Friday, December 22, 2006

A Year in Review

It's that time of year again! Time when you reflect on the past 365 days and the amazing things you did with each and every one of them!

For me, it's a time to measure my impact. You know what I've always said: "An examined life, in which you examine things a lot, is the only one anyone should really think is worth living at all."

[Editor's note: I think she's referring to Socrates, who said, "An unexamined life is not worth living." Holy crap! It's official. It's clear, by her taking credit for a misquote, I've somehow loved every shred of humility out of her!]

To help me get a better understanding of who loves me a lot and who loves me an exorbitant amount, I am inviting you to take a simple poll. I know I have stalkers lurkers who read regularly, but don't comment. While that breaks my heart into tiny shards of heartlet pieces, I'm fine with that. I'd much rather you hear what I have to say than bother me with your thoughts anyway.

For you dedicated readmenters (that is my new word for readers who comment) and devoted lurkers, it's a simple click of the mouse to register what I think your opinions should be. Choose one of the four options! That's it! You can also see the poll results to see what your peers said about me and to see if you voted like the cool kids voted.

Your peers are known for pressure; remember...you're just not cool unless you vote with the rest of the gang.



I will be taking a break from blogging and returning January 2, 2007. I am sure there will be plenty to tell, as I am celebrating the holidays with some major celebrities (the names of whom I am not at liberty to share right now, but let's just say one starts with a "B" and ends with a "Rad Pitt").

May all of you and your entourages have a wonderful and relaxing holiday! May you get into all the trendiest night clubs your hearts desire (just drop my name at the door) and may you not get caught without panties by the paparazzi (oh, yes...I'm talking to you, Flashy McSpears!).

I look forward to you looking forward to seeing me again in the new year!

So sayeth The Emperrific Kukkanator v.2006.

[Editor's note: The Emperrific Kukkanator v.2007 (with her highly-anticipated release in early January 2007) also wishes you and yours a relaxing and wonderful holiday. While she realizes how difficult it will be, it is her hope you will spend more time with family and friends and less time examining the facts of the heated feud between The Donald and The O'Donnell (Ding! Ding!). She wishes to remind you that quality time with family and friends is far more fruitful than choosing sides in a celebrity bru-ha-ha...especially when you're really choosing the lesser of two evils.]

Happy Holidays!

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Thursday Thirteen, Edition #16


Thirteen Interesting Ways People
(and some sick mother-effers)
Have Found my Site via Google.

VOLUME 2! Oh, Yes, check out VOLUME 1 here!

  1. AWESOME NIPPLES. Finally! Someone comes in search of one of my best features: my captivating and beautiful multiple nips!


  2. ONLY PHOTOS OF A FAT OPRAH. Are there any kind? [Editor's note: The Oprah/Kukka feud is still alive and well!]


  3. THE SCREAMING WAS DEAFENING. This person must have seen my last red carpet appearance.


  4. PHOTO DOG EATING CAT. I'd call this sicko out, but I did write a post about how VPI Pet Insurance supports encourages the consumption of cats by dogs--as proven by their logo.


  5. MADE HIM WEAR PANTIES TO WORK. Um...yes. You needed to research this incredibly intriguing idea? Amateur...


  6. CRUSTY CAT BUTT. Of course, this is in reference to Brach's butt and not mine! We debated the topic, but I didn't think it was such a hot issue someone would be Googling it!


  7. HOW TO HAVE AN AWESOME SLUMBER PARTY EVER! How awesomely, like, RAD! But, unless this person is a 13-year old girl, the phrasing is a bit disappointing. Allow me to introduce you to the phrase "THE MOST." "THE MOST," meet "13-YR OLD GOOGLER." Be careful, "THE MOST!" This one's under-aged.


  8. ONLINE DATING MEMOIRS. I would call my online dating post a "memoir," as much as a "warning."


  9. TAIL BUTT PLUG KITTEN CAT. This Googler, from Denmark, really makes a statement here. I tried giving him/her the benefit of the doubt, hoping his/her English is not-so-good. Um...no. This is pretty clear. I'm not saying all the world's pervs come from Denmark...only about 92%. [Editor's note: Kukka's figures are not based on any sort of research. In fact, I don't think she even understands the concept of percentages.]


  10. TURD EMPRESS. I'm assuming Google pointed to me in error here. I can only imagine what kind a crown a Turd Empress would wear...and her "throne" must be something spectacular!


  11. MANY HUMANS MAY FEEL AROUSAL TOWARDS CATS FOLLOWING THE SMOKING OF CATNIP. I SWEAR to you I'm not making this up! I have absolutely nothing to say about this one. Nothing.


  12. PORNOGRAPHIC PHOTO OF PUSSY WITH A BASEBALL BAT INSIDE. Well, this search proves the other 8% of perverts come from France. Something tells me he/she was not looking for the photo of me, playing a Halloween joke on my Agent. On a side note, she totally bought that I had been maimed by a killer baseball bat. [Editor's note: I sooooo did not fall for it!]

  13. PET PORN. (OR PET PRON...because you sick effers are oh-so-clever at shrouding your perversions with misspellings.) I am seriously astounded at how many people have found their way here with that phrase. Multiple times per day, I see them come through. All because I wrote "Pet Porn: An Investigative Report!" I guess, while I always knew humans thought I was incredibly foxy, I didn't expect such creepy, creepety creeps to lurk about. Ewwww! Get out of here!


CHECK OUT MY THURSDAY 13 ARCHIVE!


Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!


    Wednesday, December 20, 2006

    "Dear Kukka...", Volume XIV

    It's been awhile since the last "Dear Kukka..." installment, but it's not been for lack of mail. It's been for lack of interesting mail.

    Aside from the typical, "Dear Kukka, I want to father your babies," and "Dear Empress, I would give up my first-born if you would speak at his kindergarten graduation," it's been a pretty dry time. Yes, I received eleventy-three marriage proposals. And, yes, I tentatively accepted eleventy-two (sorry, Kid Rock, but I think you need to be legally divorced before we can marry). Other than that, though, it's been a pretty drab mail bag as of late.

    I have, however, picked a few gems out to share with you. My hope is that you consider these questions, and my answers, a vessel of knowledge and learn something from the sage wisdom I share.

    Appreciate it! Sage wisdom don't come cheap...

    Bring on the letters!


    Q: Kukka, I've been approached recently by a man who is suggesting we have a "friends-with-benefits" situation. I'm not sure that's the way to go. What say you?
    A: Friends with benefits. Friends. With. Bene. Fits. Go for it. As a woman, you may experience extreme mental anguish because you mistakenly tie your own self-esteem up in whether or not he would want to be with you if you weren't putting out, but they wouldn't use the word "benefits" if it was all bad! It takes a very special (and calloused) woman to keep a man close to her without being actually close to her. Look at me! I juggle six highly attractive and loyal tomcats with little issue! Have sex! Have fun! And who knows? Maybe you'll enjoy the years of psychotherapy in your future.

    Q: Recently, Empress, I was asked on a date by an attractive man. He is tall, handsome, and incredibly super-sexy! We went out, got incredibly drunk, and shared things about ourselves with one another that are not typically divulged on the first date. I'm afraid we've become too "familiar" with one another and I may have scared him off, since I've not received the call for a second date. What should I do?
    A: First off, lose Geraldo Rivera's phone number IMMEDIATELY! While he is moderately handsome, he is not all that tall, nor incredibly super-sexy. Believe me. The moustache has told me so....literally. It spoke to me. My advice? Never tell too much to a man. Stick with the low-risk information that is harmless: Bra size, panty color, history of STDs, what super-celebrity broken hearts you've left in your wake, etc.


    Q: Ryan Seacrest has said that the next season of "American Idol" is going to be "extreme." I'm assuming, with your clout, you have insider information on this. Would you consider dishing the details to us normal folk?
    A: Extreme? You bet! I received a call a few months ago to consult with the "American Idol" team on what could make the next season more interesting. I mean, aren't we all pretty sick of just listening to singing? I know I am! I made several suggestions that, no surprise, they loved and implemented. First, expect to see some nude singing. This will be introduced during the early rounds to deter the gutless performers. Unfortunately, I expect the seriously talented won't go for it, so you can expect to see a squillion fame-hungry William Hungs in the top 10 this year. Secondly, the people that are invited to Hollywood will be spending a lot of time performing, while maneuvering through an obstacle course. The key to their success will be maintaining their tone and keeping their breathing steady--especially as they try swinging over a mud pit on a rope. It will be fun to hear them perform Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" while covered in mud after their pathetic fall. Finally--and this one is truly a risk, they will be locked in one of those round cages with speeding motorcycles spinning around them. They will be asked to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner," while waving tiny flags with both their hands and balancing a microphone. I can't wait to hear how their terror helps or hinders them reaching the high note at "O'er the land of the freeeeeeeeee!" Good times...good times.


    Q: Kukka, how do you feel about the drama surrounding Miss USA this week and the reports of her scandalous behavior?
    A:
    Seriously...who cares? If you are one of the pageant-whoring people who tune into the hoopla each year, let me ask you this: Do you ever see this woman again during the year of her reign? I mean, does it make a difference if she kisses and parties with an under-aged girl or if she speaks at an abused women's shelter? I didn't even know her name until this week's craziness! Oh, except The Donald called me and asked if he were to fire her, would I be willing to take over her "responsibilities." Despite the fact her "responsibilities" include walking around in a bikini, cutting the red ribbon at car dealership grand openings, and hoisting beer bongs at the Official Miss USA Spring Break Bash, I decided I just didn't have time for it. Because of my unwillingness, Donald Trump decided to give her another chance. Don't blow it, Miss USA! The entire country is counting on you to enhance the moral fabric of our country! (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit...)


    Q: Katie Couric is pretty upset that her critics are ruthlessly judging her performance on CBS's Evening News. Kukka, what advice would you give her about dealing with haters?
    A: Boo. Fucking. Hoo. Last I checked, Katie Couric, you left a $16.25 million-a-year job at NBC to move up the ladder. Why don't you go to your $6.3 million home in the Hamptons or your pathetically modest $3.5 million apartment in New York City and cry a river. Did you expect to please the entire nation with your perky smile and girl-next-door approach to the war coverage? Oh! You did...Isn't that precious! Perhaps you can use some of that exorbitant amount of money for psychotherapy, Cry-Baby Couric! Or start a foundation for over-paid, under-emotionally-nurtured, over-sensitive, and under-appreciated news anchors! Good luck with that! Crap. Now I'm going to get phone calls from her asking why I was so mean...


    Q: Empress, it's no secret you've had conflict with Star Jones-Reynolds. Considering the chaos Rosie O'Donnell has unleashed recently on The View, can't you admit that life was better with Star in the chair?
    A:
    Yeah...no. While I detest Rosie on The View, seeing Star on television makes me nauseous. No. Makes me nauseous and gives me atrociously foul gas. Recently, Star acknowledged her responsibility in creating her "diva image." Puh-lease! I'm a self-proclaimed diva, but I know how to carry it off! I suppose if I had to manage my life as an unemployed spouse of a gay man, I might not have the time to focus on my divadom, either. Ka-BLAM, Star Jones-Reynolds! Our feud is alive and well!



    As always, dear fans, thank you for writing to me. Next time, I'd really like to see more questions about me and not just about my opinions of others! Whose blog is this anyway?

    Read more of my mail in my "Dear Kukka..." Archive!

    Tuesday, December 19, 2006

    Suggest a Caption: Baby Brach's Arrival

    Forgive me, but I'm feeling a bit tired after writing so much yesterday (in fact, you are probably still reading that post). This morning, I'm tasked with answering tons of fan mail due to the upcoming release of my reality show. It sucks to be this popular!

    I pulled this photo from our archives; it's the day this crappy little kitten, Brach, came to live with us. Do you have a caption for this sickenly sweet photo?


    Monday, December 18, 2006

    Mirrorcat Manor

    In the wake of the enormous success of Animal Planet's Meerkat Manor, I received a phone call asking that I consider starring in a spin-off: Mirrorcat Manor.

    Um...only HELL YEAH!

    In contrast to the humble drama of the original series, my series is going to examine the opulent and luxurious lifestyle I lead in my natural habitat (my Agent's house). It will explore the natural conflict/loyalty between me and my burrow-mates, as well as how we deal with intruders and manage life's daily challenges.

    Here's a sample from the first episode. While Meercat Manor is narrated by Sean Astin (of "Encino Man" fame...HUH? He was in a small, independent film called "Lord of the Rings?" I was not aware...), I was able to choose my own narrator. Because of the melodious and lilting timbre of his voice, I chose Gilbert Gottfried.

    Enjoy a transcript from our first episode:



    NARRATOR: One of the world's greatest wonders is the Mirrorcat. Once thought to be a legend from the days of yore, artifacts recently obtained from a West Michigan dumpster has led us to the home of one royal Mirrorcat and her brood.

    [Camera zooms in on Kukka, stretching on the floor in the sunshine and yawning loudly.]

    NARRATOR: Mirrorcats get their names from their incredible arrogance and over-inflated egos. It is said the demise of the species can be directly attributed to the freakish imbalance of time spent admiring themselves, versus the time required to hunt for food and adequately protect themselves from their natural predators: Paparazzi. While it is unknown why Kukka-Maria has out-survived her brethren, we intend to explore the daily life of this lone Mirrorcat and those with whom she shares a burrow.

    [Theme music begins and a photo montage rolls with the opening credits.]

    NARRATOR: Meet Empress Kukka-Maria, the alpha-female. Living with this gang since autumn of 1999, she uses her dominant personality and vulgar profanity to keep her clan in line. While the rest of the gang love and respects her, it is the fear she instills in them that keeps her on top. She often gives the air of no regret, but the fact she was spayed as a small kitten and unable to have a litter of her own is something with which she struggles. Perhaps that is why she is so bossy to her crew...

    This is Brach Lee. Despite the fact he is not an actual Mirrorcat, but a regular Tomcat Tabby, Brach joined the gang one year after Kukka. He is far more timid and complacent, thereby making him a far more appealing burrow-mate than Kukka. Suffering from extreme OCD, Brach finds managing eleventy-three compulsive ticks a huge chore, so he spends most of his day sleeping under the covers of The Agent's bed or perched on the closet shelf in the spare bedroom. From this vantage point, he is able to monitor the room's activity and keep himself safe.

    This is The Agent. Most consider her a benevolent angel for undertaking the task of housing a Mirrorcat and protecting the delicate Tomcat; Kukka views her as competition, or at least an inconvenience. Teeth-baring battles between the two females on a daily basis keep the burrow interesting, but stressful. While The Agent provides food, fluids, litter and other necessities that keep the lazy Mirrorcat alive and content, Kukka-Maria never seems to be satisfied and makes it known constantly. While both Kukka and Brach can be identified by their consistent fur coats, The Agent is constantly changing--sometimes barefoot, sometimes sporting various forms of shoes. It is believed that The Agent will change her appearance with the seasons and with her emotions. Peculiar.

    [Opening theme ends and we see Brach sleeping peacefully on the back of the couch.]

    NARRATOR: It's been a tiring morning for the gang. While The Agent left for hours to hunt for food and otherwise provide for the family's every need, the morning at home for the Mirrorcat was filled with challenges. With frustrations running high due to lack of snacks, Kukka directs her anger not toward the source--but toward Brach. As he sleeps peacefully on the back of the burrow's couch, she approaches him from behind and gently, yet forcefully, places her front paw on his back. As is typical of a Mirrorcat, taking another tribe-member's prime sleeping spot is her focus. You can see that, despite opening his eyes a crack to see what is going on, he is refusing to move. On and on she presses, now moving her other front paw onto his back. Standing firmly on the little tom's spine, she leans down and begins biting the back of his neck. This reinforces her dominance and sends a clear eviction message. After minutes of passive protest, Brach vacates the spot and the Mirrorcat settles in for a nap.

    [There is a knock at the door.]

    NARRATOR: Not expecting a visitor, Kukka tentatively approaches the door. After she asks the visitor's identity through the door, she is startled as an impatient paparazzo barges in. Instinctively, she and Brach scatter to find safe hiding spots. As the predatorial, camera-toting woman wanders from room to room, searching for Kukka, Brach watches from his vantage-point on the clothes dryer. Seeing Kukka under the kitchen table, admiring herself in a mirror, Brach sends out a warning meow. Kukka, so enthralled with her appearance, ignores it. In one swift motion, the paparazzo scoops her up and cuddles her. It is disturbing to watch as Kukka squirms and tries desperately to run for her life. Kiss. Kiss. Hug. Another Kiss. As an observer, it's painful for us to watch, but we must remember it is all part of nature's horrifying reality. Mirrorcats, while their own biggest fan, are always at risk for attacks from admirers. Finally freeing herself by scratching and biting, Kukka runs for the bedroom and the paparazzo leaves the way she came in. Brach is quaking, but peace has returned to the burrow.

    [The Agent returns home after a long day of hunting and otherwise providing for the gang.]

    NARRATOR: Watch as the Mirrorcat greets The Agent. We would assume that she would be grateful for the treats she is about to receive, but then we are not Mirrorcats. Instead of gratitude, Kukka whines for more treats. More. Again. Now. The pleas are ceaseless. With a sharp and terse tone, The Agent scolds Kukka. Watch how the agitated Mirrorcat rejects The Agent's constructive feedback! She whines louder to show her dominance. The Agent, seemingly fearless, stands toe to toe with Kukka. As is Mirrorcat culture, when a female challenges the dominant female--in this case, The Agent challenging Kukka, the alpha-female is sure to evict the challenger from the gang and the burrow. The face-off continues, but in a curious move, Kukka retreats and goes to pluck the carpet in defiance. No eviction. But is the battle over?

    [Brach is eating at the food bowl.]

    NARRATOR: After a long day of patiently waiting his turn at the burrow's food source, Brach tentatively approaches and begins to eat the fruits of The Agent's early morning hunt. After a few minutes, Brach can feel Kukka's eyes burning into his back. Trying to ignore her, Brach knows if he makes eye-contact, his meal will surely be finished. Kukka stealthily crawls closer and fixes her glaring eyes on the small tomcat. Allowing a sinister moan to escape her throat, she lunges toward the bowl and chases Brach away. But does she eat? No! That is the mystery of the Mirrorcat. Dominance for the sake of sport.

    [Kukka is lying on the floor amidst The Agent's guests. Filling the room with her flatulence, she meows tenderly, hoping to get strokes and admiration.]

    NARRATOR: Join us next time, when we'll watch more of the passive-aggressive methods Kukka uses to get her way. When the gang poses for publicity photos, Kukka shows who is boss by invading every picture of Brach. Plus, Oprah makes a surprise visit to the burrow, causing chaos and carnage aplenty. Next time...on Mirrorcat Manor.

    Friday, December 15, 2006

    Open Letter to my Agent, Vol 9

    Dear Cranky Claus,

    It's typical this time of year for people to suck up to those they have wronged love in order to ensure wicked-awesome Christmas gifts. I do not subscribe to that crap. If that's the type of letter you are looking for, lady, look elsewhere.

    WAIT! DON'T GO AWAY! THERE IS STILL IMPORTANT STUFF IN THIS LETTER!

    Instead of simply listing the Christmas delights I would love to receive, I am going to list the things I expected to get over the last year, which you failed to deliver.

    Consider this your Christmas invoice for services owed.
    1. I must be loved on, petted, cuddled and stroked 24 hours each day. Period. The expectation was set early. I reinforce it often. As I reflect on all the days in which this goal was not met (try 100% of the days), I find the blame can not be placed on the "me" part of "we." I have made myself available to you at every turn, only to be shoved aside, reprimanded and otherwise shunned. I have voiced my need, only to be ignored. And you wonder why I you must pay exorbitant psychiatric bills to address my self-esteem issues?
    2. I need deserve treats several times throughout each day. You say you have a job. You say you have a social life. You even say I am "portly" and should have my treats restricted! Boo, Agent...BOO! All you've done this year, by merely dolling out treats two times per day, is show how incredibly selfish you are.
    3. I must be paid more for my work. I blog, I make public appearances, I charm the crowds and tolerate graciously appreciate my fans. I literally work my tail off (I wear a clip-on) to provide you the extravagant lifestyle to which you've become accustomed. In looking over the 2006 figures, I was shocked to find a) you take 99.9% of my earnings and b) I don't get paid to blog! We need to renegotiate our contractual agreement.
    4. I want the brother gone. Wait. No. He warms up my sleeping spots before I bully him out of them. He lets me get first-crack at the treats when they are distributed. He is, in fact, a better housemate than you!
    5. I want YOU gone.
    6. I want my very own art studio. I'm a talented empress! I have mad drawing skillz, but no private place in which to create! I love constructing my best-selling book covers, producing visual pieces for Highlights Magazine, designing my own clothing line, and creating stunning self portraits (especially those in which I do my "personal grooming"). Why must you rob me of this joy? It wouldn't be "jealousy," would it?
    7. I want a live-in boyfriend, or at least a boy-toy. I may be a cat, but I am also a woman...with needs (if you know what I'm talking 'bout). If you insist upon locking me up in the house all day long, the least you can do is provide me with some sexual healing. My wonder-down-under will thank you for it!
    8. I want the constant emails from Oprah and Star Jones-Reynolds automatically sent to my spam box. I'd rather read about "Springbreak sluts with whip cream play" sent by my anonymous friend "#!*^m42*Y" than hear about how "adorable and well-behaved" Oprah's dogs are or how "adorable and well-behaved" Star's gay husband is! Block them!
    9. I want you to keep the booze unlocked. I know I've had some slip-ups this last year. I know I've embarrassed you with my drunken tirades in front of your friends. I know you locked up the glasses, thinking that would deter me, and I guzzled straight from the bottle. I also know, though, that everyone deserves a second third fourth another chance! I promise I'll stick to the water in my bowl (or at least drink vodka that will look like the water in my bowl)!

    I'm going to keep the list at nine items so you won't get overwhelmed with my demands requests. You have a lot of work ahead of you, but you're not alone! If you need assistance, Brach is a lazy mother-effer, so I'm sure he can help you out.

    As for what I'm giving you this year? I'd like to think that this letter is my way of giving you the best gift of all: HONEST FEEDBACK.

    Seasons Greetings, Ho-Ho-Ho-Bag!
    Kukka Claus

    [Editor's Note: If you want to read more of Kukka's Open letters to me (I had to, why shouldn't you), check out her "Open Letter to my Agent" archive.]

    Thursday, December 14, 2006

    Thursday Thirteen, Edition #15


    Thirteen Commands my Agent Spouts
    that I Understand, but Pretend Not To.

    1. No!


    2. Get down from there!


    3. You're cut off! You've had quite enough tequila, young lady!


    4. Kukka, shut your effing pie hole!


    5. Damn it...knock it off!


    6. Quit whining, you selfish little cat!


    7. You know you can't smoke in the house! Put it out!


    8. Quit dropping air biscuits when I have company! It's embarrassing!


    9. Lick yourself in private! It's not a coincidence your goodies are called "privates."


    10. I feed you. I scoop your litter. Can't you help out around the house a bit? Run the vacuum, for crying out loud!


    11. Quit plucking at the carpet! You have a perfectly good scratching post--that I've seen you use before...FREAKING USE IT!


    12. Be nice to your brother! He was sleeping there first. And, if you insist on kicking his ass, please leave some of his fur intact!


    13. Stop crank-calling Oprah or you're going to find yourself on the business-end of a hefty restraining order!


    CHECK OUT MY THURSDAY 13 ARCHIVE!


    Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


    The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!


      Wednesday, December 13, 2006

      ManPower? Effing Speciests...

      My agent has decided to take action. As I predicted, my treats have been eliminated due to my curvy figure. Or, how about I put it the way she did: "HUSKY AND PLUMP CHUNKINESS!"

      "Oh, Kukka! I had no idea your girth had grown to such an extreme! While I should blame myself for distributing treats non-stop, I blame you! You are lazy! You sleep up to 18 hours each day!"

      Stunned by her words, I defended myself. "Come on, lady! I can't open the refrigerator. I can't open treat jars. I think we share the blame--90/10."

      "Fine. I call it! I'm the 10%," she shouted, pumping her fist in the air with what she believed to be a sweet victory.

      I thought of name-calling, but went with good ol' sarcasm. "I'm happy you find my health issues so thrilling you feel you need to do a victory lap of the living room!"

      "You know, Kukka. If you want treats, you could always get a job and buy some for yourself," she muttered under her breath.

      "FINE BY ME!" I swatted my tail in her general direction and stormed from the room, hiding the puzzled look on my face. "A job?" I thought, my heart practically pounding out of my multiple-nippled chest. "How do I get a job?"

      Since I wasn't looking for permanent work (OH DEAR GOD, NO!), I opted to contact Manpower for a temporary opportunity.

      The phone call to Manpower was lengthy and exhausting, mostly due to the fact the kind, but clearly stupid, gentleman struggled to understand Meow (and, in my stubbornness, I refused to speak English). Finally, he asked me to come in for an interview.

      Despite my history of making movies, cutting albums, and writing best-selling books, I've never had a "real job," so I had to think long and hard about how I should look when I went for my interview. I opted to wear my glasses because I felt I looked less super-sexy and more super-smart. You can imagine how difficult it is for me to look less super-sexy, but I thought it wise not to overwhelm them with my animal magnetism. Because the only clothing I really have is custom-designed red carpet gowns (which were way too fancy) and that hideous muumuu (which, well, was way too hideous), I decided to neatly groom my fur and call it good.

      My agent refused to drive me, so I called for a limo. In hindsight, I suppose my first mistake was to drink too much complimentary champagne. Two bottles. I thought I could handle it, believing my extreme weight to off-set the effects of the alcohol.

      I was terribly wrong.

      Stumbling into the Manpower office, I was ushered into a small conference room, where a smartly dressed woman was waiting.

      "I'm Carolyn," she said in the sweetest version of her voice she could offer. "You must be Kukka-Maria."

      "EMPRESS Kukka-Maria."

      "Right. Do you have your application and résumé?" she asked, her voice now as shrill as a cat in heat.

      "Do you have my shit in your hand?" I slurred.

      "Language, please. Language!" she shrieked. "I suppose we can continue without those very important documents you should have had with you."

      I put my hand behind my back to secretly give her the middle claw. While not directly confronting her, it made me feel much better.

      Squinting, she judgmentally continued. "Now, when Barry spoke with you on the phone, you mentioned something about being a celebrity. And you made it evident to me you are also an empress. Can you tell me a little bit about that and what skills you think you can offer an employer, based on that experience?"

      I flopped over on my back and stroked my multiple nipples as I explained, "I'm super-sexy. I'm royal. I am royally, super-sexy...and that's the word, turd!"

      "I see," she mumbled. Clearly flummoxed, she adjusted the papers on her lap. "Can you file?"

      "Nope."

      "Can you pour coffee?"

      Looking at her with a sly grin, I rolled my eyes. "Do you see opposable thumbs? How would you expect me to grasp a coffee pot? That's just an accident waiting to happen!"

      "How about typing."

      "Negative."

      "But, don't you have a blog you author? How do you type that?"

      Stifling my giggles and offering up a deafening champagne belch, I snickered. "Um...I have employees who take care of those menial tasks for me."

      "Empress, why are you here?" she inquired. "You clearly do not want to work. You are belligerent and you are obviously intoxicated!"

      As I rose and began stumbling around the room, I explained. "I need to earn some serious Benjamins 'cause I gots to have my treats!" Deliberately delivering each word as slowly as I could, I tried desperately to sound completely sober. Fearing I may have already botched my first impression, I hoped I could still turn this around.

      "Well, Miss Maria," she said with lips pursed tightly. "What skills do you have?"

      This was going to be easy! I excitedly responded, "I can seduce males of all species with a single bump of my booty. I've won seven consecutive wet t-shirt contests at spring break in Mexico. I can swear in 8 different languages...but not Canadian English. I don't understand Canadian English. I can dance on bars, out-drink most people shot for shot, booby trap my yard to capture the paparazzi, and describe sexual encounters with ex-celebrity-boyfriends in such detail it will make your head spin. I can whip my tail both clockwise and counter-clockwise. I can..."

      "Listen, Empress. I am sorry, but I don't think we have a position for someone...like you."

      "LIKE ME..."

      "Yes. I think you might be...um...under-qualified for the positions we can offer."

      Shaking my head, I had to ask the question that you are asking yourself right now. "Don't you mean OVER-qualified?"

      Bumbling her words and strategically avoiding eye-contact, she responded. "YES! Yes, I mean over-qualified. Yes. That's it."

      "I thought so. I mean...I am extremely gifted," I smirked. "Well, then. Are you going to, at least, hook a sister up with some snacks?"

      "There are Christmas candies at the front desk. You are more then welcome to..."

      I didn't stay to listen; I had serious sweets to consume!

      As I leapt into the limo, face sticky from candy canes, I considered other money-making opportunities. Cracking open yet another bottle of Cristal, I pondered, "Perhaps I'll sue speciest Manpower for keeping me down! That has to be the only reason I didn't get a position today! Is it a coincidence they call themselves MANPOWER? I think not!"

      I swigged. I belched. I stuck my head out of the moon roof and flashed my multiple nipples. I chided pedestrians. I spilled champagne on the car seat. I vomited--a little bit--on the limo carpet. I tried to seduce the limo driver who, because of his rejection, must have been gay. I found $2.49 between the seats of the limo and stopped for some treats.

      All in all, a good day.



      [Editor's Note: In Manpower's defense, they are equal-opportunity employers. While they offered no official statement on this situation (because it's a piddly blog, fictitious account, and not worth their attention), I think it's safe to say that hiring cats is not within their business model. This is not meant to be a slap in the face of deserving felines. But, of course, Kukka takes it that way. Selfish, selfish little cat!]

      Tuesday, December 12, 2006

      Let's Not and Just Say We Did.

      Nicole Richie was arrested in the early hours of yesterday for driving under the influence of pot and painkillers (because it's difficult dealing with the pain of hoisting that cigarette to your mouth repeatedly with absolutely no muscles of which to speak...but you didn't hear that from me). It seems, when they saw her driving the wrong way down the highway, two other motorists called 911 to report it. Plus, she was driving with a suspended license (because, apparently, she thinks the laws don't apply to celebrities...but you didn't hear that from me).

      There was something even more shocking to discover, though!

      When her Dad, Lionel, took a few minutes away from dancing on the ceiling to call and tell me the news yesterday (yes, we're friends like that...but you didn't hear that from me), he said the official report stated Nicole was 5' 1" and 85 lbs. Now, as Nicole's friend, she's always told me she does not have an eating disorder. Hell, anyone who reads magazines or watches that whore, Oprah, has heard her say that!

      That got me thinking. If those are her stats, where does she fall on the Body Mass Index (BMI) table? For that matter, where do I fall on it? I mean, I'm smaller than she is, so I am sure I would be considered a wafer-thin little kitty!

      NICOLE RICHIE
      AGE: 25
      HEIGHT: 5' 1"
      WEIGHT: 85 lbs
      BMI: 16.1
      DEFINITION: UNDERWEIGHT
      (Anyone below 18.5)


      EMPRESS KUKKA-MARIA
      AGE: 7
      HEIGHT: 10"
      WEIGHT: 12.5 lbs
      BMI: 87.9
      DEFINITION: OFF-THE-CHARTS OBESE


      [Editor's Note: Stunt Double Photo used for dramatic effect.]

      What the...?! I'm ginormous! Look at that photo! I never knew that is what I looked like! That can not be me!

      87.9.

      87.9!

      Crap. I predict my treats now will be rationed eliminated. And I suspect I have some serious treadmill time in my future. I bet I start getting calls from Anna Nicole Smith, asking me to start taking TrimSpa and televise my progress.

      "TRIMSPA, BABY!" Yeah, no.

      Why must physical condition be made a number? Why are we neatly categorized into a standardized table that tells us our worth?

      Why am I fat?

      Damn you, Nicole Richie! Damn you and your skeletal frame! Damn you for delivering a staggering blow to my self-esteem by getting arrested and putting your physical statistics in front of my eyes!

      Boo, Nicole Richie...BOO!

      Monday, December 11, 2006

      Before They Were Stars: Empress Kukka-Maria

      We feel we know her--that she is like the cat next door, but do we really know her at all? The fabulous celebrity blogger you love was not always the starlet you see in front of you. Prior to launching into stardom, this little feline was as normal and average as any feline of royal descent.

      She was just a common empress.

      The fall of 1999 was a heady time. A heady time, indeed! She and Brad Pitt were secretly dating, but their relationship was rocky by all accounts.

      "I think we were both just too young. He was loyal and devoted, but also clingy and possessive. When I would shamelessly flirt with George Clooney, Brad would get insanely jealous," explains Empress Kukka-Maria. "With a tail thwap to his flawless ass, I would try to reassure him my heart belonged to him, but his insecurities are what really drove us apart."

      In September of 1999, freshly single after a messy break-up with Pitt, Kukka swore she would never be monogamous again. Calling off the relationship caused extreme heartache to Brad and, after spending countless evenings on the phone with the sobbing star, she couldn't help but realize the power she had over men.

      "They are putty in my paws," Kukka says. "It's not by my design. I was just born super sexy! I think, once I realized I needed to be with more than one male at a time, my life finally made sense."

      After Brad backed out of several film projects, due to his severe depression, the press refused to let up until they discovered the root cause of Brad's heartache. Upon discovering The Empress, they had a field day crucifying her in the tabloids.

      "Sex Kitten breaks Hollywood Heart-Throb"

      "Virtually Unknown Cat Responsible for Downfall of a Movie Star"

      "Have You Seen Those Huge Ears? Is She Trying to Pick Up Radio Stations?"


      The headlines were harsh and seemingly never-ending. Kukka-Maria saw adoption as a safe haven from the ruthless tabloid media.

      "I found her at a ranch, destitute and broken. She seemed to need me as much as I wanted her, so taking her home with me just seemed the right thing to do," recalls her Agent. "Due to my anonymity, I was able to offer her a secret refuge for at least a year. After the press found her again, it was mayhem."

      At this point, the tabloid media was not focused on the devastation she had caused in Pitt's life; they were enamored with her beauty and clear talent.

      "Because she had disappeared from the public eye for so long, the prices for candid snapshots of her were through the roof," recounts one paparazzo, asking his identity to remain a secret. "I would have been a fool not to camp outside her house in West Michigan, hoping to get a glimpse of The Empress! Don't judge me! I'm just a working stiff with a family to feed."

      Once they determined Kukka-Maria was being a difficult and non-cooperative recluse, the tabloids resorted to their typical, negative approach.

      "Feline Empress Really Packs on the Pounds"

      "Obese Cat Whore Slutting it up with Countless Males--Feline and Otherwise"

      "Kukka-Maria Starts Blog to Exploit Male Conquests. Whore"


      While Kukka-Maria had grown into her ears and had blossomed into a striking beauty, the hurtful headlines began taking their toll on her.

      "I swore I wouldn't date another celebrity. Ever. I knew the best thing was to stock my Tomcat Stable with talented, yet practically unknown tomcats," Kukka recalls. "These boys, while extremely famous and revered in the blogging community, were living under the radar of the tabloid media. That made them even more appealing."

      Now a celebrated celebrity blogger, Empress Kukka-Maria is very selective on when and where she makes appearances. It is an uncommon delight to spot her on the occasional red carpet. We love to watch her televised battles with long-time rival, Oprah Winfrey. Her celebrity connections are impressive; her fan-base is strong. Due to her down-home appeal, the public is forever forgiving her inflated ego and unfair judgment of others.

      What is next for Empress Kukka-Maria? Only time will tell. We wait with bated breath.

      Friday, December 08, 2006

      EVERYTHING MUST GO so Donna Martin Graduates

      I helped Tori Spelling set up her yard sale last night. Oh, yes. You read that correctly. Tori Spelling is having a yard sale today. I didn't want to help her sort and price, but she begged.

      "Kuuuuuuu-kka! I need your help!" she whined over the phone yesterday. "I've never hosted a yard sale! Hell, my maids have never hosted a yard sale! I need you!"

      "Look, Tori. I don't really have time to..."

      "But, Kuuuuuuu-kka! My unborn baby is depending on you!" she cried. "You can not expect the new baby to come into a house with a shabby-chic decor! How embarrassing! And, since I was virtually cut from my father's will, I am not in a position to buy new furniture without first selling the old!"

      "Fine, Tori. I'll call your nemesis, Shannen Doherty, and we'll be over tonight to help."

      Shannen was less than enthusiastic to help her Tori, her sworn enemy, but when I assured her E! was sending cameras to cover the entire ordeal, the chronically out-of-work publicity whore was convinced helping a "friend" (and, yes...she used finger quotes) would be the right thing to do.

      "Plus," Shannen explained, "I guess I can get first dibs on her crap. I'm sure it's better than the second-hand junk I have in my studio apartment."

      When we arrived, Tori was sitting in a pastel, floral-printed chair-and-a-half in her living room. With two Korean women giving her a pedicure, she smiled and greeted us.

      "Thank you guys for coming! Everything is in the garage if you want to get started. I'll join you once I'm done with this mani/pedi, coloring my hair, shopping on Rodeo, and donating no more than $2 to the bell-ringing Salvation Army people out of the goodness of my heart."

      "Oh, hells no!" exclaimed an agitated Shannen, her hands quickly forming fists.

      Turning to Shannen and rolling my eyes, I muttered, "Like you have something better to do?"

      "Well, I...uh..."

      "Exactly."

      I quickly informed Mrs. Spelling-McDermott that we were not hired employees and that she would, in fact, be helping us do her chores. She reluctantly agreed and shooed her Korean nail gurus away, sans tip. [Editor's note: While Kukka tends to be extremely selfish, she does recognize the struggle of the working woman, so she slipped each of the women a $20 bill. Good kitty.)

      As we headed to the garage, Tori teetered as she gripped cotton ball separators between her toes to avoid smudging her nail polish. What we found was overwhelming! Piles and piles of junk were taking over the storage area like a dense and rolling fog.

      "Ah, Tori dear..." I said, trying to hide my agitation.

      "I know. There is a lot. We should really get started so we can be done by sunrise."

      "Sunrise?" bellowed Shannen.

      "Shut it," I warned.

      We started sifting through the first pile. The clothing, while all designer duds, was in bad shape. Nail polish droplets ran down the front of a $1,095 pair of Dolce & Gabbana denim capris.

      "That's what happens when I am forced to paint my own nails," she nervously revealed.

      "How much do you want for them?" I asked, picking up a Sharpie and some masking tape.

      "I guess...$500?"

      "Are you high?" I laughed.

      "But, they are this season!" whined Tori.

      "I'm putting $2 on them, but when your customer bargains, I expect you to take as low as 50¢."

      Shannen started sorting another pile. "Panties, Tori? Are you serious?"

      "They are in good shape!"

      Holding one pair up, and throwing up in her mouth a little bit, Shannen murmured, "They have racing stripes, Tori. These thongs are nasty!"

      "But they are celebrity racing stripes..." Tori justified. "I bought them for $16 each, so...with the celebrity residue, let's put $20 on each pair."

      "Oh. My. Gawd!" I shouted. "Are these packs of partially used birth control pills?"

      Patting her belly, Tori pointed out, "I was trying to get pregnant! If I had continued to take them, it would have been difficult for me to achieve that. I'm sure those packets of pills, combined in some sort of way, will give at least one month of eggless bliss to some deserving woman!" Tori's face wrinkled with thought. "Let's go with $40 for the entire pill bundle."

      "But your insurance co-pay was probably only $15..." I argued.

      "I'm Tori Mother-Fucking Spelling!" she yelled, fists pumping in the air. "Don't mess with me, bitch!"

      Picking up what appeared to be a slim flashlight, Shannen cocked her head with wonder. "I should test it to see if it works," she explained as she turned the knob at the bottom.

      WHIRRRRRRR... The "flashlight" began hopping and literally leapt from Shannen's hands.

      Shannen quickly realized it wasn't a flashlight, but a "marital aid" and spouted, "Ok, that's it. I'm out of here!"

      As Shannen stormed from the garage, I turned to Tori. "Listen, I'd love to stay and comb through what is guaranteed to be a disgusting display of your intimate items, but Doherty is my ride. Good luck, Donna Martin."

      "Are you sure you don't want this tear-soaked bra I wore to the reading of my father's will? I bought it for $90, but I'll take $85."

      Shaking my head, I muttered, "Good luck, Tori. I think you're going to need it!" It was almost impossible to stifle my laughter as I left the garage. Calling back, I said, "And, if you ask nicely, your estranged mother may bring you mimosas if things get a bit hectic."

      "But alcohol might harm my baby!" she exclaimed.

      "No more than your genes will..." I muttered, under my breath.


      Spoiled bitches...you can't live with them, you can't live without them.

      [Editor's note: That goes double for royally spoiled cats!]

      Thursday, December 07, 2006

      Thursday Thirteen, Edition #14


      Thirteen Ways to Tell if Your Cat Hates Winter
      1. She spends hours each weekday morning watching the local news ticker, hoping to see that her daily activities have been cancelled due to the weather.


      2. He demands a mug of hot chocolate to warm his tongue before he grooms his nether-region.


      3. Throughout the night, she repeatedly launches air biscuits under the covers to keep herself warm...and you gagging.


      4. He doesn't want to do anything on the stormy weekends, but cuddle up on the couch and watch movies.


      5. She wears wool mittens around the house.


      6. He stands and warms his paws over his freshly deposited, steaming turd pile before burying it.


      7. Puss in Boots
      8. When examining your credit card statement, you find she's purchased 2 pair of Burberry Shearling Cuff Boots, for a total of $1190 (+ tax and shipping/handling) to keep all four of her paws warm. (On a side note, having more to do with her ego than winter, she demands you call her "Super-Sexy Puss in Boots.")


      9. She sneezes. You bless her. She rolls her eyes, sniffs her nose and says, "Keep your blessings and hook a sister up with some Zicam and a glass of orange juice with a double shot of vodka!"


      10. He wears long underwear.


      11. She stops shaving her legs. "It doesn't matter in the winter anyway..."


      12. He leaves brochures for Carnival Cruises all over the house as hints for a tropical vacation.


      13. Each time he approaches his food bowl, he demands his kibble be put in the microwave for 32 seconds to "take the edge off."


      14. She refuses to help you brush the snow off your car in the morning. Selfish bitch.



      Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


      The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!


        Wednesday, December 06, 2006

        WANTED: Stunt-Double

        I've had it.

        Seriously.

        My agent stepped on my foot again last week. Aside from the excruciating physical pain, my heart ached because I've invested so much time and energy into training her properly. And for what!?

        I've decided I need a stunt-double to handle these types of situations. When my agent gets too close with her treacherous paws, I need the option to yell, "STUNT DOUBLE!" and have a professional pain pro step in.

        I placed an ad and received eleventy-eight responses. I asked my agent to select a few I could interview; I think I need your help. I'm going to ask you to set aside the fact none of them are as super-sexy as I. Please consider their personalities, expressed stunting abilities, and slight resemblance to me. Since you, my dear readers, devote so much time to admiring my super-sexy self and reading my amazingly witty words, I feel you should have a say.

        On a side note: All of the candidates are local, since they must be available at a moment's notice. If you click on their photos, you will be taken to their Pet Finder profile, as they are all available for adoption. (This is a strong hint for those local West Michigan readers who have a heart, some extra room for a Kukka look-alike, and are free from feline allergies.)

        Read on. Take notes. Opine in the comments.


        NAME: Litabit
        BREED: Kukkaesque
        SUPER-SEXINESS RATING (1-10): 5 (would have been a 3, but she is working that over-the-shoulder seductive look)
        JOB HISTORY: Professional Cheerleader for the Canadian Football League's Hamilton Tiger-Cats (2005-Present)

        INTERVIEW EXCERPT:
        I see you are a professional cheerleader. What does that entail, exactly?
        Oh yeah...I chant, smile, get the crowd and team riled up by flaunting my exquisite multiple nipples, and look adorable, eh? Then, after the game, we hang with the team and drink a two-four.
        Okay. I see...what I just heard was "Blah, blah, blah, exquisite multiple nipples, blah, blah." So you're of the belief your multiple nipples are so notable they can whip a crowd of people into a frenzy...
        Of course! They are magnificent, dontcha know! I'm told I have my birth mother to thank for their perkiness. You know what they say: "Shake what your mama gave you!"
        I hate to take issue with what you're saying, but if your nips are so superior, why did your team have such a dismal 2006 season? 4 wins. 14 losses. Would you go as far as to say your multiple nipples were so hypnotic that the team could not focus enough to deliver more wins? I SAID WOULD YOU?
        I guess...I don't...why are you being so combative?
        I'll ask the questions here. Good day, Litabit. I think I have everything I need to make my decision.
        But...
        I said good day.

        MY OPINION: All bitches who think their nips are more celebrated than mine need not apply.


        NAME: Rocky
        BREED: Domestic Kukkish
        SUPER-SEXINESS RATING (1-10): 7 (would have been less than a 5, but he looks a lot like me and I'm a sucker for a good looking tomcat.
        JOB HISTORY: Male model (2004-Present)

        INTERVIEW EXCERPT:
        So...Rocky. Is "Rocky" short for anything? Rockford? Rockington? Rocktastic?
        [Grooming his paws] No. It's just Rocky.
        Have you ever been a stunt-double before? I mean, based on your huge muscles, I would say you're no stranger to dangerous and physically challenging work.
        [Flexing his tail] Thanks for noticing my muscles. I do butt crunches four times a day. I must admit, it's really the compliments and random ass-grabs that motivate me to keep my buttocks firm. No, I've never done stunt work. I spend most of my days focusing on grooming, looking in the mirror and working out.
        So it says here you are a male model. How did you get into that?
        [Posing for what appears to be an imaginary camera] I was approached by Tyra Banks to be on America's Next Top Model. At the last minute, they decided to focus on human chick-models, so I was out. Tyra never forgot me, though. Thanks to her, I've had a healthy career in print and runway modeling.
        I see here you are a tomcat. Hmmmm. Can you act like a super-sexy empress? I mean, you are supposed to pass for me.
        [Suddenly standing and prancing around the room, as if on a runway. Walk. Pose. Walk. Cock head. Pose. Walk.] I don't know. What do you think?
        Wow. Pretty feminine. Now, this job poses quite a danger to your paws. Are you opposed to wearing steel-toed shoes?
        Um...this season's or last?
        This season, of course!
        No problem. Would they be Prada, Gucci, Ferragamo...
        Probably Timberland or some generic brand.
        Oooooh. I see. I suppose that wouldn't be an issue. You're an inside cat, right? I mean, I wouldn't have to be seen in public wearing...[throwing up a little bit in his mouth] NON-DESIGNER shoes.
        Of course not. You will be safely tucked inside the house with me, although, the paparazzi tend to watch the windows closely. I can really make no guarantees you won't end up in "What Were They Thinking?" in US Weekly. Now, I think it's important for you to know I put out. Are you opposed to flying your freak flag with me?
        I suppose. You are able to do great things for my career, right?
        That's not a problem; I will hook you up. Now, I've written a couple of books I'd like you to study. They will prepare you for the ecstasy that is Kukka-Maria: "You Don’t Have to Work That Hard to Get Into my Pants—I'm Not Wearing Any!" and "The Kama Sutra for Super-Sexy Cats--Let Your Fur Down and Wave that Freak Flag!"
        I see. [Examining his cuticles and sucking litter bits out of his paws] So...am I going to get this job or what?
        Only time will tell, my sweet...come with mama to the casting couch. I'll be gentle.

        MY OPINION: Very arrogant and self-serving. I detest people like that! [Editor's note: You are people like that, Empress!] Perhaps I could just keep him on retainer as a Boy-Toy!


        NAME: Poppy
        BREED: Kukkan Short-Hair
        SUPER-SEXINESS RATING (1-10): 2 (could have been higher if she had not reeked of liquor)
        JOB HISTORY: Shot girl at Señor Frog's in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico (2003-2005) Group Leader, Alcoholics Anonymous (2005-Present)

        INTERVIEW EXCERPT:
        Hi, Poppy. Poppy? Poppy...
        [Offering nothing but thunderous snores and some sleep-talk] You wanna shot? I gots some tequila to kill ya! [inaudible] You want me to what? Take off my top and get sprayed with a hose? [more mumbling] ONLY HELL-YEAH!
        Listen, Poppy? Is there a better time for us to talk? Poppy? Can you hear me?
        [Indistinguishable ramblings] I'll hold the funnel, you drink the beer. It's that simple, mother-fu...
        I think this interview is over. While I've been known to indulge, I would never show up to a job interview intoxicated...again.

        MY OPINION: I think she'd be a hoot and a half on a Saturday night, but she just may lack the alertness I need in a stunt-double.


        NAME: Shiloh
        BREED: Pit Bull Terrier Mix
        SUPER-SEXINESS RATING (1-10): 4 (would have been higher, but she is a dog. Their super-sexiness ceilings are far lower than cats.)
        JOB HISTORY: Spokes-dog for Anheuser-Busch's failed revival of the Spuds McKenzie phenomenon of the 1980's (2006-2006)

        INTERVIEW EXCERPT:
        [Trying not to stare at her ginormous ears] So, Shiloh. It says here you are a baby...7-8 months old. How's that working for you?
        Fine, I guess. I don't know anything different, really.
        Right. Right. [Squinting to read her resumé in the shadow of those ears] So you've got this dog thing going on. How did you get into that?
        Well, my birth parents were dogs, so I sort of stumbled into it.
        Sure. I see. Look, I need to be honest with you, Shiloh. You look nothing like me. I don't know if this will work.
        I can wear a full-body wig.
        Yes, I am sure you can, but I don't think there is a wig alive that can hide those ears. And I don't mean to be exceedingly picky, but what happened to your right eyebrow that you have to pencil it on now?
        [Scratching nervously at her monstrous ear] It was an unfortunate accident on the Budweiser set where a renegade tiki torch fell on my head, igniting my right brow. Yes, I have to pencil it on every day, but I think it looks incredibly natural!
        Yes. I believe you think that. Shiloh, do you think it's possible you are ill-matched for this stunt-double job?
        I don't.
        If you can't handle a runaway tiki torch, how are you going to deal with my agent's unusually large feet and their wrath?
        I think you should know I don't expect to get paid. I received sizable settlements from Anheuser-Busch and the tiki torch manufacturer after the accident. I don't need the money. I am in it for the adventure.
        A wig, huh? Perhaps we could tape your ears down to your head. We'll see what we can do.

        MY OPINION: NO NEED TO PAY HER? I THINK WE'VE GOT A WINNER!

        Tuesday, December 05, 2006

        Silicone? No Comment...



        Toby, from The Tower Hill Mob, asked me to whip out my multiple nipples and pose for a charity thing. I can't resist shamelessly exposing myself at any opportunity. I mean, I've never turned down a chance to flash my nips and as long as it's not my money that's being donated, sign me up!

        So, here they are! I know there have been rumors that I've had implants. And, if you look closely, my multiple nipples strangely resemble silicone human nipples.

        I can neither confirm, nor deny those rumors.

        I think the important thing on which to focus is that I may or may not have a couple more nipplets I'm keeping under wraps! (My agent tells me a proper lady always keeps an air of mystery about her muffins.)

        So, Toby, when do the charity checks start arriving in my mailbox? I'm looking to have more some "work" done.

        Monday, December 04, 2006

        Oprah Exclusive: Kukka's Confession

        Well, the bitch got me. You know how I despise Oprah; somehow she coerced me into making another appearance on her show. And when I say "somehow," I mean she lured me with the promise of a car. And, despite the fact I am not legally allowed to drive, you know how I gots to have my cars!

        I thought you, my dear readers, deserved to hear this from me. I divulged a scandalous secret on her show--something I had vowed to take to my grave. Something about which I am embarrassed. Worse than that, the chaos that followed was atrocious. While I remained lady-like, Oprah made a complete ass of herself.

        Read, but please don't judge. And when I say "don't judge," I mean me. Judge Oprah all you want!



        [Oprah opens the show.]

        Oprah: Ladies and gentleman (there was, of course, only one man in the audience--the husband of some woman who dragged him to the show), today's show is going to be amazing. Most of you know her; all of you love her. Please welcome, KUKKA-MA-RI-A!

        [The audience bursts in to deafening applause as Kukka meanders onto the stage, stopping to examine her cuticles and groom herself.]

        Oprah: Kuk-ka-Ma-ri-a! Get your tail up here and talk with me.

        Kukka: [Looks at Oprah, rolls her eyes and leaps onto the leather guest chair] Hey.

        O: Kukka! I am so excited you decided to pay a visit!

        K: Don't get too excited. I'm still in a secret fight with you and, technically, you are still dead to me.

        O: [Embarrassed, she smiles weakly at the audience.] Now, come on, Kukka. You can't forgive me for sitting you with my dogs at my Legends Ball? You can't hold a grudge like that, can you?

        K: Yes. Yes, I can. [The audience explodes into thunderous applause.]

        O: [Looking stunned at the audience's clear support for Kukka, Oprah quickly continues.] Well, let's move on. I don't think the audience is interested in our feud.

        K: [The audience suddenly begins chanting, in unison: FEUD! FEUD! FEUD! Kukka grins and begins cleaning her ass.] Yes. Let's move on.

        O: It's been quite awhile since you've released an album or penned a book. Why the long hiatus? Has you creativity pool been completely tapped?

        K: First off, the depth of my creativity is limitless. I've not done any work lately because I'm exhausted. Plus, how am I to fit projects into my hectic schedule of sleeping 18 hours per day? Come on, Oprah. Give me a well-deserved break!

        O: Fair enough, Empress. Let's talk about your love life. George Clooney's beloved pig, Max, just passed away. It was rumored you dated him at one point. How heart-broken are you?

        K: My grief over Max's passing is private. I've dated many human men, animals of all kinds...Max was a special being. [Stopping to wipe a tear from her eye, Kukka continues.] [EXPLETIVE] you, Oprah, for making me cry!

        O: [Amused at Kukka's sudden display of vulnerability, Oprah stifles a giggle.] Let's talk about the trail of broken hearts you have left in your wake, Miss Kukka. Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp...I could go on and on. And I haven't even mentioned the six boys you juggle in your Tomcat Stable! Why, Kukka? Why haven't you allowed one of those toms to make an honest woman of you?

        K: I refuse to answer that. It's personal. It's private.

        O: Come on, Empress! Audience? Don't you want to know why Kukka won't settle down with one of her super-sexy tomcats?

        [The audience rises to their feet with enthusiastic shouts and applause.]

        K: [Hissing, Kukka glares at Oprah.] How. Dare. You.

        O: Come on, Kukka. Dish!

        K: [Kukka hangs her head in shame.] I'm allergic.

        O: Allergic? I don't understand!

        K: I'm allergic. To cats.

        O: But...that makes no...I don't get it! How can you be allergic to cats? You are a cat!

        K: It's the dander. It's the fur. Sometimes, it's their horrific breath. I'm not talking about the toms in my stable, of course. Just your run-of-the-mill felines out there.

        O: So is that why you are drawn to human men?

        K: Yes. Of course, that is also why the relationship between Robin Williams and I didn't last. He is quite the hairy beast.

        O: You heard it here, people! KUK-KA-MA-RI-A IS AL-LER-GIC TO CATS!

        K: [Suddenly realizing what she has divulged, Kukka bears her claws and whispers.] You aren't going to air this, are you?

        O: [Leaning in and hissing, Oprah delivers quite the blow.] You bet your furry little ass I am!

        K: You're a bitch, Oprah. Bitch! [Kukka raises to her feet and takes a swipe at Oprah's face, claws blazing.]

        O: [Yells for security.] I am dead to you? YOU ARE DEAD TO ME!

        K: Bull-[EXPLETIVE], you [EXPLETIVE]ing, [EXPLETIVE]ing whore! I would rather rot in [EXPLETIVE]ing hell than talk to you again! You are more than dead to me. You were dead to me, then I brought you back to life just to make you dead to me all over again! Oh, and your precious [EXPLETIVE]ing dogs are ugly. Yes. Ugly. And, I've heard they have genital warts.

        O: GET HER OUT OF HERE!

        [Security officers, on loan from The Jerry Springer Show, lunge for Kukka, who leaps off the chair, runs off-stage and into her waiting limo.]

        O: [Trying to compose herself, Oprah addresses the audience.] Well, I promised a great show. Did I deliver? DID I DE-LIV-ER?

        [The audience, stunned, sits in silence.]

        O: [Fluffing her hair, Oprah throws to commercial.] We'll be right back with Wolfgang Puck. We're making TATER-TOTS!

        [The audience is back on their feet, chanting TA-TER-TOTS! TA-TER-TOTS! All is well again in The Universe de Oprah.]



        Despite the fact it would have made great television, I refused to sign the release after the taping (suck on that, Oprah), so the show will never air. It's clear that Oprah and I are off-again friends. Again. She betrayed me by crawling inside my brain and fetching my deepest, darkest secret. I will never forgive her.

        Unless she comes through with that car...

        [Editor's note: The only person Kukka-Maria despises more than Oprah is Blogger (and yes, we are of the opinion "Blogger" is a person). If Blogger continues to give us attitude regarding the posting of our photos, Kukka has sworn she will kick him in the junk, with all four paws, so hard he cries. Blogger, you have been warned. And, if I were you, I'd think twice about calling her bluff!.]

        Thursday, November 30, 2006

        Thursday Thirteen, Edition #13


        Thirteen Active Strategies I am Employing
        to Solidify my Position as
        the M
        ost Annoying Cat in the Entire World
        1. "OPERATION: WHEN I'M NOT SLEEPY, AIN'T NOBODY SLEEPY!"
          I will stop at nothing to disrupt my agent's sleep when I'm not tired. Flick things off the dresser? Check! Slam the blinds at the window? You betcha!
        2. "OPERATION: TREATS, TREATS, TREATS!"
          All day! Every day! My agent has trained me to expect treats when she comes into the house. How is it my fault I can not differentiate between her returning from a long day at work and returning from taking out the garbage? She enters the home, I whine for treats. That's the drill!
        3. "OPERATION: LAP = GOOD."
          I am sorry, but I can not simply sit next to my agent on the couch at night. I...MUST...SIT...ON...HER! No room? No problem! I'll just sit half-on/half-off and unleash my pathetic eyes. She'll eventually make room...
        4. "OPERATION: I NEED MY ROUGHAGE!"
          When my agent is in the kitchen, I've made it my duty to climb to the top of the cupboards and lie among the greenery. To make it truly annoying, though, I've found slobbering and chewing on the silk leaves to be the key.
        5. "OPERATION: WHERE THERE IS RUNNING WATER, THERE I WILL BE."
          Whether it's the bathtub or sink, if my agent turns on water, I am there to drink. Nevermind she probably turned it on for a reason and needs me to move out of her way, I gots to have my fluids!
        6. "OPERATION: EAU DE KUKKA"
          My agent can polish the furniture all she wants. She can clean the brown schmutz off of the edge of the refrigerator door on a daily basis. I'm going to be right behind her, ready to rub my face against anything that will stand still long enough. Rubbing my whisker-stank on everything in the house is my duty, nay...privilege! Whether due to a dust rag removing my scent or Brach covering my stench with his, an Empress' work is never done.
        7. "OPERATION: PLUCK YOU!"
          I know my agent has given me a great scratching post. I appreciate it! What she fails to understand, though, is how incredibly fulfilling it is to pluck my claws on the living room carpet. PLUCK...PLUCK..."KUKKA, KNOCK IT OFF!"...PLUCK. I love our little games.
        8. "OPERATION: I'LL STAY HERE, THANKYOUVERYMUCH!"
          She opens the linen closet door. I run inside, sit, and stare her down. "Come out of the closet..." my agent will say. STARE DOWN. "Please, Kukka...I want to shut the door!" she'll plead. STARE DOWN. She'll finally walk away, leaving the door open. It pays to be the Alpha-Cat!
        9. "OPERATION: SHED, SHED, AND SHED SOME MORE!"
          I don't need all of this fur. Really! I leave some on the couch for her. I leave more on the bed for her. And, for my agent's convenience, I even go to the trouble of applying fur directly to her clothes! And all she does is bitch, moan, and run a sticky wand over her wardrobe. How ungrateful...
        10. "OPERATION: JUSTWALKAROUNDMEFORCRYINGOUTLOUD!"
          I don't know what is so effing difficult to get about this. If I'm lying in the middle of the freaking floor, she should walk around me. If I'm camped out in the middle of the hallway, she should step over! Why my agent feels the need for all the "discussion" is beyond me! "Are you going to stay there and get walked on?" Apparently!
        11. "OPERATION: AIM HIGH."
          I know I've never successfully leapt to the top of the entertainment center. Does that mean I should stop trying? When I squat at the edge of the coffee table and stare intently at the top of the entertainment center, I expect support from my agent. Not criticism. "You can't jump up there! Not only is it forbidden, you have too much girth to leap so gracefully!" You had to make it personal, didn't you...
        12. "OPERATION: ARE YOU GOING TO EAT THAT?"
          It's not like she's starving. It's not like she doesn't have enough food to spare. Why is it such an issue that I would like a bite or two or three of her meal? Or four...
        13. "OPERATION: PET ME, PET ME, PET ME, PET ME, PET ME..."
          Do it. All day long. More. Yeah, that's it...just like that. Oh, yeah...you know how I like it. Behind the ears. There you go. Under the chin. Give mama what she likes...WHAT?! You want to take a break because you need to go to work? Whatever. You think you deserve a social life and expect to leave the house for hours at a time? Fine. But know that when you get back, I'm going to be waiting here, belly and multiple nipples exposed, for your loving hands...



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          Wednesday, November 29, 2006

          Forced Open Letter to Ty Pennington wherein I apologize for fabricating and/or exaggerating physical ailments to get on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

          Dear Sexy Carpenter-Man,

          It is with a heavy heart (and an angry agent looking over my shoulder) that I offer a sincere apology for my recent behavior. I never wanted to hurt you or discredit the show. My intentions were pure: I wanted to get a bunch of amazing home improvements done to my house at absolutely no cost to me.

          Since Britney's divorce slumber party, our house has not been the same. It's always easy to tell when Brit has made a visit to our house. From the cigarette burns on the furniture, to the Red Bull stains on the carpet. From the Cheeto dust on every horizontal surface, to the thick cloud of Curious perfume. Ty, I was desperate for your help!

          I do acknowledge, though, that I may have been wrong in my approach. Please allow me to apologize, from the bottom of my pea-sized, stone-cold heart for the following:

          • Listing over 32 false physical and mental ailments on my Extreme Makeover: Home Edition application. In hindsight, two or three believable diseases would have done the trick.
          • Pinching your butt every time you turned your back to me and blaming it on my "Grab-Ass Tourette Syndrome."
          • Outing Michael Moloney on Day 2. I'm sorry, but you guys didn't know?
          • Insisting you sit on my lap in my awesome (but not necessary) wheelchair as I gave you rides around the neighborhood.
          • Giving you a four-hour tongue bath (although, I can hardly be blamed it took so long to get your stubborn hair to lie down).
          • Correcting you, on camera, when you called my bowels "irritable." I suppose farting in your face and saying they were more "pissed off" than "irritable," was a tad inappropriate.
          • Screaming "Ty Pennington makes my multiple nipples throb!" I guess I can see how it may have embarrassed you in front of the cast and crew.
          • Lying to your producers when I told them "rubbing against Ty Pennington's crotch" was an uncontrollable side-effect of my anti-anxiety medication.
          • Causing Paige Hemmis to receive multiple stitches in her cheek. When I batted at her face with my claws, it wasn't to hurt her, but to help her take those hideous braids out of her hair. What is she...six years old?
          • Asking that your "special project for the week" be giving me Ty Pennington babies. How were you to know that the hours we would spend in a heated embrace would end up fruitless because I had been spayed? I sure wasn't going to tell you...
          • Tattooing "I HEART KUKKA" on your chest as you slept.
          • Giving you a roofie and taking those questionable photos of us that I am still considering posting on my blog.

          Considering I was such a pain in the ass, I do want to take a moment to thank you for the amazing things you did to our house:

          • I've always wanted my own Licking Room. It's nice to know I have a safe and private place in which to lick my nether-regions. Mounting those huge tongues on the wall--ingenious! I'm glad I can now take "Chronic Tongue Sprains" off of my list o' conditions.
          • My agent thanks you for the Shedding Room. The walls and floor, covered with a sticky surface, will be great for trapping loose fur and keeping it off of her clothes. (For the record: To spite my agent, I don't intend to enter that room...ever.)
          • Brach's Panic Room is his favorite. He has locked himself in there since the moment you left and refuses to leave. Come to think of it, I am very appreciative of that room, too. Keeps the little guy out of my fur!
          • The Gold Litter House is great. Who would have thought a gold-plated litter box would be a good idea? It makes sense for an Empress, but I never would have thought of it. The jeweled scoop was a bit much, though.
          • The elaborate pantry filled with delightful feline cuisine is to die for! Now if you had only put the doorknob within my reach...

          In conclusion, Mr. Pennington, I am sorry for being a selfish and thoughtless cat. I hope this won't be a permanent scar on our blossoming relationship.

          With highest regards and tongue kisses,
          The Empress