Meet My Monsters!

I am the proud parent of two fuzzy monsters! I have one Killer Dachshund Monster and one Bratticus Catticus. The Killer Dachshund Monster sometimes responds to his given name, Charlie, other times, he doesn’t respond at all. 

The Bratticus Catticus does not respond to his given name, Oliver or Ollie…he doesn’t really respond to anything other than the sound of treats rustling in their package, or the sound of his bowl being removed from the cupboard for his weekly ration of soft food. He is not a brand of fuzzy monster I would recommend to someone with an inferiority complex or depression. 

 Note how he sits with his back to me as I'm trying to take his picture...

Bratticus Catticus has some sort of cloaking device that he uses frequently.  I see him a few times a day and then he disappears in the evening, only to return at night to hover 3 inches from my face while i'm sleeping. Needless to say…he’s kinda creepy…

 Imagine seeing this in your face at 3 A.M...

He is also responsible for the fuzzy ring around the inside of my toilet.  I think he believes I'm adding a contaminant to his water dish so he drinks from the porcelain spring.  It's very odd to see half a cat sticking out of your toilet in the middle of the night, and you can’t help but to feel as if you've interrupted something private when he looks out over the rim at you with a scowl...so you slowly back out, and shut the door waiting for him to finish...

 

He has an interesting reaction when combined with a special green herb purchased at a local monster store. Reactions include dilated pupils, agitation, tormenting Killer Dachshund Monster and chasing his handlers feet around the living room. Due to the reclusive and normally secretive nature of this monster, not much more is known about him.

The Killer Dachshund Monster is incredibly dangerous because he appears to be cute and cuddly.  Gazing into the Killer Dachshund Monsters deep brown eyes will give him complete  mind control over you and can result in hours of fetch, a house full of squeaky toys, or redistribution of your lunch/dinner.

The Killer Dachshund Monster also exudes a skin irritant from his mouth.  He is known to attack the face with toxic slobber.  If attacked, it is recommended that you immediately practice first aid and wash face thoroughly with hot water and soap followed by an antiseptic rinse.

We suggest that you avoid listening to the high pitched whining noise emitted from our Killer Dachshund Monster as this may cause temporary paralysis.  Once paralysis has been achieved and human victim is rendered into an immobile heap on the ground, the Killer Dachshund Monster will immediately transform into the terrible Mississippi Leg Hound.  For this, there is no known cure.

 

On occasion, we decide to brave the outside world with our Killer Dachshund Monster and we take him on a car ride.  As responsible handlers, we always remember to lock the windows in the car.  The Killer Dachshund Monster learned at a young age, how to roll down the windows to make his escape.  Fortunately, he did not make it far and we were able to recapture him.  Introducing him into the wild would be incredibly irresponsible on our part. 

Oddly enough, Bratticus Catticus and the Killer Dachshund Monster get along splendidly despite their numerous differences. 

My irrational fear of birds...

I suppose it began when I was very young, no more than 4 years old.  My Grandpa lived out in the country and his neighbors had chickens that for one reason or the other, preferred to roost in Grandpa’s back yard.  My Dad, being the wonderful father that he is, decided it would be funny to set me out in the back yard by myself one day…to play with the chickens.  Now, at this age, I was pretty open to anything thrown at me, devoid of any preconceived notions about much of anything, but I thought animals were supposed to be my friends.  Cute, fluffy, loveable, cuddly beings sent to Earth to be my friends.

 I couldn’t have been more wrong.  I can’t remember what initiated the event, but what I do remember is the sheer terror that ran through my veins as this giant herd of chickens started clucking and cawing and chasing me down.  They had morphed into giant, fanged, hateful, creatures whose bloodlust could only be cured with the taste of my flesh.

 

So here I was, running frantically in the back yard, trying to escape these feathered predators…the backdoor only a few steps away…my redemption!  Only…my kind, loving, wonderful, father…who had been watching this whole event while laughing…locked the door.  Realizing I was on my own, and the chickens were still after me, I continued running around the back yard.  I’m not sure I had a plan at all.  I just wanted to stay alive and away from these feathery monsters.  At some point in time, I remember making a promise to myself that I would never again touch a chicken unless it was in chicken nugget form and dipped in honey mustard sauce. So I ran....

and I ran...

...and I ran....

Near the point of exhaustion, I was saved by my cousin Chance, who was kind enough to scoop me up and take me into his family’s trailer which was located in Grandpa’s side yard.  My Aunt Cindy consoled me and sat me down in front of the TV to watch Woody the Woodpecker and Milo and Otis until it was time for me to go home.

To this day I am terrified of chickens.  I am even going to expand that and say that in general, I am terrified of all birds no matter how big or small. More recently, I was very nearly attacked by a duck.  Very few people are aware, but ducks have teeth, sharp teeth and hundreds of them.  I know this because I saw them.  Up close.  We have a family of ducks at our apartment.  They usually just wander around the complex and drive my dog crazy.  I saw one walking around my car in the parking lot and decided that I could feed her bread from a safe distance so long as they stayed within bread throwing distance.  So I stood on my porch quite pleased with myself because of how brave I was being.

And then it happened, she started to approach me. I tried to throw the bread further away from myself to get her to back off, but in my state of panic some of the bread was landing near my feet.  She didn’t want the bread in the parking lot, she wanted the bread by my feet as if it was somehow superior to the bread in the parking lot.  It was then that I saw that the duck had shape shifted into an evil devil duck, mouth laced with thousands of jagged teeth stained with the blood of the last human kind enough to share bread with her, and her evil beady eyes trained on me and the bag of bread.  It appeared as though she was going to invite herself into my apartment.  I knew it was either going to be me, or the bread,  and that was a total no brainer.  I threw the remainder of the bread on the porch to distract her, turned and ran into the apartment bolting the door behind me. 

 My roommate looked at me from the kitchen as if he might have to get his gun to protect me from a mugger or whoever the evil menace was chasing me.  When I explained that there was a killer duck on the loose his look of concern changed to one of disbelief, like he might actually have to have me taken away in a straight jacket.  He grabbed a second loaf of bread and went outside against my advisement, to feed the ducks.  I watched him from the safety of the living room, as he fed the ducks... from his hand...

I have come to the conclusion that birds can smell fear, and once that fear is detected, they take that opportunity to attack.  If anyone knows of any type of fear deodorant please advise, as I believe that would be my only hope to overcome my irrational fear of birds.

A blog is born!

As of late, I have been self analyzing. Psychology was my major in college…but then, for financial reasons, I dropped out. It has occurred to me that analyzing anyone with a partial education in psychology could be potentially detrimental to a persons mental health…even though I got really good grades. The combination of good grades and drop out means I am overconfident and undereducated. I will probably end up going on some sort of fugue by the time I’m thirty as a result of a botched self hypnosis or an unreasonable amount of mental strain caused by trying to figure out the eternal question…what is really in a hot dog?

At the age of 26, I have found that in my heart of hearts…I don’t want to be an adult.  Unfortunately, I have bills.  Lots and lots of bills.  I like my laptop and t.v…so I have to pay my electric bill.  My friends like it when I don’t stink, so I have to pay my water bill so I can continue with this whole shower thing.  The Men in Black will hunt me down and steal my first born if I don’t pay back my education loan.  I like going places, so I guess I should probably pay the car note and insurance as well.  We’ve been getting a lot of rain in Ohio lately, so I guess if I want to stay dry I should probably pay the rent. However, I detest alarm clocks, especially the loud annoying ones that wake you up at 7 in the morning.  I hate traffic.  I don’t like TPS reports. Corporate life sucks. I am afraid of potlucks, because I know odds are, someone in my department owns a hundred cats, and they all like sitting on the counter when food is being prepared.  So you can see my conundrum.  I need to be able to pay my bills, but I don’t want to get up at 7 am, drive in traffic, do my TPS reports and die from some sort of disease harbored by felines because Clarence let his cats sit on the counter while he made his World Famous Chili. 

I would much rather spend my time playing with play dough, searching for my name in Google, watching cute videos of Sontard dancing and puppies and kitties on YouTube, celebrating backwards day by wearing my underwear on the outside of my jeans, and drinking Mountain Dew.  I really don’t think that’s too much to ask.

As it so happens, I like to write.  Sometimes, when you combine a blog and writing, you get subscribers, and when you get subscribers, sometimes you get money.  Here is where you, dear Reader, come into the picture. I need you to subscribe to my blog.  I need you to tell your friends and family about my plight and my desire to be a responsible bum and I need them to visit my blog and subscribe so I don’t have to die from Clarence’s botulism Chili.  I am hereby recruiting you to spread the word.  Pass out fliers, make buttons promoting my site, talk about my blog loudly and enthusiastically in the elevator at the mall, tell people I am the Grand Pooh-Bah of the meanest Big Wheel gang in America! I’m pretty sure there aren’t any Big Wheel gangs in America so technically if I were to buy a Big Wheel and snarl a little bit, it wouldn’t be a lie J