Lazy Bucky's quickies (New Year edition)
Oh, hell, is it that time already? Time to flip over the calendar, time to flip that underwear, time to clean the litterbox? Yup, it does seem to be a new year already. Guess I'd better write something before my blog is condemned for lack of occupancy.
- I've become a little too involved in what the Real Housewives are doing, whether they be in Orange County, New York, or Atlanta. Please, Bravo, do not leave any lag time in between installments; it makes me feel wonderful, as I sit with my generic ginger ale, my no-name chips, and my decidedly un-pedigreed felines, to observe the spectacularly fucked-up lives of vapid women with more money than brain cells. My dream is to one day witness a bare-knuckled boxing match between Vicki from Orange County and Ramona from New York. It might not compare to the random delight of seeing Vicki take a football to the back of the head at Lake Havasu, but it would still call for popcorn, a comfy chair, and the phone off the hook.
- Stella was such a tiny, skinny li'l thang when she wandered up onto my porch last summer, looking for food and love and food. Well, lemme tell ya, the girl does not miss a meal around here; I couldn't even begin to locate her ribs anymore. She also feels the need to comment on anything and everything, earning her a theme song of her very own, Kitty With a Lot to Say. Also, following in the litter-dusted footsteps of King Eeyore Bubbies Flippytail, Lord Thirteen Sarsparilla Puffington, Esq., and Duke Friday Aloysius Ptang Ptang Olay Biscuit Barrel Tuxbury, Stella has now earned a royal title: Marchesa Stella Barbarella Foofinella Rotunda.
Disapproval with every glance, at no extra charge!
- I've reached the stage in life where I've put up the Cap'n Crunch and replaced it with Raisin Bran. My need for fiber has finally outweighed my sweet tooth. Now, if everyone would please whip out the kazoos and play a lively rendition of Taps in memory of my youthful colon...
- Speaking of Taps and asses, it's been about a year since I've tapped anything, ass-wise. All work and no foreplay makes Bucky a cranky bitch. Now taking applications for sluts with low standards. No high-maintenance princesses need apply, but if you've got lots of cash, that'll put your application right at the top of the pile. And by "pile" I mean empty inbox.
- The Monitor and the Merry Mac: The monitor on my Mac has officially gone belly up. Its glorious 19 inches will stay alit for an average of five seconds at a time, which kinda puts a damper on any music projects I might be attempting to begin or complete. On the one hand, I could probably replace it for a little over $100; on the other hand, I could use that same $100 to keep the heat on in my house. It's a tough call, but ultimately, keeping the heat on will save me money in replacing burst water pipes and nipple-torn blouses.
- Friday's bullying of the other cats has of late elevated him to the status of Evil Gay Boy. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's been emulating Dr. Smith from Lost in Space.