Mike Tyson

This is Mike Tyson.
When we got the puppy, Evil the Cat had to be kicked outside, therefore, her food also had to be kicked out.  Mike Tyson would come around and eat all of Evil's food.  I would bang on the window and throw rocks in his direction (to scare him, not to hit him).  I was determined not to feed the entire population of stray cats.

Mike Tyson was a HUGE cat when we first met.  His body was big and his balls swung when he walked.  Then he mewed.  And it was the sound of a three month old kitten.  So I named him Mike Tyson.

I had a dream that Shawn had admonished me for not feeding this cat.  "You of all people!  Such an animal lover!" he'd said.  The dream was so realistic, I thought it had actually happened when I woke up.

Mike Tyson refused to be afraid of me.  He'd caught on pretty early in the game that I wasn't actually trying to hit him with small sticks and rocks.  He began to befriend me by sitting on the window sill and running the length of his mammoth body along the glass.

He slowly started to approach me and rub against my legs.  I rubbed his neck and ears and he mewed like a feline version of how the real Mike Tyson might.

A true Tom, I see this cat inconsistently.  He recently came by for a visit and Evil hissed and growled from the front porch.  Mike Tyson lay on the step below my feet and rolled onto his back, showing his belly.  I rubbed his tummy like a dog and thought it was so odd for this dirty, now too thin, stray to be showing his under belly.

I ran off Evil for a few minuets and coaxed Mike Tyson to eat a little.  I may not see him for another week or two, but I look forward to hearing his odd mew and experiencing this weird, unadulterated trust for a complete stranger.

Just Blow Up The Whole Damn Thing!

I'm a very angry person.  I get angry about everything.  Even when I see people "misusing" or "overusing" quotation marks, it makes me angry.  I had, for a time resolved to not read the newspaper or watch the news on TV because of all the crap int he world.  It all left me feeling angry & helpless and even more angry because I couldn't do anything about anything.

But that was all a while back and I am back to feeling angry & helpless.  I do not wish to feel this way and I do not understand why everyone else doesn't feel this way.  Look at this injustice!  Look at this hurting!  Why doesn't it make you shake with anger?

The problem with the news is that most of the time, happy-go-lucky news doesn't make for interesting news.  And so, most of it is bad news.  In today's paper:

Upon reading this, several things happened to me all at once.  The backs of my eyeballs stung.  My stomach churned & knotted up--not like nausea, more like when someone says something hurtful to me & I want to haul off & clock them in the jaw.  A very vivid image appeared in the recesses of my brain.  It was almost like a dream.  I watching through my own eyes as I beat these "males" with a baseball bat.

If left to my own devices, I could become a very violent vigilantly.  I would want to drive to Dallas and find these people and proceed to beat the snot out of each one.  But I cannot.  I was at work at the time and I had no idea who these people are or how to find them.  This frustrated me to the point of having shaking hands. 

Another thing that angered me tot he point of shaking:  These people will probably get little, if any, punishment.  Recent history teaches us that cruelty & neglect to animals results in little effect from the law because it's "just animals". 

Let me point out that recent history also teaches us that folks like Jeffery Dauhmer practiced torture and killing on small animals before using his skills on people.  Would you like for your children to inhabit a neighborhood with these people who set dogs on fire?  What is the matter with you??!!  Are you not as angry as I am that these violators of nature will most likely go unpunished?!!

I was thinking to myself that the best punishment for these people would eb to douse them with lighter fluid, let a match, then let them try to put each others' flames out while a crowd jeers and laughs at them.


This is exactly what is wrong with man.  Man is a horrible, horrible creature and I don't know why God created us.  The Bible states that God will eventually get fed up with us, destroy the earth and heaven, and create a new one.  Well?  What's taking so long?  God flooded the entire planet because the people were bad.  Were they half as bad are they are today?

Another injustice that pisses me off is that is you commit rape and are not caught within 5 years, the statute of limitations runs out, meaning you can commit this crime and totally get away with it.  Meanwhile, a backlog of something like 25,000 rape kits gathers dust in Detroit.  Who here understands why a crime goes ignored if you get away with it for 5 years?

About a year ago, a man placed a baby in a microwave and turned it on.  The child survived so the man threw the baby against the wall.

In Ethiopia (I beleive it was) a baby had its arms & legs chopped off and he was left to bleed out on a dirt road.  His albino limbs would later be sold ont he black market for the making of magic potions.

A 4 month old baby girl was sexually assualted and her pelvis shattered.

Mothers are forever loading their children into cars before sweeping them into a river.

Animals of all kinds are being neglected, abused, starved on purpose.
Children are beaten, starved, bullied to the point of suicide.

Jesus.  Just end it already.  The animals will love You and exalt You.  Men cause only destruction and grief.  I do not mean men as the way a feminist would say, I mean men, as in all types of humans.  We are the scum of the earth.  This planet was beautiful until man was created.  Where is God?  Why are You allowing all this to happen?  Wipe us men all off the face of the earth and perhaps it could be beautiful again.

Isolated Madness

I'm not drunk. 

Let's just say I'm a little bit relaxed.  I was going to write a little about what's been going on just a vent a bit.  But let's face it, unless it's something really smart or really funny, it's not worth writing about.  Let alone worth reading.  Besides, who cares about your little problems anyway?

My work friend, Patti moved to the uttermost northern part of the country where it's still winter by our standards.  And I am left in a place where spring last approximately 12 days.  For real. 

I married a workaholic and I don't want to worry my mother so I really have no one to talk to.  I keep everything bottled up until one day I arrive home from the grocery store, slide down the refrigerator door to the lineoleum and cry for twenty minuets.  Or go into a small fury of rage and slam a cardboard box onto the floor over and over and over and kick it into the wall into it is no longer a box but a satisfying crumbled mass that says, "Misty was here and she was upset".

But I'm OK, really.  I tried taking on Liz, Patti's sister.  Oh how many times I've tried to be her friend but she's so frickin' slef-absorbed it's a wonder she doesn't have her own pull of gravity.  If you try to tell her story--about anything at all--she will immediately innturupt you with her story, which somehow fits in with what you were trying to say.  And you never, ever get to finish your story.  Ever.

Liz has called Jennifer The Show About Nothing, an ommage to Seinfeld.  This in relation tot he fact that poor Jennifer, as sweet as she is, can tell dozens of stories of go no where and end up being about, well, nothing.  If Jennifer is The Show About Nothing, then Liz is most certainly The Show About Me.

I have become very accostomed to being alone and it annoys me very much to be around people anymore.  Of course that could just be a sign of aging or either my own personality (which in fact, invloves hating pretty everyone and the sound of their voices).

My own personal hell would include a giant Wal-mart crammed with people and there would be no exit.  Also, the bathroom in this room of hell are disgusting.

I spent most of my birthday alone, frustrated and I had no grand dinner.  Shawn demanded that we go later in the afternoon but by then I had gorged on a gigantic Cinnabon (TM, of course) and I was so irritated that I wasn't the least bit hungry.  Although, that could have been due to the 1,000 calories or so located inside the said Cinnabon.  Life needs icing, indeed.

My 11 month old puppy suddenly refuses to go pee in the proper location after 9 months of training.  People said 2 motnhs was too young to begin potty training a dog.  I conjured up images of 1 year old children naming presidents and states when shown a picture or map.  My dog is as smart as most human babies I've known so it made good sense to me.

Unfortunately, my smartish dog has become a stubborn teenager who refuses to cooperate.  Also, she's gotten kind of fat and refuses to walk because it is immparitive that she sniff and tatse every single item along the sidewalk.  I was hoping to get the weight of before the concret is a cool Texas 100 degrees.  Don't see that happening.

I bought a pair of jeans just before Christmas because everything I owned had holes in them.  The pants fit in the store, I swear!  But holidays and birthday came and went.  Bouts of frustration and depression eating had come and gone.  Two weeks ago the jeans were snug, but doable.  Yesterday I litterally suffered as I walked around work feeling like a sausage being crammed into a casing much too small.

I dreaded using the restroom because it meant peeling the pants down sweat covered legs, then attempting to roll them back up and chunks of lard jutted out on either side of the legs.  I caught a glimpse of myself int he mirror.  I had hiked up my shirt and began to jump and down in a futile attempt to raise the pants.  My belly protruded from my body like a woman six months into a pregnancy and jutted out as though it were trying to escape my body altogether.

So I caught a glimpse of the tragedy in the mirror.  From the side.  "You are such a fat fuck," I muttered. 

Now, normally, I do not beleive in using the F word in written format (though it spews from my tongue too regurly) unless it's completely and utterly necessary.  To paint the ugly image of how I felt when I caught myself in the mirror, I do deem this necessary.

Some days I am fine.  Some days I wake up and wish I hadn't.  Some days I wake up crying and I allow myself to cry whenever I am alone so it doesn't come out in the check-out at the Wal-Mart.  Some days I merely throw things and some days I will myself to be mellow and say it just doesn't matter.  God created me for one sole purpose and that is to do for others.  That is, clean up after them, do the things they forgot, and take out the trash.  After all, someone has to get the poopie stains out of the suits of businessmen.

Alright.  I may be a little drunk