http://www.theonion.com/content/node/33596

by THUNDER THE FERRET!!!

"Mark my words, one of these days, I'm gonna make another run for it. It was the last straw today when he tied that teeny fucking hemp necklace around my neck. I chewed through that piece of shit in 10 minutes."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, I love you The Onion

Jesus Christ, do I ever hate my filthy fucking hippie owner, Zach. You have no idea the hell I go through, living in this disgusting house with him and his hordes of skank-ass hippie friends.

I didn't ask for this shit, you know. I try to keep clean, giving myself frequent tongue-baths. But it's simply impossible when, everywhere I step, there's a moldy black-bean pita sandwich or an ashtray overflowing with half-smoked joints.

I never get a moment's rest, either. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, there's at least a dozen smelly-haired fuckers sitting around getting high and watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, or planning another pancake benefit for East Timor. Get a life, losers.

The agony never ends. I can't even sleep, because, every time I try, Zach starts beating on his bongos, while some other unwashed bozo tries to play some crappy didgeridoo he made out of some PVC pipe. And if I hear one more hippie fumble through the bridge of "Sugar Magnolia" on Zach's untuned acoustic guitar, I'm going to squeeze my head between the bars of my cage and twist until my neck snaps.

I'm a ferret, goddamn it! I have a very acute sense of smell! Day after day, I am forced to choke on the nauseating stench of strawberry incense and sweat-soaked Guatemalan wool doused in patchouli oil. And do you think that my owner could actually put down his bong long enough to clean my fucking cage every once in a blue moon? Of course not!

Then there's that friend of Zach's who hitchhiked down from Boulder last week–Rick or Ryan or something. Whatever his name is, I just think of him as the "'That's Cool' Guy," because that's all he ever fucking says. You'd think that, after the 200th time I squirmed away from this bastard, he'd figure out that I don't want his grubby hands on me. Not this burn-out.

"That's Cool" Guy must be brain-damaged from one too many acid trips, because, a few days ago, I was just trying to make it across the living room to hide behind a big stack of dirty cereal bowls when he lunged at me and spilled bong water all down my fricking back. I smelled like holy hell for the next four days! I tried to lick myself clean, but I had to stop because I started seeing things. I swear, after a while, that Phish shit my owner plays 20 hours a day was almost starting to sound good.

The absolute worst thing that ever happened to me, though, was when that son-of-a-bitch Zach got out that goddamn collar and took me down to the park to watch him take off his sandals and juggle sticks. I stretched the leash as far as it would go, but I'm sure people could still figure out I was with that loser. There was a bunch of squirrels standing by a tree, laughing their asses off at me. Christ, talk about humiliating!

I tried running away once, but Mr. Smarty Patchwork-Pants found me hiding underneath the front porch. I'd rather eat worms than choke down any more of that organic bulgur crap that motherfucker dumps in my bowl every day.

Mark my words, one of these days, I'm gonna make another run for it. It was the last straw today when he tied that teeny fucking hemp necklace around my neck. I chewed through that piece of shit in 10 minutes. Just because he thinks it's goddamn 1969 doesn't mean I have to play along. If I can just make it past the rusted VW microbus in the driveway, that fucking hippie will never see my ass again.

great line
"I stretched the leash as far as it would go, but I'm sure people could still figure out I was with that loser. There was a bunch of squirrels standing by a tree, laughing their asses off at me."

This one's great:

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/74085

Kitchen-Floor Conflict Intensifies As Rival House Cats Claim Same Empty Bag

MAPLEWOOD, MO—Ongoing turmoil in the troubled kitchen-floor region of the Branson household reached a boiling point Tuesday, as relations between rival house cats Boswell and Johnson erupted into fresh violence. Observers said the arrival of a new brown paper-bag in the area ignited long-standing tensions and set off another round of territorial conflict between the two factions in the most serious aggression since the devastating stove-side siege of 2005.




The disputed bag.


The afternoon was marred by sporadic fighting, according to reports, with opposing forces darting and then retreating in surprise attacks. Boswell held his position despite relentless onslaughts from Johnson, who repeatedly batted the controversial bag along the ancient linoleum surface. By the end of the day, neither side displayed any intention to halt reprisals without the other first relinquishing claims and pulling out permanently—an outcome those close to the fighting called "unlikely at best."

"What people unfamilar with the history here must understand is that this seemingly empty and barren paper bag has rapidly become the third most important site in the area after the scratching post in the living room and the breakfast-nook windowsill," former CIA analyst Brian Haddox said. "Not only is it seen by both Boswellist and Johnsonian interests as a crucial location for establishing territorial control in the kitchen-floor region, but it also makes a crumpling sound that both sides find irresistible."

Added Haddox, "Unfortunately, hostilities have destabilized this already tenuous peace at least until nap time."

The bag, a brown paper grocery bag from Stop & Shop with no prior claims of cat ownership attached to it, became the center of a wide-scale power play when Boswell seized control of its highly contested interior, and occupied the disputed area for approximately 30 seconds. Following immediate Johnsonian reprisals, Boswell unleashed a barrage of swats, but failed to secure a position in the bag.




Boswell (above) and Johnson (below)


Reports from the ground indicated that Johnson, once in possession of the perimeter region up to the cat dish, was forced in the early afternoon to retreat to the green rug zone, where he licked his paws with apparent disinterest for an estimated 10 minutes. Without warning, Johnson then launched a full-frontal assault on Boswell's forces, pouncing from behind and eventually chasing his rival all the way to the bathroom sink. The heavy leaping and grappling was broken only by periods of intense mutual licking. At one point, the conflict escalated into full-fledged upside-down kicking of each other in the face before Boswell was distracted by an errant ball rolling across the floor, bringing the factions to an uneasy standstill.

Despite the intensity of the fighting, no serious injuries were reported.

"People in the middle of this have tried everything they can to quell the violence, including bringing in a second bag, but nothing has worked," said U.N. investigator Caroline Olivera, adding that many residents were furious at the combatants for knocking over and destroying a prized vase in November. "It is beginning to appear that any long-term solution may have to involve deployment of the disciplinary squirt bottle."

According to International Red Cross worker Etienne Zervudacki, there was a temporary lull in the violence when both factions shifted their attention to a nearby can of tuna, craning their necks and licking their lips in apparent unity before eventually returning to the battle. While the short-lived truce was hopeful, Zervudacki said, it was a fragile pact that ignored the true causes of dilemma.

"The biggest shame here is that these two sides are so entrenched in their differences that they don't realize they are brothers," said Zervudacki, noting that even though both parties were reportedly curled up together on the sofa at press time, violence would likely break out again tomorrow. "If it's not the paper bag, it will be something else, like aluminum foil, toy mice, or plastic rings from two-gallon milk jugs."