Wednesday, March 29, 2006
So, fearing for my life, for the last 24 hours I've been held-up in our panic room and have been conducting interviews for a bodyguard. I've narrowed it down to four candidates.
In no particular order, feel free to peruse their résumés and interview highlights:
NAME: Bloodslice Lummox
JOB HISTORY: Master Bear-Baiter (1999-2005); Junk Yard Dog (2005-Present)
Good morning, Mr. Lummox.
What would you consider some of your greatest strengths, Bloodslice?
Well, I can pulverize animals of all sizes with a single bite, I have been known to make animals urinate on-the-spot with the volume and timbre of my bark and I can smell blood from a 2-mile distance. Oh, and I'm a fast learner and a "people person."
And some of your weaknesses?
(Staring at Brach) Some have considered me "too" enthusiastic.
Yes. About killing and maiming.
Ok...I see. And what do you think sets you apart from the other candidates vying for this bodyguard position?
(Clearing the excess saliva from his gaping jaw with his larger-than-life paw and staring intently at Brach) Well, I am fiercely loyal, I am quick and clean when I kill and it's rare that I have potty accidents on the carpet.
Mr. Lummox, if you could be a cat, what kind of breed would you be and why?
It doesn't matter to me...aren't they all equally delicious?
Thank you for your time, Bloodslice.
Bloodslice was, indeed, "enthusiastic." Despite my insistence he stop doing it immediately, he got up thrice to chase Brach around the room during our interview. And, while he backed up his claim to make "very few accidents on the carpet" by not messing on the rug, the fact that he made Brach pee, out of fear, four times during the interview really rendered that claim null. Brach already lives in fear of me; I don't need to bring in another bully.
NAME: Juan "Papi Chulo" Martinez
JOB HISTORY: None of your freakin' beezness, ese! (2004-Present)
Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today.
What would you consider some of your greatest strengths, Mr. Martinez?
¡Dios Mio! No one ever calls me Señor Martinez! ¡Ése es nombre de mi padre! Por favor, call me Papi Chulo.
Ok...Papi Chulo...your greatest strengths?
I am quick and surprisingly strong. People aren't very a-scared of me right away because they think I am just un pequeño muchacho. When they walk away from me--IF they walk away from me, they know better! I am also really good at counting...as in "I am going to give you to the count of cinco to make your escape and then I'm going to kick your ass! Uno...Dos...Tres..."
Señor...please. There is no need to explain further. I get it. How about weaknesses?
What are you getting at? Weaknesses? ¡No mames...está loco! I don't have weaknesses!
But, I read on your application that you have a trigger phrase that makes you go absolutely insane. Don't you think that could, in certain situations, be considered a weakness?
I can't believe you are saying this! Es todo un pedo...
(Shuffling through his application) It says here that you have a hard time hearing the phrase "Yo quiero Taco B..."
¡A la madre! (Pacing back and forth now, wiping his salivating mouth) Oh no you di'int! ¡Vaya al diablo!
Sir, with all due respect, I think this interview is over. Buenos días, Señor.
(Eyeing Brach with suspicion) Are you eyeballing me, hombre? If you're eyeballing me, I'm-a gonna haf to teash jew a lay-son!
Sir! I said, "GOOD DAY!"
My Impressions: Wow. Someone needs therapy! In hindsight, I probably should have realized this when, even before the interview began, he nipped at Bloodslice Lummox's leg as they passed one another in the doorway. They tussled for a few minutes while Brach shook uncontrollably and they stopped only when I sternly demanded that Bloodslice release the animated Chihuahua's neck from his jaw. Another red flag was when Papi Chulo asked if I had any more tequila. That explained half of the smell that was coming from him. Let's just say the other half of the odor was from an herb...but not catnip.
NAME: Pierre Beauchamp
BREED: Standard Poodle
JOB HISTORY: Lieutenant General in French armed forces (1996-2001); CLASSIFIED POSITION (2001-2005); Undercover Intelligence Agent Disguised as a Beret Model (2005-Present)
I have to begin by telling you how incredibly attractive that beret looks on you, Monsieur Beauchamp.
Tu es completement debile, Mademoiselle.
Thank you! I just love all things French! One of my boyfriends, Moose, is French. He is one of Les Trois Chats.
Voulez-vous cesser de me cracher dessus pendant que vous parlez!
Wow...I wish I could understand what you are saying to me! I tell you what. Let's get the formality of the interview over with, then you can woo me with your sexy French phrases! What would you say are your greatest strengths?
Le réalité et toi, vous ne vous entendez pas, n'est-ce pas?
Ok...just making a note of that right here. And your weaknesses?
Est-ce que vous êtes ivre?
De quoi est mort votre dernier esclave?
Ok! Great! Is there anything else you would like me to know about you that might set you apart from the other candidates?
Vous êtes une pomme de terre avec le visage d'un cochon d'inde.
Great! Well, unless you have any questions for me, I'll say "Au Revoir."
C'est magnifique! Au Revoir!
My Impressions: During the interview, I was intrigued by Pierre, but it was only after he left and I shared some of his responses with my friend, Mojo (who is fluent in French), that I learned he was really a tool. Mojo suspects Pierre found himself to be over-qualified for the role of "bodyguard" and was insulted that I made him go through an interview instead of handing him the job straight away. While what he said to me was horrible, I was still strangely attracted to Pierre--even though he was obviously gay. I mean, what straight dog would be photographed cross-legged in a beret? And as smart and qualified as he is, the last thing I want to witness is a white-gloved, slap-fight between my bodyguard and my stalker. There is only room for one spoiled-rotten queen in this house...and we all know who that is!
NAME: Sporty Jones
BREED: Champion Border Collie
JOB HISTORY: Sheepherder (2000-2002); Agility Champion (2002-Present)
Mr. Jones, could you please stop running around the room?
Gladly, Empress. Can I call you "Empress?"
Yes. "Empress" is fine...or "Her Royal Highness." Whatever you prefer. What would you consider some of your greatest strengths?
I am fast! I am really good at teeter-totters and collapsed tunnels. I have exceptional muscle tone. (Sloppily lapping water from a bowl) Look at my ass as I drink this water! Have you ever seen a firmer ass than this?
(Sneaking a glance at the rock-hard butt muscles) Mr. Jones, I hardly think it's appropriate for you to ask me to examine your buttocks.
(Running around the room, attempting to herd Brach into the litterbox) I'm just saying that I am fit...FIT! You will find no other dog with the physical agility and strength I possess.
What would you say are some of your weaknesses?
I work out only 16 hours per day when I should be targeting 18-20. I have a soft-spot in my heart for working my legs and probably spend way too much time on them. Speaking of "soft-spots," I noticed you have a bit of a sag in your stomach. I can help you get rid of that, Empress.
It's called "cleavage," Mr. Jones. My voluptuous nipple region is desired by squillions and admired by all. Sir, I'll thank you to keep this interview focused on you.
No problem...I understand. I'm just saying that with a little bit of work, you could be lean and sleek. It's clear you are plump around the middle. I can't imagine it's pleasant to carry around that spare tire...
Thank you, Mr. Jones. This interview is over.
(Running around the room) But, Empress! Time me as I do a practice security sweep of the room. I guarantee I'm faster than anyone else you're considering!
Brach, can you please show Mr. Jones out?
My Impressions: Simply stated--Don't criticize my gorgeous body if you want me to hire you. I am looking for a bodyguard, not a personal trainer (as if I need the workout anyway).
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
As usual, don't fret if your question is overlooked--the line of decency has to be drawn somewhere.
(Editor's note: It is a rare occasion when Kukka is able to know where the line of decency should be drawn--and, when she does know, never actually draws it.)
Let's get this party started!
Q: Kukka, I'm a young boy cat. My mom was petting me the other day and, upon running her hand across my multi-nippled belly, exclaimed, "Oh my gosh! I thought this was a boy cat! I feel nipples! Are you sure he's a boy?" Am I some sort of freak? Am I really a girl?
A: Wow. Now that's what I call "starting off with a bang!" Have no fear, little one. While you may be a freak, it has nothing to do with the fact you have nipples! All sorts of boys have nipples--even humans! While the nipples on girl cats can be considered "functional," the nipples on boys (and non-kitten-producing girls) can be considered "decorative." In the spirit of decoration, I say pierce two or three of your nipples and let your freak flag fly!
Q: With bikini season quickly approaching, Kukka-Maria, what will you do to get in shape and what kind of bikini will you be sporting this summer?
A: First off, "what will you do to get in shape" clearly implies I am not already in shape! I resent that! To keep my womanly figure in top-top shape, I have a rigorous work-out regimen that I do each and every day--without fail:
- I wake up and do about 7-15 seconds of yoga. This will include stretching my spine by bowing down with my buttocks high in the air. After that, I will lie down on the bed/floor/couch/chair and make my body as long as I can possibly get it. Not only does it feel good, many times I do it directly in my mother's path, so she trips--which is a bonus.
- Several times during the day, I will run from various spots in the house to the kitchen at full-speed in a quest for treats. I try not to get too "scheduled" with this. Most of the time, I will run to the kitchen when I hear my mom walk into the house from work, any time I hear the refrigerator open, and when my mom inhales or blinks.
- Enthusiastically swatting at my brother's face or butt help keep my arms (ok, front legs if you insist on reminding me that I'm a cat) toned. Left, left, right, left. Right, right, left, right. Over and over. Feel the burn!
As for the bikini, I have yet to select one for 2006. I usually get several color-coordinated bikini tops to cover my multiple nipples, but this year, due to a loophole in our city's animal decency ordinance, I will be able to keep up to four of my nipples exposed.
(Editor's note: In past years, Kukka has always demanded that she be allowed to keep at least 2 nipples exposed. The loophole will just prevent her from being jailed...again.)
Q: Empress Kukka-Maria, where did you get your unique name?
A: While my name "Kukka-Maria" (pronounce it Koo-kah-Mah-ree-ah) is Finnish, I am not. My birth parents, refusing to accept that I was not the male heir for whom they prayed, named me "Empress Charles Augustus Poodly Dolfus William Henry Isaac Newton Smith"--after my father. They called me "Poodly" for short. When they finally sent me away (a story I'll have to save for another day), my adopted mother thought my name was "utterly ridiculous" and decided to name me "Kukka-Maria," instead. The name is quite popular in Finland (because of me, I am sure). In fact, there is even a blogspot blogger with the name and, if you can read Finnish, you should check out her blog! By the way, if you can read Finnish and you find her blog is a tribute to me--as I am sure it is--feel free to translate for me.
(Editor's note: While we pronounce it Koo-kah, it is unclear how the Fins pronounce it. We imagine they say it in a way our anglicized tongues find impossible to replicate. Imagining that her name is virtually unpronounceable in its purest form makes Kukka feel more exotic.)
Q: Kukka, I recently came across a nude photo spread of you on the internet. Why would you pose for such racy photos?
A: According to my legal representation, I am able to make only the following statement regarding nude or partially nude photos that are currently in circulation: I maintain that any questionable photos of me are falsified, edited and can be considered maliciously synthetic. Off the record, though? They are totally me! Especially the really hot ones where I look incredibly stunning. What can I say? I was young, drunk and naive!
Q: Empress, recently in the press, it has been insinuated that many of the stories you tell in your online memoirs are, in fact, fictitious or, at best, grossly embellished versions of half-truths. What is your response to these allegations and to Oprah's recent statement in which she rescinds her once-enthusiastic support of you and your blog?
A: First off, I am shocked...SHOCKED that you dare imply that my life is any less glamorous than is depicted in this online memoir! I post merely 12% of the amazing things I do and have done in my phenomenal past. I am very guarded about my personal life--the truly intimate things stay private. It has only been under extreme pressure from my fans that I have conceded to speak about my past relationship with Brad Pitt and my current affairs with William, Moose and Buddy. Even then, I have given very little detail, out of respect for my boys. I think, if people find my stories hard to believe, it is because I am challenging their closed-minded impressions of housecats--and it's about time someone challenged those biases! As for Oprah: She knows she is nothing without me. If she wants to mess with the bull, she should expect the horns. Bring it, Winfrey!
(Editor's note: Ms. Winfrey could not be reached for comment at the time of publication.)
Now I'm all riled up. I think I'll partake of some catnip and head to bed to nurse this looming headache. The life of a celebrity is not easy, people...not easy at all.
Friday, March 24, 2006
It's official. I'm destitute. Sigh... I'm penniless, dejected, and bereft. I've been fleeced by Felis Catus Laboratories--the bastards!
My spokesmodeling contract clearly stated I would receive 90% of all profits from the sale of Whisker-Well. That sounds like a good deal, right?
Well, it wasn't.
Because hindsight is 20/20, had I to do it all over again, I would use the following rules to guide me before signing my name on the dotted line:
- Never hire feral alley cats as lawyers and never believe it when they insist an official law degree looks surprisingly identical to a scrap grocery store receipt.
- If your employer asks you to wear a blonde beehive wig to sell a "natural" hair serum, chances are things aren't as they appear.
- If you see the testimonial model without hair immediately before and after the photo-shoot, ask questions!
- Always use your agent broker your deals. Despite your powerful desire for independence, your
momagent is a valuable resource and, with her round pupils and corrective lenses, can focus on reading the fine print.
- Always do market research on the product you are pushing. In this case, I should have examined all angles. Yes, it might make bald cats look more attractive--which is clearly a draw for the feline demographic, but consider that potentially sheddable hair on a cat is undesirable for humans and, since the humans control the cats' money, it is likely Whisker-Well won't sell. And don't even get me started on the blistered and raw, red skin on the clients who actually applied the serum to their skin...
So now, I lie before you embarrassed and impoverished. I can't sue them because the contract was rock-solid. As promised, I did receive 90% of all Whisker-Well profits. 90% of $0 is...yeah, you do the math.
To add insult to injury, because I didn't read the inconspicuous fine print, I am out $42.38 for the purchase of the blonde beehive. I know $42.38 may not seem like a lot of money to humans, but, like the 7-year human/cat age formula, asking me for $42.38 is like asking an unemployed, one-legged-but-still-super-sexy-supermodel for $296.66 in exchange for an old pair of running shoes. That damned blonde wig is about as useful to me as the running shoes are to her!
And now I'm farther away from getting my own place than I was a mere five days ago!
I dread the moment when my mom opens her credit card statement and sees the $42.38 charge for "Wally's Wig Warehouse." I guess I'll just pretend I'm sleeping or that I don't understand English.
Damn you, Felis Catus Laboratories! I shake my paw vigorously in your general direction!
Thursday, March 23, 2006
"From the rear, Kukka-Maria, it looks like you've gained a few pounds. Do you fear designers will steer away from using your rotund figure in print ads and on the runway?"
"You used to be so svelte, Kukka! Are you on hiatus from looking gorgeous?"
"Do you fear that kittens who look up to you will try to emulate your...generous figure and put their bodies at risk by gorging on cat kibble, treats and any people food they can seem to get their pudgy, little paws on like you--their idol?"
"Kukka-Maria. You. Are. Fat. What gives, porky?"
My official response: "Suck it! I have a little junk in my trunk--deal with it! It's actually a good thing! Carrying around extra weight is helping me develop some fierce thigh muscles! And remember: The camera adds 10 pounds!"
When my mom hears me say that last part, she laughs and reminds me what Chandler from Friends said to Monica when she said the same thing regarding home video footage from her childhood:
"Ahh, so how many cameras are actually on you?"
Bite me, Mom...
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Has over-licking spots on your body caused bald areas?
Are you a brand-new kitten covered with embarrassingly exposed skin?
Do you hide when company comes over because of hideous feline-pattern-baldness?
LOOK NO FURTHER! We've got the solution!!
It's called "Whisker-Well®!*"
I'm Kukka-Maria, world-renown blogger and newly-appointed spokesmodel for Whisker-Well. Just when you thought you were destined to spend your life in the shadows due to your hair loss, Felis Catus Laboratories has developed an astounding and remarkable hair-replacement serum that is guaranteed** to grow real hair*** in only 7 days!****
I know what you're saying! "But, Kukka, it sounds so complicated! I don't understand scientific mumbo-jumbo!"
Then take a moment to read a testimonial from just one of the several satisfied Whisker-Well customers!
"My name is Harry*****. As a Sphynx, I have endured years of ridicule due to my absence of hair. I've even been asked to leave my own kittens' birthday parties because I was scaring their friends! My wife heard about Whisker-Well and suggested I give it a try. After applying the slow-drying and extremely sticky solution to my skin 18 times a day, I saw remarkable hair growth in only 7 days! Now my kittens are proud to be seen with me and they call me their Handsome Devil of a Dad. Thanks, Whisker-Well!"
Harry is among several Whisker-Well customers who have seen remarkable results from the short-term use****** of Whisker-Well.
If you have feline-pattern baldness, hair loss on or around your hind quarters from over-cleansing (photo omitted due to "questionable content) or hairless breeding, contact us to learn more about Whisker-Well! Even if you want to enhance the hair you already sport, Whisker-Well is the answer!
Invest in you. Invest in Whisker-Well!
You'll be glad you did!*******
* Whisker-Well should NEVER--and we mean NEVER--be applied to the whiskers of a cat. It should NEVER be applied to the face at all! In fact, it's best that Whisker-Well not come in contact with the skin in any form. If contact occurs, immediately wash with an anti-bacterial soap.
** Any explicit or implied guarantees are only used in this informercial to
*** In this case, the term "Real" should not be construed as "authentic" or "genuine," but merely a strategic choice of words for this promotion.
**** Any terms used to describe the passing of time are interchangeable, as deemed necessary by Felis Catus Labs. For example, "years" can be substituted for "days"; "squillions of centuries" can be substituted for "years."
***** Testimonial names and images have been changed in concordance with stipulations spelled out in a class-action lawsuit against Whisker-Well and Felis Catus Laboratories. This class-action lawsuit is in no way connected with the legal activity against Felis Catus Laboratories relating to their ALLEGED supply of steroids to major league baseball players.
****** Long-term use of Whisker-Well (in excess of 1 day) can be hazardous to your health. For your safety, allow 3 years between rounds of treatment.
******* No, you won't.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Buddy started a new blog today and says it is I who inspired it. I know what you're thinking...what cat blog out there did you not inspire, Kukka-Maria? I know! It's probably easier for me to ask that question than to weed through the squillions of bloggers who credit me for their inspiration.
Anyway...enough about me! Let's talk about Buddy--and what he thinks of me! Buddy says his goal is to "woo" me with his "sleek hide" and "charming neck biting." I look forward to seeing him try! While we all know I'm a sucker for a shiny coat and looooooove the nibbles on my neck, it takes more than that to woo an empress.
Let's see how this thing will play out. Will William and Moose tolerate a third suitor? Will this weed out the men from the boys? Will anyone but me be left standing? Will blood be shed in pursuit of my love? Am I being a bit over-dramatic? Other than a obvious and resounding "YES" to the final question, I guess we'll just have to wait and see...
Monday, March 20, 2006
My brother seems to think it's appropriate for him to sleep in the spots where I want to sleep! At first, I thought, "Hey...ok. So he is warming up the spots for me! I can kick him out when I'm ready to sleep there!" I'm growing tired of having to micro-manage the situation. And what is up with the new game of hiding behind the wall when I walk down the hallway and jumping on top of me then running away? So immature!
Speaking of micro-management, when it comes to my mother, that is all I do! "Mom, it's time to give me some treats. Mom, the litterbox could use a little scoopage. Mom, when you can find a few minutes to tear yourself away from caring only about your own welfare, I would appreciate a few scritches behind the ears."
When I finally get my own condo, things will be wonderful!
- I'll have treats littered around for convenient and frequent consumption.
- I'll have a hole in my condo through which I could hang my butt and do my "business" so it wouldn't be inside and I won't have to wait for someone to clean it up because it will be out of sight/out of mind!
- I'll have my own bed and bedroom that won't have buff-colored fur strewn all over it. I'll sleep there any time I want and won't have to worry about breaking a nail in the midst of sending a "very strong message" to any "trespassers."
- I'll have a laundry closet that will be open so I can explore 24/7. I will never have to work to open the closet doors!
- I'll have a catnip dispenser on the wall--with choices of fresh and dry--that would be voice-activated. When I say "Catnip...NOW!" (or the equivalent in MEOW), it will distribute the perfect amount.
- I'll have a robotic "human-like" hand affixed to the wall that will wiggle its fingers so I can walk back and forth under it to fill my love-tank.
Getting my own place is definitely the right thing to do...I just don't have the means to fund the project. I don't want to get a 9-5 job...what empress would? And, last I checked, exiled empresses are not usually the recipients of large inheritances.
I have been approached with a lucrative business opportunity, but I am not at liberty to share the details until my lawyers have solidified the deal. I can tell you it involves me being a spokesmodel for an innovative and useful product that many cats need.
I've already said too much!
It's hard enough to believe crazy people (like my own woman, I suppose) blog about and for their cats--let alone enough of them to post a collection each week for 2 years!
Friday, March 17, 2006
by Brach O' Lee
Top o' the mornin' to ya! 'Tis St. Patrick's Day, when we celebrate all things Irish--my heritage.
It's not always obvious to people that the blood in my veins is as green as a shamrock. For me, though, the proof is undeniable.
First, there is the color of my fur. While technically, I am considered "buff" in color, I consider my locks to be "strawberry blonde" and I am a member of the Gorgeous Gingers (a street-gang for red-headed cats). Don't all red-heads come from Ireland?
Second, I am a gifted Irish step dancer. No one has ever taught me the art; I was born knowing how to dance a mean Irish jig! When I hear the lilting and sweetly melodic sounds of the fife and fiddle, all four of my legs will suddenly start flailing wildly--without my consent! I'm sorry, but you can not get more authentic than that!
Finally, St. Patrick and I share a common passion: Chasing vermin. While Patrick focused his efforts on snakes, I have an affinity for small rodents and bugs. Either way, my passion for chasing dirty animals (including, but not limited to Kukka-Maria) can be attributed to my Irish heritage.
So, in closing, I couldn't be more Irish if I actually lived in Ireland! I'm a red-headed, step-dancing, street hooligan who loves to chase vermin! The popular Gaelic phrase "Éireann go Brách!" says it all. Loosely translated, it means "Long live the Irish cat named Brach!"
(Editor's note: "Éireann go Brách" actually means "Ireland Forever." Because Brach's loose
BITE ME! NO, YOU'RE NOT!
Are you freaking serious? If you are Irish, I am human.
First off, Brach, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Mom doesn't even know who your real parents were! She found you at the Humane Society, so your real parents could just as easily be a one-eyed, Russian crack whore and a rabid California mountain lion as they could be of Irish descent.
Secondly, we all know you aren't a natural strawberry-blonde. I've seen the empty box of hair dye in the bathroom garbage can, labeled "Buff." You're not fooling anyone! Even a blind bat could see your roots showing!
As for your Irish step dancing talent? I don't think running scared when you hear the whining of a bagpipe can be called "dancing." Yes, your legs flail wildly, but it's because you have leapt straight into the air and have started running for the bedroom before you feet have even touched the ground!
You may be the size of a wee Leprechaun, but that, my dear brother, is where the similarities end. Now, if you would be so kind as to step-dance your way over to the bed and warm it up for me, I would appreciate it. I'll be over to wake you from your nap and kick you out to make room for me in about 20 minutes.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
I am fascinated by daytime talk shows.
At one time, napping, eating, bullying my brother and more napping were the order of the day. Now, I find myself spending countless hours with my new friends Maury, Montel, Dr. Phil and Jerry.
Maury Povich and I met on a cold, winter morning. I had just woken from my mid-morning slumber when, as I stretched, I rolled over onto the remote control. While I'm still unclear as to which button I pressed to get this result, the television suddenly sprung into action and Maury's face filled my screen. Among other critical things, Maury has taught me the importance of paternity tests! No matter what information is revealed from the test, it evokes powerful emotions from people. Sometimes the woman will jump up, scream, laugh, stomp her feet, clap and point to some guy sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. More often than not, the woman will scream, cry, throw herself on the floor, get back up and run from the stage in tears while the guy sitting on the couch hi-fives Maury, laughs and points to the woman saying something like, "I told you so, BLEEEEEEEEP!" Fantastic!
Later that same day, I made the acquaintance of Mr. Montel Williams. A strong, focused and powerful presence, Montel let me know how inspirational he was within the first 5 minutes. He literally spelled it out for me by saying, "Today, I am going to inspire you to do greater things in your life and your community!" Unfortunately, that didn't fit well into my own plans for the day, so I farted and fell asleep in the chair, completely missing the feel-good-psychic-babble of his guest, Sylvia Browne. Mr. Williams, you are too intense for me. When you wise up and feature the health benefits of overindulging in cat treats, pooping extensively and napping 18 hours per day, give me a call.
I have to admit, I think Dr. Phil is an ass. I usually wake up from my Montel nap during his show and am too lazy to turn the channel. Pompous, arrogant and domineering, Dr. Phil is not the type of man I want to watch on TV...he's the type of man I date. Having said that, here is my personal message to Dr. Phil (because I know he reads my blog): "Call me, you sexy, balding stud!" I think I may just be the feisty female feline that is capable of putting that man into his place!
Now Jerry Springer is a man who knows how to entertain! I have to believe it is impossible for him to book actual people dripping in their own dysfunction on his show anymore. While the "I-thought-I-was-here-for-a-make-over-and-now-I'm-being-confronted-by-my-husband's-herpes-riddled-girlfriend" shtick worked early on, I find it hard to believe that bait and switch strategy is effective now that people know his game. Regardless, the man hires poor-to-mediocre actors who know how to get the audience riled up and on their feet chanting "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" We don't care if the tragic stories are real anymore--we are just relieved to know our own lives could be so much worse, but aren't! The cheating hermaphroditic prostitute said it best when she yelled, "YOU DON'T KNOW ME! SIT DOWN! GET OVER IT!" Get over it, indeed!
Last night, so concerned over what I saw on Maury during the day, I told my mom I needed a paternity test. With a troubled look on her face, she asked, "Do you even know what a paternity test is, Kukka-Maria?"
"Uh...yes!" I exclaimed with forced confidence, attempting to disguise that, in fact, I do not know what a paternity test is...exactly. "I watch Maury!"
"Well, I have news for you! You've seen your last daytime talk show and, NO...you can not get a paternity test!!" she exclaimed, locking the remote control away with the also-off-limits-tampons.
Perhaps I should sue her to get the remote back. Does anyone know how I can reach Judge Judy?
Monday, March 13, 2006
The air was thick with thunderstorm warnings and tornado watches. This morning, when we awoke from our troubled sleep, we found a lake where our yard used to be (ok, maybe not a "lake," but if I had said "larger puddles than normal," would you have been as impressed?).
We spent most of the night cuddled against Mom or pawing at her head and whining to make sure she was surviving the storm (more the latter, than the former).
Brach and I are hiding under the bed today until we're sure this whole thing has passed. And, for the record, Brach was much more scared than I was! Make a note of that...
Wait! I'm a celebrity! Can't I hire people to be scared for me?
"MOM! Look into it!"
Friday, March 10, 2006
Hopefully, this interview will address the squillions of questions with which I have been bombarded. Oprah placed only one condition on my printing the transcript here. So her questions will stand out from my responses and they will match the outfit she wore that day, her questions will be featured in bold, italicized and tinted print.
Kukka-Maria interview with Oprah Winfrey
March 9, 2006
Oprah: Kukka-Maria, Kukka-Maria, KUK-KA-MA-RI-A! What is going on with you, girl? Let me start by asking the question on everyone's mind: we were all looking forward to seeing you present "Best Foreign Language Film" at Sunday's Academy Awards. When Will Smith walked out on stage, you could hear the buzz throughout the audience as they wondered where you were! Some of the rumors circulating your absence deal with a stint in rehab to address a raging catnip and alcohol addiction, a secret pregnancy, and a hush-hush wedding to your former love, Brad Pitt! Is there any truth to these rumors?
Kukka-Maria: No, Oprah! Not at all! First off, there is no truth to the "bump watch" rumors or wedding to my ex, Brad. You can check my medical records, Oprah! When I was a kitten, I was spayed, making it impossible for me to conceive. And, while Brad and I had a torrid love affair in the past, we are just good friends now. In fact, Angelina and Brad recently asked if they could name their baby after me--"Kukka-Maria" for a girl and "Kukka-Mario" for a boy. As for the rumored addiction to catnip and alcohol? Yes, I had an "over-indulgent" weekend beginning with my friend Magoo's 10th birthday party and fueled further by my excitement over the Oscars. I had some catnip. I sipped some wine. These things, by themselves, would not have been a problem had I not had surgery the week before.
O: SURGERY? Are you sick, Kukka?
K: No, no! I guess if there is a confession to make on your show here today, it's that I had a "cosmetic procedure" done.
O: You had cosmetic surgery? Why?! You are beautiful just the way you are, Kukka! (Pause for thundering applause and cheers from the audience. Leaning in, Oprah continues...) Can I ask what you had done, who did it, and if I can have their phone number?
K: You can ask, but I'm not telling you everything! I won't tell you what procedure I underwent, but I will tell you my regular veterinarian refused to do the surgery, calling cosmetic surgery for pets "inappropriate" and "questionably ethical, at best"--which I thought was a bit ironic. This, from the guy who thinks there is nothing wrong with sticking a thermometer up my ass! I think that is the definition of "inappropriate" and "questionably ethical!" (The audience bursts into tumultuous cheers, applause, and laughter) Anyway, when my vet shot me down, as many domesticated animals do in the United States, I turned to our more liberal and progressive neighbor-to-the-north, Canada.
O: Canada...ok. I've heard about people going to Canada to have medical procedures performed--and to get prescription drugs!
K: Yes, well, my troubles really began with the Canadian-prescribed pain medicine.
O: Ok, ok...go on.
K: After the out-patient procedure--which went off without a hitch, I was prescribed pain medicine, which I filled at a Canadian pharmacy. Let me be clear here, everyone in Canada did a great job. The problem was that I don't read, speak or understand Canadian English. The instructions and warning label on the bottle were in Canadian English!
O: Uh-oh. That couldn't have been good! (In unison, the audience says, "Ooooooh!")
K: (Pulling an empty pill bottle from her fanny-pack, Kukka reads aloud in an awkward and forced Canadian accent) "Don'tcha bother taking more den 2 pills every 12 hours, ya hoser! If ya do, yer gonna find yerself in a pretty soary state, eh? And don't be a canucklehead and mix these pills with yer Molson or Labatt Blue, eh? We don't wanna have to tell you aboot the dangers of that!" Even now, Oprah, I don't understand what I just read to you!
O: Kukka, you might as well have just said something in German to me! (Turning to the audience and raising her voice 122 decibels, Oprah continues) I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND THAT AT ALL! Am I supposed to take pills or are you?! It's THAT confusing to me!! (The audience bursts into screaming and deafening applause)
K: So you understand, Oprah, I didn't know what dose to take. After what seemed like hours of staring at the pill bottle, I decided it was telling me to take 12 pills every 2 hours--with wine.
O: That makes sense to me...
K: I started them and by Friday, was feeling strong enough to go to Magoo's birthday party. From what I understand, I made quite an impression on the other guests! In fact, after the party, in my staggering condition, I even accused the party guests of slipping a Roofie into my catniptini! How embarrassing!
O: After your friend's party, you started preparing for the Oscars. What happened, Kukka?
K: Historically, Oscar weekend has been a three-day party, filled with catnip and booze. This weekend was going to be no different. Because I don't remember much about Saturday afternoon and evening, and because I know how many chemicals I had in my system, I have no reason to doubt Brach's version of the evening's events. The way the night ended, though, was disappointing.
O: How so, Kukka? (The audience and Oprah collectively lean in to hear Kukka's response)
K: Because...(Kukka daintily wipes a tear from her eye, then licks her paw and proceeds to rub it repeatedly across her face as she continues) my family, of all people, should have known I would not purposefully abuse catnip and alcohol. There was not a need for the drama of an intervention, nor the emotional trauma of being sent to rehab. I know my brother loves me and was only trying his best to do right by me, but it hurt that he wouldn't listen when I told him I had not had that much catnip or wine. It was the innocent misunderstanding regarding my prescription pill dosage that was to blame for my behavior.
O: Wow, Kukka! That is a pretty intense story! Now that the whole situation is behind you, is there anything you want to say to anyone who may have been hurt by your inadvertent misuse of your Canadian prescribed pain killers?
K: Yes, Oprah, thank you. I do have some contrived and insincere apologies to make:
- Magoo--I am sorry that I was wasted at your birthday party and accused your guests of slipping Roofies into my niptini.
- Charlie--I apologize for shamelessly flirting with you at the party and leading you on.
- Angel (Charlie's true love)--I am sorry that I threatened to claw your eyes out if you didn't keep your dirty paws off my new man, Charlie. Wait...I don't know that I ever actually said that out loud, so I really shouldn't have to apologize, right?
- Brach--I am sorry I picked a fight with you and accused you of being jealous that I was invited to the Oscars and you were not. You are jealous of me for many reasons, but that just isn't one of them.
- Mom and her friends--I apologize for trying to drink your wine. Clearly, if any of you had been thinking straight, you would have just bought me my own bottle and it wouldn't have been so awkward.
- Sid Ganis--I am sorry that you had to have Will Smith present in my place at the Oscars. I know you worked hard to negotiate my appearance and how chaotic it must have been for you to manage the press attention once my cancellation was announced. I'll make it up to you by letting you buy me dinner. Have your people call my people.
- Three 6 Mafia--My bad! It was hella bootsy of me to bail on my homies, fo' sheazy! I ain't frontin' when I say that you playas are straight-up tight and I'm glad you my folks! You feelin' me?
- Karl Lagerfeld--I am so sorry that I vomited wine-soaked cat treats down the front of the beautiful gown you so graciously designed for me and that, thanks to my bile, it will never--ever--see a red carpet.
- And to my two fine tomcats, William and Moose--I am sorry if you have been plagued night and day by the press, asking for comments on my condition. Even though you know that dealing with the tabloids is a dark and sinister part of dating a celebrity like myself (but not the only dark and sinister part), I know it's been rough on you. I thank you for your loyalty.
O: Kukka-Maria, I thank you for your candidness in talking with us today. And, I must say that whatever "procedure" you had done suits you! I've been sneaking glances over your entire body throughout this interview and I can not find a scar on you! Nicely done, Canadian doctors!
K: Thank you for having me, Oprah. I appreciate the opportunity to set the record straight. And, yes...I'm still hot!
O: (In a volume that is just two decibels shy of making your ear-drums bleed, Oprah shouts) KU-KA-MA-RI-A, EVERYBODY! (The audience bursts into monstrous applause and cheers)
Thursday, March 09, 2006
The photo is grainy because it was either taken from over 200 yards (thanks to the restraining order) with a high-powered telephoto lens from a paparazzo vehicle or it was taken by my mother from 5 feet away with her camera-phone.
Either way, it will stand up in a court of law when we sue Mojo for trespassing and getting his stank on our bed!
Crap...here I was worried about human dander when I should have kept my eyes open for dog dander! Should I be bathing in acid to get rid of my dog cooties?
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
It isn't often that I have your undivided attention, lately. I know Kukka is a high-maintenance feline and that it's difficult for you to guarantee me quality time. I understand this and, for the most part, it doesn't bother me too much. However, now that Kukka has taken to her bed with "exhaustion" and I do have your attention, I would like to voice some of my concerns.
You know that I've always been a nervous cat, right? I mean, most of the time you respect me and my "ticks." I appreciate that. Lately, though, it seems that you haven't been too considerate of my needs--especially around my Feline Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and high levels of anxiety.
While I appreciate that you keep our food bowl topped off at all times and I rarely have to whine to you for food, I need to go over the Food Distribution Guidelines (as spelled out in "Caring for Brach: The Ultimate Guide to a Happy OCD Feline", the handbook I wrote and provided you upon receiving my OCD diagnosis).
"Kibble must be distributed in even numbers. It is not acceptable to fill a bowl, without ensuring there is an even-number of kibblets. An OCD feline would rather starve, than eat from a bowl filled with an odd-number of kibble kernals."
Now do you understand why I pace back and forth after you fill the bowl? Yes, I'm hungry, but unless I know you've counted the pieces, I can not eat! Lately, this has been especially frustrating for me, as you seem to fill the bowl and leave the kitchen immediately to massage Kukka's ego or soothe her in some way. It makes me feel very unimportant--and hungry.
Let's get to the issue of your guests. I know your friends aren't dirty and you know I have nothing against them personally. I just have a raging allergy to human dander! Is it too much to ask that you have your guests "scrub in" when they arrive? In my ideal world, when humans come into the house, they would shower (with anti-bacterial soap) and don scrubs, a hairnet, a face mask, gloves and little paper booties for their feet. I understand that is a lot to ask, so I'm willing to have them just wash their hands before petting me. Until that happens, you will need to accept that I will continue to run and hide when people come to visit you. I have to set boundaries!
I don't want to be a pest, Mom, but please be more understanding when I don't respond to you right away when you call me from another spot in the house. If you are in the kitchen, ready to distribute treats (which, by the way, should also be given in even numbers) and I am in the bedroom, don't get impatient when I don't come running right away. You know I have rituals that need to be done when I leave my bedroom.
When climbing down from my closet shelf bed, I first have to straighten the blankets. That sometimes takes awhile because I have to pat the bed seven times in each corner. Then, once I get to the ground, I have to go under the bed and touch each of the bed legs--starting in the south-east corner and working clockwise. Once I get to the door, I have to rub my face against the door frame seven times on each cheek--on each side of the door. As you can see, these rituals are pretty extensive--and that's just to leave the bedroom! I won't even get into what it takes to walk down the hallway! My point in explaining all of this is that yelling my name louder and more frequently will not get me to the kitchen any faster. Give me my time--I'll get there eventually!
Finally, it's clear to both you and me that Kukka has no immediate plans to stop bullying me. I can pretty much plan that once I get warm and comfortable in a sleeping spot, she will come and force me out of it. Everything I've tried to get her to stop this behavior has failed and all you seem to do is take pictures of us when it happens. Not cool, Mom...not cool.
So, I am proposing a different solution. If I can't get her to stop bullying me, I need to work on how I react to it. Mom, I would like to study martial arts. I feel that if I were to become more agile and aggressive, I just might stand a chance at defending myself against Kukka! Please, Mom! Wouldn't I look so precious wielding a Japanese katana or nunchucks?
In conclusion, dear mother, I know you love me and I hate to sound ungrateful, but I feel if the you part of "we" can work on these things, I will be a happier cat--which will, in turn, make you a happier cat mother.
Proud to be germ-free since 2001!
Monday, March 06, 2006
March 6, 2006 (Associated Press) Kukka-Maria, exiled feline empress and celebrated blogging star, has taken to her bed with what her representatives are calling "exhaustion."
Originally scheduled to present "Best Foreign Language Film" at the 78th Annual Academy Awards last evening, Kukka's publicist phoned Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences president, Sid Ganis, in the wee hours of Sunday morning.
"The Empress's publicist informed me that the star was experiencing physical symptoms consistent with extreme exhaustion due to her harried schedule of public appearances, posting intriguing and captivating blog entries and answering what can only be described as 'preposterous' amounts of fan mail. The thoughts and prayers of the distinguished members of the Academy are with The Empress during this emotionally and physically draining time," Mr. Ganis told the Associated Press, sheepishly wiping a tear from his eye.
Despite fears the broadcast would be cancelled due to Kukka-Maria's absence, The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was fortunate to find a B-List celebrity replacement to present "Best Foreign Language Film."
"I am thrilled to be invited to participate in this thrilling event. It was thrilling to finally get the call from Sid, when it was becoming quite clear he was dodging my phone calls for the last few months. I am thrilled. THRILLED!" exclaimed a "thrilled" Will Smith, who, despite working steadily in blockbuster movies throughout his career, is considered a disappointment by the myriad of fans who were expecting to see the multi-talented and beautiful Kukka-Maria on the Oscar stage.
Juicy J of Three 6 Mafia, winners of Best Original Song, gave a shout out to the Empress at one of the numerous post-Oscar parties. "Big ups to my dawg, Kukka. We understand your need for a break--it's hard out here for a pimp!" When asked if a cat can actually be considered a "dawg," bandmate Crunchy Black exclaimed, "Who cares! We won an OSCAR! Pass the Cristal, [expletive], 'cause this Oscar winner is gonna get crunked!"
Representatives for the exiled empress have been very vague about the gifted gatito's condition. "All I am willing to confirm at this point," explained her agent and mother in a phone interview, "is that the empress is suffering from extreme exhaustion and is taking a much-needed break."
The acclaimed celebrity, desired by both man and beast, has been romantically linked to Brad Pitt, George Clooney (although representatives for both deny this claim), Mojo, and most recently William of Mass Destruction and Moose of Les Trois Chats. At press time, neither William, nor Moose could be reached for comment.
That is the official release. I'm here to tell you the REAL story as only an insider can provide.
Here are the highlights from Saturday:
4:06pm--Kukka, so excited about the Oscars, starts hitting the catnip heavily. She sniffs, eats and rolls in dangerously enormous amounts of catnip then takes four consecutive 1 hour naps throughout the house to "sleep it off."
8:32pm--Mom entertains some of her friends and cracks open a bottle of wine (to which Kukka helps herself).
9:13pm--Kukka staggers into the bedroom, determined to have a "final fitting" of her Karl Lagerfeld Oscar gown. She dons the gown and stands in front of the mirror, dreamily gazing at her reflection.
9:17pm--Drunk and disorderly, Kukka picks a fight with me while still in her gown. At that point, I knew it wouldn't end well.
9:19pm--Defending myself, I claw at her, and accidentally tear her gown. Kukka belligerently lays into me about "not respecting" her, "destroying" her gown and our relationship, and being "jealous" of her for getting to go to the Oscars.
9:20pm--Kukka projectile vomits wine-soaked cat treats down the front of her Oscar gown and passes out under the spare room bed.
1:44am--Mom, her two friends and I stage an intervention. Kukka admits to having a problem and agrees to enter 4.2857 day treatment program (for humans, it's a 30-day detox, but because cats age 7 times faster than humans, the treatment stay is adjusted proportionately).
So, while Kukka works to "get on the wagon," I'll have the opportunity to write for you this week--uniterrupted! I can't wait...
Friday, March 03, 2006
I'm not made of wood, people. The woman knows how to get to me!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
A few weeks ago, my
They scheduled me for a photo-shoot during which they captured one of the most stunning images of me ever caught on film. Several days later, they sent a mark-up of the magazine cover to us for our approval. Things seemed to be moving right along.
Earlier this week, the litter-covered crap hit the fan. My agent received a phone call from People Magazine's legal team. Apparently, I was being stripped of my title because of a legal technicality. The feature is called the 50 Most Beautiful People--and clearly, I am not a person. My agent immediately called our legal team to strategize.
Our first thought was to argue that I was really human. We quickly nixed that idea when we had trouble explaining away my excessive body hair, vertical pupils, pronounced ears at the top of my head and long tail. We finally agreed that we would demand they change the title to the 50 Most Beautiful Creatures. My people called People's people, but they wouldn't even entertain the idea. Bastards!
While they refused to grant me permission to post the magazine cover mark-up, they did release the proofs from the photo-shoot. So, without further ado, may I present the photo that should be gracing the cover of this year's People Magazine's 50 Most Beautiful Creatures:
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Despite everything you told me last night, I still believe it is appropriate for me to make a deposit in the litterbox whilst you are still scooping prior offenses. It's not my fault if you are a slow scooper! By now, you should know that whenever you do anything that has to do with something that belongs to me, I will be there--making sure you don't ruin my things. As soon as you lifted the top of the litterbox, I knew you needed some supervision, and, in the spirit of efficiency, I felt making a donation while you were scooping seemed sensible.
Let's talk about treats for a minute, shall we? When you run out of treats, please refrain from serving the "back-up-sucky-flavored-treats." I know you have a stash of treats I do not like in the fridge that you reserve for the times when the good treat jar is empty. I hate that! You know that I look forward to the times when, after I plead and beg for what seems like hours, you head to the fridge to get the snacks. You must understand what a complete buzz-kill it is to think I'm getting savory snacks, only to find that you've littered the carpet with what can best be described as nuggets of pure crap. And don't be fooled by Brach. Just because he gobbles them down like nobody's business doesn't mean they are fit for cats. Brach will eat anything (let's not forget the string incident, his affinity for scotch tape, and that he licks asses--both his and mine). My advice? Get a surplus of the treats you know we like and throw the jar of junk away for good! We'll all be better for it.
While I have your attention, I feel I need to mention that it's probably better for both of us if you keep room on your lap for me in the evenings. Most of the time, you seem to
- I stand at your feet and look up at you, offering a tiny whine from the back of my throat.
- You say, "What, Kukka?" as if you don't know what I want from you.
- I jump onto the arm of the chair and stare at you until you make eye contact with me.
- Again, feigning ignorance, you say, "What do you want, honey?"
- I gingerly approach your lap and decide to lie down on top of the ____________ (insert remote control, knitting, book, plate of food, or other miscellaneous item here) that you have refused to move for me.
I guess that's it for now. I'll wait until next time to address my need for you to pet me incessantly from 6:00am until you drag your lazy butt from bed at 7:30, and my desire to have my own bedroom--with a queen-sized bed (read: you can start sleeping on the couch at any time).