't die.

I chaved my eyebrows on Christmas day. Then my head, then everything else. Now I'm clean, and he'll come back to me.

As I write this, I'm waiting in the doorway, clothed only in skin, watching the snowy hills. Waiting for a choclate-colored speck to come frolicing toward me on the horizon.