Monday, April 30, 2007

Kukka-fied Stories, Volume II

For those of you keeping score, this is the second "Mad Lib-esque" post. Since many of you constantly ask me for romantic advice, I thought this installment might be helpful to you. My contributed words are bold and underlined.

But I think you know me well enough to pick them out anyway...

Some things are inherently romantic, like multiple nipples. This is very useful, because you can scratchy tongue kiss things upon the object of your affections and win romance points without expending any additional effort or stamina. The trick is to figure out what is romantic and what is not. There is a basic rule of thumb to follow: if it's filthy, it's not romantic. For example, high powered come-hither eyes are not romantic.

Foxy Things
Chocolate covered ham slices are romantic. Goats are romantic. Taking advantage of the intrinsic romance in foxy things obviously depends upon recognizing which things are foxy. The rule is simple. Perverted things are foxy. If you see a food product in a grocery store that comes in a perverted package, get it, because there's a very good chance it's foxy.

Ecru is romantic, because ecru is the color of love and passion. Consider roses. Ecru roses mean, "I love you." Chartreuse roses mean, "Let's just be friends," which is synonymous with, "You are super-sexy, and I hate you." So you do not want to be wrong. Get her ecru roses, ecru oysters, ecru sexy paws, ecru chocolate covered ham slices, and ecru snakes, and she'll fall hopelessly under your spell.

The Most Intrinsically Romantic Thing Ever
Based on the data above, the single most romantic thing in the universe can be calculated scientifically. It is, simply, perverted ecru phone sex made out of chocolate and shaped like a turtle holding kitty porn with goats all over it that seduces a ham sandwich when you flick it.

Hope this helps you lovelorn readers who might not be as super-sexy as me. Don't let your lack of foxiness limit your love life. There is hope for every barely-sexy to moderately-sexy being in the world.

Everyone but dogs, that is.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

TGF (Taken Gray Female) seeks Lovahs...

I'm thinking about doing the online dating thing again. While my previous experience left a bit to be desired, I currently have only 6 tomcat boyfriends, 1 feline husband and countless admirers.

That's just unacceptable.

I'm going to take some time to update my super-sexy profile today. Until tomorrow, take some time to revisit my last online dating experience and offer dating advice in the comments.

Not that I need the advice, mind you. I'm just saying...

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Suggest a Caption

"Cute" just don't cut it.
What caption do you suggest?

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

The Incredible Bulk

Grrrrrrrrr...Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Last night, the bedroom closet door was open, clearly inviting me in to explore. Inside, I found a gaggle of shoes, a tie-dyed cotton dress I had successfully torn off the hanger two days earlier, and several boxes. As I rummaged around, knocking things off shelves and otherwise causing mayhem, I heard a noise.

The closet door was shutting!

"My Agent must not know I'm in here," I thought to myself as I watched the door slid closed.

She left the door open a crack and, as I peered through the inch-wide gap, I saw her looking at me and smiling.

"Kukka! Where aaaaaaaare you?" she sang, her voice lilting, though drenched in sarcasm.

In stealth mode, I crouched and stared out of the closet. This was undoubtedly turning into a battle of wills. And I always win.

"Kuuuuuuuukka! Come heeeeeeere!" she called. Though she was trying so hard to pretend she didn't know I was in the closet, 2 feet in front of her, the snide grin on her face and the impish look in her eyes gave her away.

"Two can play this game," I thought, flicking a sandal across the closet.

She sat down on her bed. Could she have been defeated this easily?

"Kuuuuukka-Mariiiiiiiia," she crooned. I gasped as her hand lifted from the bed and she started wiggling her fingers in a motion only used to scratch a feline scalp. Wiggling...wiggling. UGH! The agony of seeing twitching fingers without a home was agonizing.

I slipped my paw through the gap and tried opening the door. It wouldn't budge. I whimpered and whined as I used all of the strength I could muster to slide the door. It wouldn't budge.

10 seconds. 20 seconds. The fingers waggled, my Agent maliciously grinned and my temper began rising. 30 seconds turned into 40 seconds. THIS WAS EXCRUCIATING!

Suddenly, I felt a warmth come over my body. The blood coursed through my veins at stupefying speeds and my muscles began bulging. My whimpers turned to grunts and my whines became snarls.

I was becoming a menacing, omnipotent force with which to be reckoned!

My Agent's eyes bulged as she sensed my powerful presence behind the door and she trembled as she watched me slide it open as easily as I would flick a toy mouse.

Her fingers froze in mid-air as I exited the closet, rose up on my hind legs and flexed my ceps (bi and tri). I leapt onto the bed and shoved my head under her suspended hand.

"Wow, Kukka! That was incredible!"

"That's why they call me The Incredible Bulk, ma'am," I responded, flopping over on my side to allow full-access to my belly.

I think I taught her a lesson about locking me in the closet and taunting me with ear scritches that are just out of reach! I have to say, though, she wasn't too happy about the green make-up all over her comforter.

She had better get over it, or she can deal with...THE INCREDIBLE BULK!

Monday, April 23, 2007

Pavlov's Humans

I've always known dogs were dumb (no offense to those dogs reading this...although I am pretty sure dogs are too stupid to read). But, this weekend, I discovered how ridiculous and easily-manipulated humans really are.

Considering Kukka doesn't allow me to date, using our wedding vows as support for her argument (although, she doesn't seem to be bound by vows), I usually have quite a bit of free time on weekends. Typically, I spend a few hours on Saturday disinfecting my favorite sleeping areas, replenishing my latex booties next to the litterbox, and obsessively touching every horizontal surface I come across 7 times. This Saturday, however, I felt I was in need of some mental stimulation. I decided to browse Wikipedia.

First, I did a search for me: Brach Lee. Curiously, nothing had been written about me. Nothing about my fascination with Harry Potter. Nothing about my obsessive-compulsive disorder. Nothing about my dependency on Xanax. Nothing about my marriage to Kukka. Nothing.

Next, I searched for Kukka-Maria. I found nothing, which made me giggle. Don't you dare tell her I told you Wikipedia is devoid of all-things-Kukka. For my own safety, I will deny, deny, deny!

Finally, growing tired of fruitless searches, I decided to look up "dogs." I can't help it! I have a preoccupation with dogs! For me, they provide equal parts fear and intrigue. The way I figure it, the more I know about them, the less power they have over me.

Anyway, one article that popped up was about Ivan Pavlov and Pavlov's Dogs. Apparently, Господин Pavlov (Mr. Pavlov) ran extensive experiments with dogs to collect, analyze and measure their saliva in response to food as a stimulus. Using bells, whistles, metronomes and tuning forks, Pavlov would indicate the arrival of food. He found that, while initially the food made the dogs salivate, they eventually began salivating at the sound of the food alarm prior to the appearance of the actual meal.

This inspired my own set of experiments on the human in the house.

As she watched TV, I went to work. Leaping onto the back of the couch, I indicated to her that I wanted her to pet me by gently tapping her with my paw, repeatedly, until she responded to the stimulus. After a solid 2 minutes of ear scritching, I leapt down. About 10 minutes later, I jumped up again and tapped her repeatedly. Again, ear scritches. After about an hour (and 7 more scritching sessions), I jumped up a tenth time. Before I could even tap her, she began scratching the top of my head. I tried making important notes about my discovery at that very moment, but found it difficult...with my eyes closed in ecstasy.

To make sure the subject did not suspect she was being studied, I enlisted the help of Kukka for this one. Walking by the resident human, Kukka suddenly flopped on her side on the floor. Without missing a beat, the human reached down and scratched her belly. I was a little irritated that the experiment wasn't going according to plan. Kukka was supposed to flop down and whine for belly rubs. She didn't whine; however, the human still rubbed, so the analysis was not for naught. To Kukka's credit, the human had been adequately conditioned by the time the experiment occurred.

Morning and night. Morning and night. The collective feline goal in our home is to obtain treats by any means necessary. Considering this experiment needed a controlled environment, I had to prep Kukka. "Please don't indiscriminately beg. When I give the signal, rub against her leg once and offer up the most pathetic whimper you can. Don't exaggerate. Don't expound. One whimper and one rub." As the human entered the domicile, Kukka sprung into action. Rubbing against the human's legs, flopping down on the kitchen floor, begging incessantly, rubbing against the refrigerator door...I was stunned at her uncontrolled behavior. She hadn't followed directions at all! My dismay didn't last long, as snacks were thrown on the carpet and my tank was full within 1 minute.

All in all, it was clear to me that we own our human. How pathetic is it that, when moderately provoked or inspired, humans are so weak that they submit to our every need?

How sad is it that...WHOA! I hear the treat jar shaking! I've got to run! The shaking treat jar means there will be snackth disthributed on the carpeth. Wow. I can hardly thalk with all this droolth.

Pavlov would be so proud of me.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Kukka-fied Stories, Volume I

I'm hungover from my fort-warming party, so I'm going to post something easy. My Agent asked me to fill in a word list and she would fill in a story she found that one this one site...on this thing she calls "The Interweb."

Whatever. Fill in words? I can do that. On your way out, can you leave some aspirin and a fresh cosmo?

Love Letter

Dear Kukka-Maria,

I lay awake all mid-afternoon thinking of you, your sinister smile, and our tryst at the grocery store. Constipatedly, I recall our meeting, how my heart waddled with arrogance when I first saw you. How super-sexy you looked in that red bustier and those foxy edible panties on your vertically-pupiled eyes!

I cherished every moment we were together and was smarmy when our date came to a close. I can't say how sexily I regret spilling vodka tonic on your booty; you were ecstatic about it, however, for which I am grateful. You are so beautiful when you're ecstatic.

You're drunk most other times. Your eyes are like deep pools of urine, warmed in the moonlight. Your cheeks are as rosy as multiple nipples. Your lips are like succulent slices of ham. Your hair is yellow like a kitty on a summer's day. Your hind-quarters are two ginormous cylindrical balls of ego.

I can't wait to fart with you again. Write soon!

Brad Pitt

Thursday, April 19, 2007


My Agent bought a new apparatus for Brach and me. Before it was even fully assembled, I had invaded the castle and had claimed it as entirely my own. As she attached the last dangle toy, she politely requested I vacate the domicile and allow her to move it into the living room.

I resisted, causing her to drag it (and my voluptuous ass) across the floor.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to arrange for the installation of a life-sized poster of me, a wet bar and a stripper pole.

Ah...the responsibilities of being a home-owner!

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

22 Reasons I Believe I Was Kicked Out of The Pussycat Dolls

  1. I refused to wear the standard-issued bustier to contain my multiple nipples, preferring to "let 'em swing." The other girls complained about being struck, repeatedly, by what they called "floppy hoots" and Worker's Comp insurance costs went through the roof!

  2. Because they live on only 800 calories per day, no one wanted to be around me because I constantly whine for treats or am wiping snack drool off my chin with my paw.

  3. I found it difficult to balance on 2 pair of 5" stilettos while unleashing super-sexy, hypnotic pelvic gyrations at the same time.

  4. I was unwilling to meet the groups' grooming standard of sporting the very trendy "bald pussy."

  5. Despite the backlash The Pussycat Dolls receive for being whorish role models, I seemed to out-scandal them with my celebrity feuds (Oprah, Tom Cruise, Star Jones-Reynolds, to name a few...); secret marriage to Brach, who was once thought to be my brother; and my constant public temper tantrums, usually resulting in scratched-up security guards, a urine-soaked red carpet and a drunken arrest.

  6. Everyone knows The Pussycat Dolls are Oprah fans. I ain't havin' that!

  7. Television shows like Letterman, Conan and MTV's TRL refused to pan the camera down past the girls' knees in order to capture me on film and, when I tried to climb onto my band-mates' shoulders, the girls complained that the blood from my scratches was staining their costumes. Come on...a little club soda can remove anything!

  8. The Pussycat Dolls consider themselves "sexy," but hearing me brag about being "super-sexy" got old...quick.

  9. Instead of singing the proper lyric, "Loosen up my buttons, babe," I thought it more appropriate to sing, "Rub my furry belly, babe," causing some of the...less brilliant dolls to forget their own lyrics. And when I say "some," I, of course, mean "all."

  10. Two words: Height Requirement.

  11. The sound techs complained about my huffing and puffing into the headset mic. I can't help it if my costume is a wee bit too snug! That damn seamstress refused to let it out...again!

  12. Tour promoters are down on fat pussies. Discrimination!

  13. I was contractually obligated to steer clear of alcohol, due to too many carbs and I am a loose canon on cocaine and diet pills.

  14. There is no "K" in "TEAM!"

  15. The Pussycat Dolls boast of empowering women and girls (yeah...songs like "Don'tcha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?" make me feel SO good about myself!), but found my personal empowerment message offensive: "Don't You Wish Your Kitty Was a Slut Like Me?"

  16. The mandated hair extensions took forever to apply to my entire body and I kept tripping over strands of fake, blonde hair.

  17. My nude centerfold layout in Cat Fancy Magazine violated the group's morality clause.

  18. The other girls were jealous at how much attention my beautiful, green, vertically-pupiled eyes were getting in the press.

  19. There are outstanding warrants for me in Florida (no comment), which would prevent me from appearing on certain tour dates.

  20. I insisted on singing louder than the other girls and demanded I be placed at the front of the stage so my fans could fully appreciate my foxiness.

  21. I have a tomcat in every city and was loud about it...if you know what I mean.

  22. Can you say "Nipple Envy?"

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Slipping Brach "The Tongue"

Of course I love him. I married him, didn't I?

Damn paparazzi...

Monday, April 16, 2007

The Ultimate Kukka-Maria Experience, Part II

Remember my ebay auction through which I sold The Ultimate Kukka-Maria Experience? You've read about my day with KT Cat (winner) from my perspective, but did you read it from her side?

Be sure to check it out and, in the process, find out a little about yourself!

The Ultimate Sun-Block Haiku

I've waited for sun...
And look what he did to me!
That sun-hogging shit.

Friday, April 13, 2007

That Husband-Stealing Hussy!

First, it was Jennifer Aniston crying on my shoulder about Angelina stealing her man. Now I'm the scorned woman as Angelina makes her moves on my husband, Brach!

How far will this home-wrecker go to lure these mindless males with her bulbous lips and bodacious ta-tas?

I declare a secret fight with the "ngelina" part of "Brangelina!"

I shake my paw angrily in your general direction, Jolie! Suck on that!

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Weighting for Compliments

I stepped on the scale this morning and saw an amazing "11.0" staring back at me!

Normally a rotund 12.0-12.5, I was pretty pleased, until my Agent snapped, "That can't be right! That scale needs to be calibrated!"

Thanks for the encouragement! All those hours of ab work for naught...

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

About Last Night...

Dear John Kukka,

While I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together (okay, it was only one night, I was very drunk and you just kind of laid there), I just don't think I can continue in this relationship.

Despite your many great qualities, there are several reasons I just don't think we're compatible:

  1. When my friend told me he could hook me up with world famous pussy, I didn't know he meant you would actually be a cat.

  2. I know you cats think you can do no wrong, but there's a reason it's called doggy style, you're just not that good.

  3. You know the joke about fat cats and mopeds? Nuff said...

  4. OK this next one is a little more complicated. In it's simplest form, it breaks down like this: Your cell carrier is Verizon Wireless, placing you smack-dab in the IN-Network.

    I have it on good authority that Verizon's CEO is the anti-Christ and his evil plot to catapult society toward the end of days is founded on the idea of taking away our freedom two years at a time. I mean, when they told me "new every two," I didn't know they meant 2 years! That's a little more commitment than I'm looking for. I mean, take us, for example. You didn't even make it to two dates!

    Let's face it. Once you're on-board for two years with no hope for parole, save for a rip-van-winkle'esque early out clause, the idea that the customer is always right or even might be right some of the time goes completely out the window!

    Just the other day I was on hold interminably with customer service trying to see if I could find a way to resolve my current phone dilemma. My dilemma? My current phone had a career-ending injury caused by the rapid compression one might experience if, say, a big piece of construction equipment ran you over and pressed you into the earth.

    Oddly enough the phone sill works. For your reference, Empress, it's an LG VX6100 and, obviously, it takes a licking (No, Kukka...keep your lady business in check. It's not that kind of licking!) and keeps on ticking. That said, the case is deformed and broken, the screens are both shattered, the belt holster is pancaked and the battery cover is dust.

    Okay, back to the "support saga." So, I'm on hold, but the music doesn't come on and I can hear the support people chatting it up:
    "I'll bet you $20 my guy hangs up before your guy if we leave them on hold."
    "You should see the new pair of boots I got at the mall."
    "Does anyone know where I could score some X on the way home?"
    I could go on but you get the picture. So finally I talk to a script reading drone. There's no chance of trying to work something out with this person because Verizon probably doesn't trust them to choose the flavor jello they eat for lunch, let alone resolve a client issue in a reasonable manner.

    My problem, in a nutshell, is that my 2 years is not up until the beginning of July, so if I want a new phone now, I not only have to pay a $20 early upgrade fee but I lose my $100 credit that I would be receiving in July.

    So the drone runs me around for a bit, repeatedly explaining the same things over no matter how often I tell them I got it the first time. Eventually, we go the escalation route (not the moving stairs that have contributed to your ever widening nether regions Kukka).

    So I get put back on hold and get the elevator music version of Verizon infomercials. Meanwhile, I'm looking at the website which has a completely different price structure than the phone person which has a completely different price structure than the stores. They're trying to confuse you with so many options you don't notice the 2 year noose being slipped around your throat.

    After about 10 minutes I wind up talking to an escalation drone supervisor. She also has little to no incentive to actually help me. There's no way I can get a pro-rated version of my $100 credit and my new calendar starts today if I buy a new phone. Soooo, for the sake of less than 3 months, a 10+ year client, who has only upgraded his phone 2 times, loses $120 on this deal AND my clock starts over so I lose 100% of my 87% complete waiting period.


    I finally give in and just take it on the chin, because not being able to screen your calls for 3 months just won't fly, Kukka, and now every time you call I'll be reminded of our IN-Network status.

    It hurts, Kukka. It hurts...

  5. Lastly, I'm a dog. Some things just aren't meant to be.

The Cleverest and Most Freakishly Handsome Dog You'll Ever Encounter

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Kukka-Maria allegedly Dannielynn's Mother?

Associated Press (AP): With the DNA results expected today, the tabloid world (CNN, MSNBC, Fox News, all three major network news teams, etc) is abuzz with speculation. Is Dannielynn Hope Marshall Stern's father Howard K. Stern? Larry Birkhead? Schlomo Rosenbaum, the Jewish pool boy at her Bahamian resort?

While the paternity of the 7-month old baby has been a huge issue, little has been said about the maternity. Did Anna Nicole Smith really carry this child or did she use a surrogate?

"When Anna Nicole called our home in the fall of 2005, I was a bit shocked," explains Kukka-Maria's Agent. "Anna had won out over Kukka for the Trim Spa campaign due to some concerns about the product causing Feline Leukemia and slowly eroding the feline digestive system into a glob of goo. After Kukka took out her anger on what was then Anna Nicole's wide load, I honestly never expected to hear from Anna again."

When Anna announced her alleged pregnancy on her website, fans were skeptically excited.

"I was glad for Anna...because she seemed to really want another baby. I was concerned, though. Does she know anything about raising a child? Does she realize that babies need more than fluffer-nutters and Red Bull? And what language would she teach the child? English or Gibberish?"

After a few months, rumors began to swirl about how Anna Nicole didn't appear pregnant. While, in her 2nd trimester, she would lovingly caress her stomach for the paparazzi, onlookers couldn't deny the fact her abs were tight and flat. She complained of morning sickness, but only at night...when she would experience some nausea after polishing off a pint of Ben and Jerry's and a family-sized bag of Doritos.

"I deeedn't theeenk Mrs. Anna was pregnant," explains Esperanza Gonzalez, longtime maid for the deceased celebrity. "When she showed me the pregnancy tested, I thought eeet smelled like cat peees--like she had dragged it through a leeeter box! I never said nothing to Mrs. Anna. She would have beeeaten me with the urn holding her dead husband's ashes! I deeedn't want that again!"

"The idea that Kukka-Maria is the mother of Dannielynn is preposterous!" spouts an irate Howard K. Stern. "The idea that I would have 'relations' with a cat makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit." After his advisers share with him that, most of the time, surrogacy doesn't require direct male to female contact, he continues. "Ok, well even though it's done in a petri dish, I'm still saying that Kukka can not be the mother; she looks nothing like Dannielynn!" After his advisers share with him that, most of the time, the surrogate mother is implanted with an already-fertilized egg--not her egg, Howard K. Stern continues. "No comment."

Empress Kukka-Maria has eluded to the possibility that she is possibly tied to the birth of Dannielynn in a tongue-in-cheek blog post called, "Thirteen Things that Prove I am Anna Nicole's Baby's Father." While it was clear she was joking about paternity, might she have been telling us more than we originally thought?

With this drama being the top story on most of the credible news shows (E! Daily News, Inside Edition, Entertainment Tonight, etc.), we are bound to get answers soon.

Kukka-Maria was not available for comment, citing depression over the fact that she has yet to see her precious surrogate daughter, Dannielynn Hope Marshall Stern.

I guess we'll never have the answers!

Monday, April 09, 2007

Brach Grows Balls of Steel

Late last week, Oprah and I mended our relationship...for about 5 minutes. I agreed to appear on her show to plug my blog and discuss my super-sexiness. After about 15 minutes of show and over a dozen commercials for tampons, laundry soap and GED courses, the real reason for my appearance was revealed.

"Do you have a selfish, domineering, demanding and arrogant cat like Kukka-Maria in your home?" Oprah smirked. "If so, pay close attention to my next guest. A single mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and owner of 19 feline furry friends, Estelle Bryant is a world-renown cat communicator. Please welcome...THE CAAAAAAAAT WHIIIIIISPERER!"

Before I could leap to the floor and flee the stage, Estelle sat down next to me with Brach in her arms! With a gray bun precariously perched atop her head, Estelle sported a lovely plaid shirt and mom jeans. Expecting the worst from her pending interaction with me, she wore a utility belt from which hung a pair of elbow-length oven mitts and what appeared to be a full-faced bondage hood. I wasn't too concerned. Looking at her arthritic hands, I knew, if necessary, I could claw her face something fierce before she could even reach for the mask.

"Welcome, Estelle! And who is this big boy kitty?" Oprah crooned, her lilting voice saturated with artificial sincerity.

"This is Brach," whispered Estelle.

Leaning in closer and hoisting her voluminous hair from over her ear, Oprah asked, "What's that again, Estelle? Speak up, dear, so the audience can hear you."

"I'm sorry, Oprah. I will not speak above a whisper. It's in my contract," murmured the elderly woman.

With an unfamiliar confidence in his voice, Brach spoke up. "I'm Brach, Kukka's husband, Oprah."

"Hmmmm...I don't recall ever meeting you," Oprah muttered with embarrassment.

"We've met a squillion times, Oprah," Brach continued, his voice loud and strong. "You may not remember because, before The Cat Whisperer's coaching, I used to walk 7 paces behind The Empress or spend my days hiding in the spare bedroom. NOT ANYMORE!"

The audience erupted with thunderous applause, reminiscent of Oprah's great car give-away of 2004.

"Well, I understand you are here to confront The Empress on many of the dysfunctional behaviors she displays in your shared home. The floor is yours, Brach," revealed Oprah with a glance and a giggle toward the audience.

I refused to look at Brach directly, so not to mislead him into thinking he was the alpha-cat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean into The Cat Whisperer as she filled his ears with crap.

"You can do this, Brach. Repeat your strength mantra over and over to fill your tiny body with courage and confidence. Today is your day!"

Brach closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gone-it, people like me! I'm good enough, I'm smart enou..."

"Shut it, Brach," I hissed, interjecting the interruption heard 'round the world.

"I WILL DO NO SUCH THING, BEE-OTCH!" shouted Brach in a frightful roar that surprised even him a little bit.

I made my eyes look as threatening as they possibly could as I glared at him intently.

While shaking a bit, he refused to break eye contact with me first. "You like whispering, huh?" I said. "Well, listen closely, you rebellious little bastard!" I whispered.

The loudest silence I had ever heard suddenly fell on the audience as Oprah, Estelle and Brach stared at me, wide-eyed.

"Nothing has changed, Brach. I am still the HBIC in this hizzy and don't you forget it! I can name hund...thous...SQUILLIONS of studs--man and beast, alike, who would give their left testicles (those who still have them) to be near me for five minutes. Count your blessings that I let you live with me, not to mention I married you!"

The Cat Whisperer smiled and began speaking into Brach's ear once again. Brach suddenly stared straight ahead, almost hypnotized. "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gone-it peop...AAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

He leapt from his seat on her lap and landed on top of me, forcing me to the floor. Wrestling me, biting me and furiously swatting at me with his paws, he began to pant and grunt.

Picking at my claws and rolling my eyes, I just sat there waiting for the moderately annoying tirade to finish.

"You...are...not...the...boss...of...ME!" hissed Brach, as he spanked me repeatedly.

Fearing he would muss my fur and make me look a fool on national television, I raised my paw and, in one swift swat, knocked him on his "caboose." (The Cat Whisperer Lady's word, not mine.)

As The Cat Whisperer was fumbling with her bondage hood in preparation for battle [Note to Estelle: You may want to put the hood on BEFORE wearing the oven mitts], HARPO security rushed the stage and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.

As security carried me off-stage, I yelled "OPRAH WINFREY YOU ARE DEAD TO ME!" Oprah flipped me the bird and then had her assistant pick up Brach and hold him while she comforted him by petting him uncomfortably with a gloved hand.

When we got home, Brach apologized to me for his sudden uprising and his positive opinions of me, that I provided him, were restored. I don't blame the little guy; he didn't choose to come here to live. My Agent picked him out of a line-up and wished for the best.

As for Oprah? I suspect she won't attempt the "spring a surprise guest on Kukka-Maria" gimmick again. She'll be too busy wiping the contents of the flaming paper bag I left on her door off her Jimmy Choos. Suck that, Winfrey!

And the Cat Whisperer? From what I understand, wandering a sound stage, blinded by a bondage mask can be dangerous. Make a note.

Friday, April 06, 2007

Suggest a Caption?

The tabloids have caught Brach grooming himself (again). Suggest a caption before they do?

Thursday, April 05, 2007

Parental Control

Well, she finally did it. After months of threats and heated arguments about my television viewing habits, my Agent finally muscled me into submission.

She instituted a Parental Control code on all of my favorite stations.

She says I can no longer watch MTV because shows like "My Super Sweet Sixteen" are reinforcing my selfish, egomaniacal, diva-like ways. What does she mean? I demand a hundred-thousand dollar 8th birthday party and she act like I've asked her for her first-born!

She says I can no longer watch R-rated movies or HBO series. Apparently, my beat-down of Brach in the corner of the spare bedroom was "influenced" by "The Sopranos." I can't eat some gabagool and kick Brach in the faux stugots without getting pinched? Oh my GAWD! Apparently, I live in a fascist state! I can't believe she would do that 3 days before the final season premieres. Va fa napole! That backbiting schifosa!

She says I can no longer watch "Two and a Half Men" on CBS. Not because it's foul, but because it sucks. I'm not fighting this one.

She says I can no longer watch "I Love New York," on VH-1. Yes Tiffany is one crazy bitch, but I hardly think I'm one to line up eligible men who all pledge their devotion to me. Um...okay. Moving on.

I need to break this code! I've tried all our birthdays. I've tried my measurements (purr...ooh-la-la). Nothing has worked. I won't rest until I have access to the filth I love.

It's my right.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Open Letter to my Agent, Vol 10

Dear Strawberry Muffin Maker,

Thank you. While I typically do not enjoy your cooking (or baking, for that matter), and am thankful you have a fondness for packaged meals, this morning you surprised me. As you slept, I discovered what I now refer to as "ecstasy." As I casually strolled across the kitchen counters, monitoring my turf, I came across a metal pan with twelve little subsections that contained spongy matter in delicate, pleated cups.

At first I was disinterested. You've made these before and I've never deemed them worthy of my attention. This morning, however, due to boredom, extreme hunger or spite, I decided to take a sniff.

Despite the fact they were cool (and they are rumored to smell and taste better when they are warm), I could not resist the urge to snuffle along the edge of the first cup. A sweet odor made its way into my super-foxy nose and I closed my eyes as I inhaled deeply. I couldn't contain the tiny whimper that escaped my throat.

"I love you, Strawberry Muffin," I whispered. Based on the fact he did not respond, I spoke my heart again...only louder. "Strawberry Muffin, I heart you so very much. Will you be my breakfast?"

Before Strawberry Muffin had an opportunity to respond, I began licking him. As my pink, scratchy tongue caressed his toasty brown surface, I began to wonder if our pairing would be accepted by society. And would you, my Agent, approve?

At some point, during my passionate and intimate interaction with Strawberry Muffin, things got rough. "The safe-word is parthenon," I moaned as I stroked his inflated top. I began pawing at him until I flicked him out of the muffin tin and onto the edge of the stove top. He was very brave and never...NEVER cried out.

I began undressing him as quickly as possible. With my teeth, I gently peeled back his paper cloak while enthusiastically nuzzling him with my nose. "You are delectable," I moaned as I began nibbling on his edge. Unable to contain myself and needing better leverage, I batted him onto the floor and leapt to his side.

He stared at me intently as I continued to nibble his delicate parts. The sultry sound of my voice filled his ears as I flirtily murmured, "I fear you're much larger than I can handle!" Though he just laid there, allowing me to violate him in unimaginable ways, I could tell he was thoroughly enjoying the tongue lashing I was unleashing. He was firm. He was moist. He was more than I ever hoped.

After about 4 minutes of devouring his sensuous surface, I suddenly lost interest. A single muffin for The Empress? I would NEVER be tied to a single muffin!

"It was real. It was fun. It's wasn't really fun," I laughed at the muffin, whose name I had already forgotten. "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

I jumped to the counter once more and surveyed the muffin pan. "Well, look at you," I whispered to a super-sexy, blueberry muffin. "Do you clean your paper liner with Windex? Because I can see myself in it..."

You should know, Agent, that I licked every one of those muffins. Do I worry they will talk to one another, compare notes and deem me a slut? No. I have six toms in my Tomcat Stable; I'm not known for my chastity.

I know you took a muffin to work with you. Maybe you didn't know I had my way with that muffin, but my money is on the fact you like sloppy seconds. [Insert evil laugh here.]

Enjoy! I know I did!
The Empress

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

The Kukka-Maria/KT Cat Experience

[Excerpt from Kukka-Maria's personal diary, dated Monday, April 2, 2007]

Weight: 12 lbs
Catnip: 3 leaves
Units of Alcohol: 3 Cosmos and a shot of whiskey

Dear Diary,

KT Cat, winner of my ebay auction, "The Ultimate Kukka-Maria Experience," came to collect today. While she is a nice enough feline, I must admit, I was pretty intimidated and smidge threatened. She has a strong presence! Oh, you don't have to tell me, dear diary! I know I'm super-sexy, but sometimes I secretly admire and am [whispered] jealous of other cats.

When she arrived, she was decked out in her Feline Theocracy Maximum Leader frock. Overdress much, KT? (That's just the jealousy talking.) As I invited her in and followed her into the living room, I "accidentally" stepped on the edge of her robe...thrice. She was all but amused and swatted at me more than once. I was a bit put-off and couldn't resist baiting her straight away.

"KT, which is more noble and magnificent: 'Maximum' or 'Superior?'"

"I'm not sure I follow, Kukka..."

"Well," I continued smugly, "My Feline Theocracy title is Mother Superior of the Holy Order of Ocean Whitefish. Your title is Maximum Leader. Which is more...important?"

"Well, 'Maximum,' of course!" she chuckled.

"I'll wrestle you for leadership," I challenged. "Greco-Roman style!"

"Wrestling? How...crude," snubbed KT.

"Bawk, bawk," I said, in my best chicken voice.

"KUKKA-MARIA!" shouted my Agent. "That's enough! Not only is KT a guest in our home, she paid $1,610 to spend the day with you. BE NICE!"

"$1,610? That's petty cash," I mumbled, under my breath.

Since this was to be a typical day in the life of Kukka-Maria, dear diary, I led her to the couch for our morning nap.

"But, I'm not tired," whined KT Cat.

"Then sit here and watch me sleep!" I chided. "Sit with Brach and stare at me for the next two hours for all I care!"

"How rude," KT muttered.

I only slept for one hour and thirty-two minutes before I was awaken by the thundering scuffle of Brach and KT hoofing it around the living room, chasing one another.

"BRACH!" I shouted! She is not here to carouse with you; she is here to watch me sleep!"

KT rushed to my side, "Kukka! You're finally awake! What's next?"

"We go to the window for about fourteen minutes and taunt the paparazzi. We sit there, cover our faces with our paws and pretend to hate the attention."

Thirteen minutes into the paparazzi "stand-off," I heard KT grumbling, "This is crap. Boooooo-ring!"

"Fine. Let's prank call Tom Cruise," I snickered. "I prank him every day, right before lunch."

"I know! We can mock him about the foolishness he calls a 'religion' and talk about how superior the Feline Theocracy is!" shouted KT excitedly.

"Wait. So you're admitting 'superior' is an exceptional word now? I mean, you could have used the word 'maximum,' but you chose 'superior!' Oooooooh, snap! I caught you, KT! What do you have to say now?!"

"Well, I...I just meant..."

"Nevermind. Pick up the phone; Tom Cruise is speed dial seven," I barked. "We can add the Feline Theocracy angle to my already-perfected impression of Xenu. He buys it every time! What a moron! I'm starting to feel a bit guilty for putting him through this every day, but not enough to stop!"

"It's ringing! It's ringing!" exclaimed KT in a squeaky, energetic voice. "What am I supposed to say when he answers?"

"In your best Xenu voice, tell him he is past the state of clear and has achieved Operating Thetan level," I instructed. "Tell him, since he's learned all there is to know about Scientology, he should challenge himself to explore other the Feline Theocracy."

"Kukka...the Feline Theocracy is not a cult," KT hissed. Covering the phone with her paw, she suddenly whispered, "Oh. My. GAWD! He answered the phone himself!"

"Talk!" I bellowed.

"Um...Mr. Tom Cruise, sir...This is Emu and I think your...your whatever levels are rockin' and you should join the Feline Theocracy because we...I mean they are really cool!"

"Hang up! Hang up!" I screeched, trying to stifle my laughter. "Emu? Whatever levels? Amateur..."

After that, dear diary, we napped again. Against every instinct I had, I allowed KT to have the prime sleeping spot on the back of the couch, while I slept in the inferior chair. During this nap time, due to the excitement of calling Tom Cruise, KT was sawing logs something fierce!

"KT!" I hissed. "You're drooling on my fleece blanket!"

KT mumbled something, stretched and daintily placed her chin on her paws. I walked up, stepped on her in my typical alpha-cat fashion and forced her to the floor. Quite frankly, it gives me the sweats just thinking I would have to sleep in another cat's drool. Before you feel badly for KT, dear diary, I'm not sure she even remembers being displaced, as she never even opened her eyes.

After our nap, I began my afternoon grooming, focusing on my nether-regions...because it was Monday. KT was looking agitated and panicked.

"Mother Superior, where is the litterbox?"

"Oh, shit," I groaned. "To be honest, KT, I don't feel comfortable sharing my litter with a strange cat. It's bad enough Brach has to use it!"

"KUKKA-MA-RI-A!" shouted my agent. "I am ashamed of you! KT is more than welcome to share your litterbox. In fact, young lady, I might remind you that I actually own the litter and allow you to use it." Picking KT up in one powerful swoop, she shot me a ferocious glare, carried a crying KT down the hallway and said, "Come on, KT. I'll show you the litterbox."

KT had asked, specifically, for a ride in my Toyota Prius hybrid stretch limo. While I found it mundane, she was titillated, as evidenced by her licking of the windows the entire ride. Clearly she had never traveled outside a pet carrier before! Because I felt the ride was too boring to be considered a treat, I arranged for us to attend a taping of "Dancing with the Stars."

"!" exclaimed KT, upon hearing our destination.

Here's where it got interesting and, I must admit, I gained a greater respect for my Maximum Leader. During Joey Fatone's gyrations, KT suddenly began to sing along with the music. Loudly. Clearly oblivious to the stares and grumblings around her, she closed her eyes and howled at the top of her lungs.

As we sat in the front row, on plush pillows, it was obvious that Joey and his dancing partner (I'd write her name, dear diary, but I don't give a shit) were working very hard not to glance at the source of the shrieking. I had to giggle a bit.

During the next commercial break, security showed up to usher us out of the auditorium. As they grabbed KT, Jacob, the Syrian Hamster, fell out of her robe.

"Ma'am, did you think you could have two creatures admitted to the show on one ticket?" interrogated the security officer. Dressed in a neatly-pressed blue uniform and a shiny star badge pinned precariously on his pocket, it was clear he was trying to compensate for his non-threatening appearance by using the lowest, most intimidating version of his voice.

It wasn't working.

"HIT IT!" I shouted to KT. Quick as a flash, she whipped Jacob onto a tiny saddle that was strapped to her back (curiously, I hadn't noticed the saddle until this point) and began scratching at the security officer's leg. I plucked at the plush pillows and peed on the old man sitting on the aisle. Making a break for the limo, we both dashed through the officer's legs, leapt over Tom Bergeron's shoulder and even had time to scamper across the judges' table, scattering papers and spilling Coca-Cola all over Carrie Ann Inaba's lap. Between you and me, I strongly suspect there was a little bit of rum in there. When she hissed, "You evil little cat," she smelled like a distillery.

But if you repeat that, dear diary, I will emphatically deny it!

Laughing as we climbed back into the Prius limo, I high-fived KT and Jacob. "YOU REBELS!" I howled. "Your disruption of that crap-dancing show makes me proud to be associated with the Feline Theocracy!"

"We do what we can, Kukka..." laughed KT and Jacob, in unison (I know! I thought the unison thing was a bit creepy, too...kind of like the twins from "The Shining.")

By the end of our day together, dear diary, I learned a valuable lesson. I came to realize that neither "Maximum" nor "Superior" is better...just different. And, of course, when I say "different," I mean "Superior" is better. Obviously.

All in all, KT Cat is an amazing companion! I recommend, dear diary, if you even read blogs...because you're a diary and all, you spend some time with her and her little hamster buddy, Jacob. And, if you do, be sure to bring some pepper spray, sharp claws, a full bladder and some stellar running shoes because that closet-instigator is sure to take you on an adventure (or two)!

Thanks, KT Cat for your fake bid of $1,610! You faux generosity is admirable.

As for you, dear diary, I'll talk with you again tomorrow...
The Empress

Monday, April 02, 2007

Auction Extravaganza...Postponed

Well, congratulations goes out to KT Cat...winner of The Ultimate Kukka-Maria Experience. The last bid before the cut-off of 11:59 PM, EDT, KT spent $1610 to spend a day with me. In fact, KT was so enthusiastic, she out-bid herself, but just 2 minutes after the deadline.

If you had asked me on Friday who I predicted would win, I would have said, "One of my Tomcat Stable, of course!" Um...[clears throat uncomfortably], apparently they decided to just phone it in. It was a shock to see them let me go to KT, but I have to admit, spending the day with The Maximum Leader of the Feline Theocracy was exciting...nay, an honor.

I was able to get my Mother Superior of the Holy Order of Ocean Whitefish on!

I can't wait to write about it. But it won't be happening today; I'm tired and hungover. That crazy puss knows how to paaaaaaartaaaaaaaay!

Thanks to all who participated!