I’m a hero… to cats.
I awoke at about 5:30 this morning to one of my dogs (the hunter/killer one) outside barking like someone is trying to cut her fuckin' head off. This was awesome because of two reasons: One, it's fucking SATURDAY, and I should be enjoying some oversleep instead of screaming at Asshead. Two, Asshead is a Basenji-mix and I was told at the pound that those fuckers don't bark. They'll stalk and kill small children and lions, and climb the fuck out of a tree, but no barking. She's barked before, but never this loud for this long (it's closer to 6 by the time I finally go outside and haul her ass back in). Our other dog, Dingbat, is still snuggled in bed with the girl, and his taken my pillow. Sneaky bitch.
The Girl went off to work at about 9:30 and Asshead went back outside. Sure enough, that little snatchface starts right back up with the barking. I'm not so worried about my neighbors hating me so much as I fear for the life out of whatever she is so vehemently threatening, because her rapid-fire bark is something like:
HeyyoumotherfuckerI'llripyourfuckinglungsout!
I'mfuckingseriousI'mgoingtochompyourfuckinghead!
I get outside and see that a good portion of bark has been ripped off our giant locust tree, meaning Asshead was trying to climb it, and there's a fucking CAT about 20 feet up in the branches.
A fucking cat.
Because Asshead and Dingbat are both jumpers, my backyard is only missing Concertina wire to look just like a prison camp. I've got wire fences that no cat should be able to get over.
Not of importance now, I guess. My main concern is how to get him down and on his way. So, I get my ladder, extend it to its full height (about 18 feet), and brace it against the tree.
Keep in mind I just got up. I'm in my underwear, with my fuzzy houseshoes on and I'm climbing 20 feet into a tree to get a cat. That's when logic kicked in... thank god.
I got back down and called animal control.
They said, "Oh, they're not going to get a cat out of a TREE, you'd do better to leave some food out and let him come down on his own."
I replied, "Sounds great, but it's not my goddam ca..."
*click*
Fuckers hung up on me.
No problem, I've got some tuna here.
You're realizing now that I'm not a "cat person." I like cats if they like me, and cats don't fucking like humans, so fuck them all.
But, I'm such a compassionate motherfucker that I'm going to do what I can.
Tuna in place? Check.
Cat interested? Mmmmm... Tentative check.
Dogs locked in house? Check.
I make breakfast, do some housework, change the water in all my fishtanks, and then check on that damn cat.
Hasn't moved a fucking inch.
I've got the laptop fired up, let's do some research. Hmmm. Seems nobody will come get a cat out of a tree anymore. Awesome. Seems that the food trick only really works if the cat likes and/or trusts you. Double awesome. That furbag is 25 feet up in my tree and I have two slathering killers clawing at the window. Oh yeah, there's LOADS of trust going on.
If that four-legged-meal-for-my-dogs doesn't trust me anyway, I may as well just get up there and try and spook him down. Sounds good, right?
I'm up on the ladder with my hockey stick and I'm trying to herd that mongrel down the branch he's on. Yeah, worked, great. Tubbytabby comes down the branch right? And straight up the next one... 5 feet higher.
I suck it up. I'm going for trust now. But I'm not stupid. Well, not grotesquely stupid. I'm coming prepared.
I throw on a thick Carhartt jacket, gloves, and stuff a pillow case in the pocket (figure I can try and bag him), and climb up into the tree.
My pussy ladder only gets me up into the branches surrounding Fleabagbitch, so I have to climb the rest of the way. I did this shit as a kid, right? Yep... about 140 pounds ago. I'm now the weight TWO of the kids that I was when I did this shit and have about half the tree-climbing ability. I get up there anyway.
I get up next to the Aloofamosity and, get this shit. He comes toward me. I put my hands out, and the fucker puts his head in between his paws.
He wants me to fucking PET him. Trust apparently gained.
Shit, I may not even have to smear myself in tuna.
I'm tentatively perched on a couple of branches and can barely reach him. I keep the petting action going, like I'm on a second date, and work my hands under his front legs.
Ummmm... nope. Mewlingmongrel ain't down with that.
More petting I guess (I'm ALWAYS too eager when petting).
Slow and steady, and I've got ahold of him. He's bracing his legs on the limb and fighting me, but I'm strong yet surprisingly gentle, and I get him into my arms.
Sweet, now to get down.
I can cradle the shedmachine in one arm, but the going is slow. I get a little too eager (again with the hurrying) and my foot grazes just enough of the branch below me to knock my fuzzy shoe off, scrape the fuck out of my big toe, and knock the ladder almost off of the tree.
So, I've got one foot straight out on a limb, one dangling, a cat under one arm, and I'm swinging on the other, and I'm thinking, "maybe I don't want to be Jackie Chan, this shit sucks."
The one foot is giving me a little help so the one arm isn't slipping, but I'm still pretty fucked. Well, me or the assbreath under my arm as it's one or both of us going to do some proving of the law of gravity. But, I still look like a ninja tarzan and that's always pretty cool.
Dangling 20 feet above the ground with no plan is not cool, however.
I'm feeling guilty as a Catholic right now because I just got the little ball of claws to like me and now I have to drop him. Christ, he's even fucking purring. PURRING. Dumbass has no idea he's about to take flight.
I look around for a "soft" spot in the grass to drop him and I see it... shining like a beacon on a foggy night...
The hammock.
Shit man, in the old fire-fightin' days they caught people out of windows with similar contraptions. Hell, I've seen the Norman Rockwell's, I know.
I loop my arm down so the little purrbox is draped over it, with no claws attached, and, while trust is still firmly intact, I toss him.
*chkkksshh* Pilot to Bombadeer... Pilot to Bombadeer... Bombs away...
While he's for sure thinking that being a bomb is so not fucking cool, he lands on the hammock, it gently absorbs him, and he calmly plops down to the ground. He gets his bearings, turns to lick his ass, and sees me, still dangling.
I swear he gave me a look that said, "thanks, but you've never done this rescue shit before, have you? Needs work."
Ingrate.
With my confidence level soaring (I just save a LIFE, you know), I scrambled quite monkey-like back down the tree to the ladder to the ground, only losing my other shoe and scraping the fuck out of my OTHER big toe.
Now, I have two bleeding, throbbing, big toes and a cat who now hates me.
That's when the I'llkillyouandfuckingeatyou symphony broke back in against the window and Unthankfulbitch smoked straight to the miniscule hole in the fence that he must have come in through. And he was gone.
And not one of my neighbors saw a fucking thing.
I should get a medal or some shit, and I don't even know who's goddam cat it is.
Christ, I'm gonna let the dogs EAT the next one.
Fucking cats.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.I'm a cross-dresser… but damn sexy.
To appease some of the fine, fine females who have been clamoring for more nudity on this site, I've uploaded some pictures of me showing off my legs.
Enjoy.
UPDATE (1/21/05)
It's been awhile since I first threw this page up, so I thought I'd throw some updated kilt pics on it.
Singin' like the Rock Star I am.
Gettin' ready to woo the lovelies at a weddin'.
Utilikilt at work.
Me and Pork at the Awesomest New Year's Ever.
The beer we're drinking is "SkullSplitter" and Split some Skulls, we did.
Ringin' in the New Year by literally smoldering with Sexitudinessocity.
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| This is me and my best friend Shithead at his wedding in '97. He's the Girl's older brother too. We are hicks from Montana after all. | I'm a dirty whore. This is at our friend Squeal's wedding. |
We're sexy bitches. This is moments before Shithead pulled his kilt up and gave a wiggle. Classy. |
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| Me and my buddy Squeal. He married a mormon virgin so he needed valuable advice. | |
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| We were doing a Highlands-style caber-toss... with beer cans | |
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| Goddam, I'm sexy. I really think so too, I mean, I must because I keep doing shit like this. | The bachelor party started out with bowling. I wore that sexy-ass kilt all night in a hick, Montana, college-town. Oh, I made some friends that night. |
Fellas, I know I may look like a fruit in a dress, but let me tell you...
Chicks dig the kilt.
I've been hit on more times than I can count while wearing that damn kilt.
Any man confident enough to walk around in something like that is irresistable, it seems.
I'm not telling if I wear anything underneath it or not, I'll just say that I'm always cognizant of whether or not it is windy and if there are children around.
I'm not going to jail for that shit.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.The Nerf Punisher.
I'm going to be a father.
Oh yeah, gonna have me some kids. The Girl doesn't know it yet, but I replaced all her Pills with aphrodisiacs made from monkey testicles. She's gonna be all over me and we'll start the PROCREATING.
I made the decision to be a father when I discovered something beautiful. Toys.
The folks at work finally made a concerted effort, today, to try and get me to actually work. It took some doing, but I fought like a tiger, and only did the really easy shit that other people didn't have time for (yeah, so they're busy, so am I, you think it's EASY to beat the computer at chess? Fucker cheats).
They finally resorted to just having me help clear out an unused cubicle so we could put a temp in there next week. Yay, physical labor. They pulled CoworkerBuddy in there with me, ‘cause he's big and strong like me (flexing like a big-boy).
He and I got the boxes moved, but then ManagerGal starts going through them and picking shit out.
THIS doesn't belong here, THIS doesn't go here, Judd run this over to LazyAssWhosOnlyHereTwoDaysAWeek's cube, wouldya?
Then we found the GUNS.
TWO, count ‘em, Two, perfectly-pristine-in-actual-working-condition Nerf Dart guns.
CoworkerBuddy says wistfully, "Must've been from when the company actually let us have fun."
SourAss.
So I shot him.
Point blank.
And the fucking thing stuck perfectly in the middle of his forehead.
I discovered I am a fucking ninja with Nerf Darts.
I can shoot with a practiced precision, and, when fired upon, can snatch the dart out of the air Jackie Chan-style.
Okay, half of ‘em hit me in the face or the junk, but I always, ALWAYS get the shooter back. Usually when they're trying to work. Suckers.
Sweet Jeezus, how did I go for so long here without TOYS?!?
So, I was planning on going to Toys ‘R Us (even though they can't get that fucking "R" right, for chrissake) and I'm getting me some cool-ass toys.
I looked online and found Nerf Dart guns that have rotating cylinders, rapid-fire-semi-autos, clip-fed double whammys, and smaller Derringer-style single shots (perfect for shooting someone in the nuts when in an insufferably boring meeting).
This shit rocks.
Then, I figured that I may get some shit for buying a bunch of toys with no kids.
Oh, I've got a slew of nephews and a niece, but they ain't getting any of this cool shit. Oh no, these are all MINE. I'll get ‘em some crayons or something glittery. Kids like that shit right?
The only way to play it straight though, is to start having some kids of my own. Hell, I figure it'll be at least 5 years or so before they'll actually want to play with MY toys. ‘Til then I can just give ‘em squishy, colorful, amoeba-like, amorphous creatures and let them drool and shit their baby-juices all over those.
They'll not come near my Nerf Arsenal.
Unless I get to shoot them.
But I'm told that's not cool to do with kids until they're at least a few weeks old.
I may do it anyway. I AM an awesome shot after all, and the dogs book it outside the minute I even reach for anything shooty. Pussies.
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Re-entry into the work atmosphere…
Vacations suck.
The reason they suck is because they end and you have to come back to work.
There's that moment of raw panic and terror at walking in the door to work when you think, "Shit, I really don't want to be here. I mean I REALLY don't want to fucking be here. I would rather have my testicles pounded flat with a 9-iron than be here WORKING all fucking day."
You can't find any decent reason to actually BE at work, much less DO the work that you have in front of you, and you are almost positive that no one would miss you if you were gone for just one... more... day...
The trick is to ease yourself back into work. I call it "Re-entry" and, for now, it will not be a sexual term.
First, any break that you normally take in the morning is now moved up two hours... and multiplied by five. This means your morning coffee/smoke break no happens within minutes of walking in the door.
Then, checking email now includes all personal email as well as all replies. A half hour email to my Aunt telling her that she should Google things like "Crying Baby Serial Killer" and "Swiffer Wet-Jets Kill Dogs and Small Children" before forwarding me that crap is suitable. Notes to other Diarylanderarians heavily laden in sexual innuendo and smart-assedness is suggested as well.
Good work, we're a good 2 hours in, now its time for preparing to work.
Notice I said "preparing", we're not ready to work yet, fucko.
The art of preparing involves getting your work set up around you so that, at any given moment, you can appear busy. This is important if you live in a fucking cube-world like I do, and you can't see the bastards coming. Even if all they are doing is leaning in and asking, "How was your vacation?" you still need to look like your doing something other than reading up on pornstars turned infomercial queens.
Now that your work is out and is ready to get Jackie-Channed upon, you have to set up your play too. You can't just have a site pulled up that's called, "13 cocks in my ass a day, buy this set of knives," because one look at the bottom of your taskbar (that hooyah at the bottom of your screen if you're on a PC, if you're not, eat a bag of shit) will tell anyone with a keen eye that you have 2 Internet Explorer windows open, one with a title that's work related ("Your Company title...") and the other one ("13 cocks in my a...").
Avoid this by opening about 14 work-related windows, and put them all on different pages. Then their taskbar descriptions shorten into "Yo..." and "13 co..." Very handy.
This hides most of your play stuff in with your work stuff. Just remember where they're at. When the VP is asking how I'm doing on our Intranet project, and I pull up a window that has a proctologists view of a catholic school girl (well, she's in the uniform anyway), it doesn't bode well. Actually, his head was turned, so by the time I yelled, "AAA!" and closed the window, he just thought that I was just commenting on his tie.
2 hours of looking at mild porn later... and we're off to lunch. Make sure that you go out with the group since they'll all ask you vacation questions and this will distract them from the fact that you've done nothing on their projects for the last 7 fucking days. Then tell them a Montezuma horror story and hope that they'll offer to buy lunch since yours is certainly going to be painting ceramic the minute you're back in the office.
Back from lunch you actually have to work... I'm kidding. But you do have to do some more preparing of the "work" that you have in front of you, since it's looked the same all goddam day, you have to freshen it up a bit.
Now, it's off to Diaryland.
Click on some banners, read some faves, read their faves, read people that list them as their faves, leave comments on every diary that has them, if for no other reason than to be a jackass.
Check your stats.
Check your Googlings.
Giggle childishly at some of your Googlings.
Try to imagine what depraved, acne-covered, 32-year-old virgin is searching on "can i pee my pants."
Shit, more visitors. At least the porn is gone, and NO, I didn't rub one out here at work.
I'll wait until I'm driving home, where EVERYONE on the road can appreciate it.
Sweet, we've made it most of the way through the afternoon. Bless Diaryland, Bless It!
Fuck.
Emergency! Can you fix this, hummina, hummina (much wringing of hands).
Um, sorry, I'm too busy from trying to catch up... vacation you know... why don't you get UsuallyPrettyLazyFuck to do it?
Awesome, now people are starting to go home and it's entry time.
Typing this fucker should take around 10 minutes, mixed in with about 7 bathroom trips, and it's QUITTIN TIME!
I'm slidin' down the dinosaur tail and fuckin' OUTTA HERE.
I'll work tomorrow.
And by "tomorrow", I mean "July."
Posted by JuddHole
This blog was the one that changed everything in my life, so it stands to reason that it continue to do so. I hope it starts with my underwear.Christ… I went and did it NOW…
I take it back. I take it ALL back. Mexico, I'm sorry I made fun of you. I'm so sorry that I was flippant about being able to speak your language. I'm sorry I made fun of your vendors and their wares. Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento.
I mean it... seriously, I'm sorry.
Now... can I have my stomach lining back, please? I'm pretty sure I left it in your toilets on about 47 separate visits. There's a fair bit o' flesh from my rectum that I could use back too. If you could get that stuff back to me, that'd be super.
I hate tourists. Possibly the only thing I could hate more than tourists, is being a tourist. Don't get me wrong, I loved laying on the beach, drinking beer, and playing in the sand. I just hate watching people work so hard to please fat, lazy, fucks for little or no appreciation.
Think about it. How long do you think you could put up with bringing these people food and alcohol, tending to their every need, smiling the entire time, and putting up with their bullshit before you snapped and whacked them in the face with your serving tray?
I bet I'd make it...oh... at least 3 and a half minutes before flipping their chair over, jumping on their chest and gouging out their vital arteries with cocktail umbrellas and dirty forks.
The Girl overheard this conversation while I was pissing and I almost had to physically restrain her when I got back.
Fat Tourist Asshole: So... Roh-bear-toh you live around here?
Roberto (the nicest, bestest waiter in the universe): Si, senor.
Asshole: So, whaddya pay in rent for your place?
Roberto (smiling uneasily): Very good, senor. Can I get you another cervesa?
Asshole: My house cost me a MILLION dollars.
Roberto (acting impressed): Si senor, muy bueno, another cervesa?
Asshole: If you're ever in the States, gimme a call, I'll hook you up.
Who fucking talks like that?
I'll tell you: We do. El Gordo, Feo Americanos. Us goddam fat, ugly, Americans go to these places and act like we're king shit on the planet. Yeah, we spend our money there, but these poor folks put up with a lot of shit. I feel kind of guilty for being a part of it.
Not so guilty that I didn't let Roberto bring me free beer all day. Free beer can override a shitload of guilt. Roberto just got bigger and bigger tips. From me and the Girl, not the Asshole.
It was nice to sit on the beach and do absolutely nothing. I got to watch game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals and listen to some annoying Canadian fucks pretend they knew anything about hockey. We got to have wild, only-slightly-inhibited sex on a big bed without dog noses bumping against my asscheeks. I got to drink free beer and eat free food. This was awesome until my belly decided that said food would be far cooler leaving my body if it was in a nasty, yellow, stream, as quickly as possible.
It's been thinking that for 2 goddam days now. Stupid belly.
We did make some friends though. It's awesome to know someone local, and, if you don't, to make some friends. We hitched a ride up into the hills with this guy, Fidel, and had awesome fish tacos at some remote stand in the pouring rain.
So cool to visit parts of the country where nobody speaks English and they all assume I speak only Spanish.
So cool to immerse yourself in a culture that is so different from your own.
So cool to buy things where the prices are never set, nor are the rules of driving.
So cool to eat at places that barely believe in rinsing, let alone washing, and to view the results of eating their food in the toilets that you can't throw paper into. Heh.
So cool to haggle with vendors about tasteless crap that I could find at Wal-Mart and paint "Puerto Vallarta" on there myse... AAGGKLGKL... URRRRG...
sssstomach... c-c-c-cramping...
UGGH... Sorry... I'm sorry Mexico...
do you hear me? I was just KIDDING!
Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhh... damn you Mexico...
Uh-oh... shitIgottagorightnowwishmeluck