Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Most Eligible Tomcat Off the Market?!

Associated Press (AP): Representatives for Brach Lee have released a statement proclaiming the 2006 Super-Sexiest Feline Bachelor has finally found love and has removed himself from sexual circulation.

"It's true," says his Agent, with a wink and a grin. "He took one look at her and was immediately smitten. I was actually pretty embarrassed with his forwardness! He was groping her and rubbing his face all over her in less than a minute! Fortunately, it appeared she was into it and was enjoying the attention."

Devastated kittens everywhere, who have spent countless hours plastering posters of Brach above their napping spots, seem to be expressing their dismay in a single, unified gasp. "I love Brach Lee!" shrieks a quivering and sobbing Siamese. "I don't care if he thinks he's in love with HER. One day...when we actually meet, he will look deep into my slightly crossed, but brilliantly blue eyes and proclaim his love and devotion to me!"

Cradling the Siamese, who has now fainted, a teen-aged tabby rolls her eyes. "She's young and naive. One day she'll realize that Brach will never love her...because he and I will be married with four to six litters of kittens." Pumping her paws into the air, she yells, "I LOVE YOU BRACH LEE! FOREVER AND EVER!"

Having reviewed Brach's medical history, which is a matter of public record, we found he has had his junk altered and can't possibly give the tabby kittens...no matter how much he loved her. We weren't going to be the ones to tell her that, though.

In a highly unusual and much sought-after interview with Brach, the super-sexy tomcat sheds some light on his feelings for his new love. "She is amazing. She is gentle and kind. She is mature and considerate. She is clean, pristine and virtually germ-free! She takes care of me without complaint. She listens to me without interruption. She is quiet, but the looks she gives me? Those looks say it all. I've never met anyone like her, nor do I expect anyone more magnificent exists. She is my sun. She is my moon. She is my...my everything."

"She's a whore. She gives it up for anyone and everyone who asks," snaps Brach's sister, Kukka. Licking er paws, she hisses, "She stands there, waiting for any ol' cat to approach and is more than willing to stroke them until they purr. It's disgusting!"

She presents a photo and continues, "I've taken pictures of the two of them together and it's sickening! He runs his face, mouth and tongue all over her! GET AN EFFING ROOM FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!"

Waiting for a reaction from us, but not getting one, she presses on. "She is going to cheat on him. I know it. In fact, she's propositioned me already! She's beckoned to me as I've strolled by! And, despite the fact I'm not into chicks, I have to say, I am tempted. She looks like she gives good head....scratches on the head, that is!"

When pressed for more details about the woman who has captured this career bachelor's heart, Brach blushes. "Her name is Cat Hair Magnet," he whispers, "But I call her FERN..."

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

A Series of Open Letters to my Celebrity Friends, Acquaintances, and Sworn Enemies (You Know Who You Are, Oprah)

Dear George Clooney,

I was shocked to hear that you have hooked up with Pamela Anderson. I get you're denying it now, but I also know you're a boob-man. Although, when we were together, you were adamantly opposed to me getting breast implants in my multiple hoopdie-hoops (primarily because I wanted you to pay for them). I have to imagine, despite your fascination with her enormous knockers, there isn't much else there that will keep you together.

While I don't miss your whiny, late-night drunk dials, I have to say I'm a bit jealous. Crap. Did I just say that? There was a time when you had pledged your smoldering eyes and firm booty to me--and only me. I know it's been years since we shared kibble by candle light, took long walks on the beach (during which you had to carry me, as the risk of me getting swept up in the surf was just too high), enjoyed steamy nights by the fire, and I endured you standing outside my window with a boom box, professing your love. I did sort of expected you to remain faithful to me. Even though I have taken on a stable of super-sexy tomcats.

What can Pamela Anderson give you that I could not? Yes, she is tall. Yes, she is allowed to go outside of the house at-will. Yes, she is blonde. And yes, she has enormous cans. But she is not as super-sexy as me. She is not as talented as me (ref: "Barb Wire"). And, while my jugs might be inferior in size, I have more of them.

Let me know if there is anything beyond the boobs,
The Empress





Oprah (notice there is no "dear" here!),

I know you felt betrayed and devastated when your relative dished to a tabloid magazine that you had a teen pregnancy. I'd think you'd be glad that you have proof that you've actually had sex with a man! I mean, we get that Gayle King is your BFF, but I'm starting to think, in your case, BFF doesn't mean Best Friend Forever as much as it might mean Boy-Friend Fill-in.

Think about it.
The Empress





Dear Isaiah Washington,

Rehab? Really, Isaiah? For making an anti-homosexual slur? Rehab is for addicts. Are you telling us you are addicted to hating gays?

Can I get a "WHOOT-WHOOT" for my gays?
The Empress





Dear Tom Cruise,

I got an email today from ¶¿¥«˜£Â¼š with some interesting news about some amazing "Penis Enlargement Breakthroughs!"

I'll forward it to you. Unless the good folks at the Scientology Celebrity Centre are still working to create a robotic appendage for you...

Are you pickin' up what I'm throwin' down?
The Empress





Skank Hilton (of the Parisian variety),

Whew. Where do I start? I get you're frustrated that a storage facility auctioned off your belongings when you failed to pay the rental fee for your 6,000 sq. ft. storage unit. (Which, by the way, is roughly 6x larger than my home.) Welcome to the world of the working-class. Talk to the millions of impoverished people who store their shit because they have been evicted or had their homes in foreclosure and, due to their lack of funds, lose their belongings to auction.

You thought the moving company was going to pay the storage fees? Are you that out-of-touch with the real world or just on crack? I've never...ever...heard of a moving company that takes on the debts of its customers.

But, then again, you are Paris Hilton.

I have to say, it seems a bit coincidental that these private and personal nude photos and videos of you keep "leaking" to the public. A word of advice: QUIT GETTING NEKKID WHEN THE CAMERAS ARE ON YOU!

Oh, and buy a shredder for your bank statements if you don't want the people who perpetually nose around in your garbage to see them. You can get one at Staples for only $19.98. Talk to your moving company. I'm sure they'll foot the bill.

Completely unrelated, but just about as disturbing: What's up with the brown eyes as a child and blue now? You're not fooling anyone. Unless you used the storage unit money to have iris-replacement surgery...

I'm just sayin'.
The Empress





Dear R&B crooner, Lumidee,

"She's Like the Wind" by Patrick Swayze? Seriously? Of all the songs you could cover, you chose this one?''

What's next? "Party All the Time" with guest vocalist Eddie Murphy?

My girl wants to party all the time, party all the time, party all the time...
The Empress

Monday, January 29, 2007

For Sale by Owner

"KUKKA! GET YOUR FURRY LITTLE ASS IN HERE!"

As soon as I heard her shrill voice reverberate through the house, I knew the safest place for me was under the bed. It was 7:32 pm. She had the television on, but was in the other room. At least until she heard Pat O'Brien say, "Feline Blogger sells her mansion? We'll tell you more in just 8 minutes...after we check in with the Anorexic Twins and their inspiring trip to Disneyland! Can Mickey Mouse make them eat? But before that, we'll give you the long-awaited 26th segment of our 51-part Anna Nicole Smith series. Is it true she is having breast implants installed in her newborn daughter? She'll tell all...an Insider exclusive!"

"KUKKA! I. SAID. GET. IN. HERE!"

Nope. Hiding.

Swipe. Swipe. I suddenly found myself dodging an aggressive arm that had reached under the bed and was blindly thrusting and moving back and forth in an attempt to grab me. I ran from under the bed and into the living room. Jumping on the back of the couch, I feigned sleep as she entered, scowling.

"Why is our...no MY house appearing on The Insider? And why is Pat O'Brien telling me it's for sale?"

Wiping my eyes and yawning, I said, "I don't know what you're talking about. For sale? YOUR house? You may as well be speaking Canadian English. I don't understand a word you're saying."

Just then, Lara Spencer's voice filled the room as she threw to Pat with this teaser: "P.O.B...is it true the Empress is looking to relocate? Do you have the scoop for us?"

Although highly inappropriate at that moment, I had to snicker at Lara's clever pun.

"I sure do, Lara!" bellowed Pat. "Word on the street is that The Empress is broke and trying to raise money for treats. It sounds like willful neglect by her Agent is cited as the source of Kukka's hardship. For more on this breaking story, let's check in with broker-to-the-stars, Dominick Brighton. Dominick...what's the dirt?"

"Well, Pat, it's interesting. While I have never spoken with Empress Kukka-Maria about her home, nor do I know her personally, I have some really important and perceivably critical pieces of insight to share."

"Give us the inside deal, Dominick."

"Pat, it is rumored the estate is merely a vacation home and that she actually spends most of her time in a modest dwelling in West Michigan! I do know that her home is palatial. Perched on a hill, overlooking Lake Michigan, her estate is said to be worth $82 million. Sporting both indoor and outdoor heated pools, a tennis court, a helipad, a three-story scratching post, an eight-foot automated cat tongue on the wall for grooming, and three rooms just to store her custom designer gowns, it's a highly desired property. In fact, the staff of 30 is expected to transfer to the new owners--including The Royal Cat-Petter and Official Litter-Scooper. We sent helicopters to capture an aerial view of her digs."

"That is one amazing crib!"

"Indeed! But do you want to know the real scandal, Pat? The thing that has the country a-buzz?"

"We sure do, Dominick. And we'll find out after this commercial and several needless teasers from Lara."

During the commercial and Lara's schtick, I did my best to look as cute as I possibly could. I rubbed against her leg, purring. I sprawled on my back, spreading my opulent form across the floor, and looked at her sweetly.

It didn't work.

She was irate. I could see the veins in her forehead bulging as her face turned more and more red. Just as she fumbled for words, Pat O'Brien's voice filled the room once more.

"Dominick! What else do we need to know about Kukka's surprising real estate drama?"

"Here's the key piece of scandal, Pat. I heard from a friend of mine who has a cousin whose hair-stylist is the neighbor of the man who plays Texas Hold 'Em with the dude who is the fraternity brother of the man who picks up Kukka's garbage. Seems, as he did his weekly search through her trash, he found a document that said she is listing the property for $3.06."

"Million, of course?"

"No, Pat. Three dollars and six cents...just enough to cover the price of her favorite cat treats, plus the 6% sales tax."

"WHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAT?!" barked my Agent, choking, clenching her fists and locking her jaw. "THREE DOLLARS AND SIX CENTS? ARE YOU FU...ARE YOU...KIDDING ME?"

"Hey. You should really appreciate the fact I wasn't selfish enough to want more than one bag of treats. You should be commending my restraint instead of condemning my real estate judgment." I justified.

She had fainted by that point.

Needless to say, I'm grounded. She's threatening to keep me from The Oscars. She's taken away my Official Litter Scooper (her) and is claiming it's my responsibility to clean up my turds. She has cut me off from treats. She is refusing to let me share her bed. She has even forbade me from watching The Office, knowing full-well how badly I gots to have my Jim Halpert!

She's also giving me the silent treatment. But is that really punishment?

$3.06. Don't say anything, but I'm still selling. Any takers?

Friday, January 26, 2007

I Still Haven't Found the Comments I'm Looking For

Associated Press (AP): Bono and Empress Kukka-Maria have announced the launch of a goodwill campaign to eradicate blogging comment poverty. The initiative, called "I Still Haven't Found the Comments I'm Looking For," based on the hit U2 song of a similar name, will focus on spreading blog comments evenly across blogs to eliminate the devastation that occurs when smaller, third-webbed blogs have few comments.

"There are over hundreds of thousands of defeated families in the world who log on to find few or no comments on their blog posts," explains an emotional Bono. "It's unjust. It's inhumane. We feel that by launching this aggressive crusade, by the end of 2008, every existing blog will have an abundance of comments."

Despite their feel-good, share-the-wealth approach to this issue, Bono and Kukka have been attacked by critics. "I get over 200 comments on each post I write," barks a popular blogger, requesting his identity be protected. "I shouldn't have to share those comments with someone who writes a cat blog for crying out loud! I mean, I love my pet, but I don't love my pet!"

"The critics' insecurities really surprise me," says a dumbfounded Kukka, shaking her head. Using finger quotes, she continues, "If these so-called 'successful bloggers' are such great writers to have earned hundreds of comments, couldn't they easily grow that number again? I mean, once you have over 75, what are you really going to do with them? You don't read every one of them...unless you're a loser without a life. So the comments simply become a badge of honor? Please..."

Celebrities like Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Gwyneth Paltrow, Tom Hanks and, despite her ongoing feud with Kukka, Oprah Winfrey have lent their names and backed the cause with their money.

"First off," laughs Brad Pitt, when asked about his involvement, "it's Kukka-Maria! Any cause she supports is a cause I want to back. She was my first true love...I trust her judgment! If she believes comment equality is possible--that it's a realistic goal, then without hesitation, I'm going to work side-by-side with her to make it happen."

Rumors of a comment-raising concert, to be held simultaneously in 8 different major world cities and broadcast throughout all of the 193 countries on the globe, have been spreading like wild fire.

"It's no secret people want me to sing," mutters Kukka, trying to remain modest. "While I know it will make a lot of people happy and would raise a lot of comments for destitute bloggers, I'm a little apprehensive. I usually reserve my loud singing for the evening, after my Agent turns out the lights and is trying to go to sleep."

"While we're not sold on the concert idea, primarily because broadcasting it in many countries without computers...or electricity might be futile, it has been discussed. I might be speaking out of turn, but Kukka and I have been working on a theme song for our cause," explains Bono. "I'd like to give you a taste right now, because I think reading these heart-felt words might inspire someone to donate some of their comments today. This issue is urgent!"



"I have climbed highest mountain
I have run through the fields
Only to read comments...
Only to read comments.

But I still haven't found the comments I'm looking for...
I still haven't found the comments I'm looking for!"


Clapping her paws behind Bono, Kukka gingerly wipes a tear from her eye. "There is absolutely no reason bloggers should be going to bed tonight hungry for comments. We need to do something...we need...to do...some...thing."

George Clooney is working on creating a mauve, rubber bracelet for supporters to wear. "The delay on the bracelets is Kukka's insistence her image be placed on them. With all due respect to The Empress, I'm thinking that's a bit much...and a logistical nightmare."

To show your immediate support for Bono and Kukka's pet project, "I Still Haven't Found the Comments I'm Looking For," Kukka has asked for comments on her blog.

"Each comment can make a difference," smiles Kukka-Maria. "The blogging world's self-esteem is counting on every person reading this. So, if bloggers cry today because they don't have comments, you...yes, YOU are solely to blame!"



**UPDATE**
Thanks to a stellar suggestion from Zeus, always the charitable tomcat, a button has been created for you to place on your blog in support of this cause. It's the official "ISHFTCILF 2007" crest.

Please feel free (after commenting here) to right-click, save and re-size this ground-breaking logo so you can showcase your social conscience on your own blog. Tie the image back to the permalink of this post so people all over the world can be educated and inspired to join the fight for blog comment equality!

Hopefully, with this passionate effort and your support of "I Still Haven't Found the Comments I'm Looking For," we will eradicate blog comment poverty!

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Thursday Thirteen, Edition #19



You've all read them.
Some of you actually believed
them!
Shame on you!



Top Thirteen True False Articles
Written About Empress Kukka-Maria
in the Tabloid Newspapers in 2006.



  1. FELINE EMPRESS SPORTS PROSTHETIC, ROBOTIC TAIL; OPERATES WITH REMOTE CONTROL!


  2. LOVE KUKKA-MARIA'S GREEN EYES? THANK BAUSCH & LOMB!


  3. KUKKA PAYS $13K/YR FOR WHISKER EXTENSIONS!


  4. BULBOUS NIPS AREN'T NATURAL! KUKKA-MARIA STACKED WITH SILICONE!


  5. ACRYLIC DRAGON-LADY CLAWS? KUKKA'S MANICURIST SPEAKS!


  6. KUKKA HIDING CHIHUAHUA TATTOO UNDER FUR...IS SHE A CLOSET DOG-LOVER?


  7. IS KUKKA ACTUALLY SMILING OR ARE THE RUMORS OF A WHISKER-PAD LIFT TRUE?!

  8. BLOGGING ROYAL ENDURES SCOLIOSIS AS A KITTEN; REFUSES TO SUPPORT CHARITY THAT DEVELOPS FELINE BRACES AND FUNDS RESEARCH.


  9. KUKKA HAS ASYMETRICAL STRIPES...COULD THE EMPRESS REALLY BE IMPERFECT?


  10. FAMOUS FELINE ENDURES 7-HOUR EAR REDUCTION SURGERY TO APPEAR "NORMAL."


  11. "CAPTIVATING CAT'S PRISTINE WHITE FANGS ARE REALLY PORCELAIN VENEERS," CLAIMS EXTREME MAKE-OVER DENTIST!


  12. FELINE EMPRESS PERPETUATES UNREALISTIC STANDARD OF BEAUTY BY SPENDING OVER $80K THIS YEAR IN BLUSH (FOR HER PINK PAW PADS) AND POWDER (FOR HER WHITE CHEST AND STOMACH).


  13. BOTOX ON THE BOOTY? COSMETIC SURGEON CONFESSES SHOOTING BOTOX INTO FELINE BLOGGER'S BUNG-HOLE TO ELIMINATE WRINKLES.

CHECK OUT MY THURSDAY 13 ARCHIVE!


Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Sigh...

Even though I knew I wouldn't be nominated for an Oscar, when it actually happened (or didn't happen), it was a bit hard to digest.

Agent! Make me a Cosmo, bring me some chocolate cake, fetch me a boy-toy and for crying out loud, tell Leo I'm not up to celebrating his nomination with him!

I'm just soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo depressed today.


Tuesday, January 23, 2007

"Dear Kukka...", Volume XV

It's time to answer questions from what seems to be an endless amount of fan mail I receive on a daily basis. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want to read your letters, it's just that I really don't want to.

My Agent is like, "Kukka, you owe your success to your fans, are you that ungrateful?"

And I'm all, "Um...no. I'm grateful, just lazy."

That's neither here, nor there. Let's get to the meat of the matter and find out what you are dying to know about me this time!


Q: Kukka, you've gone on record as celebrating your ample body, claiming the junk in your trunk merely makes you more attractive. As a teenager, I have a difficult time seeing my beauty through my acne, greasy hair, braces (on both my teeth and legs) and flat chest. Have you ever struggled with self-esteem issues?
A: Oh, Dear Gussie, yes! I think, at one time or another, all females struggle to recognize their worth. For me, I remember that moment clearly. I had just fluffed the fur around my multiple nipples. As I looked down at my chest, I suddenly feared one of my nips was sexy, but not super-sexy like the rest. I took to my bed for three whole hours, refusing all food, water, and phone calls from friends of all species. It was a tough afternoon for everyone. Fortunately, upon further examination, I realized I was wrong, and that all my nipples were, in fact, super-sexy. When you look in the mirror, stare into your own eyes and repeat this mantra over and over: "I am sexy. Not super-sexy, like Kukka, but somewhat sexy. I mean, no one can be as sexy as Kukka, so that's not really a slam on me. I am sort of pretty, though...and isn't that what counts?" Remember: Boys will like you for what's inside...your wallet. If you aren't rich, then you really should focus on amping up your looks. It's all you've got! Good luck!


Q: The OSCAR Nominations are being announced today, Empress. Will you be nominated this year? Also, will you be presenting and, if so, will you actually go to the ceremony or will you get drunk, barf down the front of your designer gown and allow Will Smith to present in your place again this year?
A: Wow. I really resent your tone! I'll have you know I will not be nominated for an Oscar because (duh) I didn't make any films this year. I know that hasn't stopped me from being nominated in the past (e.g., years 2000, 2001, 2003), but this year I expect them to take the focus off of me and put it onto other deserving people like...well, I can't think of anyone off the top of my head, but you get the idea. As for presenting? Of course I'll be presenting! My Agent has already fielded several calls from The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, asking that I consider presenting in multiple categories. I'm waiting to see what hot men are presenting in which categories so I can place myself right next to them!


Q: Lately it seems there is an epidemic of celebrities painting themselves into politically incorrect corners. Mel Gibson made an ass of himself by targeting Jews. Michael Richards demonstrated his assitude by dropping N-Bombs all over the comedy stage. Now, Isaiah Washington, who seems to be missing a sensitivity chip...primarily when it comes to gays, has found himself in a publicity nightmare. Kukka-Maria, you have said hurtful things to and about people, but I've never seen you put on a pouty face and apologize. Aren't you worried your cold, pea-sized heart will end up hurting your career?
A: Hells no! First off, people love me. Period. Secondly, I don't blindly insult a group of people, I target specific individuals who have, in my opinion, shat on me in one form or another. Not only does my public tolerate my rants, they celebrate them by calling my outbursts "Pulling a Kukka!" Make fun of Star Jones-Reynolds? "She sure pulled a Kukka!" Insult Oprah? "Wow...that's the biggest Kukka I've ever seen her pull!" Call Tom Cruise the craziest mother-effer in the world? "She is so right! He is one crazy mother-effer! That's the best and most accurate Kukka she has ever pulled!" It's impossible not to like me!


Q: Empress, I see shirts all over the place with Kukka messages. Where do I buy one so I can publicly profess my love for you?
A:
Wow. This is a touchy topic. While it appears I indiscriminately sell my wares in my store, I do have specific guidelines as to who can buy them and how they are to be used. For example, my Agent has a shirt. One of the many places she wears it is at the gym. When she works out. And sweats all over it. This is totally against the rules! The Perspiration Policy clearly states: Any human purchasing a shirt must have their sweat glands surgically removed so that the fabric of the tee is not compromised with stinky body excretions. Recently, I became aware of someone who bought a shirt and wore a sweatshirt over it! The Exposure Clause states: Any human purchasing a shirt must display that shirt with pride and may not, even if they are freezing their ass off, cover said shirt with another garment (including, but not limited to coats, sweaters, sweatshirts--unless it's a Kukka Sweatshirt). Finally, it was brought to my attention that certain women wearing Kukka Couture purchased shirts that were way too big and, as a result, were hiding their figures. The Super-Sexy Statute spells it out: Shirts must be worn no less than two (2) sizes too small in order to adequately hug the body and expose one's super-sexy form. While, regretfully, most humans do not sport more than two (2) nipples, it is critical these nips are featured on both the male and female forms. If you are able to comply with these guidelines, feel free to purchase a stock one-of-a-kind Kukka Couture garment.


Q: Kukka, I get a crapload of annoying spam email on a daily basis. Do you get spam and, if so, what do you do about it?
A: In contrast to you, I get spam (a.k.a. fan mail) because I am popular, super-sexy and desired by all. While it's difficult to respond to each and every one, I have developed several solid relationships with spammers that I expect will be life-long friendships. For example, when æǾ%$*ĦΨљ#(&) first contacted me, I was a bit put off by the fact he/she accused me of having a small penis. While I don't have a penis, it bothered me to think that someone thought my non-existent penis was inferior. I immediately responded to his/her email with a rebuttal about my non-existent penis being quite large and very impressive. I was disappointed when my email bounced back; his/her return email address was fake! After weeks of investigation, I tracked down his/her real email and sent my angry response (now including a strongly-worded paragraph about return email address integrity). He/She apologized for sending it to me, said he/she was a huge fan and promised to remove me from his/her emailing list. We swore we'd get together for lunch, but to be honest, I have no intention of following through with it. I don't want to dine with someone who has a small penis and compensates by sending emails about it. I've never received another piece of spam from him/her, but it seems he/she has not spread the word to his/her spamming friends. I hope they read my open letter and get educated on my expectations.


Q: While he didn't mention you by name, Kukka-Maria, Brad Pitt recently went public about one of his first jobs in Hollywood: Accompanying strippers to naked gigs (driving them, collecting the money, manning the boombox and catching their clothes as they were aggressively removed). Is that how you met?
A:
Yes, I stripped. Yes, we met. Yes, we developed a love affair as he blasted my Tone Loc "Wild Thing" cassette and I sexily shook my tail. They were heady times...heady times, indeed.



You know you want to know more about me, so keep those letters coming! For that person (and you know who you are, βёςœ©²£$+Қ) who painstakingly writes each and every day, yet doesn't see his/her questions appearing on the blog, get over it! Asking me if I want to "buy more pills and pay less for it," informing me that "she will love you more than any other guy," and blabbering about "=?windows-1252?Q?Re:Custom/Qualified_Business_Leads_designed_for_Your_Company.?=" are not post-worthy.
In fact, I've given you too much publicity here already. Kiss off.



Read more of my mail in my "Dear Kukka..." Archive!

Monday, January 22, 2007

You DARE to Cage Me? Taste My Wrath!



It was no surprise when Chuck Liddell called me for a rematch! He was pretty torn up (literally and figuratively) after our last Ultimate Fighting Championship bout; I left him hurtin' for certain! "This time," he whimpered, "I'll be ready. I've been training hard and growing my nails out, Kukka. I think we'll be more evenly matched. You're going down, little pussy cat!"

Bring it, Liddell. Bring. It.

I've employed a pretty rigorous training regime for our rematch (although, I won't need the conditioning). Each morning, I awaken promptly at 3:12 am and flick at the window blinds until my Agent yells at me in a sleepy haze (a.k.a. my signal to move to my next exercise station). After working out my triceps on the blinds, I leap to the dresser and give my biceps a workout by flicking things to the floor. A water bottle? Yes! Some papers? You betcha! Feel the burn, Kukka...feel the burn!

Flick, flick...more yelling...flicking, flicking...yelling, yelling. Off to the carpet! Plucking the fibers not only sharpens my claws (a must for any respectable cage match), it strengthens my paws. The better to tear your flesh with, Mr. Liddell.

I know the day of our rematch will involve a lot of drama. In addition to the standard gaggle of paparazzi camped outside my house, I will have reporters from ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN Classic, and YETANOTHERESPN at my front door beginning at 6:00 am. I don't mind the questions about the fight itself, but the pleas for me to go on dates? Have some pride, people!

Retrieving my signature pink, satin robe with a hole cut for my tail down from the closet, I worried I may have packed on a few pounds and wouldn't be able to belt it. Fortunately, my Agent had the foresight to sew it on the bias so it had a little stretch to it. As I daintily ran my paws over the ultra-feminine, flowery, iron-on white letters that spelled "EMPRESS OF EVIL," I couldn't help but remember my first meeting in the cage with The Iceman.

[Editor's Note: Insert embellished flashback here.]

Once the referee announced the rules (there were none) and had given us the go, I started rubbing myself against Chuck's legs. "Purrrrrrrrr..." I cooed. "Purrrrrrrrrrr..."

"What a pretty, little kitty!" he exclaimed. "Come here, kitty! Here kitty, kitty!"

I let him pick me up and rubbed my face against his.

"You are so beautiful, pookie-wookie!"

SLAM! My paw met his nose with a thunderous crack that echoed throughout the arena. Raising my paw, prepared to strike again, I looked deeply into his eyes. "But..." he stammered, "Pretty kitty? What the..."

KABLAM! I struck again, this time leaving bloody track marks from my claws.

He finally whipped me down onto the mat (how many strikes must a man take before he understands he is getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter?) and tried to kick me.

A booming voice from the crowd yelled, "You bastard! You can't kick a defenseless little kitty baby!" The rest of the mob wildly agreed and began booing The Iceman.

"Purrrrrrrrr..." I whispered, blinking slowly and ever-so-adorably.

"You're right, Mister," shouted Liddell. Reaching to pick me up again and offering a hug, he said, "Who's the prettiest kitty around? Who? Who? It's you!"

He brought me to his chest and cuddled me close. Not close enough, though, as I was able to lift my paw and strike twice on his chest.

"DAMN IT!" he yelled, throwing me across the ring.

"Too bad cats always land on their feet, you sorry, pathetic pussy!" I taunted.

According to the newspapers, it was at that point when the fight truly began. He chased me around the ring, reaching for my body, but never quite fast enough to succeed. I was spry; I was quick. I shouted obscenities at him and insulted his mother.

"You little bitch..." he hissed.

"You'll never take me alive, Ultimate Fighting LOSER!"

The climax of the fight was when I unveiled my signature move: "The Ol' Unleash the Funk and Punch the Junk." If you aren't familiar, you must live under a rock. Not only has this move proven successful for me time and time again, there have been countless fighters who have attempted to replicate it.

Yet none have ever mastered it...but me.

Before Chuck knew what was about to hit him, I first unleashed the funk. Tightening my abdomen and loosening my anus, I expelled a stank that would make even the fiercest human's eyes bleed. He staggered around the ring, wiping his eyes and weeping.

"I can't see!" he shouted. "She has blinded me!"

I needed to introduce the final blow quickly, before the funk cleared. Approaching his crotch with the speed of a cheetah, I reached up, brutally punched his junk and clawed my way down his shorts.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" He stretched his arms and shook the arena with his bellow of torment. I have to admit, hearing Chuck screams echoing in my ears was the best gift a feline empress could receive. The chanting of "Kukka, Kukka, Kukka" from the crowd came in very close second.

As he fell to the ground, blubbering like a boy who was sitting home with his mother on prom night, his hands clutched his throbbing crotch (and I don't mean throbbing in the good way).

When the referee approached me, lifted me over his head and declared me the winner--something he had to announce twice so that the crowd could hear it over Chuck's wailing, I had to smile with pride. It was a true David and Goliath story...only, due to my extreme celebrity and popularity, I was really the giant and he was the itty-bitty boy.

So, I guess it wasn't like that at all.

Anyway, I kicked his ass and that night and became the Ultimate Fighting Champion. Later, the UFC asked that I retire from the ring and consider becoming one of the super-sexy Octagon Girls. When I was told there was to be no full-frontal nudity, I politely declined.

With these super-sexy multiple nips, why should I keep them under wraps?

Oh, I'm ready for our rematch, Mr. Liddell. I hope, for your sake, you wear a cup this time!

Friday, January 19, 2007

Cat, The Bounty Hunter

"Fine, Duane," I sighed. "If I agree to do the special, will you stop harassing me?"

It had endured pleading phone calls from Dog, The Bounty Hunter, for months. I knew I was sick of them; he had to be growing tired, too.

"You'll do it, brah?" he shouted. "She'll do it!" There was an explosion of excited screams from his family and friends who, apparently, were standing around waiting for my response.

"Hold it, Dog," I hissed. "If you insist upon calling me 'brah,' the deal is off. I'm nobody's brah."

"No problem, br...Kukka."

"Give me the phone, brah," barked Beth, his big-boobed bride. "Kukka! You're coming to Hawaii to film the special? I can't wait! You can ride with me in my SUV. We'll give you your own can of pepper spray and a pair of handcuffs."

"Silly Beth..." I smiled. "I'll bring my own pink, fur-lined cuffs."

"Oh. I guess that's fine, you kinky, little brah," she purred. "You bring 'em, but know that I still have bigger muffins than you!"

"Yours may be bigger, but I have more of them!"

I flew to Hawaii, first class, compliments of A&E Television. As I pressed the hot towel against my face and took a sip of my champagne, I wondered if the addicts from Intervention are treated this well as they flew to their inpatient treatment facilities.

"They probably don't get the champagne," I muttered to myself as I strained to look out the window.

Dog met me at the airport. Before I knew it, he placed a badge around my neck, whipped a leather vest on my torso, slapped a blonde mullet on my head and pinned a feathered roach clip to my temple. "If you're going to work with me, brah, you'll need to look like me."

"I don't think..."

"Read your contract, brah. You are contractually obligated to be mulleted."

We drove directly to his office and began to hunt bad guys. Standing at his dry-erase board, the debrief began.

"Who do we have, Leland?"

"We have a black, male," responded Leland, studying his laptop screen.

"WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE BLACK, YOU RACIST BASTARDS!?" I shouted in the most frightening version of my voice.

"CUT!" yelled Dog to the cameras. "Kukka, calm down. We didn't make him black. The dear Lord Jesus in the infinite heaven did. Now, if you're going to have these types of outbursts, we're going to have to ask you to be silent throughout the rest of the show."

"Sorry," I said. "I am just used to dealing with harsh specism that I didn't think it through."

Dog slowly turned toward Leland. "Go on, brah."

"Black male. Name: Cordozar Calvin Broadus. He was on vacation on the island and was popped for weed, brah. We posted bond and he has failed to appear in court. I contacted his business manager, Andre Young, but haven't had much cooperation."

"Word on the street is that he fled to L.A.," interjected Tim, "but now he's back to enjoy the surf, brah."

"Do you have a photo, brah?" inquired Dog.

"Yeah, brah."

"HOLY SHIT!" I exclaimed. "That's Snoop Dogg!"

"What the...who the..." stammered Dog. "There is room for only one dog on the island. Come on, brahs! We have vicious dog to catch!"

Speeding along the highway, Beth wouldn't stop talking. "Kukka...who does your hair? I mean, don't you think it would look much better if it were higher and blonder?"

"No."

"And who does your nails, brah? If I had four hands worth of claws, I'd be sporting some fierce, acrylic, dragon-lady nails!"

"You already sport dragon-lady nails," I mumbled under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

We arrived at Snoop's hotel and rushed up the stairs. It could have been because I'm [choke] out of shape, or because my legs were much shorter than the rest of the crew, but I had a difficult time keeping up. Hearing my huffing and puffing, Dog reached down and swooped me up in one brisk motion. Despite the fact it was a bit embarrassing to be carried on television when I was trying to appear as a bad-ass bounty hunter, my stems were relieved to catch a break.

My running issue was not nearly as bad as Beth's, though. I can see now why she wears the sunglasses. She needs to protect her eyes from her bouncing...um...assets. I'd take numerous nips over ginormous nips any day! That poor woman is physically stronger than any man I know! I'd like to see a man hoist and carry those puppies around each and every day--without bitching and moaning.

"Can I knock?" I whispered, as we stood outside the hotel room door. "I mean, I'm a huge fan."

"Thank you, brah!" blushed Dog.

"No...a fan of Snoop Dogg."

"Fine. I guess you can knock, braaaaaaaah," muttered Dog, hanging his head and fidgeting with the badge around his neck.

I quickly flopped down on the floor and banged on the door with all four paws. "OPEN THE DOOR, MOTHER-FUCKER! IT'S KUKKA-MARIA...THE BAD-ASS, WICKED-AWESOME, IN-YOUR-FACE, MAKE-YOU-CRY, DRAG-YOUR-MOTHER-HUMPING-ASS-BACK-TO-JAIL, DID I MENTION KICK-ASS? NO? THEN KICK-ASS BOUNTY HUNTER!"

Poised with pepper spray in paw, I could hear shuffling and banging behind the door.

In a very familiar, low and super-sexy voice, I heard, "Uno momento, por favor...I no speak-a de ingles."

"Snoop! Quit effing around," I threatened. "You know, as well as I, that I'm a stubborn bitch. I was like this when we dated; I haven't changed a bit. You know I'll camp outside this door as long as it takes. I have a packet of pretzels from the plane and I'm not above pissing on the floor, if I have to. I have my claws sharpened and I haven't had a treat in over 6 hours, so I'm feeling a little cranky."

"Kukka? It's really you?"

"Dogg..." I purred.

"Yeah, brah?" cooed Dog.

"No, Dog. I said DogG!"

"What?" asked Dogg.

"Cheese and rice! Get your ass out here, Snoop!" I commanded, with extreme frustration. "If you cooperate, I might be able to convince the judge to let you return to Michigan with me. You can stay at my house until your trial and we can fire up some Jamaican Black to relax."

"CUT!" Dog shouted to the cameras. "Brah, for crying out loud! You can't talk about smoking pot on television! You are supposed to be fighting crime, not committing crime!"

Suddenly, Snoop emerged from his hotel room. A hot-headed Leland unleashed his pepper spray, but thankfully, missed. As Dog prepared to place Dogg in handcuffs, I shouted "WAIT!"

Handing him my fur-lined cuffs, I smiled and winked at Snoop. "My pimp-daddy deserves to be pampered...even as he is being arrested."

"You're my bitch, Kukka," sighed Snoop. "You will always be my bitch."

Suddenly, Beth dragged him to the SUV. "Has anyone ever talked about turning your life around? This is your second chance," she expressed. I knew, based on the imminent pep-talk, that it was time to make my exit.

"Dogg, Dog and gang..." I whispered, wiping an imaginary tear from my eye. "It's been fun, but it hasn't been really fun. I'm outta here!"

"Come back any time, brah. We've had fun with you, brah, and would love to see you again, brah."

"ENOUGH WITH THE BRAHS!" I shouted, pressing my paws to my ears.





Apparently A&E wasn't too impressed with my appearance on the show, as I ended up flying home, in a crate, in cargo. I think it's because they are speciests! They love Dogs, but hate cats.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Thursday Thirteen, Edition #18


Despite the fact I was feeling bloated, not-at-all-super-sexy
and refused to exit my limo at the Golden Globes
,
I did get an eye-full of "what-the-hell!"

Thirteen Things I Happened to Witness
on the Golden Globes' Red Carpet from
Behind the Tinted Windows of my Limo.


  1. Jack Nicholson auditioning for a role on Showtime's "Weeds." Or maybe he was just getting high. That might explain the sunglasses permanently attached to his face!


  2. A gaggle of lawyers chasing Sacha Baron Cohen down the red carpet in order to serve him legal papers. Apparently the lawsuits are not limited to his movie; he will get sued just looking super-sexy! Oh those eyes...


  3. Seal planting ANOTHER BABY into wife, Heidi Klum...or would that be Heidi Klum-Seal? I'm of the belief beautiful and talented beings should procreate, but come the eff on!


  4. Brad and Angelina negotiating with lawyers to adopt Madonna's African baby.


  5. Vanessa Williams and her rarely-seen twin brother...a moderately attractive lion.


  6. Helen Mirren's boob mistakenly escaping her gown. (If you call her reaching in and whipping it out a "mistake...")

  7. A very tardy Prince running down the empty red carpet and taking a nose-dive after tripping over one of his purple high heels. Thankfully make-up covers even the worst carpet burns!


  8. Justin and Cameron having a pre-show spat to rehearse for their 40-minute post-show spat at an after-party.


  9. The black bear from Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan devouring Mary-Kate Olsen (who was not actually attending the awards, but was just there for dinner...Altoids and sparkling water).


  10. Tom Hanks telling every single person on the red carpet, "You've got balls...and by 'balls,' I mean artistic vision." Remarkably, he still didn't say it as many times on the red carpet as he said it in his tribute speech to Warren Beatty!


  11. Johnny Depp. Or was that a homeless man?


  12. America Ferrera looking very NOT-ugly. Makes me regret not swallowing my pride and taking the offer to star in "Ugly Kukka" when the show was just an idealet (tiny idea) in ABC's mind.


  13. God. Seeing practically everyone thanks Him in their speeches, He decided to actually show up this year.

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Wednesday, January 17, 2007

I Now Pronounce You Mr. & MR. Elemunk!

It's starting. With the next presidential election merely 657 days away, we are bound to hear loads about "hot button" issues as candidates work to differentiate themselves from one another. Stem-cell research, the Iraq war, same-sex marriage...the list is long and divisive.

There has never been a question that I am liberal in my views. Hell, with my Hollywood ties, it would be a travesty if I weren't! This weekend, I turned up my moral amp to 11 and went beyond simply having an opinion. I took action.

I want to share this tale to put names to the issue of which we rarely speak. This concern is in every American home, church and school, yet no one has the stones to speak honestly about it! Well, I'm giving this issue a name today. Two names, in fact.

Those names are Darweshi and Ezra.

I've been friends with Darweshi, an African Bush Elephant, and Ezra, a North American Chipmunk for several years. Ezra and I met after a lengthy and exhaustive chase. After two solid hours of running, he caught me and we started chatting over coffee. We became fast friends. I met Darweshi through Ezra. He introduced Darweshi to me as his "roommate" and, not knowing Ezra was gay, I took it for face value.

A few months ago, they approached me, asking that I officiate at their wedding. Aside from the shock I felt that they were gay (apparently my gaydar has been on the fritz for some time), I was thrilled to comply. Little did I realize the drama that would surround their union.

They are a same-sex, inter-faith, multi-cultural, inter-species couple.

As the wedding plans developed, the desperate phone calls began. Ezra called in tears, begging me to call his parents to reason with them, as they were refusing to attend the ceremony. Darweshi asked that I help him resolve a heated battle with his employer regarding the addition of Ezra as a dependant for medical benefits. Ezra started receiving calls from the media, wanting the exclusive on the story of their love. The issues were endless.

When Ezra called, asking me to help him pick out a wedding gown, I was relieved. This was something with which I could really help!

When Darweshi had trouble choosing candelabras and a DJ for the reception, I used my exquisite taste and musical connections to hook him up.

Planning the ceremony to incorporate each one's traditions was a nightmare. Darweshi, an African Catholic, wanted to wear a traditional tribal robe. Ezra, a devout Jew, wanted to have a chupah and demanded they break a glass during the ceremony. Darweshi wanted to lead the congregation in a round of African dances; Ezra, while claiming he had four left feet, reluctantly agreed. To honor Ezra, we decided I would wear a kippah (a.k.a. a yarmulke) and for Darweshi, I would don a clerical collar and tribal gown.

With all of the cultural and religious compromises, we lost sight of biggest issues surrounding what was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives!

The day of the wedding arrived. As my limo approached (a transportation demand I made of them), I was met with a crowd of humans, with signs sporting such hateful phrases! One said, "GAY ELEPHANTS SUCK!" Another, "CHIPMUNKS SHOULD STAY WITH THEIR OWN!" Still another, "YOU SHOULDN'T MATE IF YOU CAN'T PROCREATE!"

I have to admit, despite my tenacious and intense approach to volatile situations, I was a bit apprehensive about exiting the limo. Remembering my love for Darweshi and Ezra, I was determined to endure the hate head-on.

As I rushed into the church, I was pelted with dolls resembling aborted babies and anti-euthanasia pamphlets with Terri Shiavo's photo on the front. While concerned I might lose a few fans, I felt so deeply about the issues and my involvement that I was not only willing to endure the harsh criticism, I was eager to spout my own obscenities.

"Kiss my ass!" I screamed. In hindsight, I could have, nay...should have been a bit harsher, but I was nervous.

The ceremony was sweet, although absent parents and several other family members caused a few tears. I have to say Darweshi and Ezra did not focus on what was missing, but the gifts they had. Not only were they making a personal commitment to one another, they were making a very public and strong political statement.

Dodging the paparazzi and news media, we all headed to the reception hall for some tasty grub and mad dancing.

I learned a lot that day. I learned how important it is to follow your heart. I learned how critical it is to your spirit to be true to your beliefs and stand up to the opposition. I learned how ineffective it is to confuse your picketing issues by tossing babies and euthanasia pamphlets when protesting an anti-same-sex, inter-faith, multi-cultural, inter-species wedding; prioritizing your hate is important.

I also learned that, gay or straight, "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang is the backbone of any reception.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

I'll Accept my Golden Globe, but I Will NOT Accept Kukka's Absence!

Associated Press (AP) - Though clearly stunned at taking home a Golden Globe for her work in "Dream Girls," newcomer Jennifer Hudson, shocked us when asked what was the biggest surprise of the night for her. Hudson responded, "Not seeing Empress Kukka-Maria at the awards! She is the only celebrity I was looking forward to meeting." This sentiment echoed through the Beverly Hilton Hotel throughout the night as countless celebrities craned their necks and meandered through the ballroom during commercial breaks in search of the feline starlet.

"Has anyone seen Kukka?" asked a clearly uncomfortable ex-boyfriend, Brad Pitt. "She was supposed to attend the after-parties with Angie and me, but I haven't heard anything from her! I've called her cell phone during every commercial, but have only gotten her voicemail. This is just not like her!"

In a telephone interview with her Agent, early this morning, we were given a glimpse into what may have caused the Empress' absence.

"Believe me," sighed her Agent, "there is no one more disappointed than me. Because she didn't like any of the custom-designed gowns offered to her by Dior, Versace, Marc Jacobs and our dear friend, Jean-Paul Gaultier, I had to custom-design something for her. Fortunately, I had knit a muumuu for her a few months ago. And I think she looks lovely in purple!"

"Was her Agent on drugs?" a family friend, wishing to remain anonymous (but named Stella McCartney) gasped. "First off, a knit muumuu looks atrocious on anyone, but to add insult to injury, Kukka has been seen in the garment already! Why would she agree to wear something in which she has already been photographed?"

Her Agent continued, "When I suggested she don the muumuu and head to the awards, she hissed at me. Determined to show my dominance, I wrestled her to the ground and pulled the muumuu onto her, after which she simply flopped down on the carpet and refused to move. I tried lifting her butt, but she was dead weight. I tried coaxing her into the limo with champagne and treats, but she just wasn't having it. When Kukka gets her mind locked on something, it is basically impossible to disengage her...no matter what is at stake."

But the drama was only beginning.

"Once Brach got into the limo, looking dapper in his tux, she perked right up and was determined to go to the awards...muumuu and all," explained her Agent. "It's amazing what a little jealousy does to motivate her."

"As part of her mantourage for the evening, I have to admit, I was getting a little impatient. We sat in the limo for over two hours, waiting for her to get her furry little ass into the car," explained one of the six nameless boy-toy dates for the evening. "Then, when she got into the car, she immediately announced she was 'not going to put out' because she felt bloated and not-super-sexy. I was pretty pissed, because I was promised some hot action. And, by that time, I was pretty [expletive]-faced on the champagne, so that probably escalated my pissed-offness."

Another mantourage member added, "I tenderly told her she seemed a little fussy and should take a chill pill." Rubbing his scratched face, he mumbled, "Word to the wise: Never say anything like that to Empress Kukka-Maria. She doesn't take kindly to constructive criticism."

Bystanders recall seeing Kukka's limo approach the red carpet, but no one saw her emerge amidst the deafening screams of her fans.

A disappointed Alec Baldwin, clutching his Globe for TV Comedy Series Actor, reported, "I saw the limo and actually lingered in order to walk the red carpet with Kukka. I saw Brach emerge, as well as a gaggle of super-sexy boy-toys, but no Kukka!" Wiping a stray tear from his eye, Baldwin choked, "It was truly heart-breaking not to be able to share my win with the one I love the most."

Looking at the vacant chair next to her, Helen Mirren, winner for Best Actress in a Movie Drama, reflected, "I was told by the producers that Kukka-Maria turned down the lead role for 'The Queen' before it was offered to me. I hope she doesn't think I stole it from her! I would never disrespect her like that! If that is the case, and it is the reason she was absent tonight, I have some serious apology letters to write and flowers to send!"

"She is my personal hero," gushed a blushing America Ferrera upon exiting the stage after her Golden Globe win for Ugly Betty. "The fact that Kukka can carry around all that extra weight and still feel secure within her own body is the inspiration for my character...and my life! Aside from her mysterious absence, the true disappointment of the night was that they bleeped her name in my acceptance speech. Apparently, due to the uniqueness of her title, the censors mistook her name as a curse word. In hindsight, I probably should have used it in that context: 'I am so Kukka-Maria happy to have won this award.' I feel terrible. Maybe that is why she stood all of us up?"

While Kukka has refused interviews, her agent shared some details about her current status. "She has taken to her bed and is refusing all visitors. Clint Eastwood has called. A wrinkled Jack Nicholson learned to use a computer just to email her! Even Jamie Foxx has stopped by, hoping to coax her into sharing some cat treats with him.

Said Beyonce Knowles, "Kukka is truly the Dream Girl. Whatever kept her away tonight...I hope is just a bump in the road. The last thing any of us wants is for her to become a recluse!" Seemingly panicked and looking at her boyfriend, Jay Z, she stammered, "I mean, I think that is the word for someone who has to do her own laundry. Right?"

Justin Timberlake had his own opinions. "Maybe she was with Prince. I mean, he wasn't there in time to receive his award for Happy Feet original music. Maybe they rekindled their romance and were making out back stage!" Giggling to himself, Justin chortled, "On a side note, wasn't it hilarious when I stooped down below the mic when I accepted Prince's award on his behalf? I mean, I was saying he is short! I could hardly keep a straight face when I did that! I think it was the highlight of the show, if I can say so myself."

As for Brach? He was last seen, around 1:00 am, chugging champagne and doing the robot on the dance floor at the Universal/NBC/Focus Features after-party. The crowd went wild as they chanted, "Go, Brach...Go, Brach...It's your birthday...It's your birthday!"

As Kukka's Agent reports, in fact, it was NOT his birthday.

Perhaps, by default, Brach was truly the shining star last night. That should set well with Kukka. Lock up the kids, bring in the cats, and hide the sharp objects, for it's certain we've not seen the last of her wrath!

Monday, January 15, 2007

Suggest a Caption?

Yes, I was a kitten. No, I was not trying to nurse, you sickos! Suggest a caption for this adorable photo?


Friday, January 12, 2007

Open Letter to Over-Zealous Retailers

Dear Jolly Bastards,

This is a difficult letter to write. Not because it's a delicate topic, but because I'm still coughing up Valentine's Day droppings that attacked me when I visited your store today. I had just recovered from my bout with that nasty strain of Christmas Kitsch that was going around, and now I'm inundated with pink hearts, white lace and nekkid cupids taking aim at me.

Boo, retailing giants. Boo...

When you, the CEOs of the major retail chains, contacted me years ago for my opinion, I bought into the idea of decking the stores with boughs of holly beginning the day after Thanksgiving. In fact, I began looking forward to seeing the glimmering trees and ginormous (and sometimes menacing) Santas looming over me as I shopped in late November. I understood your marketing strategy and hitched my wagon without reservation.

Then you pushed the boundary by decorating for Christmas before Thanksgiving.

As you well know, I didn't say a word to you about that. To preserve our rich relationship, I chose to turn a blind eye to your blatant disrespect.

Then you pushed the boundary further by decorating for Christmas the day after Halloween.

HOW. DARE. YOU.

Can I not simply enter a store and not be reminded of a holiday I am commercially obligated to observe?

  • With January, comes Valentine's Decorations.
  • On February 15th, clovers and Leprechauns stage their attack on your stores.
  • Your crews work overtime on March 18th bringing the huge, plastic Easter Bunnies out of the storage room, where you've been hand-feeding and nurturing them from bunnylets since September.
  • On Easter Monday, I find myself packing my bags to head out on my annual guilt trip. I spend sleepless nights trying to figure out the least amount of money I can spend on my mother (Agent) to thank her for putting a roof over my head.
  • After Mother's Day, there is a spattering of red, white and blue garb for Memorial and Flag Days, but it's difficult to see them with the "#1 DAD" hats, pins, ties looming around them. On a personal note: I hate Father's Day. Because I don't have a dad, this day is a painful reminder that my Agent is a whorish slut with a revolving door at her bedroom and no intention of keeping any of them. [Editor's Note: Hardly a whorish slut! I'm looking for a great man, but quite honestly...who wants to date someone who writes a cat blog?]
  • After Memorial Day, the flags and star-spangled bunting never really get put away. You know that, throughout the summer, the patriotic holidays are big. So 4th of July and Labor Day are covered.
  • Here's where it begins to get out of hand: The Tuesday after Labor Day, you somehow think it's appropriate to introduce the Halloween decor. For two months, faux cob-webs, skeletons, jack-o'-lanterns and...[choke] black cats assault my eyes at every turn! (On behalf of the world, Squilliam, I apologize for the negative stereotype surrounding your kind.)
  • November 1st is a holiday clusterfuck. You'll find turkeys and cornucopias (is that the plural?) amidst blinking firs and silver garland. Do you think, since the over-stimulation dizzies me, I am apt to spend more money? Shame on you!

I have an idea to address this issue and, since we have shared such a cohesive relationship in the past, I won't charge you a dime for my intellectual property.

  1. I implement a law whereby you are forbidden to decorate for a holiday more than 30 days prior to said holiday. I realize it's necessary for you to market prior to the celebrations in order to clear your inventory, but I ask that you consider the mental and emotional health of your patrons. I feel 30 days is more than enough time to peddle your holiday wares.
  2. If you do not honor the 30 day mandate, you will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. Unfortunately, despite my persistent letters, I'm not getting cooperation from Congress, so the fiercest punishment I can come up with is this: As many days before 30 you decorate, you will have to keep said decorations up after the holiday. Imagine having to keep Christmas decorations up through the month of January! Would that cock-block your Valentine's plans? Oh, yes...I'm vindictive! Mwah-ha-ha! [Editor's Note: That is Kukka's evil laugh.]

I hope you understand my position. Failure to comply with my solution will evoke a complete boycott of your establishments. Yes, I'm a cat. Yes, I have no disposable income to actually spend at your stores, but I do have influence.

Influence on at least 2 or 3 other cats...also without income.

Crap.

Bah Humbug,
Empress Kukka-Maria

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Thursday Thirteen, Edition #17


Yes, my Agent has been horribly sick, but I
stopped caring a long time ago. I present to you:


Thirteen Things I Accomplished Over
the Last Week, Instead of
Giving Two Shits About my Sick Agent.


  1. Pursued legal action against The Pussycat Dolls for getting me drunk and stealing my intellectual property (regarding the group's name, likeness and trashy choreography). I think it's clear who the ORIGINAL Pussycat Doll was...


  2. Wrote George W. Bush's presidential address. Too bad he decided to go with his own version...


  3. Hitch-hiked cross-country just to say I did it. On a side note, here's a shout-out to Hambone, who hosted me in his big rig as I crossed Kansas. Thanks for taking me to see the largest ball of twine, Hammy! Oh, and for cutting back on the hooch to keep me safe as I rode shotgun. Be careful with your drinking...I'd hate to hear your nickname had been changed to Pickled Liver!


  4. Met with Milton Bradley executives about my board game concept. It's a game based on the nightly conversation at our house and is titled, "Ok...Who Farted?" [Editor's Note: At our house, the answer is usually "Kukka."] There's quite a bit of pre-work (eating beans and broccoli), but the game is a riot and brings families together, primarily because they can't fight their way out of the fog of flatulence!


  5. Ding-dong-ditched at Britney Spears' new Beverly Hills home. I love seeing Brit chase me barefoot, with hair extensions in disarray, loose false eyelashes flapping in the breeze and a smoke dangling from her mouth. She should really do her research before blaming me! I hear new neighbor, Ed McMahon, is notorious for ringing doorbells...


  6. Guest judged for Bravo's Top Chef. I love the show. I love to eat. I love criticizing people. I was a natural choice! Plus, with Chef Tom Colicchio and I as sexy book-ends at the judges table...ratings are sure to soar!


  7. Knitted 17 pair of panties for Britney. Clearly, she doesn't have enough, based on the countless paparazzi photos of her business...her lady business. I knit them with my long and sharp claws. Apparently, when my Agent is sick, I am expected to go without my bi-weekly mani/pedi.


  8. Replaced all the remote control batteries with dead ones. Just to mess with my Agent's mental stability. As a result, she began listing "hallucinations" among her many symptoms. SCORE!


  9. Sold my Agent's codeine-packed, prescription cough syrup on the street. And when I say "sold," you know I really mean "traded for a few well-placed body scritches."


  10. Traveled to Africa with my gal-pal Madonna to adopt a wild, itty-bitty, baby lion cublet. With Madonna on my side, I expected to have little trouble breezing through the adoption process, but apparently, cats (royal or otherwise) are not legally able to adopt. I had to stow him in my carry-on. The bitch at customs forbade...forbade me from bringing him into the country! I've since learned he would have gotten a smidge larger and, actually, I think sharing a litter box with him would have been a nightmare. No love lost here.


  11. To prepare for my new venture into competitive eating, I scarfed a squillion pounds of hotdogs, hamburgers, meatballs and...believe it or not, okra. When I find a contest that involved licking my Agent's napkin and fingers when she eats salt and vinegar potato chips, I'm totally going to dominate!

  12. Mentored a group of underprivileged shelter kittens on the art of feline feminine seduction. Keep practicing, girls! Don't make me regret being charitable!


  13. Traveled to Las Vegas to accept a lifetime achievement honor at the Adult Video News Awards for "The Most Beautiful, Yet Furriest Pussy in the Industry." I'm assuming they mean the blogging industry, since I haven't made an adult film in years!

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    Tuesday, January 09, 2007

    Still Down and Out

    She's still sick? What the...?

    It's now starting to affect my treat distribution. I am planning a revolt. This is getting ridiculous.

    You may or may not hear from me the rest of the week...not because I'm farting in her face (clearly not working to heal her) or cuddling (I'm sorry, but her greasy hair and eye-crusties turn my stomach), but because I will be rallying the troups to overtake the house.

    The trouble...who are my troops?

    Monday, January 08, 2007

    Fight Condensation with a Cat Butt!

    Bronchitis hit us pretty badly last week.

    When I say "us," you know I mean "my Agent."

    And when I say "Bronchitis," you know I mean "she was completely faking it."

    And when I say "last week," well...I mean the last seven days. You can take that one literally.

    Because she is still on the mend and in need of my healing vibes (of course, when I say "healing vibes," you know I mean "farts in her face"), I am lazy posting today. Instead of regaling you with stories of coughing, fevers, gasping and sleeping (yaaaaaaawn...), I thought I'd show you what my Auntie gave my Agent last year for her birthday.


    Cat Butt Coasters!










    If your breed's ass is not pictured, I am sorry. Although, if I were you, I probably would be thankful. Cold beverages resting on your badonkadonk is highly over-rated.

    On a side note, [whispered] I think I'm developing a secret crush on the New Dread Pirate Blogger. Uploading these pictures was a dreamy experience and I didn't find myself cursing or threatening to kick Blogger in the junk until he cries at all!

    Before you say it, I know...I know! Blogger has always been a fickle effer and I know his cooperation is probably fleeting. You know what, though? I'm just going to enjoy this bliss while it lasts and deal with the junk-kicking later.

    Don't tell New Blogger I revealed my secret crush! It's not a secret crush if the object of said crush knows about it!

    I'll reveal it to him when the time is right...