Friday, April 28, 2006

Let's just call it "Brach/Counter-Brach," shall we?

You know I'm not one to brag, but I can not let this go by unnoticed. I am the unequivocal victor of the Point/Counter-Point series!

Let's review, shall we? The scoreboard shows the following:

POINT/COUNTER-POINTBrachKukka
Sleeping Under the Covers

X

It's for the Birds

X

"Technically," They're Still Oscars

X

Beannachtam na Feile Padraig!

X

Laser Pointer Mayhem

X

Going Outside

X


Now, I understand why I lost the first debate--sleeping under the covers is a unique quirk that few share (or are willing to admit they share). In that instance, there was little need for debate--you either like it or you don't.

It was no surprise to me, however, that I won the second P/CP and continued to win time after time. No surprise, that is, until the most recent debate.

I was shocked to see how dramatic your loss was, dear Kukka! The margin by which I won in the POINT/COUNTER-POINT: Going Outside debate was staggering! I beat you 13-4 (and giving you a couple of those was a stretch, since several commenters specifically called out the need for a harness--which was not in your original vision).

Why do I continue winning? I have some theories. First, I make strong, well-researched arguments. While Kukka comes from an emotional spot, I am analytical and factual. I examine the issue from both sides, choose which is right and argue it. Period. Kukka can whine, cry, and tug at your heart strings all she wants, but you can not deny the facts of a case.

Secondly, I am an honorary feline member of the Oxford Union debating society. I've been trained by the finest debating scholars in the world! I'd like to think the reason few will debate me is because they are intimated, not because I'm not allowed out of the house and can not go to England to participate in person. You can't deny my skills--even the Dalai Lama called last week to ask my opinion on a speech he was preparing. He was all, "Brach, my cat, what up? Lay some of your mad speeching skills on me, my brotha!" Or something to that effect...

Finally, I am adorable. When I type up my arguments for P/CP segments, I make this precious, squinchy face. My mom will walk by and say, "Brachy, you are the cutest boy in the whole world! Who's my baby? Is it you?" I like to think that that cuteness I project when composing my arguments shines through in my writing and almost hypnotizes the reader. While I do not depend on my physical allure to win arguments, I figure it will capture the few readers who slip through the factual cracks. As my Oxford Union mentor used to tell me, "If you can't win the debate with facts, win it with your good looks!"

In closing, I just want to say something to my darling sister, Kukka-Maria:

SUCK IT! I FINALLY BEAT YOU AT SOMETHING!

Thursday, April 27, 2006

And the "Favorite" goes to...

I thought my favorite search term used to get to my blog was "multiple nipples," but I have a new favorite.

Yesterday, two separate people came to my blog by way of searching "Brad Pitt naked."

People, if you want to see that, all you have to do is ask to see the questionably tasteful Poloroids from when we dated or you could try to score an invite to his annual naked barbeque...

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

POINT/COUNTER-POINT:
Going Outside

LET ME OUT OF THIS FREAKIN' HOUSE!
by Kukka-Maria

I just want to go outside. Can't our mother understand that? I spend hours looking out the window at all sorts of animals that get to frolic in the grass and explore among the trees.

So why am I held up in the house?

I've been to movie premieres, award shows, Brad Pitt's annual naked barbeque...yet I'm not allowed to go into my own back yard? Something is terribly wrong here!

Is it that she doesn't trust me? Is it the rumors of violent squirrel gangs in our area? I can get a bodyguard if that will make her feel more comfortable.

You know, she gets to go outside all the time! What is that about? I'm beginning to think our mother just might be a racist. "Come on, everyone! Let's go outside! Not so fast, you inadequate feline!"

All I want is some raw sunshine on my fur and the opportunity to roll around in the rabbit turds scattered throughout the yard. Plus, she keeps complaining about the damage the moles are doing to the grass; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize she has a mole hunter locked away in a tower. My money is on the fact that the moles aren't just going to leave on their own. They need a little "Kukka-spiration."

Let me out, woman! I demand it!




I THINK I JUST PEED A LITTLE BIT
by Brach

Going outside. Oh my...I'm getting nervous just thinking about it.

Kukka, remember when we lived at the other house and you escaped outside and hid in the bushes for, like, an hour? I stood at the door and shook violently--I was so scared! And remember the last time we went to the vet and Mom decided the best thing was to put you in the carrier first and add me once we got into the car (I know...I'm not sure what she was thinking, either)? She carried me in her arms to the car and I peed down the front of her shirt. I couldn't help it! I was scared! That doesn't make me less macho, does it?

The dangers of going outside are countless!

First, there are predators. Despite local law, frequently there are dogs roaming around the neighborhood--without leashes! They are just looking for a sweet, ginger feline to invite to dinner, and not as their guest...ifyouknowwhatImean!

Secondly, there are other cats. Feral cats can be tough and territorial! I know you think all strays are sweet cats who are simply displaced. While that is the case for some, what about the cats who killed their humans in cold-blood and took to the streets to escape prosecution, moving from trash can to trash can, murdering anyone who dares cross their paths? What of them? Quit laughing, Kukka-Maria...

Finally, what if we were to get into the street and get hit by a car? I know that, because you have ridden in limos your entire life, Kukka, you believe you know the rules of the road. You are wrong, sister! Did you know there were 4.7 squillion cats hit by cars just last month? And I rounded down that number to be conservative! I'm not willing to take that risk.

So, in closing: Outside=Dangerous Death Trap; Inside=Comfortable and Safe.

Also, Kukka? I hesitate to criticize, but I don't think the term you wanted to use was "racist," but rather "specist." We are not Homo Sapiens, we are Felis Catus. Implying Mom is racist is suggesting she is biased about other races of humans...not cats. And, for the record, I believe our mother is neither racist, nor specist.

Don't claw me in my sleep, Kukka--I'm only trying to mentor you in the ways of the world. And, if I were ever wrong--which is statistically improbable, I hope you would take time to show me the error of my...STOP BITING MY TAIL!

Monday, April 24, 2006

Open Letter to my Agent, Vol 4

Dear Self-Proclaimed Boss of Me,

I have to admit, had someone told me how difficult it would be to own a human, I probably would have passed up the offer to come live here. "High-Maintenance" doesn't even come close to describing you!

Let us first address all of this blogging restriction business. I think there are probably much better ways to respond to my behavior that you deem "unacceptable." What about a stern lecture or giving me only 1 or 2 treats per day instead of my usual buffet? That is rough stuff and, I am sure, would teach me my lesson!

You know, when I think about it more, I realize you are really to blame for my behavioral choices. If you don't want me to invite guests over in your absence, then you should never leave the house. Asking that I obey the "house rules" and "respect" you is a bit much, don't you think? I do a lot around here and deserve some time to blow off steam with my friends.

I know what you're thinking: "A lot around here? What exactly does that beautiful and talented cat do around the house?" I'll pretend I'm not offended you would ask that and answer simply:
  • I save you money on birdseed by keeping the birds away from the bird feeder. The threatening and intimidating glances I shoot their way makes them quake on their little stick legs! And they call me a pussy...
  • I spread my scent all over the furniture and corners of the walls by rubbing my face against things. I notice you don't seem to have time to rub your face against the furniture and someone has to. I've taken on that difficult task and...you're welcome!
  • I clean off the kitchen counters when they are cluttered by flicking empty water bottles, dish towels, and pens onto the floor. No need to thank me.
  • Out of respect for you, I spend a great deal of my day making sure Brach does not sleep in the spots you have designated for me. Because he is socially stunted, he has trouble understanding that in the phrase "I've made this comfortable sleeping spot for you guys," the "you guys" means "Kukka-Maria, empress of the world and owner of my soul." I know it's not his fault, really. You've just really done a poor job raising him--he's just a product of his dysfunctional environment.

Knowing how much I help around the house, why do you feel the need to boss me around? Punishment, punishment, punishment! I can not believe I'm living in such a police state!

My concerns are not limited to you ruling the house with an iron fist. I also take issue with the fact that you think I am stupid! For example, what makes you think that I'm not aware of your nail-clipping agenda? What could possibly give it away? Is it the sudden appearance of clippers? You shouting, "Babies! Time for manicures!" in the most sing-songy version of your voice? How about the fact that I'm in the autumn of my seventh year and I wasn't born yesterday!?

First, you'll call Brach...and he trots right over because, let's face it, while he's lousy with book smarts, the street smarts are lacking. You hold him on your lap and you clip his nails. He doesn't put up much fuss because he has no pride! He sits there and waits patiently until you have finished and released him.

Then you call me. Are you freakin' kidding me? I just sat here and watched you brutalize my brother and you expect me to come trotting over to you with a dumb smile on my face? Get over yourself! Oh, and I love how you try to browbeat me with a stare-down. What. Ev. Er. Stare all you want, woman! I've got a secret, third eyelid that I can use, so I can stare like that for days on end. Bring it, skank!

When I do agree to have my manicure, please have the courtesy to keep the small-talk to yourself. I don't want to hear "You're okay..." and "Almost done..." while I'm trying so desperately to refrain from gouging your leg with my hind claws. If you insist upon chatting me up during the torment that is my manicure, I will start visiting the Vietnamese nail salon down the road. I know for a fact they do better work than you and, quite frankly, it makes me nervous that you aren't licensed.

Speaking of licenses, the Bureau of Nitpicking and Criticism called...it's time for you to renew your permit. If you want to criticize my appearance, just do it. Don't disguise your constructive criticism in a pleasant anecdote about your trip to Chicago. Telling me you thought it was interesting that you saw a dog and cat grooming school on your trip is just plain, passive-aggressive. Message received! Noted! My gray hair is showing and I'm shedding like a decaying degenerate! Pony up some cash for me to get my highlights redone! Be part of the solution, instead of focusing on the problem.

Oh, and one last thing: Shave your legs every once in awhile, okay? You make it difficult and uncomfortable for me to do what I am instinctively compelled to do. It's necessary for me to rub my body, and sometimes my face, against your legs. While you don't seem to be embarrassed or ashamed that your legs are sporting more hair than my entire body, I am embarrassed for you! Newsflash: WINTER IS OVER!

I know...maybe I should put this is a way you will understand! Uh, Mom? When I was in Chicago recently, I saw a store that sold razors. Message received?

Your very patient monarch,
The Empress

Friday, April 21, 2006

Foiled Again!

Crap! Mom called this morning from Chicago. Apparently, she read my post about the party and is pretty pissed off.

When I answered the phone, she was very curt. "Hi, Mommy!" I said.

"Kukka, please put your brother on the phone," she responded.

I've been listening to Brach's side of the conversation and it doesn't look good for me. While my defense was going to be that the entire party was fictional, Brach, the consummate suck-up, has confirmed everything as fact. DIRTY SNITCH!

UGH! I just heard Brach say that he will guard the computer so I can't blog until she gets home. Knowing that rule-follower, he will allow no wiggle room and I won't be blogging for the next 24 hours (or longer, if I get sassy and find I can not hold my tongue).

Who made this woman the boss of me? Last I checked celebrities were not treated in this heinous manner!

I need my own place...

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Looking Luscious



When the cat's away, the mice...WAIT! You know what I mean!

Mom went to out of town again. That is twice in the last month! Suddenly, I'm curious as to what she could possibly consider more important than tending to my every need. In fact, I've noticed she leaves the house every day for at least 8 hours! What is going on with this woman?

I'll let Brach, the super-sleuth, launch his independent investigation so I can focus on more important things, like how to wreak as much havoc as I possibly can before she comes home.

I know that it's risky to detail last night's debauchery here, since I suspect my mother reads my blog on occasion, but it's too good to keep to myself. I'll tell you this, though: If my mom grounds me from blogging again, you, dear fans, are going down with me! It's your insatiable hunger for the intimate details of my life that drives my blogging initiative. Consider yourself warned!

Here's what Brach and I did last night:

Wednesday, April 19, 2006
5:17 pm: Mom leaves. I watch as she pulls out of the driveway and make a beeline for the bathroom, where I notice she has inadvertently left her hairbrush. To prove my point that it's easy for anyone's hair to get on the furniture, I pick her loose hairs from the brush and scatter them over the chair in the livingroom. Who is shedding now, lady?

6:41 pm: I nap. Do you realize how difficult and exhausting it is to pick hair out of hairbrush without opposable thumbs?

7:53 pm:
I set Mom's alarm clock back one hour and set the alarm for 3:00 am. Oh, this is going to be good...

8:07 pm: I lie on the new, red couch. I stretch and roll back and forth in an attempt to leave as much of my hair on the new couch as I possibly can.

8:31 pm:
Being the rebel I am, I call some friends on my cell phone--before my free night/weekend minutes begin! I invite Mojo (our family canine friend), Stewie (my stalker hedgehog-turned friend) and Sheldon (the door-to-door salescat) over for a get-together. Each of them brings a few friends--some of whom are not housebroken, but I don't worry. After all, isn't carpet quite absorbent?

8:48 pm: Brach hoists me onto his shoulders to get to the food/treat cupboard, so we serve snacks to our party guests.

9:21 pm: My team wins a heated game of charades. I don't want to sound like a snob, but the dogs aren't too good at that game. They always forget you're not allowed to talk, so they always lose their turn because they whine, bark or drool (the drool ban was a rule I implemented at the last minute--just because it's gross).

10:39 pm:
Mojo's cousin, Stevie (who is quite a large dog), gets a little tipsy and playfully, yet a bit aggressively, grabs Stewie (who is a baby, itty-bitty hedgehog) in her mouth and runs around the room begging anyone who will listen to play catch with her. At this point, we realize the party may be getting a little too crazy and we should probably wrap things up.

10:45 pm: The police respond to a noise complaint from the neighbors and knock on our door. Everyone hides in the bedrooms and I open the door. I give them my sweetest and most innocent "Meow...meow...meow." They totally buy it and leave, saying, "How in the world could a sweet and extraordinarily gorgeous cat like that be causing so much noise? I think the neighbors are on drugs!"

11:03 pm: Everyone leaves, claiming our party was the best they have ever attended and I am the most beautiful and charming hostess they have ever encountered. I won't say which part, but I may have exaggerated some of that.

11:20 pm: While Brach plays with some toy mice (he always gets wound up later in the night), I apply Saran Wrap to the top of the toilet bowl so that, when Mom gets home, she'll make quite a mess! I also put Vaseline on the toilet seat--just for added fun. This will teach Mom what it's like for us to have to go to the bathroom in a litterbox that hasn't been scooped in 2 days!

11:58 pm: We go to bed--what a day!


We have a full 24 hours until Mom returns, but to be honest, I think I'm just going to spend the next day sleeping. It takes a lot out of a gal to throw an excellent party about which dogs, cats, and hedgehogs will be talking for years to come.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Sure! I'll Take Two!

I know you all think I have it all together--that I have no real issues in my life. It's time I made a confession: I am a shopaholic.

My passion for shopping started with small items. A cat toy here. A jeweled collar there. All of my initial purchases were easily disguised among my other possessions. Everything was fine until the items were getting more expensive and more elaborate. It's harder to hide an exorbitant credit card bill, six cat condos, a modest fleet of sports cars and a gaggle of tuxedo-clad mice who I rent to wait on me hand and foot (I'd buy them, but isn't that unethical?).

I've been in a 13-step program (the extra step is secret and only offered to celebrities--I've already said too much) to address my shopping addiction for several months and had been experiencing great success.

Until last Saturday.

On Saturday, as I was touching up my fur with my tongue, there was a knock on the sliding glass door. I yelled, "DOOR!" so that Brach, or some of the tuxedo-clad mice, knew to answer it.

Another knock. "WILL SOMEONE GET THE DOOR?" I shouted.

Yet another knock. "AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO LIVES HERE?" I yelled as I approached the door.

There, on the sidewalk, stood a tortoise-shell cat with an agenda and the name "Sheldon."

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Ma'am, are you the lady of the house?" he replied.

"I don't think I'd call myself a 'lady,' but I am the Empress," I replied.

"Ma'am, I am here today to invite you to take advantage of an extraordinary deal! For today only, we are offering you free long distance for your telephone!" Sheldon pitched.

"I use my cell phone, so long distance is included," I responded.

"Well, what about encyclopedias, ma'am? I can hook you up with a fully-partial set of encyclopedias! Today I am offering the most important volumes--C, T & F."

"Why are those most important?" I asked.

"Because you can look up Cats, Treat and Food!" he responded.

I yawned and said, "Uh...I use the internet. Aren't encyclopedias obsolete?"

"Ma'am," Sheldon said as he shuffled through his backpack, "I am sure I have something here that meets your needs."

"Look, I really shouldn't be spending money right now. I still owe my mom $42.38 from the wig debacle."

"HERE WE GO!" exclaimed Sheldon excitedly. "I've got the perfect thing for an Empress!"

I watched intently as his paw emerged from his backpack. In it, he held a diamond collar!

"This collar is a 10-carat, genuinely authentic diamondesque replication of a very valuable collar!" explained Sheldon.

"Holy crap! I'm in!" I exclaimed, reaching for my mother's purse.

"What's going on here?" inquired Brach as he cautiously approached the door.

"I'm buying a diamond collar!" I shouted, rummaging through my mother's purse.

"I'm just about to sell this fine lady a genuinely authentic, diamondesque collar!" replied Sheldon.

"KUKKA--DROP THAT CHECKBOOK! What the heck are you thinking? You can't just buy clothing or accessories from a street vendor--and, if you could, why would you buy a diamondesque collar?" scolded Brach.

"UGH! Quit frock-blocking, Brach!" I hissed.

"If saving you from financial and emotional ruin is considered ruining your fun, then lock me up, because I am guilty as charged!" responded the ultra-responsible, suck-up that is my brother.

I glanced at Sheldon, subtly gestured toward Brach, and whispered, "Come back when the wet blanket is napping."

"Good thing we have your shopaholic sponsor on speed-dial," said Brach, dialing the phone. "Hello, Oprah W.? We've got an issue."

Sheldon left in a huff, disappointed that he did not make a sale. We've seen him a few more times, hanging out at some of the neighbors' houses, trying to sell them items they can not live without. I miss him.

While I think Brach did the right thing by intervening to prevent a sale, I'm still trying to find the number of the tuxedo-clad mice smuggler, from whom I rent my mice, to see if he accepts feline donations. One good deed does not a good brother make!

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

B-Rock is in Da House!

Kukka-Maria is still on restriction from blogging. Oh my gosh! I can hardly keep a straight face when I say that! I have to say that watching her get in trouble the other night was the highlight of my weekend!

With Kukka banned from the computer, I saw a golden opportunity to present some photos from my modeling portfolio.

If I can say so myself, Kukka is not the only star in our family...

Contemplative
I call this one "Contemplative Brach."


Clandestine
And this one is called, "Clandestine."

Monday, April 17, 2006

"No Blogging" for Celebrity Feline Blogger

West Michigan (AP) -- According to her representatives, celebrity feline blogger, Empress Kukka-Maria, has been restricted from blogging for 24 hours.

A source close to the cat--who wishes to remain anonymous--says that the punishment fits the crime. "Kukka sometimes thinks she is a human and, consequently, finds herself in sticky situations. She also has never been someone who honors the boundaries of others; what happened this weekend is yet another example of this. Oh, and she is selfish! Make sure you write that she is extremely selfish!"

Reportedly, it began with a Sunday evening dinner. For her own evening meal, Kukka's mother/agent served up Chicken Alfredo. She decided to watch some television while eating, so she brought her plate to the couch with her.

Within minutes, Kukka-Maria made her move. According to witnesses, Kukka stealthily climbed onto the couch and, for several minutes, seemed to be engrossed in a classic episode of "Saved by the Bell."

"She seemed to be enjoying the 'Jessie's Song' episode--you know the one where Jessie Spano is struggling to juggle the obligations of her singing group and midterms so she turns to caffeine pills? Anyway, Kukka was staring at the TV, so I didn't think anything of setting my plate on my lap--unguarded. I had no clue that watching Jessie's caffeine pill rollercoaster would leave me vulnerable to the eating machine that is my cat," sobbed Kukka's mother.

Witnesses say that during the heated Slater/Jessie stand-off around the dangers of pills, Kukka made her move. With the speed of a cheetah and the grace of a ballerina, the feisty feline buried her face in Chicken Alfredo and began to chow down.

The anonymous source saw the entire thing. "One minute, we were watching Jessie's caffeine break-down and the next, Kukka's face was buried in Mom's...I mean, that lady's dinner, and her butt was high in the air. It was wrong on so many levels!"

Before Kukka could swallow the first bite, her mother pulled the plate away and firmly reprimanded her.

"I said 'NO' in the loudest and most threatening version of my voice," said the blogging cat's mother. "If I were her, I would have jumped off of the couch immediately to avoid dealing with my wrath!"

Witnesses say that, despite everyone's prediction of a "Flight Response," Kukka-Maria did the opposite. She callously stared her mother down with remorseless rage.

"I said 'NO' again and began trying to push her off of the couch. She wouldn't budge! I tried lifting her butt and pushing it forward, but her front paws were firmly planted on the couch, so it just looked like I was lifting and lowering her ass with a forklift! That cat is a stubborn one," recounted the headstrong cat's mother. "Finally, after remembering I am the mother and therefore the boss, I gave her a swat on her butt and lifted her off of the couch, amidst her animated vocal protests."

Knowing how much she enjoys blogging, Kukka's mom knew exactly what punishment would have the greatest impact on her cat. "She expected me to withhold treats for a day or something just as lame. I sure surprised her with the announcement that, due to her choices and disrespectful behavior, she will be grounded from the computer for 24 hours--longer if she continues to have this sassy attitude!"

Dr. Hershal Baumanstein, an expert in feline behavior, offered his own opinion of this situation. "I'm confused. I get that the cat ate the dinner, but I don't understand how restricting her computer use is effective. I'm sorry, but since when can cats use computers? Has this woman been evaluated by a psychiatrist?"

At press-time, Kukka-Maria had not returned our repeated calls for an interview.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

My Conversation with Tom Cruise

I have some interesting news to share!

Tom Cruise called me last night. I know what you're thinking, "But, Kukka, that's not news! Doesn't Tom call you all the time?"

Yes, he does. This time, though, he called to make a special request of me. I had my agent put together the transcript of our conversation for your reading enjoyment:

Thursday, April 13, 2006
8:06pm EST


MOM: "Hello?"

TOM: "Hey there, Foxy Feline! What's going on?"

MOM: "Hi, Tom. This isn't Kukka-Maria--it's her mom. Hang on. I'll get her."

KUKKA: "What's up, Maverick?"

TOM: "Holy Xenu! That was embarrassing! I can't believe I thought your mom was you!"

KUKKA: "No worries, Tom. After all, you've done far more embarrassing things in your life than this!"

TOM: "What are you getting at?"

KUKKA: "Nothing. So, what's going on?"

TOM: "Well, we at TomKat are missing you something fierce, Empress!"

KUKKA: "Right. Tell me something I don't know! Wait. You just did. When did you start referring to yourselves as 'TomKat?' I thought the media gave you that name."

TOM: "It's funny you ask. Actually, Kate and I were the ones who came up with the clever moniker! One night, on our way home from the Scientology Celebrity Centre, we were overcome with how freakin' adorable we were! It was staggering! To celebrate our cuteness, we started calling ourselves 'TomKat.' It just sucks that the media has tainted our precious nickname by using it to criticize us."

KUKKA: "I know, Tom. There is nothing more precious than non-publicity-seeking, true love."

BRACH: (Dialing phone from another extension) BEEP-BOOP-BOOP-BEEP-BOOP...

KUKKA: "HELLO! Brach, I'm on the phone!"

BRACH: "Kukka, I need the phone."

KUKKA: "Well, I'm on it right now. Deal with it."

BRACH: "Seriously, Kukka! I need the phone! I'm trying to solidify my weekend plans."

KUKKA: "MOM! BRACH IS TRYING TO BE THE BOSS OF ME!!"

BRACH: (Hanging up the phone) "Whatever..."

KUKKA: "Sorry about that, Tom. Where were we?"

TOM: "Kukka, actually Kate and I have a huge favor to ask of you."

KUKKA: "Talk to me."

TOM: "Kate and I would be honored if you would agree to be the Xenu Matriarch for our pending genetic descendent."

KUKKA: "You want me to be the god mother to your new baby?"

TOM: "Affirmative!"

KUKKA: "I'll have to give it careful consideration, Tom..."

TOM: "I feel the need...the need for speed!"

KUKKA: "I'm sorry, but I will not be rushed into a decision, Tom. That is, unless you SHOW ME THE MONEY!"

TOM: "Quoting my movies is lame, Kukka."

KUKKA: (Covering the phone receiver) "Unless you're TOM FREAKIN' CRUISE and jumping on Oprah's couch, then I guess it's okay, huh?"

TOM: "What was that, Kukka-Maria?"

KUKKA: "Nothing. Listen, Tom...I've thought about it enough. I don't think it's the right thing for me to do right now. We've been friends a long time, Mav, and I treasure our relationship; however, lately it seems you've been riding the crazy train at full-throttle and I hesitate to align myself with you publicly."

TOM: "Is that why you often mention your past love affair with Brad Pitt on your blog, but never speak about our engagement?"

KUKKA: "Tom, are you telling me you read my blog?"

TOM: "I've googled your name once or twice..."

KUKKA: "That means a lot to me, but I'm still not going to be the Xenu Matriarch. Aside from your unpredictably bizarre behavior, the whole idea of Scientology creeps me out. I've never fully recovered from the Operating Thetan Level VIII ritual out at sea when John Travolta got a little handsy with me. I'm still a ginormous Tom Cruise fan and I value our private friendship, but my career is skyrocketing right now and I feel that taking on the role of TomKat family Xenu Matriarch, is the last thing I should be doing right now. I hope you understand my position, Tommy."

TOM: (Sobbing) "Goose you big stud, take me to bed or lose me forever!"

KUKKA: "Tom, that didn't even make sense! And it wasn't even your line!"

TOM: "I know."

KUKKA: "Listen, Tom. Brach is giving me dirty looks because he needs to use the phone, and, quite honestly, this whole conversation of ours has gotten a little weird."

TOM: "Okay..."

KUKKA: "Are you going to be alright?"

TOM: "I. Guess. So."

KUKKA: "Tom, there's one other thing you should know about me. I take Xanax, Valium, Lithium and a Prozac/Zoloft cocktail every day. Cocktail...get it? Like your movie, Cocktail?"

TOM: "Oh, shit..."

KUKKA: "Listen, I'll talk to you later, Tom. Give my love to Katie."

TOM: (Sobbing and sniffling) "Ok. Bye, Kukka-Maria."

KUKKA: (Hanging up the phone) "PHONE'S FREE, BRACH! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!"

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Knitting, Schmitting!

To avoid emulation by my young and impressionable fans, my publicist feels "bullying my brother" needs to be removed from my hobbies list and replaced with a more "productive" activity. In an attempt to become well-rounded (I'll thank you to not make a fat joke at this point), I thought I would take up knitting.

My technique needs some work, but I'm a huge fan of having the needle rubbed against my face.





And my neck...




And, because Mom won't let me actually eat the yarn, I thoroughly enjoy drenching it with my saliva to completely gross her out!





I have to admit, knitting is sort of fun, but not as fun as bullying my brother!

I can't tell you what I'm making because, quite honestly, I prefer lying on the pattern book over actually following a pattern. I predict, though, with dedication and a solid investment of time into having my face and neck rubbed with the sticks, some sort of knitted delight will come out of it!

Monday, April 10, 2006

Meredith Vieira out!
Kukka-Maria in?

Meredith

I know, I know...I've heard all of the rumors, too. Let me be the first to tell you, I am not in the running to replace Meredith Vieira on The View.

It all started many weeks ago when the Katie Couric/CBS Evening News rumors began. First, I had tabloid journalists contacting me at all hours of the day to find out if I was going to replace Katie. Uh...no. Don't they realize how early I would have to get up in order to be on The Today Show? Alarm clocks + Kukka-Maria = MAYHEM.

After I nixed those rumors, it was announced that Meredith Vieira would be taking over Katie's spot and leaving her chair vacant on The View. The phone started ringing again. This time, though, the calls weren't from the tabloids. They were from Barbara Walters! Barbara has been phoning our house 8-10 times per day over the last week. During the typical call, she cries, pleads and begs me to consider joining them at the table.

At first, my responses to her tear-soaked pleas were polite and respectful. After awhile, though, I found I had to be more direct and curt: "Barbara...seriously! Have some self-respect, woman! Shameless begging doesn't suit a woman of your stature--or age!"

To help my fans (and Ms. Walters...because I know you're reading this, Barbara!) understand my position, I am going to take the opportunity to offer up the reasons I am refusing to join The View team:

  • Even I would feel guilty making Elisabeth Hasselbeck cry when I dethrone her by taking her title as "The Young and Cute One!"
  • ABC sponsors fear the PETA letter-writing campaign against me wearing a fur coat on television will cause an outbreak of product boycotts. Like we couldn't stand to sell less diapers, tampons, cleaning products and diet pills?
  • I can only pretend Joy Behar's jokes are funny for so many hours on end before it's clear I'm faking.
  • ABC seems to think that hiring a "cat" means they can save some money! You can't pay me in cat treats, ABC. It's all about the Benjamins!
  • Simply stated: Star Jones Reynolds' Doritos/Slim-Fast breath.
  • It's hard enough keeping my name out of the tabloids, I don't need the stress of being romantically linked to every sexy, male guest!
  • It would drive me insane to hear the incessant whine of Barbara Walters complaining that the reflection of the lights off my tiara creates dark circles under her eyes on camera!
  • Being on The View might compromise my reputation as a "serious journalist."
  • The racists at ABC refuse to stock "Tabby Tint" striped make-up back stage for their feline employees! "Suntan" and "Nude" just won't cut it with my complexion.
  • Connie Chung, who is another woman being considered to place Meredith, is one crazy bitch! Where I come from, not pissing off Connie Chung is a good life rule.
  • They expect me to sit in a chair instead of a jeweled throne!
  • I don't have room in my trophy case for another Daytime Emmy.
  • Star Jones Reynolds was unbearable before--can you imagine how intolerable she is now that her boobs have been lifted? I just threw up a little bit in my mouth...
  • The crew and their crass feline slurs. "Here, Pussy!" coupled with the pre-pubescent tittering of grown camera men is appalling!
  • ABC considers spreading a red carpet everywhere I walk "excessive." Whatever...
  • I refuse to kiss Barbara Walters' ring before every episode and her ass during every episode.

As you can see, I had a lot of things to consider. I know, dear fans, how disappointing it must be that I am refusing this opportunity, but I'm hoping you will see the decision to refuse Barbara was clear.

Now, Ms. Barbara Walters, stop calling my house or I'll change my phone number!

Friday, April 07, 2006

Memory Madness

Ugh! I'm so glad March Madness is over! During this time, it's hard for me to avoid all-things-basketball (even though my mom never watches and I'm not allowed to put any money on the games...anymore).

The game of basketball brings nothing but grief and a flood of bad memories! While one particular debacle in my past was not tied to college basketball, the thumping of the ball against the boards is enough to put me back to that time and place--where everything went crazy in the name of Kukka.

Many of you may remember the bru-ha-ha at the Pacers/Pistons game back on November 19, 2004. Come on..."The Malice at the Palace?" "The Throw-down in Motown?" You know the game, but did you know it was started over me?

The official word was that when Detroit's Ben Wallace went up for a "layover" (or whatever it is called), Indiana's Ron Artest laid some fierce foulage on him from behind. Wallace, a bit perturbed at Artest's defense strategy, shoved Artest in the face, bringing the team members from both benches out on the courts--fists a-flyin'.

When it seemed that things were simmering down, Artest was then struck by a full cup of urine.* Drenched and peeved, Artest and Pacer's team-mate Stephen Jackson leapt into the stands and began serving up knuckle sandwiches. Damn Hoosiers!

* (Editor's note: The contents of the cup were unidentified. Any implication that the cup contained human waste is Kukka exaggerating to generate drama.)

Riiiiiight...a disagreement over a basketball game and a little cup o' bodily fluid brought the crowd to fisticuffs? I think not.

The following is an excerpt from my diary, dated November 19, 2004. While most of the public will remember the ruckus as a "foul gone bad," it will forever live in my memory as "the night my man-juggling got a little out of control." Perhaps this can answer some questions:

Dear Diary,

Tonight was pretty uneventful. I had dinner with Ben Wallace before his basketball game tonight. He is so cute! In an unrelated story, my boyfriend from Indiana, Ron Artest, is in town--something to do with his job. I think we're going to try to connect for drinks later. They are both so yummy--and they are both obsessed with little ol' me! Hurray!

Let's get to the important stuff, dear diary. My hair looked incredible today. I don't know if it was my blonde highlights or the new hairspray (which makes my fur taste terribly, by the way), but I looked H...O...T...HOT! Everyone thought so, too. They were all, "You look so hot, Kukka!" And I was like, "I know, huh?" And they were all, "How do you get your hair so bouncy and shiny?" And I was like, "Um...it's, like, my secret. I would tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" And they laughed like I was joking. But I wasn't.

Anyway, I think things are getting serious between Ben and me...and Ron and me. Juggling men in two different states could be considered a challenge by a lesser-woman, but for me, it's all in a day's work. I think it would be incredibly awkward if Ben and Ron were to find out about one another. Ben would be all, "Kukka, who is this other dude?" And I would be like, "There is no one else but you, baby!" Then Ron would be all, "No one else? Baby?! What the hell, Kukka?! I'm standing right here and can hear everything you're saying!" And I would be like, "Oh...Ron! Hey everyone, look! My halter top just fell off!" Problem solved.

UGH! Brach is such a PEST! He thought it would be funny to hide around a corner and attack me when I came into the living room. I hope I can get enough signatures on my petition to remove him from our home permanently. Right now, I'm the only one who has signed it, but I'm working on Mom and I think with just a little more convincing, she'll sign.

Well, dear diary, I have to go. Ron should be picking me up when his "business obligation" is finished. I hope he doesn't get mad when I don't put out again tonight. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: "I'm not a slut...I'm a tease!"

Love,
Kukka-Ma-frickin'-ria

P.S. Do you like my new nickname, dear diary? I think it's the shiz-nit! Fo' sheezy!


As you can see, trouble was a-brewing. Until Ron stood me up that night (because of his arrest and subsequent arraignment), I didn't realize they both played basketball and that it was only as Ben was trying to score on the Pacers, that he found out Ron was trying to score on his foxy lady.

Oops!

I guess that's when I learned the best way to juggle your men is to put it out there in the open. William, Moose and Buddy all know about one another and so far, no problems! And, as a bonus, I don't think any of them play basketball, so it's all good.

Oh, before I forget: If you want to sign the petition to evict Brach, I am still taking signatures.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Open Letter to my Agent, Vol 3

Dear Buzz-Killer,

It's spring-time again, and I'm stuck at home. It baffles me that you feel it's "inappropriate" for me to head to the tropics for Spring Break! I am young! I am an exuberant and vivacious feline! I deserve the opportunity to wave my freak flag like the rest of Young America!

Kukka MugshotOk, I know you have taken issue with how I've handled myself in Spring Break situations of the past, but I'm mature now! You can't hold me accountable for youthful mistakes for the rest of my life. It's not fair! The fact that I've been arrested for public urination twice in Cancun is a matter of public record. I'm not denying it! For the record, though, I don't agree that I was breaking the law. I'm sorry, but isn't the beach a huge litterbox?

I get that my behavior has embarrassed you, I just don't want you to overlook the amazingly wonderful and generous other things I've accomplished on Spring Break vacations in the past:
  • I've served jello shots to the poor and destitute!
  • I've danced with science geeks, in my bikini, amid a pool of bubbles at SeƱor Frogs! SCIENCE GEEKS! Do you realize how harmful that can be for my reputation?
  • At the beach, I've helped little, old ladies with their bikini tops (taking them off and putting them back on)!
  • I've filled beer bongs for the homeless!
  • I've helped steady drunken and uncoordinated co-eds as they drink upside-down margaritas!

Who is going to spray the rambunctious crowd down with water this year? And what about my wet t-shirt contest title? How am I supposed to defend that from my Michigan home?

UGH! Why must you be the one who controls my social calendar?! You realize that you are risking my reputations as a socialite, right? How I am supposed to fulfill my charitable and social obligations when I'm not even allowed in my own freaking back yard?

I'm off to accomplish the highlight of my spring break this year: a nap. I hope you're happy! Thanks to you, squillions of Spring Breakers will spend most of their vacation looking for me, instead of getting drunk and naked!

Sober and disgusted,
The Empress

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

POINT/COUNTER-POINT:
Laser Pointer Mayhem

CHASING, CHASING, CHASING...
by Brach

Holy crap...I love the laser pointer so much, I can't even stand it! While I'm still not clear how it works, I do know that my heart starts racing, along with my feet, when I see the glowing, red dot race across the carpet.

I don't know laser's origin and, though I've tried running studies to link its arrival to certain times of day/night and weather patterns, I've never been able to predict its comings or goings. What I do know for sure is that when it shows up, it runs from one end of the house to the other without so much as a minute break! I pant and pant from the strenuous work-out, but once those endorphins kick in, I can pretty much chase the blazing beam for hours.

The red dot taunts me. "Brach...can you catch me?" it will ask.

"I sure as hell can!" I reply. "Get ready to be Brach-o-lized!"

That magical, little light eludes me every time. Even when it stops and I pounce, I somehow come up empty-pawed. I am confident, though, that with practice, I will hold the dot in my paw one day.

Yes, I will have you one day, laser beam!

There is nothing quite as satisfying as chasing the...WHOA! There it goes! Got. To. Chase. Now.



I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO
by Kukka-Maria

Yeah, chasing a red dot around the floor is not my idea of a good time. Don't you think I have better things to do than to salivate and gallop after a glowing red circle? Uh...yep.

First off, while Brach (the brainiac) hasn't yet figured out where the laser comes from, I have. I watch Mom sit on the couch, chuckling to herself as Brach mindlessly chases the laser. She will wave her arm around, steering the beam across the floor, over the couch, up the wall and across the ceiling--all in the name of "fun." Wise up, Brach! She is trying to make a fool of you!

Second, I can successfully predict when the laser pointer will be brought out. Hearing Mom tell someone that Brach and I are "getting pudgy" and that we "need exercise" is a dead give-away. Another solid indicator is when we beg for attention and she is too lazy to get down on the floor and play with us. Apparently, she thinks that the lazy-woman's-toy is an adequate substitution for love (how's that for emotional manipulation?).

Yes, I've been known to trot after the laser from time to time, but it's only when Brach gets tired and I feel sorry for my mom as she sits, waving the laser around without anyone chasing it. Someone has to stroke her fragile ego! Rest assured, though, on those rare occasions when I chase the beam, I'm always dainty and graceful in my pursuit--unlike Brach who sounds like he is tearing up the floor-boards with his clumsy hunt.

In conclusion, I feel laser pointers are an insult to the feline intellect. Do you want to keep me entertained? Give me the latest copy of Vogue! Let me watch as you polish my tiara! Rub my belly as I lie on a diamond-encrusted pillow! Pleasing me is not that hard...just keep the laser pointer in the drawer, thankyouverymuch.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Stewie Hearts Kukka-Maria, Likes Pizza

This weekend was incredible! My mom agent went out of town, leaving Brach and I with the house completely to ourselves! We took full advantage of the freedom.

After breaking into the treat cupboard and raiding the premium catnip stash, Brach and I spent hours buying Pay-per-View features on TV. My favorite was "Wrestlemania 22," while Brach preferred features off of the Spice Network. I guess it's because he is a huge paprika fan. The television kept making this "Cha-Ching" sound every time we would buy a program. I'm not sure what it was, exactly, but because we were stoned on the nip, it made a giggle a bit.

Right in the middle of Wrestlemania's "Money in the Bank Ladder Match," we heard a knock at the door and a small voice shout, "Pizza delivery!"

We hadn't ordered pizza...yet.

Curious, yet a bit afraid, Brach and I cautiously approached the door. "We didn't order any pizza," I shouted.

"Catnip delivery!" yelled the voice.

"What are you talking about?" I responded.

"I have a diamond tiara for you," replied the voice. A diamond tiara! Holy crap! I couldn't get the door open fast enough!

StewieThrough the screen door, I saw a small hedgehog, looking at me pensively. "Excuse me," I said, "Where is the tiara?"

"I have no bling, Kukka-Maria! It's just me, Stewie, coming to hang wit cha!"

It was my stalker! "Stewie!" I exclaimed in my best and most dramatic soap opera whisper. "What are you doing here? Haven't you read the restraining order?"

"You're my boo, Kukka! Let me in...I just want to lay some prickly kisses on you!" he bellowed, shaking his tiny fists in the air.

"Well, then, come on in. We're about ready to order pizza," I responded, opening the door.

Over a pepperoni, pineapple and black olive pizza, we listened as Stewie told us his sad tale. Because of his sharp quills, he has spent his lonely life trying to get close to others, while enduring constant rejection. "I can get no love, baby!"

"Well, Stewie," I said, "I will consider you a friend if you can tone down the affection a bit. Some of the notes you sent scared me a bit."

"Right on, Kukkizzy-Marizzy. I am picking up what you're throwing down!"

"That's not to say I don't love your 'I Y Kukka' tattoo..." I coyly confessed.

"Word."

We watched the rest of Wrestlemania and fell asleep, spooning, on the couch. Despite experiencing the business-end of his quills due to his incessant desire to snuggle with me, I am pleased to have yet another friend--who worships me.

While Brach likes Stewie well enough, he says he is still going to be sleeping with one eye open--not because he wants to protect me, but because he thinks he might be allergic to hedgehog dander.

I know you are wondering...yes, Mom was pissed when she saw the pizza boxes, ripped treat bags, and damage to the couch from Stewie's quills.

I can't wait until she gets the cable bill...