The Feline Hazmat Aftermath Journal
Part-time pooch persecutor, retired fluff of the Green Front R-Light District, and an avid advocate of a healthy free-range small boned songbird in every feline household...Miss Zoe Feather Bender has agreed to create an uncensored monthly column in our publication expanding the fine craft of artful bitching to explosive portions without the fallout of those pesky critic's reviews. Please comment. Miss ZFB thrives on adversity, and will answer all questions most likely in a very untimely manner; after all, she is a workaholic puss with an agenda to crumble mankind to the very bottom of the pecking order.
In my opinion...by ZFB
Surviving the Toxic Nightmare of Living with Nincompoops
Person-of-Interest: Any human that thinks.
Nincompoop: Any human that doesn't think.
Today we will waste our time with Persons-of-Interest and stress. Human that thinks + Stress = Human that doesn't think. Okay...so today we will waste our time with the only humans left on this earth...the Nincompoops. Mind you, I'm speaking only from my extremely limited view of this world, from this prison my human of temporary significance traps me in called her home.
She's a modern human of maaaaany years, and her collection of tools of mass communication plus her inability to flex her knees well affords me a small quantity of time in the pale light of this monitor after bedtime to extend these claws of mass destruction, and spread my thoughts to the universe of felines united that another comrade on another blog clued me about...thanks, Miz Bitey...I owe you one.
I'm living with a nincompoop!!! I know, I know...you all warned me, so go ahead and tell me you told me so...grrrrrrrrrrrr... Why would any human with boobs boil milk over onto a glass stove top four different times on four different burners. You think her brain's become demented with dementia?...dah, I could have told you that! Why would anyone want to ruin good milk that way?
Felines are the perfect conservationists...we conserve energy at least 86% of any given day by sleeping it entirely away. Waste not, want not. Why any ninny of temporary significance would waste the last three hours blowing her energy resources to smithereens is completely clueless to this feline of permanent significance and non-nincompoopie ways.
Three hours of covering that burnt milk crud with paste, counting to a hundred, then cursing up a royal storm as she mangled her fingers into permanent positions never intended for any human digits, circularly grinding that non-scratchy spongy thing flatter than a skunk squished twice on the roadway into that why would anyone invent something as stupid as this? glass stove top.
That burner's spotless...she's proud of herself...what a simpleton...she's still got three more burners to go, hehehe. She's asleep now, slathered in BIOFREEZE, pumped full of Ibuprofen and Valerian Root, neck draped over a cool gel roll, heat pad toasting the shoulder muscles, she's a regular nincompoop first class alright.
Any feline worth it's weight in sardines knows to just leave the pans on the stove to cover up the goofs...what's the problem? Don't feel sorry for me comrades. I've assembled a survival kit for myself to handle the fallout that occurs as a result of my temporary significant humans many brain dysfunctions. 2%'s more than enough time to pee, poo, munch, hurl up digested nummies, spit out fuzz balls, or blog. The rest is snooze time...pure snooze time. Survival doesn't get any better than this!