Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Is it a Bird? Is it a Plane? Wait...What's that String?!

Yes, ladies and've read about her before! Prepare to be amazed again!


After months and months of perceived disinterest in all-things-tampon, I surprised my Agent last night by dusting off my super-hero uniform and raiding the 'pons once again. While she was a tad miffed, even she could not deny the need for my assistance was there.

As I walked down the hallway, past the bathroom, I suddenly froze. "What is that noise?" I asked myself. "I think that is the desperate cries of imprisoned tampons!"

I stealthily skulked into the bathroom and discreetly slammed the bathroom vanity door 7 or 8 squillion times to get it open (I may have super-powers, but I lack opposable thumbs). What I found was unspeakable.

But you know I'm going to speak about it.

There were tampons everywhere. Regulars were absorbing the terrified tears of the itty-bitty Lites. Fights had broken out between strong and amazingly absorbent Super-Plus 'pons, pitting cotton brother against cotton brother.

It was feminine hygiene mayhem. And I knew just what to do.

I ran under the bed to shield my transformation from the probing paparazzi. Winking my left eye thrice and releasing a thunderous air biscuit, I chanted my magical mantra.

[Editor's note: For security purposes, the mantra is encrypted.]

"• •• ••• ••• ••••••-•••••• •••••!"

The bed shook and the walls quaked (primarily due to the breathtaking flatulence) as I morphed into the very impressive, yet slightly less amazing version of myself: THE TAMPONATOR!

Scampering from under the bed, my cape flowing behind me, I ran to the bathroom to save some tampon lives.


I ran directly into the vanity door. Apparently, hearing my attempts to open it minutes before, my Agent closed it whilst I was morphing. Can't a super-hero catch a frickin' break?

Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. (Yawn) Slam. Slam.


I sprung into immediate action. Scaling the treacherous Toilet Paper Mountain, I cautiously peered around the hair dryer and surveyed 'Pon Valley. To say I found a bloody mess there would be both a disgusting image (think about it) and highly inaccurate (as they were still in their sanitary packaging). But I can tell you that the scene was messy.

There was a box, securely sealed, holding tampons of all shapes and sizes. I had to get in there. Lives were at stake.

Flick. Flick. Chew. Flick. Chew. Chew. Bite. Flick. Bite.

Attacking the box for what seemed like hours, and getting one flap of the box to lift, I suddenly froze at the sound of footsteps.

"KUKKA! Where are you and what are you doing?"

My Agent! I leapt from beneath the vanity and hid behind the protective shield of the shower curtain. As the bathroom light came on, I had to laugh. My super-feline body is equipped with self-adjusting ocular regulators...called PUPILS. Despite the efforts of the Evil Agent to blind me, I was unfazed by the sudden burst of light.

"What the..." she muttered. Reaching into the open vanity, she closed the tampon box and shut the door. As she turned off the light she mumbled, "What the hell is so amazing about an effing tampon?"

Shit. As the tampon screams filled my ears, I realized I was back to square one.

Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Door.

Flick. Flick. Chew. Flick. Chew. Box.

As I opened the tampon box, I was overwhelmed at what I found.

"Save me!" yelled one tampon.

"No, me!" shouted another.

"Don't save them...they'll give you Toxic Shock Syndrome! I have the pamphlet here to prove it! SAVE ME!" pleaded another.


Apparently, I bellowed too loudly, for I heard the footsteps again.


I literally flew (I have a cape, remember?) into the bedroom and slid, undetected, beneath the bed. Changing out of my fancy frock, there was a part of me that was riddled with guilt over leaving so many desperate tampons behind to face a tragic fate.

There was a larger part of me, though, that recognized being a super-hero involved way too much effort and was really just time spent away from eating treats.


Spirit and Ezra said...

Ezra sez... WOW! That is so amazing. I've neber known a superhero before. You're so brave Kukka! I want to be just like you when I grow up. You know, except for the being a girl and having multiple sexified nipples part.

PS - I'm supposed to ask you to tell Brach that my sister maded him a Valentine on our site. Maybe this will shut her up.

The Meezers said...

You is a amazing super hero Kukka!!! But you're right, time away from treats is time ill-spent. - Miles

Cheysuli said...

Treats vs. tampons. Now there's a philosophical debate. When it finishes and there's time for food, let me know. I'll be there to eat...

George, Tipper, Max & Misty said...

Your desperate attempt to save the lives of innocent tampons was heroic, dear.


Renee said...

Better watch saving those 'pons as they could come out of your treat budget.

sounds like its time for some cat proof locks on the cabinets.

Lady Jane Scarlett said...

You. Are. Amazing. Kukka
And, no more reading your blog while I'm at work-snarfing up water onto my laptop is not a good idea.

K T Cat said...

Save the 'Pons! (Collect the whole set!)

Zeus said...

This reminds me of good ol' Smokey Bear: Only you can save warring tampons!

Your heart is so big, Kukka. You truly care about each and every living and unliving thing around you, and this just further proves what a true tamponarian you are.

Teena said...

My Morgan has a thing for socks. I'll fold the laundry and leave it on the bed sometimes. Morgan will carry the roll-up socks in his mouth, meowing pitifully, into the living room and leave them there. Gord didn't put his clothes away Saturday and put them on the desk. When we got up Sunday morning, there were ten pairs of socks on the living room floor!

Sparky Duck said...

makes mental note to hide tampons and look for capes