Friday, June 29, 2007

Fade to Black

The Empress is retiring, but her greatest works are not! If you're looking for a Kukka-Fix, check out this collection of some of her greatest posts--based, of course, on fan feedback and a poll in USA Today.

I've started this post a squillion* times. What began as an "Open Letter to my Readers" became a heart-felt note from My Agent. After watching her hide her face as she gingerly wiped away tears, however, I had to ask her to step away from the laptop and allow me to use one of my favorite formats to close the show: The List.

So, dear readers, allow me to present my final list:

22 Things I've Learned From Blogging.

  1. Your self-esteem is not tied to the number of visitors you get each day or the amount of comments you receive.

  2. People want affirmation; people want to be appreciated. Even you!

  3. Holding the title of "Mother Superior of the Holy Order of Ocean Whitefish" in the Feline Theocracy gets you kick-ass seating at restaurants! (Sorry, Bono. I get better seating as Mother Superior than I do as your personal guest!)

  4. Photo-editing is FUN!

  5. No one seems to mind that you have multiple boyfriends...AND a husband! (My Agent is pretty stoked about this one, too. She says it gives her hope.)

  6. No matter how many times you mention Brad Pitt, he never seems to find the time to throw you an email, thanking you for the good press.

  7. Swearing makes you giggle.

  8. Writing anonymously, through the voice of a cat, affords you a shitload of wiggle room when it comes to decency.

  9. When you laugh out loud at your own jokes and re-read your own posts because you think they are the funniest things you ever read? Life is good.

  10. After awhile, your friends will stop rolling their eyes when you talk endlessly about your blog and will just ignore you and/or swiftly change the subject.

  11. No matter how dis-similar to a typical "cat blog" you try to be, you will always be "just a cat." Oh, and the more you try to justify how not like a cat blog you are to people you meet, the deeper into the hole you will slide.

  12. Maintaining a high-profile, celebrity romance (whether human or feline) is HARD! Sometimes you just need to cuddle and tune out the negative tabloid press.

  13. When you repeatedly use phrases like "super-sexy," "squillions," and "multiple-nipples" in your writing, you are bound to let them bleed into your daily verbal encounters. Great fun!

  14. It's hard to write fresh, exciting and fun essays 5 days, each week. Sometimes you can't hit the mark--and that's okay.

  15. Blogging should be fun. When it stresses you out? Let it go! When you meet "odd" (to be kind) people who piss you off? Let them go! When you're too sick to go to work, but spend your day feeling guilty because you didn't post? GET A LIFE!

  16. Choosing NOT to participate is okay. You don't have to join into every meme or contest. If you're worried about people getting offended, refer to #15.

  17. Picking your nose with sharp claws is difficult and requires your full attention. Trying to Tivo your own appearance on The View, while mining for booger-nuggets, can lead to incredible blood loss. This has little to do with blogging, but an important life-lesson I felt compelled to share.

  18. If ever you need an evil villain for your creative writing, Oprah is an easy mark. The shit practically writes itself! Star Jones-Reynolds works, too.

  19. It's true! When you constantly call yourself "super-sexy," soon others will refer to you as such! I think they call it: Suggestive Selling. "Do you want an order of super-sexy with that diva-esque attitude?"

  20. It's far more valuable to find a few individuals who appreciate your humor, than court an entire group of people for whom you need to water-down your writing to gain readership.

  21. No matter how cool you think they are, you are probably the only person walking around wearing items from the Kukka Couture Collection. Well, there are probably a few others...who received Kukka-wear as gifts or prizes in a blog contest.
    UPDATE: I have officially closed my store. DON'T CRY! Seriously...if you cry, then I'll cry! If you have your heart set on obtaining any Kukka Couture, you can email me and I will do a custom order. That's how I roll.

  22. Even though you retire from blogging to do new and exciting things, you are going to miss far more than you are missed.

To those of you who have stuck with me through all the celebrity feuds and drunken, red carpet throw-downs...thank you. I would love to say that writing this blog has been only for me, but I can't lie: The feedback is intoxicating and, aside from the constant paparazzi presence outside my window, I'm going to be very lonely without the attention.

To those of you for whom this post is your first taste of Kukka...go eff the ess out of your gee dee self! Where have you been for the last two years? Now, know I'm kidding (sort of). I dare you to read through the archives and NOT become a rabid fan. At least check out this comprehensive list.

It's tough to close this post. It's not so much an emotional hurdle; it's because I know, as soon as I post the entry, I'm going to have more to add.

Fact: I will always have more to add! But, at my Agent tells me, "Just because you have more to say, doesn't necessarily mean you should say it."


* I have to give a last shout-out to my very first Tomcat Stable member, Squilliam (William of Mass Destruction) for inventing my second-favorite word of all times: SQUILLION. My first favorite word: KUKKA.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

The Tamponator 3000 Can be Yours!

Do you suffer from Arthritis?

Do you feel your tampon organizational skills are lacking?

Are you missing one or more of your fingers?

Are you just too lazy to open your own tampons?

If you answered "yes" to any or all of those questions, I have a solution for you:

The Tamponator 3000!

"I can't tell you how many times I have woken up in the middle of the night, during my menstrual cycle, and had the urge to address my tampon needs. I sit in the dark bathroom--for hours, struggling to remove the tampons from their confusing and troublesome wrappers! HOW FRUSTRATING!"


The Tamponator 3000 is 12 lbs of brawn, sass, style and attitude. She will open tampons with record speed! With her pristinely-manicured claws and bitchy disposition, The Tamponator 3000 will own and destroy every tampon in your home. Remember: You pay for the "own" and you get the "destroy" FOR FREE!

"It's a guarantee I'll have the need for a tampon every 28 days, or so. The problem is that I just don't have the time, nor energy to determine the best tampon from the multi-pack. Should I use Light, Regulars, or Supers? I can't be bothered with these kinds of ridiculous decisions!"


While The Tamponator 3000 can and will not be responsible for predicting the level of your flow nor prescribing the appropriate tampon (truthfully, The Tamponator 3000 can not afford the liability insurance), she can and will make it easy for you to decide. By spreading a wide variety of tampons on the bathroom floor, she will make it possible for you, with one glance, to choose the tampon that is right for you! It's that simple!

"It seems that every time I'm in the bathroom during the week Aunt Flo visits, I can never find a tampon! Can The Tamponator 3000 address my needs?"


With agility matched only by that of a heavily-sedated mountain lion, The Tamponator 3000 can remove wrapped tampons from their box and litter them around the house. For your convenience, every step you take will be on top of a strategically-placed tampon.

Can't find a 'pon? No worries! There is one waiting for you, merely two feet away...

I know what you're asking:

"Is the Tamponator 3000 super-sexy?"
HELL, YES! The Tamponator 3000 not only trumps the sexiness of traditional tampon openers, she dominates The Tamponators 2000 and 2000 ½ on both the Sexy and Foxy scales. Let's be honest: YOU wish you could be as super-sexy as The Tamponator 3000!

But you can't.

"Does The Tamponator 3000 require much maintenance?"
HELL, NO! Well, wait. Yes. You have to make sure she has a mountain of kibble in her bowl, fresh water, a clean litterbox and keep her Love Tank filled with an endless barrage of ear scritches and belly rubs. What you do with the remaining 3.72 hours of the day is up to you!

"I've seen OTHER tampon openers advertised on TV. What makes The Tamponator 3000 something special?"
Some of our competitors will tell you that robotic tampon openers are the way of the future because they don't require food and don't shit in a litterbox. While, technically, those things are true, 98% of robotic tampon openers run on gas engines. A household with a mechanized tampon-opener, a fertile mother and six menstruating daughters could do more damage to the earth's atmosphere in one month than an entire year of gaseous side-effects from Empress Kukka-Maria sneaking refried beans! Yes, mechanical tampon openers are "cool" and "awesome," but shouldn't you be thinking of the tampon-opening needs of your children and your children's children and your children's children's children? What good is a tampon-opening robot in an uninhabitable world, drained of all our natural resources?

And do I even have to mention the threat of a robot coup d'├ętat?

"I'm a perimenopausal broad. If I buy a Tamponator 3000 and, within a few months, find I'm no longer bleeding from my business, can I get a full refund?"
While The Tamponator 3000 has mad-skillz in the art of feminine hygiene, that's not all she offers! She is very cuddly, frightfully friendly, slightly needy, a bit forceful and demanding, a tad fussy, a smidge arrogant and farts in your bed. The Tamponator 3000 will be your best friend long after your ovaries shrivel up like raisins and fall out of your cooch!

If you're a woman who has a vagina and a host of internal lady parts that, every month,'s just put it this way: If you're a woman who experiences "the wonderment of womanhood" every month, YOU NEED THE TAMPONATOR 3000!


For you husbands, live-in-lovaaaaaaahs, extra-marital affairs and baby-daddies out there, show her you care by giving a Tamponator 3000. It's the best way to say, "Honey, I know menstrual maintenance can be a chore. This tampon-obsessed cat will help you save your precious hands for more important things, like folding my laundry, making my effing dinner and keeping your paws off the remote control! Happy/Merry [INSERT OCCASION HERE]!"

The Tamponator 3000 can be found at several fine establishments near you, like: Pussy Palace, Menses Mega-Mall, Ovarian Outlets, The Tampon Barn, AND MORE!

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Ouch? Um...You Better Believe It!

I somehow acquired a scratch on my nose this weekend. While some immediately suspected Brach (my sometimes abusive husband), it wasn't him.

I'm not saying it happened, but we did learn this last week that Kristy Swanson (of Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie and FOX's Skating with Celebrities fame) has quite a violent streak. I'm not saying she slashed me with an ice skate because I didn't know who the hell she was. And I can neither confirm nor deny that she said, "I'm Kristy Mother-Humping Swanson, bitch! Feel the wrath of my ice skate!" I've also been advised by my legal counsel (my crack-team of feral alley cat attorneys) not to comment whether or not I got in a few licks of my own. And I ain't talking the scratchy tongue variety...

Believe me, it was a full-on bru-ha-ha!

IF it happened.

For now, let's not spend our time or invest our energy into figuring out how the scratch on my pretty pink nose happened. Let's just worry about feeling sorry for me.

Monday, June 25, 2007

19 Signs Your Celebrity Feline Blogger Doesn't Want to Write Anymore

I can't tell you how many times I've been asked, " can I tell if my cat doesn't want to blog or if she is just an ungrateful bitch?"

Very easily.

I've done my research and have interviewed squillions upon squillions of humans who "own" blogging cats. And by "squillions upon squillions of humans," I mean I spoke with my Agent who, curiously, said she has had a lot of experience with an ungrateful bitch of a cat who never wants to blog.


If your cat identifies with any of the following symptoms, you may have a disgruntled blogger on your hands. Or, in all fairness, an ungrateful, disgruntled, bitch of a blogger.

  1. She throws herself into a crazed tantrum--on her back, kicking and howling at the sound of Windows booting up.

  2. The rolling of her eyes when you say, "Now there's a great blogging topic!"

  3. The laptop power cord mysteriously disappears (and is later found, buried in the litterbox).

  4. Sudden and mysterious paw paralysis.

  5. She stops answering to her in, "Kukka-Maria, get your furry little ass in here and write!" (Note: Mysteriously, there seems to be no identity crisis when being called for treats.)

  6. She does nothing but sit in her pajamas and watch marathons of VH1's "Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School" and "Celebrity Fit Club."

  7. Hysterical blindness.

  8. She bites into a huge bag of food, pumps her paws in the air and shouts, "I just won the mother-humpin' lottery...I QUIT THE BLOG!" [Editor's Note: Please tell me the irony of this food being "Weight Control" is not lost on you...]

  9. You find a suspicious puddle of cat piss next to the computer and a note: "There's more where this came from. Signed, Kukk...Anonymous."

  10. She claims she has "way too much to do today to blog." But, in this case, "too much to do" must include merely pacing around the house, napping, watching birds outside the window, and bullying her feline husband. Pretty rigorous schedule, indeed!

  11. She stages a hunger strike that last all of 3.27 minutes.

  12. She spends most of her day listening to non-existent voicemail messages on her cell phone, holding up one claw and mouthing, "Hang on a moment, please. I can't blog right this second...I need to get back to these people."

  13. US Weekly calls, repeatedly, to get the scoop on "...the blogging cat who is being hospitalized with exhaustion and can't write a thing in her delicate state..."

  14. She suddenly has morning sickness from a phantom pregnancy (that, based on the veterinarian receipt, is impossible).

  15. After years of denying her feline obesity, she suddenly claims her "floppy belly" impedes her ability to type on the laptop.

  16. She goes on a three-day drunk and you see her, plastered on covers of the tabloids, exposing her non-pantied crotch, flashing her multiple nipples and a brand-new tattoo that reads, "Blogging Bites!"

  17. Passive-aggressive pooping.

  18. She suddenly claims she neither reads nor writes English.

  19. Unlike George W. Bush, she recognizes that to keep up this bullshit longer than necessary is not just's downright ridiculous.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

"Dear Kukka...", Volume XVIII

With the announcement of my blogging retirement, the mail is arriving in record numbers. As usual, I contracted the actual reading of the mail to my Agent, as I really don't have time to be bothered with most of the letters. While I adore you, dear fans, some of your banal inquiries put me to sleep. And not a peaceful sleep; I am wrought with substandard postal nightmares.

No offense.

With this final installment of "Dear Kukka..." (you can see the previous seventeen installments here), I find I'm answering many questions about being a cat.


Again, no offense to those whose letters my Agent chose.

I realize people are fascinated with felines--me, in particular, so I am willing to shed some light on many questions that stump you about my species. I hope my scientific jargon and insight doesn't confuse or bore you. I can't help that I am super-smart, in addition to being super-foxy.

It's my cross to bear.

Without further ado...let's open some mail!

Q: Is English your first language, Empress? You are very articulate and I am always impressed with your grasp of the English language.

A: You are impressed? Duh!! And why wouldn't you be? English is, in fact, my second language. The first six weeks of my life, I spoke Meow. After moving in with my Agent, I secretly learned English. She would speak it freely and, through immersion, I was able to pick up words and phrases here and there. Some of the first expressions I learned were, "Do you want treats?" and "Knock it off, you miserable, little cat!" Slowly, but surely, I became fluent without my Agent's knowledge. It wasn't until she came upon my blog (damn internet browser history and cookies) that she discovered I knew more than she thought. I actually speak several languages including, but not limited to: Spanish, French, Italian, Greek, Hindi (love my Bollywood musicals), Arabic (I was Ambassador to Morocco for 6-months during 2001. Let's just say I'm not allowed back in their country) and Dzongkha (from a crazy, drunken Peace Corps stint in Bhutan).
The only languages I do not speak are Canadian English and Catspeak. Not knowing Canadian English has cost me an appearance at the Oscars when I couldn't read the instructions on the cheap, but illegal prescription drugs I had smuggled out of Canada. Not knowing Catspeak makes it difficult to understand many of the cat blogs out there. I'm too busy teaching Dzongkha to Brach to concern myself with words like BROFUR, SISFUR, PURRTHDAY, etc. Some dialects are so confusing it takes me 10 minutes to read a one-paragraph post. So I just don't visit. Sorry.

Q: Kukka, why do cats bury their turds?

A: Would you want your turds sitting precariously on the surface of a mound of clay in front of God and everyone? What a stupid question!

Q: Kukka-Maria, you often suggest part of your extreme super-sexiness can be attributed to your vertical pupils. Why do cats have them and why are yours so special?

A: Thank you for recognizing how awesomely awesome my vertical pupils are (or, at least acknowledging I think they are...). It is well-documented that cats have vertical pupils to see things at actual size. Because our eyeballs are relatively tiny, if we were to sport those little, round pupils humans have, things would look significantly smaller. 1:9, to be exact. With that miniature scale, our kibble would be virtually invisible and our litterboxes so small, we would consistently miss and, in our frustration, resist using the box altogether. Even my bank account would appear to have less money than it does! And I'm not having that! [Editor's note: Her bank account doesn't have as much cash in it as she believes, since she is often paid in belly rubs and ear scritches.] As for why mine are so special? Give me a break! Take a look at those eyes! Question, answered.

Q: Her Holiness, were you born super-sexy or is it a skill you acquired? I am considering becoming super-sexy (I'm only moderately-sexy at this point), so I'm hoping you might have some advice for me.

A: My advice: Give it up. It's not going to happen. Super-sexiness is a genetic thing. You either have it, or you don't. My birth-mother was super-sexy. HER mother was super-sexy. My great-grandmother was only tolerably-sexy, but that was because she had freakishly-grotesque bald spots in her fur and a lazy eye (her mother drank and used catnip when she was expecting that litter). While every day I become super-sexier and am about ready to make the leap to sensationally-sexy, there is nothing I do to make it so. It just is. Despite the shame that accompanies your dismal level of sexiness, keep your chin up. Maybe there are other attributes on which you can focus. Like, let's you put out? There is little shame in being a slut! Or so I'm told...

Q: Empress, how is it that you have dated human celebrities and received no backlash in the tabloids regarding the bestiality angle?

A: Before I address this, I want to welcome all the pervs Googling "bestiality!" And a hearty WELCOME BACK to the many who have visited before when your "animal porn" search pointed you to my tongue-in-cheek, post called "Pet Porn--An Investigative Report." (You sick fucks.)
Having dated Brad Pitt for a year and a half which, in cat years is like twenty, Hollywood got used to our pairing. Did we get uncomfortable stares when we went to Pet Smart in the beginning of our relationship? Absolutely! In hindsight, though, I think that was more about our super-sexy auras than our inter-species pairing. It was clear to all that our love was strong and pure. Before Brad, I dated George Clooney. [Editor's note: Representatives for Mr. Clooney offer this official word on his alleged relationship with Kukka-Maria: "We can neither confirm, nor deny a romantic history between The Empress and George. We can say that George experienced a great deal of heart-ache over a particular, un-named feline, but he is not in the practice of belly-rubbing and telling."] Back then, things were different. We dealt with taunts everywhere we went. Many thought that was the reason I broke his heart, but it wasn't. It was because he had that pig (may he rest in peace) and I didn't want to share his attention with a filthy swine. I wasn't judging the pig; I was being my typically selfish self!

Q: I love the eye glasses you're rockin' in the "Dear Kukka..." posts! I never see you wear them in other posts; do you wear contacts the rest of the time?

A: Don't be ridiculous! CATS DON'T WEAR CONTACTS, FOOL! We only wear glasses.

Q: Empress, after you retire, are you taking your blog down and, if not, will you be posting occasionally?

A: I will not be removing my blog. There are over 400 inspirational posts in the archives that will continue to enhance lives all over the world. As for posting occasionally? I may. I may not. I've always been a very shy and private person [cough], so to clam up and not share the details of my life would not be out-of-character. While amazing things will continue to happen in my life, I will probably leave you to reading about them in the tabloids. I only ask you to use your judgment as to whether or not the stories are accurate. Use this as your guide: If they say I'm being charitable, kind, or gracious...FALSE. If they say I'm whoring it up all over West Michigan...TRUE.

Speaking of whoring it up, I have a few booty calls to make!

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Tabloid Rumors Surrounding Kukka's Retirement

After making the official announcement here, it took all of eleventy-four seconds for the tabloids to get their hands on the story and twist it into something unrecognizable. My Agent went to the store yesterday and came home with a stack of tabloid mags featuring me.

This should be interesting.

Here are the top cover stories explaining my upcoming retirement:

  • Kukka-Maria Pregnant with Kittens to Avoid Jail Time for her DUI of Catnip Arrest!

  • Feline Empress Joins Lindsay Lohan in Rehab.

  • Blogging Cat Outs Gay Friend; Gets Fired from Blog.

  • Famous Feline Injured in Gang Fight...That SHE Started.

  • Kukka-Maria and Brad Pitt Reconcile; Plan to Travel the Globe, Adopting Squillions of Stray Kittens Around the World.

  • Aliens Abduct Blogging Empress, Probe Her Anus, and Cause her to Forget her Blog Address.

  • Empress Kukka-Maria goes into Seclusion to Hide from Rabid Stalker, George Clooney.

  • BOOBS BIGGER THAN YOUR HEAD! When multiple nipple implants go bad.

  • Brad and Brach in a Super-Secret Gay Affair? Kukka too Devastated to Blog.

  • Raging Sexually Transmitted Disease Causes Delusions and Inability to Blog for Celebrity Feline.

  • Agent to Password Protect the Computer to Keep Cats Away!

  • Empress Charged with Cocaine Found in Lindsay Lohan's Car, Despite Denial.

  • Empress to Become EMPEROR?! Celebrity Cat Blogger Reportedly Pursuing Sex-Change Operation!

  • Kukka-Maria Severely Sprains Lady Business Trying to Pose for Bare Junk Paparazzi Shots as Exiting Limo.

  • Blogging Whore Arrested for Allegedly Soliciting a Tomcat Prostitute. Claims, "I Thought I was Just Giving one of my Tomcat Stable Members a Ride Home!"

  • An Angry Oprah Winfrey Farts in Kukka's Face, Causing Severe Eye Irritation and Mild Retardation from Oxygen Deprivation. Blogging an Impossibility.

  • Brach Files for Divorce and is Granted Custody of Laptop Computer. Refuses Empress Access.

  • Empress Kukka-Maria Diagnosed with "Chronic Bad Attitude." Scheduled to be Euthanized.

What have YOU heard?

Monday, June 18, 2007

Tired and Retired

Associated Press (AP): In a stunning turn of events today, Empress Kukka-Maria, celebrity feline blogger, announced her blogging retirement.

"June twenty-ninth, the year of our Lord two-thousand seven, I shall write my final post," stated a tearful, yet poised Kukka. "After two years of blogging and inviting both friends and strangers into the deepest corners of my thrilling life, I feel it's time to turn off the computer and pursue other projects."

A shocked press corp gave a collective gasp that, for 20 seconds, vacuumed the room of fresh air, causing windows to rattle and one tiny chipmunk's head to cave in.

"What projects are you thinking about, Empress?" asked legendary journalist, Bob Woodward (Carl Bernstein had called in sick with an infected mosquito bite).

"I've been approached to write another book and to replace Rosie O'Donnell on The View," Kukka explained. "I am wading through a [EXPLETIVE]-load of scripts right now and am being courted by the likes of Quentin Tarantino, Stephen Spielberg and Francis Ford Coppola. Franny is proposing a feline remake of The Godfather, starring me as The Godmother. There is no shortage of opportunities for a super-sexy cat like myself."

"What about Brach? Will he start his own blog?" an emotional White House correspondent, Helen Thomas inquired, attempting to steady her shaking hand (that could have been from her raging emotional response to the news OR to her Old Lady Disease) and fight back pooling tears. "Oh my gawd...I can't believe this is happening to me," she muttered under her breath, desperately trying to keep her composure.

"Brach is looking forward to his own version of retirement," Kukka chuckled. "He is hoping to hunt squirrels, birds and rabbits, despite the fact our Agent will never allow him to leave the house. He has dreams; that is one of the many things about him I adore."

"You mention your Agent," Daily Show Correspondent, John Oliver, piped up. "Is she still looking for a man? I'm known to be a hot one-night-stand. Can you hook a brother up with some bootay?"

Kukka winked and clearly got her flirt on while delivering her answer. "Despite the fact I think that's a solid and honorable offer, John, and I would have no problem taking you up on it, my Agent claims she is looking for more than just sex. I have no idea why, but she seems to have latched onto that idea and won't let go. I'll put you on speed-dial, though, just in case."

Clearing her throat and scanning the crowd, Kukka declared with a yawn, "I'll take one more question."

Suddenly, a smartly-dressed African-American woman with enormous sunglasses, a huge beach hat covering most of her face and a clearly bad attitude barked, "Why didn't you choose to announce your retirement on a talk show...say one that has had you on several times, is highly popular and is hosted by a super-foxy, empowered woman who is charming and demonstrates her extreme generosity by giving away a lot of expensive gifts--including cars?"

"I know no one like that."

"Oh, I think you do, Empress. I think I have...I mean she has helped you justify your absence at The Oscars, featured you on the cover of O Magazine, and supported you through your public admission of plastic surgery."

"SECURITY!" hissed Kukka. "This press conference is over. June 29 will be my final post. Save your tears...I'm moving onto bigger and better things. There is no way the paparazzi will ever let me rest, so watch the tabloids for your Kukka-fix."

As reporters filed out of the hotel ballroom, a devastated CBS's Katie Couric lifted her head from the tearful puddle of pathetic she had become to offer the following: "I know she has written horrible things about me, but I can't help but recognize how deeply I will miss her. She is my backbone. She is my rock." Returning to the fetal position on the floor in which we found her, she sighed and shook. "I...will...miss..her..."

Won't we all. June 29 will be a sad, sad day. Even for the Empress, although she will never admit it.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Bad Boy, Bad Boy...Whatcha Gonna Do?

"Ma'am..." the uniformed officer cautiously said, his tall frame looming and his immense and forceful hands grasping a billy club at his waist--just in case. "Ma'am, I'm Officer Fisher and I'm here to help you. And, furthermore, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention what an incredibly, super-sexy cat you are."

[Editor's Note: Some, if not all of this story's details have been exaggerated by The Empress. The officer involved would not stand by this version of the story and invites anyone who would like the accurate account to seek out the official documentation at the courthouse.]

My back arched as I hissed, "I NEED NO HELP! I CAN HANDLE MY STONED HUSBAND ON MY OWN!" Clumps of my own fur lay loosely on my back and I struggled to catch my breath.

"I AM NOT STONED!" shouted Brach, pacing back and forth in front of the couch, upon which he was typically found sleeping.

"Miss..." Officer Fisher pleaded as he turned to my Agent. "You are far less sexy than your cat, and I typically wouldn't talk to you, but I need you to contain your foxy feline so I can complete my interviews and determine the proper course of action. OH MY...OH, SHIT!"

Before the handsome policeman could say, "I'm so in love with Kukka-Maria," I had leapt from the chair and landed on top of Brach. My claws extended, I screamed while swatting at his torso, legs and head.

Officer Fisher bellowed into his radio, "I NEED BACK UP! BRING PEPPER SPRAY! THIS COULD GET UGLY!"

The tall drink of water I unapologetically called "Officer Sexy Pants" grabbed me in one swift motion and collapsed into the chair, my squirming body against his rock-hard pecs and rippling six-pack. Believe me...had we not been in the middle of a domestic assault call, that physical contact could have led to some interesting and intimate moments.

I'm just sayin'.

After being calmed with some ear scritches and some gentle cooing in my ear, I was ready to give my account of the night's events. I glared at Brach, now in my Agent's arms, and mouthed, "YOU'RE DEAD MEAT" in Meow. I figured it was the safest way to convey it, as it was my assumption none of the humans in the room were fluent in Meow and, therefore, could not decipher my threat.

Officer Stud-Muffin, his voice low and sultry, inquired, "What happened, Empress? Why was I called here at 4:00 in the morning?"

"I was sound asleep on my bed, that I allow my Agent to share," I calmly explained. "At approximately 2:00 am, I was awoken by hissing. At lightning speed, I leapt from the bed and raced to the livingroom, where I found HIM!" I angrily shook my tail in Brach's general direction.

"But Empress, isn't he your husband and doesn't he live here?"

"Yes. And Yes," I sighed. "But he was strung out on...on...CATNIP!"

Struggling to free himself from the imprisonment of my Agent's arms (they are like frickin' tree trunks), Brach began to defend himself. "I was not st...SHE IS LYING!"

"SIR!" shouted Officer Tushy. "Sir, I must insist you wait your turn." Lowering his voice again to a register that made my lady business leap, he continued, "Now, Kukka. What happened then?"

"He was hissing and moaning, swatting and doing what can only be described as carpet gymnastic with a spine mohawk and a poofed tail. I screamed for him to stop--and he didn't comply. I ran to him and tried to subdue him, but to no avail. Officer Make-Me-Weak-In-The-Knees, I was at a complete loss. How was I to deal with a husband who was hopped up on herb?"

Officer Beefy Buns turned to my husband, who was now rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath. "What is your take on the situation, Brach?"

"Well, first of all," spouted Brach, "my wife is a psychotic bit..."

"WHOA, WHOA!" yelled my Agent, dropping Brach to the ground. "Brach...BAD BOY. BAD BOY!"

"I'm cool...I'm cool..." sighed Brach, pacing the floor again. "Just because I'm up later than you and roaming the house doesn't mean I'm stoned, Kukka. You know I haven't touched the stuff since Tuesday! I'm clean!"

"Harumph..." I mumbled.

"Listen, you insolent smart ass..." he hissed, leaping for me, claws extended and ready to swat.

Officer Lickable Lips grabbed Brach with one hand and cradled him in his muscular arms like a baby. Struggling at first, Brach quickly determined his aggression would get him nowhere and relaxed as the policeman's strong fingers scratched his belly.

"I...was...just..." Brach whimpered, " feels so good!"

Officer Fisher picked him up and stared him in the face. "Brach. Talk to me. What happened?"

"I was patrolling the house, as I do most nights while my ladies sleep. As I passed the slider, I did my quick peek out and saw an intruder! A feral cat was trying to look in our home! I hissed and moaned to scare him and, when that didn't work, I kept throwing myself against the sliding glass door to intimidate him." Brach inhaled deeply and continued. "The next thing I know, my crazy-ass wife is screaming and yelling and beating me up! To be honest, I think she was drunk."

"Bullshit..." I mumbled as I faked some sneezes. "Bullshit..."

"Agent?" Officer Fisher looked her way.

"It happened at 2:00 am and again at 3:30 am. To say I was fussy and cranky is an understatement," my Agent said, shaking her head. "I can testify that Brach had no catnip since Tuesday. He doesn't know where I keep it and, even if he did, he is unable to open the cupboard door above the stove...OH, CRAAAAAP! Now he knows where it's kept!"

"Listen, Brach," Officer Fisher suddenly turned on his daunting voice. "No matter how you got to the point where you were out of control, you had NO RIGHT to wail on your woman like that. I think a night in the kennel will help you think things through and get your head on straight."

"NOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed! "Don't take my husband away! He didn't mean it! He's just a man-child!"

"So you are not pressing charges, Empress?"

Licking his ears and gently picking clumps of his loose fur from his back and my loose fur from his claws, I responded, "No. He is my husband and I love him."

"If I'm called out here again, Kukka-Maria, you will all be arrested. Well, maybe not, if you continue giving me those moony eyes..."

As Officer Fisher left our home, my Agent sprinkled treats on the floor. Brach, feeling especially manly at the moment, dodged forward and snapped up as many as he could. My response? Hissing, moaning and swatting.

My Agent shook her head and sighed. "Damn. It begins again..."

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Entitlement Equals Inconvenience

My Agent has suddenly felt empowered. As a single woman in her early thirties (she is determined to hold onto that title until her 35th birthday later this summer), she has suddenly realized she is the boss of her. Of her home. And of us, apparently.

One of her revelations is that she can sleep ANYWHERE she wants on her queen-sized bed. She used to keep pillows, neatly stacked, on both sides and relegate herself to "her area." While a bit anal, I appreciated it because I was able to zonk out where I pleased on a laaaaaaarge half of the bed. Now, she seems to believe that sleeping in the middle, or worse--diagonally is the best for her. There is no taking my feelings into consideration. No worries about The Empress' comfort. I would never do that to her.

But, then again, I'm not a bitch.

Another thing she does is use the bathroom--WITH THE DOOR OPEN! She claims, since she lives alone, this is a non-issue. Um...hello!? Last time I checked, delusional Agent, you do not live alone. You have two aroma-sensitive felines who allow you to live with them. And one has horrific allergies (not me, I'm flawless). To be this immodest with your bodily functions is atrocious. And let's not even talk about her shower practices! Even I have a hooded litterbox--and I'm the most bold and brash feline I know! The last thing I would want is for you to watch me cop a squat and deposit my waste.

We must be different in that way.

Finally, she controls the remote control for the television. She claims, since she pays the cable bill, she is entitled to watch what she wishes. After making that proclamation, she'll laugh and say, "But if you two want to watch TV all day long, while I'm at work...please do!" What a crock of shit. She knows I won't use the remote because it's murder on my manicure and that Brach is Mysophobic and won't touch anything but his food, his water, his litterbox (that he doesn't seem to know we share) and his bed(s). Funny, Agent. Rrrrrrrrre-he-eally funny.

No, it's not.

I don't know what will temper this selfish-a-thon, but it must stop soon. Does she need a man? Does she need therapy? Do I need to slip a "roofie" into her Crystal Light? Whatever the solution, it needs to come quickly. I'm tired from no sleep. I'm dizzy from human turd deposits. And I'm bored from no E! News Daily, Entertainment Tonight, and The Insider.

Give a blogging, royal, super-sexy cat a break for crying out loud!

Friday, June 08, 2007

23 Reasons Kukka Hates Jail

Paris is released. I'm still imprisoned. It's getting unbearable, so I thought I'd give you a glimpse into the hell that is jail for me.

May I present the top 23 reasons I hate jail:

  1. Maria "Krazee Bitch" Gonzalez, my new cellmate, has a rough touch when giving me nightly belly rubs.

  2. The kitchen duty to which I was assigned is MURDER on my claws! Wait. Not "MURDER." I meant "MANSLAUGHTER." Sorry, Krazee.

  3. The jumpsuits are last season AND I don't recognize the designer: LA County.

  4. Because Brach and my marriage is not legally recognized (speciest!), we are denied conjugal visits. I'm getting a little "restless," ifyouknowwhatImean...

  5. My prison nickname, "Multi-Nippled Mama," doesn't roll off the tongue that easily.

  6. The shackles on my ankles have rubbed my fur off and left my tender skin chafed.

  7. My team of feral alley cat lawyers have not been permitted to visit, under the "NO PETS ALLOWED" rule.

  8. Oprah has been sending hate mail that, because I'm bored out of my mind, I read. What a vindictive whore!

  9. I'm being courted by eleventy-three gangs. The cigarettes, condoms and razor blades taped to toothbrushes they are using to entice me are piling up.

  10. The jail food is making me fat. I have NEVER been fat! (Editor's note: Yes, she has. Pictures don't lie.)

  11. Treats only distributed 2 times per day. A TRAVESTY!

  12. No HBO, Cinemax, Showtime or Starz on the 13", black and white television in the community room.

  13. The county-issued panties are not thongs, yet continue to creep up my ass.

  14. I'm only allowed one visitor a day. It's going to take me weeks just to see the cast of Ocean's Thirteen, who have been waiting outside for a visit since the moment I was booked!

  15. Guard dogs.

  16. I have no use for the collection of Crack Cocaine, Crystal Meth and Heroine for which I've traded sexual favors in the last few days.

  17. They force me to take community showers, despite the fact I've proven time and time again how effective my tongue is for grooming.

  18. 140 thread-count sheets.

  19. The black and white stripes on the vintage prison garb I requested are horizontal and make me look pudgy.

  20. All the weights to lift in the yard are heavier than me!

  21. I'm required to use non-clumping litter. Ew.

  22. All the drunken slutting it up with LA judges I've done over the years was for naught, apparently. I thought my favor bank was full!

  23. For some odd reason, the other inmates don't applaud when I enter a room. Hmmm...curious.

I hope to be released sometime this weekend. We'll see how swift justice can really be. In the meantime, enjoy seeing my Agent on the news channels, in her FREE KUKKA shirt, telling my story.

I hope she paints a positive picture of me. Sometimes, with her, you never know.

I can, at least, count on Brach. I can, can't I?

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Sixteen "Conditions" Paris Hilton COULD Have That Afforded Her Early Release from Jail.

I have good news and bad news.

Good news: Paris has been released from jail! My strong-arming and persistent protests worked!

Bad news: I'm still jailed for leading the picketing (with subsequent fury of hissing and clawing) AND for a few outstanding warrants, about which I would rather not talk.

It has been reported that Paris was released for an "undisclosed medical condition." While being my cellmate, she and I shared intimate details with one another as we did each other's hair and made prank phone calls to Tom Cruise, Oprah and Star Jones-Reynolds.

While I swore I would never tell my fans the details of her physical strife, I CAN give you some hints. Let's explore 16 medical conditions Paris MAY or MAY NOT have:
  1. ATHLETE'S FOOT. Let's face it: Jimmy Choos don't offer a whole lot of protection for the feet when you're frequenting filthy gas station bathrooms to engage in unprotected, indiscriminate sex.

  2. ALLERGIES. I get that she doesn't like the prison uniform, but to fake sneeze because of the "inferior fabrics" is a little much.

  3. HALITOSIS. With her breadth of experience, she should know to always brush after giving hea...after a long night of drinking and smoking.

  4. GENITAL WARTS. Do I really have to go into this one?

  5. CONSTIPATION. See what living on only Red Bull and Altoids can do to your digestive system?

  6. COLD SORES AND GENITAL HERPES. *SNORT* Sure, Paris. It was too much citric acid in your diet. [coughing uncomfortably] That makes sense. Do oranges and lemons make your lady business itch, too?

  7. ALCOHOLISM. While the beer can helmet can be very fashionable on the red carpet, it is not designed to be filled with bottles of tequila and should NEVER be worn when driving. On a suspended license.

  8. ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION AND ENLARGED PROSTATE. Do I blame her for suggesting it or LA County for buying it and releasing her.

  9. CHRONIC GAS. I shared a cell with her. I'm just sayin'.

  10. HEARING LOSS. That would explain why, after being told repeatedly that she shouldn't drive on a suspended license, she continued to do so. Or is that called "Celebrity Arrogance?"

  11. AVIAN FLU. I can neither confirm, nor deny I've seen her tongue kiss a bird.

  12. SMALL-PENIS SYNDROME. You don't have one, honey. Well, you may have "had" many, but not sprouting organically.

  13. DEHYDRATION. If she didn't insist upon drinking only Evian, she might be able to get some fluids in jail!

  14. VAGINITIS. It's defined as a condition that includes inflammation of the vagina, itching and uncomfortable intercourse (I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth). Paris thinks it means that, because she can't actually SEE her vagina, it has disappeared. I told her to Google "Paris Hilton Vagina" and she would have plenty opportunity to view her junk.

  15. GONORRHEA. I'm not explaining this one.

  16. INCONTINENCE. Some celebrities (Lindsay, Britney, etc.) are featured in candid crotch photos taken of them as they exit limos. This would explain the Depends Undergarment shots of Paris circulating the internet.

Whatever your "condition," Paris, it was a "Get-Out-of-Jail-Free" card and you're one lucky bitch. Now, what are you going to do to spring me from the clink?

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Empress Joins Heiress in Jail

Associated Press (AP): In what witnesses have described as a "complete feline fiasco," Empress Kukka-Maria was arrested late yesterday as a protest, organized by the celebrity blogging cat, got out of hand.

"When the dispatcher directed us to the scene, I knew it was going to be a hot, grizzly mess," explained Louis Miffler, police lieutenant and cat blogging enthusiast. "As I collected the information I needed to prepare to deal with the chaos, I heard words like 'Kukka-Maria,' 'claw scratching,' and 'brutal hissy fit.' Having read her blog, I knew that it would require riot gear and stones of steel."

By-standers confirm this with their play by play accounts.

"I was walking down the street, saw the picket signs and heard the yelling and hissing," explained Nancy Parker, balancing a screaming toddler on her hip. "My kid was squalling, my head was throbbing, but I was compelled to see what the commotion was about. When I saw it was Kukka-Maria, I about died! I've been itching to meet her for years and here she was swatting at police officers and angrily peeing on the sidewalk--RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! I had no choice but to shove my kid's stroller aside and approach that cat!"

"No one knew that Kukka would fly into such a rage when Mrs. Parker approached her," continued Lieutenant Miffler. "All we could see was fur flying and claws swatting. We tried calling to Mrs. Parker, asking her to retreat slowly, but apparently, she was unable to hear us over the hissing and moaning."

Other protesters, some for Paris' release and some for the legalization of catnip-covered crack cocaine, were shocked at the Empress' behavior.

"When Kukka called to round up people for her protest, I was really excited to have the opportunity to spread the word about Icy Nipples [nip-covered crack]," said Rainbow Sunflower, president of the Hippies for Catnip-Covered Drugs Coalition. "We came out, in full force, with our signs, our hearts and our voices. Apparently, Kukka brought more than that!"

According to police reports, Kukka-Maria was packing a can of pepper spray, a butterfly knife, some brass knuckles and steel-toed stilettos. Clearly she was planning to send an aggressive message. And that, she did.

"Holy [expletive]!" exclaimed Nicole Richie. "Paris is my BFF [Best Friend Forever], and I'd do anything to help clear her name, but I never expected it to get this violent! That Kukka is one crazy [expletive]! I admire her tenacity and the fact she only weighs 12 lbs. I'm going to be just like her someday. Except for the tenacity part, though."

After a heated and very physical altercation, Empress Kukka-Maria was apprehended and whisked to the LA County Jail in a city-issued, orange pet carrier. With shouts of "[Expletive] YOU, [expletive]s! You mother-[expletive]ing [expletive]s will pay for this! Paris is innocent and so am I, [expletive]y [expletive] [expletive]s!"

"The irony of this case is that the celebrity cat intended to get Paris released from jail, and now she's joined her," mused Lieutenant Miffler. "I know I'll pay for this comment later, when she's released and her butterfly knife is back in her possession; however, I can't help but be a little amused."

"All in all," sighs Nancy Parker, snuggling her child and squinting into the sun. "Meeting Kukka was worth getting my cornea scratched, my face irreversibly scarred and my lady business completely clawed to shreds. She is one super-sexy feline!"

The arraignment hearing for Kukka-Maria has yet to be scheduled.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Mon Amour, Miles...A Haiku Collection

Miles Meezer is sick.
My heart aches and my eyes leak
He is my boyfriend.

Blue as the ocean,
His eyes call to me, "Kuuuuuu-kka..."
My heart leaps with joy.

His breath smells of ham;
His super-sexy tail whips.
Missing teeth are HOT!

I hope they fix him
(And not in the way you think).
He is my true love.

(Well, one of them...)

I know a true cure!
A ham I.V. is the trick!!
Or kisses from me...


Thursday, May 31, 2007


After hitting the maximum number of 400 posts, I hereby declare I will no longer blog!

I have absolutely nothing more to say and need a break from all the adoration and attention.

Shit. This post is now #401. I didn't want to exceed 400; I've ruined my plan. I suppose I'll write, as usual, beginning tomorrow.

Damned 401st post. Effed everything up.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

400th Post, Including Much Celebratory Bragging

Oh, faithful reader(s)...what a ride it's been. Today is my 400th post. DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME A LIAR! COUNT THEM IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, ASS!

Anyway, in honor of me, I would like to take a walk down memory lane with you and direct you to some of my favorite posts...written by me. Call it bragging. Call it boasting. I see it as having a positive self-image and being in love with oneself more than you could ever be in love with another being. Is that wrong?

Let's take a look at some of my favorites (from Jul 2005 to the present):

And Elvin's Favorite: The Talk (wherein young cats learn about the birds and the bees, complete with illustrations)

And, for Miles Meezer (illustrious Tomcat Stable Member), there is Always Low Ethics. Always about the day I spent as a Walmart Greeter.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Open Letter to Brush from Brach, wherein he admits his undying love and addresses rumors of cheating with another bristled being.

Dear Prettiest Brush in the Entire World,

What a tumultuous relationship we have shared over the years! But through it all, Brush, we've come through a stronger and more secure couple. Don't you think?

When I first met you, it was love at first stroke. When our Agent introduced us, Kukka took one sniff, whipped herself around and pranced away. She wanted nothing to do with you.

Oh, but not me. I knew I needed to have you. I nibbled at first, do you remember? I bit gently on the edge of your bristles until my Agent yanked you away from me, worried I was going to cut my gums with my aggressive kisses. I'll never forget how you and I laughed at that! To think that either of us would do anything to harm the other? That is just crazy talk!

I'll never forget the day you disappeared. We looked for you everywhere! I figured, if you had taken off for good, I would have received a "Dear John Brach..." letter. Alas, I did not. After a hunt led by me, but actually hunted by my Agent, we couldn't find you. I searched beneath the chair-and-a-half, on top of the spare bed...everywhere we used to love to be together. Kukka claims she saw you lying behind the clothes dryer, but I don't put too much merit in that story. She's a fussy, jealous crank. No matter how hard I tried, I could not locate you, so I spent days in my loft, sleeping and crying and sleeping and wailing and sleeping while sobbing. Those were terrible times.

Remember when you came back, though? My Agent had found you somewhere outside the house. She explained to me, as she removed you from the shopping bag and from your plastic case, that you had undergone some dramatic cosmetic surgery and did not look like you did before. Brush, while you were beautiful before your disappearance, you were a knock-out after! I immediately greeted you with a tongue kiss and some biting. Your delightful squeals made it clear to me you would never leave me again.

Why do I love you so, Brush? The reasons out-number the stars. I love you because you are tender; you stroke my fur lovingly and never cause skin irritation. I love you because you are attentive; you diligently cover every square inch of my body with your bristly lovin'. I love you because your handle is red, and red is the color of passion. And I love you because you're mine; Kukka has no interest in you (what a rarity), so I don't have to worry about finding you in her arms.

What's that, Brush? A CHEATER? ME?! Wait. Darling, please let me explain!

I did have a relationship with a bristly broad before. It lasted a few weeks, but then I found you! Yes, she was a bit taller and yes, she had beautiful black hair--NO, BABY! I'm not making any sort of snide remark about your gray bristles! You're a silver fox, doll! Honey...sweetie...stop now...

Listen. I didn't have virgin fur when you found me--you knew that. You can not blame a 7.75 yr old tomcat for receiving caresses from humans, cats or other brushes before you met him. I'm not made of wood, darling.

No matter our past, I know our future. It is you and me forever, Brush...if you'll have me.

Always yours,

Thursday, May 24, 2007

What's That Again?

I just found out I didn't win American Idol! What the...HUH?!

I didn't even post yesterday because I was leading a letter-writing campaign to vote for myself. Granted, the participants in the campaign were few: Brad Pitt, My Agent, Brach (who kept falling asleep) and that bitch-face, Oprah (who kept saying she thought my name was spelled "J...O...R...D...I...N...").

Now, this morning, I find out they were only accepting votes via the telephone. What gives, American Idol? Have you no respect for the art of long-hand letter writing?


Clearly this competition was not based on foxiness, super-sexiness or multiple nipples. I resent the fact I was robbed of my just recognition as the idol of all peoples American (including, of course, those of the Central and Southern variety).

I declare a secret fight on Simon Cowell, Randy Jackson (what up, dawg), Ryan Seacrest, and Paula Abdul.

By the way, Paula, if you wanted a nose job you didn't have to pretend to "break" it so you could justify going under the knife. Plus, you don't seem to need an excuse to be hopped up on pain killers.

I'm just sayin'.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Empress Farts; Fort Falls

Associated Press (AP): Some say it was an air biscuit gone bad. Others insist is had to have been a full-fledged hurricane. No matter what it was, when it hit the living room of Empress Kukka-Maria's home yesterday, it left the place in shambles. With The Agent was safe at work and out of harm's way, celebrity blogger, Kukka, and her husband, Brach, we thought to have perished amidst the rubble.

"I came home to find the entire house in disarray," explained Kukka's Agent. "While the laundry, piled on the floor in front of the washer and dryer is all about me and my negligence, the rest of the scene makes me tremble, just thinking about it. Well, wait. I guess it is me who left all those books on the coffee table and my water glass from the night before. And I supposed I am responsible for all of the shoes scattered across the floor. But still! It looks HORRIBLE in here!"

Initial reports suggested The Empress was sleeping inside her fort when the storm hit.

"Oh, there was no sleep happening," snickered Kukka. "Let's just say I may or may not have been entertaining one or more super-sexy tomcats in my love den. When the fort started shaking, I thought things were just heating up!"

Brach, The Empress' long-time companion and husband, was concerned.

"I know that when Kukka is entertaining guests in her fort, I'm not supposed to interrupt. The toy mouse hanging over the doorway is our signal for me to stay away," explained Brach. "When I heard the loud crash in the living room, though, I felt I needed to go to her to ensure her safety."

"All I know is that I'm entertaining members of my Tomcat Stable and suddenly my husband is cockblockknocking at the door. What a buzzkill!"

Several Tomcat Stable Members, despite being told by Kukka that she and Brach have an "open relationship," felt uneasy when the ginger hero showed up at the door to rescue everyone.

"Not only was it weird that her husband showed up, it was even more difficult when I realized Brach's logical explanation of the rolling fog trumped Kukka's super-sexiness," divulged one Tomcat Stable Member, who wished to remain anonymous. "There is no good way to tell The Empress, in all of her multiple-nippled glory, that you are far more concerned with saving your own ass from her ridiculously strong and foul farts, than kissing hers! I mean, the bitch has claws!"

Emergency personnel on the scene cleared all of the Sexy Tomcats from the room and, despite his whines to stay with his wife, moved Brach to safety. No sooner had the area been vacated and secured, the room fell silent.

The fort was tipping over--with The Empress inside.

"I screamed like a little girl and when I saw that fort tipping and knew Kukka was inside," cried ExotikSteve, a volunteer firefighter/stripper. "Ironically, I don't do well in emergency situations. Whether it's a building on fire or a man jingling my junk as he sticks singles into my banana-hammock, I start to shake all over. Watching the destruction of Fort Kukka had me a cold sweat!"

There was silence throughout the room after the fort crumbled. Necks craned, trying to get a glimpse of any sign of life from The Empress. Suddenly, her face popped through one of the windows.

"KUKKA!" shrieked Brach. "GET OUT OF THERE!"


"Kukka," screamed ExotikSteve through a megaphone as he ran his fingers through his gray locks, gyrated his pelvis and adjusted his g-string. "You really need to come out here!" Turning to Brach, ExotikSteve giggles, "I'm so scared right now, I think I just peed a little!"

"I AM NOT COMING OUT!" Kukka was stubborn.

"Give me the megaphone, for crying out loud," mumbled The Agent. "KUKKA-MARIA! YOU GET OUT OF THERE THIS INSTANT, DO YOU HEAR ME? KUKKA! GET OUT! KUKK..." Stopping to stare her cat down and regroup for an instant, The Agent cleverly changed her game.

"Kuuuuuuukkaaaaaaa," she crooned in the sweestest and most soothing version of her voice. "Kuuuuuuukkaaaaaaa, do you want some treeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeats?"

Climbing out of the rubble, Kukka trotted to the kitchen without a bit of hesitation. With one powerful swoop, her Agent lifted the fort and stood it against the wall once again.

"There! Problem fixed! All it took was the promise of treats and a moderately strong woman to correct everything. Now can you people all leave my house? This is hardly news-worthy shit."

There have already been whispers among A-Lists celebrities to hold a "Hurricane Kukka Telethon" to raise money for brackets that could be attached to the fort and then to the wall. prventing s tragedy like this from occurring again.

No telethon date has been confirmed.

Monday, May 21, 2007

Kukka-Maria, Patron Saint of All That is Holy

It's official. I've been nominated for sainthood, or is the term "saintified?"

I know what you're thinking, "But, Kukka...don't you have to be dead before you can be canonized (officially recognized) by the Catholic Church?"

Apparently not!

I got the call from Pope Benedict XVI (or "Benny, The Pope-inator," as he likes me to call him) on Saturday. After shooting the shit about holy communion, Paris Hilton's jail sentence and the molestation of young boys, he finally let it slip.

"Kukka," he whispered. "Kukka, I have something important to tell you, but you must tell no one else! I'm serious! If you do, I'll have a shitload of cardinals on my ass for leaking this delicate information to you!"

"Benny..." I cooed softly into the phone. "Who do you take me for? You know I can keep a secret! Who bought you that red cowboy hat and didn't let you know about it until your birthday 3 months later?"

"You did..."

"Then recite a few Our Fathers and hope for the best. Yes, it's a risk, but I just might surprise you and keep my lips closed."

"Empress," he whispered. "You are up for sainthood! We all got a bit drunk on communion wine and Monsignor Horowitz, the Jewish convert, nominated you as a joke. No one ever thought the nominations would go anywhere, but it totally has!"

I rolled around on the floor as I laughed and laughed. "NO WAY! We are totally punking Catholics everywhere!"

Pope Benedict suddenly got quiet. "That's not funny, Kukka," he mumbled. "I'm just keeeeeeeeeeeding! It's effing hilarious!"

"Are you drunk right now, Benny?"

"Nope," he slurred. "I did smoke a little weed, though." The last part was hard to make out amidst his loud giggling and audible snorts.

"What do I have to do now?" I abruptly asked, realizing how much responsibility goes with a title like Saint.

"Well, there will be a press junket, appearances on the talk-show circuit, "Kukka-Maria Miracle Tour 2007," and you'll need to pose for your Popeball Card," he explained.

"Popeball Card?" I asked, a bit confused.

"Yes," he laughed. "Assuming you can perform a miracle or two on demand, you will have your image pressed into gold amulets that people will wear around their necks as good luck charms. All the Patron Saints do it."

"What will I be the Patron Saint of?"

"Kukka-Maria, Patron Saint of Air Biscuits."

"Farts? Seriously? People will pray to me about farts?"

"Hey," he snapped. "Our people releasing foul farts has been a long-standing issue. You should feel lucky you will be interceding on behalf of gaseous Catholics everywhere!"

"Wait," I protested. "Aren't Popeball Cards a form of worshipping idols? And what about the Marys in bathtubs that people put in their yards?"

"Oh, snap!" Benny exclaimed with a laugh. "I guess that IS a form of idol worship! Well, it's not like there's going to be room for everyone in heaven anyway. Maybe this little oversight will thin the herd a bit."

"Hold up! How am I supposed to provide the church with my remains to be used as a holy relic? I'M NOT DEAD!" I hissed.

"Let me think...let me think..." mumbled The Pope.

"Would a litter-covered turd work?" I inquired with a grin.

"Beautiful!" laughed Pope Benedict. "If a converted Jew can be a Monsignor, a litter-covered turd can be a holy relic. Is there anything we're forgetting?"

"When I go on my Kukka-Maria Miracle Tour 2007, can I wear red, Prada shoes like you do?"

Pope Benedict XVI suddenly grew silent. "You take that back, you miserable little cat," he seethed. "The Prada shoes are MINE!"

"Fine," I rolled my eyes. "I'll stick with Manolo Blahniks. Don't get so fussy!"

After a few minutes of him sulking and me apologizing (not because I was sorry, but because I thought I might be relegated to hell if I didn't), he calmed down enough to congratulate me. "Siete una buona ragazza..."

"I'm a good girl? That's awfully sweet, Benny. Now go eat some host to soak up that booze in your gut. You're going to have a hell of a time tomorrow morning."

So, I'm going to be a saint. Who would have thunk it?