Woman Weather Channel

During a discussion with a few of my male friends today it became obvious that some of us could benefit from such an online service.

You could have a widget, perhaps a Google Gadget even, sitting on your desktop that declares your woman's current menstrual state such as:

Today: Slightly Spotty

Then you could click on the widget and look at the 5 day forecast and see what's in store for the week:

Mon: Spotty
Tue: Heavy Flow
Wed: Flow
Thu: Spotty
Fri: Clear

Obviously the paid version I'm tentatively calling "Wife Alert" could also send potentially life saving text messages to your cell phone at appropriate times.

It's 6am on that fateful morning when the text message alarm chirps:

"PMS EMERGENCY! THIS IS A HEAVY FLOW DAY! FORGET THE CHILDREN, GET OUT NOW AND SAVE YOURSELF BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!"

Perhaps even an advance warning system with even more important information such as converging events that could spell disaster if you fuck up.

"WARNING - HEAVY FLOW AND BIRTHDAY BOTH COMING IN 3 DAYS. DON'T FORGET FLOWERS, PRESENTS AND PARTY AS YOUR LIFE COULD DEPEND ON IT!"

Considering how much physical and mental abuse this could potentially save men, it's even possible your health insurance company would pick up the tab to "Wife Alert" as a standard health benefit.

Just like how the weather channel allows you to look up the weather of other locations around the world, the Woman Weather Channel would allow you to look up celebrities online.

Could you imagine tuning in to watch The View when you knew two of the hosts were going to have a bad day at the same time?

The Woman Weather Channel could also be an indispensable resource for anyone in business or politics that could simply avoid any bosses, colleagues or co-workers known to be having a "bad day" until her weather report showed all clear.

The possibilities are endless so tune into the Woman Weather Channel today and all you husbands subscribe to "Wife Alert" as it could be your life it saves!

Don Imus Joins Ranks of Unemployed

I've always hated Imus and just the sound of his voice and his idiotic bullshit made me want to smash radios.

Then those idiots over at MSNBC decided to put that stupid fucker on TV so the country could see that walking corpse spew bullshit in living color. That was the last day I ever watched MSNBC simply because it wasn't worth the risk of accidentally seeing that past-the-expiration-date walking organ donor still polluting the tube.

Now, thank the gods, he has aimed his prejudiced venom at the wrong bunch of women and not only has MSNBC gained a potential viewer when they canceled his dawn-of-the-dead carcass but CBS then followed suit and booted his old dusty ass to the curb.

Bye bye Imus, I won't miss you one fucking bit.

TIP FOR IMUS: Don't call the lady processing your unemployment claim a "nappy-headed ho" or she'll slap your ass into next week.

Did You Hear My Horn?

This is an open letter to all the incompetent drivers out there on the roads of the world.

You know who you are and we know who you are too, which is why we're honking our horns at you, flashing our lights at you, and most likely slamming on our brakes to avoid your masterful maneuvers when you're showing off your true talents on the road.

Lanes, pick one and stick to it.

Follow those little dots and dashes on the road and stay between a pair of them, it's not that complicated. When making a 2 lane turn into a 2 lane road, stay in the lane you started in unless you want to explain your incompetence to the mechanic, insurance company and the Dept. of Motor Vehicles.

Even if a road jogs at a funny angle as you cross an intersection, and the markings aren't too clear, it's not rocket science. If you're on the far left or right in a 3 lane road, stay to the far left or right. If you're in the middle lane it can't be that complicated to figure out where the middle is in the road across the intersection but sure as shit, 9 times out of 10, you end up in the far right lane with people honking (often me) and screeching brakes to avoid your dumb ass.

Aren't the cars in the lanes next to you any clue that it's unsafe to change lanes at this time?

Turning Signals or Blinkers, Use It or Lose A Fender.

It's that little lever on the side of the steering wheel that you either never learned how to use or it's too inconvenient to use because your fucking cell phone is currently in that hand. I'm not a mind reader, and even if I have a clue what you're about to do, I'm going to completely ignore it because you're too stupid to expressly tell me. Maybe I'll even speed up just to make sure I'm in the way and completely justified for blasting my horn and scaring the shit out of you which will probably cause you to then over steer to avoid me and careen into a bus load of kids on the other side. Signal your turn or die, your choice.

Turning Lanes, Get Out NOW!

If you're in a right or left exit only or turn only lane, can you explain why in the hell you wait until you get up to the end of the lane, often at a stop sign, before you decide to change lanes?

Never mind the long line of cars behind you now waiting since you fucked up their lane.

Never mind the long line of cars in the lane next to you because you're fucking up their lane as well. Most often you veer into that lane as you try to change lanes, without a turning signal (see Turning Signals or Blinkers above) and then panicked and stopped so now they can't get around your dumb ass either.

Doesn't the sound of those horns honking behind you give you a clue you're a pinheaded fucknut?

Space, Keep Your Damn Distance!

If I look in my rear view mirror and you're tailgating then you might want to pray your brakes, airbags and seatbelts all work properly.

If you're driving an expensive and well polished German car, I might just put on my windshield washers which will send a spray of water over the top of my car onto that wax job you just paid for and put spots all over your car. Some of you are smart enough to back off after my washer pisses on your Porsche a time or two, others not so bright.

Maybe I'll just drop from overdrive into drive and completely let off on the accelerator so the engine will suddenly slow my car down real quick, no brake lights, not a single clue I'm slowing, and scare the shit out of you when you almost plow into my car.

Hell, you want to be in my backseat?

Maybe I'll just help you out...

Maybe, if I'm all alone in my car, and you're all alone in yours, and there's nobody else around, just maybe I'll slam on the fucking brakes so hard that you'll smash into the rear of my car with enough force you'll pop your airbag like a balloon, fly through your windshield, smash through my rear windshield, where you can lay bleeding to death in my backseat assuming you aren't already dead from the impact.

Pulling Into Traffic.

Why in the hell do you watch the other cars coming at you, sitting there with your thumb up your ass, and suddenly pull into traffic at the last second?

You must realize it's a bad idea as you hear the screeching brakes and honking horns that greet your entry onto the road yet you do this every time!

If suicide is your wish, use a gun or rope in the privacy of your own home and leave me and everyone else on the road out of it.

Handicap Placards.

Let me give you a hint: those blue handicap placards or handicap stickers on your license plates do not make you invincible or give you carte blanche permission to do stupid shit on the road without repercussions. If you think you're handicapped now, just wait until 3 thousand pounds of screaming steel fucks you up worse that you already are. Just look at what happened to Christopher Reeves and that was just a single horse power, so imagine what my 455 horse power can do to mangle you further.

Summary

The difference between a drunk driver and a your bad driving ass is that at least the drunk driver can sober up but your bad driving is dangerous 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

Take a fucking cab before you kill yourself and take innocent people with you.

Just get off the road now, stay off the road, and we'll all live longer and happier lives.

Poor Kitty, Too Funny

Just about hurt myself ROTFLMAO when I saw this entry in my webstats as some poor distressed pet owner searched MSN for "if cat barfs is there something wrong" and landed on Cat Tales of Horror as the #1 result.

Tears are still running down my face, that poor person, I almost feel bad for them.

Ya know what?

Fuck it.

They should get a dog if cat barf worries them so easily as they'll soon not have a single spot anywhere in the house that isn't somewhat slightly stained by brightly colored cat vomit.

TIP: When decorating color coordinate with your brand of dry cat food.

Cat Tales of Horror

When you first get your new cat you think about all the fun things like playing with the cat dancer, petting the warm fuzzy critter sitting on your lap purring, and all that pet lover crap.

What you get in reality isn't just a pet, it's a four-legged festival of bodily malfunctions designed to horrify, shock and destroy everything you own.

Don't get me wrong, I love my cat, but if you could install a zipper on his mouth and a cork in his ass life would be easier.


Strong ID

That's what it said on his papers when we bought the little fucker:
STRONG ID

We had no clue what that meant, he responded well to his name?

A few days later we figured it out.

Our cat's shit was radioactive and smelled so bad it could send people running out of the room.

One day, we're sitting in the living room over 50 feet away from the litter box and this god awful smell comes wafting down the house as people run screaming and urping in terror and gather under the kitchen ceiling fan for protection.

Can someone explain to me how a very tiny kitten dropping a very tiny tootsie roll can make it smell like the fucking sewer just exploded and overflowed into my house?

Feeling much like Indiana Jones in the Nostrils of Doom I pull my shirt up over my nose and yell "I'M GOING IN!" and run into the bathroom, scoop that one tiny fragment from the litter box and flush it down the toilet and diffuse the situation.

Gives me some respect for people that work in bomb squads right about then.

Luckily, this odiferous situation goes away when we get the little bastard neutered.


Barfy the Vomit Slayer

Twelve years later (ok, 2 days ago) my wife is running thru the house holding the cat yelling "NO NO NO NO!" heading for the bathroom after scooping up the cat from the furniture as he sat there in full blown hairball hacking mode with with his tongue hanging making that oh too familiar sound:

WHUCK! WHUCK! WHUCK!

Luckily, once again we get him into the bathroom just in time to blow up on the tile instead of the sofa, bed, carpet, etc. Just like the postman that always rings twice, the cat always barfs twice so you have to close the bathroom door until he's done with his yakfest.


That Sinking Feeling

First, let's start with the fact that my cat refuses to drink water from a bowl and stands in the bathroom sink and screams for someone to come turn on the water. It's like having a 2 year old always asking for a drink. At least the cat is nice enough to yell when he's done so you can go turn the water off, a polite pet is always a bonus.

One day a few years back, after turning on the water he just keeps going back to the sink, over and over, for maybe thirty minutes. I'm wondering what in the hell is up, too much salt in the cat food?

Suddenly, my daughter starts screaming and yelling from her room and I run in to see the cat about 7 feet up in the air, on top of the TV which is on top of the armoir, spewing buckets of water cascading down the armoir like one of those fountains in the park. Trying to get the cat off the TV makes matters worse as he goes the opposite way spewing water as he runs. Eventually he jumps off on his own running in a typical cat panic to hide under the nearest bed after the waterfalls have stopped.


Who needs an alarm?

One morning I was sound asleep and woke up to some odd noise in the room:

WHUH WHUH WHUH WHUH

I look around the room and much to my horror I see the cat sitting atop the armoir catapulting balls of cat food across the room. His head turns back and forth and "WHUH!" another ball of brightly colored cat food shoots about 3 feet onto the carpet.

Nothing I'm going to do about this until it's over as I'm not taking a cat bomb in the face trying to get him down - the horror of it all.


Follow the Bouncing Ball

The cat comes running out of the bathroom one afternoon with something bouncing along behind him and he just keeps running around from room to room with this little thing bouncing around behind him.

I know this is going to be bad and I should probably turn and run in the other direction but instead I catch the cat to see what in the hell is going on.

It appears kitty has somehow consumed a few of my wife's hairs and now has a bouncing ball of shit chasing him attached to 3 hairs still hanging out of his ass.

Just lovely, you know someone has to pull these hairs out of his ass, and you know who that someone is going to be.


Carpet Crawler

Ever see a dog or a cat sitting ass down on the carpet pulling themselves along by their front feet?

That's what my cat does when he hasn't been drinking enough and his shit gets stuck half way out his ass - runs out of the litter box and scoots down the hall until suddenly a little tootsie roll pops out on the carpet.

Have I mentioned I love my cat?

Computer Monitor

The cat is always on top of my computer monitor, as a matter of fact he's there snoozing right now as I'm typing this. Good thing the little fucker can't read or I'd probably lose a layer of epidermis for this rant.

Anyway, one day he comes flying out of the bathroom and jumps on the desk and monitor with a vengeance and I'm startled even more when he suddenly goes ass down on the top of the monitor vents and starts going in circles.

Fucking lovely - BOING! Tootsie roll.

Fine, now it's time to get the disinfectant and the paper towels to clean off the brown streaks on top of the monitor.

Did I mention I REALLY REALLY LOOOOVE my cat?


It's 3AM, do you know what that smell is?

My wife wakes up at 3AM yelling about the horrific smell in the room, then she notices the smell is coming from the cat laying next to her in bed. Then she notices some stinky smelly goo all over the bed near his tail.

Did you know cats have skunk like glands in their ass that need periodic cleaning?

Neither did we until it just unloaded in our bed!

Nothing more fun than changing sheets and deodorizing a room at 3AM


What's Cooking?

One fine Saturday we're having lunch in the other room and suddenly a smell starts wafting across the house so I ask "Honey, you leave something on a burner?" and she replies "Nope, and it's not coming from the kitchen either".

Suddenly the cat looking scared shitless bolts into the living room - never a good sign.

So I start walking around the house to see where the odor is coming from and as I get closer to my computer room the smell of burning circuit boards fills the room.

One look at the monitor and I see the problem as smoke billows out the top of the vents which are covered in cat spew and my HP M90 is officially toast.

ISN'T LOVE FUCKING GRAND?

OK, maybe love is only half-grand as that monitor cost $500 when it was new.

Fucking cat.

Good Will Toward Men but FUCK WOMEN DRIVERS!

Mind you, I really don't have issues with women but you all pushed me over the edge tonight so if you're a feminist or some other gynecologically psychotic wack job then stop reading now and you won't have to increase your medication tonight.

My wife is running a fever and I'm out running a mission of mercy to get carry out food from BJ's and everything is fairly calm on my way to the restaurant but it's not quite 5PM yet and all those bitches are still answering phones, making copies, spell checking and doing other office-based chick shit.

Once I've retreived the food to return to my poor suffering ill honey is when all hell breaks loose.

Barely pulling out of my parking space I'm maybe 100 ft down the parking lot and some Malibu Barbie mother fucker ZIPS out in front of me, not a little nudge, I mean she ZIPS out and blocks the entire lane forcing me to screech to a halt. With my headlights glaring in her window the blonde vapid DMV approved sack of shit thinks that making some cute little wavy sign with her hand makes it OK that her IQ is barely above room temperature. Mind you, I'm on a mission of mercy to get food home to my sickly flu infected wife or I'd have most likely hit the gas instead of the brakes and hit that car so hard I'd have blasted her blonde intestines out the tail pipe and left her head shattered into the safety glass for a nice 1,000 peice puzzle for the holidays.

However, I let Bambi continue on her way intact and go about another 3 blocks and I'm in the left turning lane and half way into the intersection when suddenly some raven haired green Mazda driving whore from hell in the non-turning lane PULLS INTO MY LANE! Horns a blazing, breaks a screeching and this oblivous bag of estrogen just keeps pulling in front of me and nearly removes my fender.

Now that this crazy excuse for an ovarian driver is securely in my lane in front of me and my bumper is magically still attached to the car I decide to flip on my brights behind her to express my discontent with her PMS-based inability to drive a car, follow clear road signs and directions and to firmly disregard horns of warning. This pathetic excuse for an X chromosone has the audacity to make hand gestures for ME to CALM DOWN!

My hand gestures at this point leave nothing to the imagination.

When I'm only 2 blocks from home I think all is safe as I'm far away from the deadly combination of rush hour and Xmas shopping cockholders but hell no, they're at it again.

Sitting at a 4-way stop sign a van to my left that had the right of way starts into the intersection making a left turn while the cell phone talking fingernail polishing titless bitch in the lane on my left decides to pull into the intersection after the van already has control. My horn immediately sounds and this crazy cow at least hears me and screeches to a halt while I see shit oozing out of the crack at the bottom of the van door as the driver has obviously been traumatized by the near collision.

What the fuck is wrong with you women?

Take a goddamn cab!

Stay home!

Just hand over the car keys to a man until XMAS IS OVER GODDAMMIT!

Lava Pockets

Whoever the sadistic bastard was that thought putting a lava flow inside of a pastry shell and selling it as food should be dragged out into the parking lot and have his nuts stomped into the pavement.

These little faux food items should be used to torture prisoners as the jails would surely be empty in a week as everyone got on their best behavior to avoid them.

This little warning on the food is the understatement of the century:

CAUTION: FILLING WILL BE HOT

Hot?

A pot of molten metal is hot, this shit fresh out of the microwave is like a slice of the sun's corona!

No mention on the package that you'll lose your fingerprints picking up this little snack as your fingers' epidermis will transfer to the pastry shell as you remove it from the microwave.

Forget a cold soft drink unless you have a cannister of liquid nitrogen handy as nothing else will help cool down the 3rd degree burns in your mouth.

They should require you to purchase a "Hot Pocket" safety kit and be properly trained and certified before being allowed to eat one of these damn things. The safety kit should include some metal mesh gloves, Space Shuttle thermal tiles to use as a plate, a high temperature infrared thermometer to sense when it's cooled to normal environmental levels and some safety goggles just in case a bit of super-heated lava splatter heads toward your eye.

Don't forget to keep a fire extinguisher handy in case you accidentally set the cooked item on a bare wooden table and it erupts into a violent fireball.

Florida Drinks Cat Piss

When I was trapped in Florida for a week over the Thanksgiving Holiday it became quickly apparent that the entire state is devoid of what most serious beer drinkers would consider real beer. Lot's of restaurants had beer on tap but it was always the same old mind numbing choices of Bud, Bud Lite, MGD, Coors, Michelob, etc. without anything resembling Anchor Steam, Bass, New Castle, Guiness, an IPA, Blonde or Hefeweizen and I'm not sure anyone in the state has even heard of the term Micro Brewery. Even Winn Dixie, the local grocery store a block away, had very limited beer choices, it was shocking.

In desperation I went to famous Rickey's in Hollywood, FL as I remembered they had some real beer on tap but all was not as expected as either there was soap residue in the pint glasses or the lines hadn't been cleaned lately. The Bass tasted funny so to make sure it wasn't a bad keg I tried something else and it had a funny taste too so being thoroughly annoyed and disappointed we bailed.

The next night we ended up at the Seminole Casino to play poker as the Hard Rock was just too crowded to even get near a poker table and it wasn't worth waiting 2 hours.

When I walked past the Seminole's bar I saw a big red beacon between all the cat piss on tap so I screeched to a halt to order a beer.

Bartender: "What'll ya have?"

Me: "A Red Hook!"

Mind you the beer is on tap next to where I'm standing but she walks away and comes back and sets down a RED BULL and tries to charge me for it.

Me: "Not Red Bull, I want a beer, a RED HOOK!"

Bartender: "I don't know what that is!"

It's only a foot away from the bartender at this point, I'm almost in shock now.

Me: pointing and waving at the tap "It's that big red tap that says RED HOOK E S B right there!"

Baretender then figures it out, pours the beer and I'm on my way to play some poker.

Later at the poker table a cocktail waitress shows up and asks what I want.

Me: "A Red Hook"

Waitress: "A Red Bull?"

Me: "No, A Red Hook" points at beer glass on table "it's a beer on tap, big red tap, RED HOOK!"

Waitress: "A Red HAWK?"

Me: "Yes!" - close enough, we'll see what we get.

She surprisingly comes back with an actual Red Hook but later when I order another Red Hook still calls it a "Red Hawk" yet again but at this point she could call it Red Square and I wouldn't care as long as they serve the right thing.

Two nights later I'm back playing poker again and I notice a different bartender and different waitresses so I'm thinking it might be better.

Waitress: "Cocktail?"

Me: "I'll take a Red Hook"

Waitress: "I don't even know what that is!"

Me: "It's a beer, 3rd tap from the left, big red tap that says RED HOOK ESB on it"

Waitress: "OK, I'll see if we have it"

See if you have it?

I can see the tap from where I'm sitting at the poker table!

OK, I wait 10 minutes and see her serving other tables, 20 minutes and still serving other tables, I figure I'm forgotten at this point so I head to the bar for self-service.

Bartender: "What can I get ya?"

Me: "A Red Hook"

Bartender: "A Real Beer drinker!"

Me: I faint at this point.