Kill Pat Robertson

It has now been a week without the Orange Lover. It's been so incredibly hard, and the allergies are not helping the matter. Then Haiti is hit with an earthquake and Pat Robertson has to be such a fucking douchebag about it. Seventy-five percent of Haiti is demolished and all this man can say is that Haiti made a pact with the devil to get rid of the French. Was the pact so they can practice voodoo? What a fucking moron. Will someone please just go punch him in the balls? Then rip his dick off and shove it down his throat? Pact with the devil. Fuck that makes me angry. I honestly do not know much about Haiti, beyond that it is an extremely poor country that has had a lot of misfortunes. Yet, somehow, I think that is probably more about how it sits on a fault line, is an island, has some serious political and class issues, etc. But let's go ahead and ignore that and just blame a truly horrifying event on something that happened before any of these people were even born. I'm always down for paying for the sins of my ancestors. Especially when they were so unruly to not want to be ruled by the French. The nerve of some people!

On Monday, at the grocery store with Guamaniac, we talked each other in to getting a box of "Smokey Bacon & Cheddar" crackers. Oh my fucking god. I can't stop eating them. Other than I was forced to when the bag was suddenly empty. Cruelly empty. Probably because I made that deal with the devil when I was 12 and got my ears pierced. I always knew he'd be back to claim my soul, and my soul was in those damn crackers. Fuck you, devil. You got me this time.

In honor of the one-week anniversary of the Orange Lover's death, I give you this picture of him and baby Whoopis.



Look how kind he is with that kitten dancing on his butt. This is in Boston, and I have such amazing memories of that summer. So at least I can look at this picture and laugh. Even though Whoopis did almost die that night because he got his little jaw stuck under the collar and was choking (we realized later that the dancing was him hating the collar, which led to him trying to get it off by putting his jaw under it--poor kitty and his tiny bitty brain). Wikus and I just managed to get the damn thing off as he was turning blue.

The things we have gone through with our cats. Remind me to discuss the one time Whoopis' sister (Wikus has her) bit the tip of her tail right off in complete panic mode. Or how we saved the Bear from a life on the streets and being forced to inhale marijuana from our stoned neighbors. Even Mattress has his stories, like how he has gay legs and will totally act like a pussy when someone shoves a thermometer up his ass.