EBAY AUCTION: Win the ULTIMATE KUKKA-MARIA EXPERIENCE!

• You've always wanted to be her...impossible.



• You've always desired to rub shoulders with celebrities...highly unlikely, as you're not famous.



• You've always secretly desired paparazzi attention...not gonna happen.

While you CAN NOT BECOME The Empress, now, you can spend some quality time with her and get a glimpse into a typical day of a celebrity blogging feline!


BID ON THE ULTIMATE KUKKA-MARIA EXPERIENCE!


Rules:

1. Bidding closes at 11:59 PM EDT on Sun, April 1.



2. You may bid in the comments.



3. Bidding can only increase by no more than $10 increments to keep it competitive. For example: If the current bid it $100 (riiiight, as if), you may bid $110. If you can not do math, I am not sure I want to spend the day with you anyway. I need someone to keep track of my treat calories!



4. Only actual numbers will be accepted; we'll have no "I bid a squillion dollars!"



5. You may bid as often as you like.



6. Trash-talking to and intimidation of other bidders is not only encouraged, it may be required to win! Please refrain from bitter name-calling. I'm the only one who does that on this site.



7. Once bidding begins, the "Buy it Now" option is no longer valid.



8. Any questions about the auction or bidding should be directed to the comments section of this post and will be answered as quickly as possible.



9. The recap of Kukka's day with the winner will be posted on Monday, April 2. (Before you say it, I know that the time between the end of bidding and the time the post goes up is less than 24 hours. THIS IS IMAGINARY, PEOPLE!)



10. AMMENDMENT: We do accept PayPal to collect fake money from you.

The day will include, but not be limited to: Interaction with celebrities, 2-3 naps, morning and afternoon tongue baths, unleashing verbal abuse to the paparazzi and knocking over my Agent's shit in the house!


Bid early! Bid often!


Click the actual ebay listing below for the starting bid and other auction details:

You Had to Ask?!

My Agent was sent a quiz today that asked "How Spoiled are You?" Figuring it was a great opportunity for me to hold a mirror up to her snotty face, I sidled up next to her and watched her respond to the questions. It wasn't until she finished with a guffaw that I realized she had been responding AS ME!

Bitch.

Here some of the highlights from the quiz:

• YOU WERE GIVEN MANY PRESENTS AS A KID.
  I was given only everything I ever desired.



• YOU DRIVE A NEW CAR (LESS THAN TWO YEARS OLD).
  Again, I don't think this one should be checked. I don't drive. I am driven in a custom 2007 Toyota Prius stretch limo.



• YOU USUALLY END UP GETTING WHAT YOU WANT, NO MATTER WHAT.
  Yes. So...?



• YOU GET BORED IF NO ONE IS AROUND TO ENTERTAIN YOU.
  Sure! Isn't that what I pay my Agent?



• YOU DON'T WORK FOR A LIVING.
  You think being this super-foxy is not work?



• "NO" IS A WORD YOU DON'T REALLY TAKE SERIOUSLY.
  "No" is never a command, but merely a suggestion. Even when delivered in the deepest and most threatening version of her voice.



• IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR WAY, YOU'RE VERY DIFFICULT TO DEAL WITH.
  I guess if you consider plucking at the carpet, flicking at the pictures on the wall, knocking things off the dresser and coffee table and constantly sticking my nose under my Agent's typing hands when she is on the computer DIFFICULT, then maybe I get a bit difficult!



• IF IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO TALK, YOU DON'T HESITATE TO INTERRUPT A CONVERSATION.
  When I need treats, I need treats. Nothing my Agent is talking about at that very moment can be more important than my snacks!



• YOU DON'T LIKE TO LEND THINGS TO FRIENDS, BUT BORROWING IS A DIFFERENT MATTER.
  My things are off-limits to Brach. When it comes to me commandeering his prime sleeping spot? All bets are off!



• YOU ONLY ARE FRIENDS WITH PEOPLE WHO LOOK UP TO YOU AND WANT TO BE JUST LIKE YOU.
  Um...yes. But I don't call them "friends" as much as I call them "fans!"

Here are my results:

You Are 100% Spoiled

You are a total spoiled brat, and you're probably proud of it. You always get want you want - even if you have to whine to get it.

Are You Spoiled?

Goodbye, Sangina...

We don't watch American Idol at our house. We did vote on whether or not to watch it and it went down a little something like this:

Brach: "Let's watch it, dawgs!"

Agent: "I think the show is faaaaabulous! I love it! It's a star! Pass me my pills..."

Kukka(in a British accent): "You two disgust me. It is merely a singing competition and you're treating it like an epic film. You two have no business running the remote control!"

I deemed the vote unanimous and we don't watch; however, we've seen this Sanjaya Malakar character all over the very credible, major news shows, such as VH1's Best Week Ever and Saturday Night Live.

With all the Sanjaya hype, I knew I had to meet him. So I did. And we performed together. And, let me tell you, I was a squillion times better than he was!

Now that he's failing miserably on the show, I feel somewhat responsible. All it would have taken was for me to write a favorable post and he would be making it to the end. In fact, now that I think about it, how did he make it this far without my public support? Hmmmmm...could my "claws of death" on his man-junk have been the kiss of death for him?

Sanjaya, I did you wrong. Maybe it was laziness or just plain disinterest, but I never watched or voted for you! I always suspected you'd fail...which, while completely accurate, was unfair. While, to your face, I was supportive...I must admit I talked shit behind your back. I laughed about your hair and super-feminine qualities. I drew pictures of you and defaced them.

But it was all in good fun and I never thought it would end this way.


Good luck, Sanjaya. I'll see you when you tour with William Hung.

"Dear Kukka...", Volume XVII

Well, I had to get a stronger prescription for my eye glasses this week due to the staggering volume of mail I receive each day from my fans. I know what you're thinking: "Why not get contact lenses? You are too beautiful to wear those clunky specs!" Indeed, I am! A stellar suggestion as that is, consider this: Would you want to have a cat claw that close to your eye as you installed them every morning? I rest my case.

You know, I owe you some honesty. I don't read your letters, I have people (my Agent) who take care of that mundane task. The reason I had to get a stronger prescription is that I sit up all night, every night, sitting dangerously close to the TV, watching reruns of "The Golden Girls." I can't get enough of those old broads! Rose and her "St. Olaf" wisdom, Sofia and her sharp tongue, Dorothy and her huge shoulder pads, and good ol' Blanche--the whore. Are they even still alive?

But, I digress.

Here are some of the most recent letters I've received.


Q: Kukka, do you ever secretly wonder if Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Oprah read your blog? What do you think Tom and Oprah feel when they read the harsh things you tend to write about them?

A: You are so sweet for asking! OF COURSE they read my blog! Brad doesn't miss a post, in fact he sometimes comments as "Anonymous." While, sadly, we no longer date, he still adores me and expresses interest in all my creative endeavors. That reminds me. I have yet to see that "Babel" movie he was in. I'll have to put it on my Netflix queue and sleep through it soon! As for Mr. Crazy Cruise and The Winfrey? I don't give two shits. Tom is probably too consumed with his Scientological endeavors (including, but not limited to: Auditing his thetan for engrams and implants, and brainwashing his child-bride) to read my blog. I know Oprah reads! She is constantly IMing me, asking to reprint my posts in O Magazine. I am insulted. She offers that food hussy, Rachael Ray, her own mag and not me? I fart in her general direction.


Q: The NASCAR season is in full-swing, Empress! You were the "Gentlemen...Start your engines" girl last year at Talladega. Will we see you there again this year? If so, can I buy you some Old Milwaukee beers?

A: I will do nothing more with NASCAR! First, after last year's race at Talladega, I came home smelling like exhaust and cigarette smoke. It took me 4 days to lick the stench off of me. Secondly, I had the shits for a week because of all the fried foods I was fed. For the record: Royal felines are not meant to eat corn dogs. Thirdly, the whole ordeal was boring. I am too intelligent to sit and watch cars go in an oval for hours on end. Finally, growing another mullet would be impractical, time consuming and too labor-intensive. While I looked incredibly foxy, I found myself tripping over the hair and having to deal with annoying questions from fans, including: "Kukka! What kind of conditioner do you use?" It was also a challenge to keep the business-in-the-front separate from the party-in-the-back.


Q: Empress Kukka-Maria, how do you choose the letters to which you respond? I've written you every day for the last year and have never seen my letters included in your many "Dear Kukka..." posts. Please! Tell me what is wrong with me!

A: First things first: Congratulations on finally being printed and a huge thank-you for honoring the restraining order! While I can still see you as you camp out at the house across the road with your telephoto lens, you have learned what 200 feet looks like and seem to be honoring it. My system for choosing letters is simple. I tell my Agent what wisdom I wish to impart on my fans and she chooses letters that allow me to do that. Simple.


Q: You have such an impressive Tomcat Stable AND we recently learned Brach is actually your HUSBAND! How can a moderately sexy person like me attract and keep a super-sexy mate?

A: Wow. I don't even know how you can even survive being only "moderately sexy!" How does that even work? I have been freakishly beautiful from birth, so I can not identify. I guess the first thing you might consider is working on your appearance: Hit the gym, get your fur did, consider getting complete facial reconstruction...you get what I'm saying, right? That might net you a man, but I make no guarantees. Once you have him, know what he likes and do it. Brach, for example, loves it when I get muffin mix on my neck from sticking my head in the bowl and licking. Later, in the evening, when I have crusty batter in my neck fur, he enjoys licking it off. Plus, I have to admit, the act of applying the mix is delightful for me, albeit dangerous, as my Agent tends to swat me and curse a little. One other thing you might try, although considered "whorish" by some, is to lie on your back and expose your multiple nipples. If you are not a cat and have only one pair, I suggest you buy some silicone nipples to supplement. Oh, yes...I'm linking to a place where you can actually buy them! YOU'RE WELCOME!


Q: The tropical fish in our aquarium stare at me all day long, Kukka. Other than submerging myself in the tank to unleash a world of hurt on them, what are my options to establish my position as the alpha-pet in the house?

A: You have several options to establish your dominance with the stupid fish. First, master the art of "The Ol' Stink Eye." This involves glaring at them until they break eye-contact in fear of your wrath. Another option is to knock over their food flakes. If they do not have sustenance, it is just a matter of time before they start floating belly-up. Another option might be unplugging the tank. I'm not sure if oxygen being pumped in the aquarium is necessary for their survival, but it can't hurt your chances. Finally--and this one is a tricky because it requires having perfect balance, hover over the tank and piss. Good luck to you!




You know you want to know more about me, so keep those letters coming!


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

No Post Today

Due to a "personal crisis," I will not be blogging today.

[Editor's Note: I hardly think an empty food bowl qualifies as a"personal crisis."]

Shut it. Do you really want me to bring up the fact I have to turd surf because the litter box needs scooping? Don't make me go there...

Dr. Phil vs. Kukka: The Bad-Ass Face-Off

I finally buckled. Dr. Phil has been riding my ass about appearing on his show for months now and, until recently, I resisted. His producers said it would be a feature about my celebrity, my social influences, and my super-sexiness.

It wasn't.

I won't make you wait until the show airs...if it airs. Instead I would like to share the UNEDITED transcript with you now:

[Announcer: Today, on Dr. Phil...Empress Kukka-Maria stops in to discuss her celebrity life while Dr. Phil dissects her dysfunctional behavior and challenges her to address her issues. Also, how will Kukka react when we present some surprise visitors? Watch it all today...on Dr. Phil!]


Dr. Phil: Welcome everyone! Today we have Kukka-Maria, celebrity feline and famous blogger. Kukka, we are pleased to have you.

Kukka-Maria: Please...call me Her Royal Highness Kukka-Maria, Empress of Super-Sexiness.

DP: I will do no such thing! This is a good lead-in to one of the things I would like to discuss with you. Why the diva attitude? Why the air of entitlement?

KM: I know nothing of which you speak, sir.

DP: Come on, cat! You walk around here like your poop don't stink and you expect everyone to cater to you! Why, my producers told me you threw an awful hissy fit backstage when you learned you didn't have a private dressing room...and you threw the treats we provided you all over the green room! That is not selfish and inconsiderate behavior?

KM: What was I supposed to do? I require Temptation treats. My body is a temple. You were trying to defile my temple with cheap shit. Besides, Phil, who are you kidding with your faux humility? You went Hollywood the minute Winfrey first uttered your name!

DP: You keep The Oprah out of this! How dare you desecrate The Oprah's name. She is a goddess!

[Kukka yawns dramatically]

DP: Damn it! Someone needs a britches adjustment! Let's take a look at the footage our producers took of you, in your home, over the last few weeks.

[Footage rolls. Scene 1: Kukka bites Brach on the ear and shoulder to bully him out of his warm sleeping spot on the back of the couch. Scene 2: Kukka paws incessantly at her Agent's arm, begging for a solid petting, during which she bites her Agent's hand because she's not stroking her belly in a satisfactory manner. Scene 3: Kukka whines for treats the minute her Agent comes in the door from work and does not stop until she receives snacks.]

DP: There you have it, gang: The spoiled Empress in her natural environment. What do you say to that, Kukka?

[Kukka farts audibly and rolls onto her back, vamping for the camera]

DP: Well let's see what Brach has to say about all of this! Brach is Kukka's housemate. He's been referred to as her "brother" and, recently, rumors have swirled that he may, in fact, be her husband. Let's hear what he has to say! Welcome Brach!

Brach: [Looks nervously at Dr. Phil, Kukka and to the audience] Hi.

DP: Brach, level with me here. You witness Kukka's attitude day in and day out. How terrible is it for you to endure that treatment?

B: [Throws a glance at a glaring Kukka] I don't mind it.

DP: BRACH! Please! You told our producers [Looking at note cards in his hand] "I am often terrified by her behavior. I've learned to sleep with one eye open because she hunts me at night." Did you not say that, Brach? Are you telling me you didn't say that?

B: I...I don't...

DP: What is the nature of your relationship with Kukka? Are you siblings? Are you married? In order to help you, I need to know what we're dealing with here.

[Brach looks, wide-eyed, at Kukka]

KM: Tell him. I don't care.

B: We are married. When Kukka's blogging career took off, we had just gotten married in Vegas. Kukka felt it was best that we maintain a sibling relationship in the press. She was worried I would...how did she put it..."cockblock" her.

[Kukka starts nervously plucking at her chair with her claws]

DP: And it doesn't bother you that you are put on the back burner for her career? And what about the fact she has a stable of tomcat boyfriends? You don't feel you deserve more than that? Son, where is your self-esteem?!

B: I...I don't...you're misrepresenting things, Dr. Phil! Every night, as she falls asleep, I sing "our song" to her: "Did I ever tell you you're my heeeeeero? And everything I would like to beeeeeee. I can fly higher than an eeeeeeeeeeeeagle, 'cause Kukka is the wind beneath my wiiiiiiiings."

KM: He has no fucking backbone, Dr. Phil.

DP: Kukka-Maria! I'll thank you not to use that language on my stage. This brings up my next point: What is with the foul language? You know, Kukka, some would say that cursing makes you sound unintelligent...

KM: And, Dr. Phil, some would say the same thing about speaking with a southern accent...

DP: Why, you little SHIT!

[Kukka scratches Phil's chair enthusiastically]

DP: Well, let's see what you think of our next surprise guest! The Oprah! Are you on the telephone with us, Your Majesty?

Oprah on Phone: I am! Can you hear me now? Oh, I'm just kidding. I never have issues with cell phone reception; I've commissioned a cell phone tower in my own image that follows me wherever I go on a solid gold trailer. That's how I roll! [Laughs maniacally] Why am I here, Phil? Why am I on the phone?

DP: I know you've had a long-standing feud with my guest today, but I would love for you to give some honest and constructive feedback to Kukka-Maria.

OoP: What did you just say? Did you just say Kuk...OH NO YOU DI'INT!

DP: The Oprah...calm down! We're trying to help Kukka get a grip on her latent humility...

OoP: Now we have a feud, McGraw. [Hangs up]

DP: OMG. I've offended The Oprah! I'VE OFFENDED THE OPRAH! Robin! Come fetch me! You know I can't walk off the set by myself...especially not today! I am scheduled to die at the command of The Oprah!



It was what it was. Dr. Phil tried, but did not rattle The Kukka. But, as they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some spousal abuse to unleash. That's the last time Brach double-crosses me! Wind beneath my wings, my ASS!

Blogger Sucks

I guess you'll have to wait for the transcript of me on Dr. Phil. Blogger was a bastard and ate the post. I'm too angry to rewrite now.

So, I sulk and nap.

Suggest a Caption?

It's rare I let him sleep next to me.

Take this opportunity to suggest a caption?

Trans-Specied Animals: An Investigative Report

You've seen them on television. You've seen them at your door on Halloween. "What an adorable puppy!" you gush as you pat his head and admire her costume.

Amidst the deafening kissy-noises, have you ever taken a moment to look in to their sad eyes and see the inner turmoil? The internal struggle of the trans-specied animal?

Right this minute, thousands upon thousands of animals are denying their birth species and entering the long and arduous process of species-reassignment. The costumes you perceive as frivolous and fun are actually cries for help. Pleas to be seen as the true beings they were meant to be.

"I never felt like a dog. Ever. The runt of a litter of six, I hated playing fetch, chasing cars, and all the other canine activities my brothers and sisters enjoyed," explains Simba Bloodthirsty, a pre-operative trans-specied dog/lion. "When I lived as a docile Maltepoo, I always felt like I was unable to fully express the lion I had within me. They named me Sweetcheeks, for crying out loud! It is only after I committed to the species-reassignment surgery process that I truly began to feel like myself!"

A grueling process, species-reassignment requires patients to live as a member of their desired species for an entire year before undergoing a series of extensive medical procedures that will permanently transform their bodies.

"The mane transplant, alone, will require several visits and extreme pain and swelling. But, after the strands take hold in my own follicles, I should enjoy a full crown of fur for the rest of my days," continues Bloodthirsty. "Plus, it will be much more convenient than having my owners put this wig on me every morning! Sometimes they forget so I'm left feeling naked and hiding under the bed all day long."

While, like Bloodthirsty, many animals have their sites set on transforming themselves into a fiercer and more ferocious species, this is not the case for all trans-specied patients.

"The expectations of society are brutal," explains Hammy, a bulldog-by-birth once known as Brutus McCutthroat. "Just because I have broad shoulders, a severe under-bite and menacing eyes does not mean I'm going to...or am even capable of attacking someone!" Adjusting his pig hood, Hammy ponders, "I often wonder the tragedy my life would be had I not realized, six months ago, that I was born to be a swine!"

Once thought of as a "dog disease," species-reassignment now affects beings throughout the entire animal kingdom. A bird in Baltimore wants to become a bee. An at-home-mouse in Mayberry believes she is an elephant trapped in a rodent's body. They are your neighbors. They are your friends. They may even be you!

"I thought I was the only cat in the world struggling with my identity," confesses Pierre Tastylegs, a pre-operative feline/frog trans-species patient. "It's been a tough year; I can't wait for my surgery to be complete. This time, next year, I'll be the Kenosha County Frog Jumping Jubilee champion! Last year, I was kept from competing because they felt I would run instead of jump. Oh, and that I might chase, claw and maim the other competitors."

Pierre receives criticism for his life choice on a daily basis. "I have people approach me on the street and call me names. Others will say, 'Why would you want to be a frog? Cats have it so good...sleeping all day, eating their weight in treats...' It's tough to deal with the negative people. They don't know the emotional struggle I've had in coming to this point of peace."

Despite the fact that species-reassignment surgery is a relief for many, critics question where the ethical boundaries are.

"My first surgery was from a poodle to a sheep. I had given it much consideration and had lived, on an actual farm, as a pre-op sheep for almost two years prior to my surgery," recalls Ewelanda Woolworth. "About seven months after surgery, I learned what rabbits were and my life would never be the same."

Ewelanda is preparing to undergo her second species-reassignment surgery. "No vet in the US will do the surgery, claiming it is best for Ewelanda to seek psychological therapy to deal with the core of her trans-specied tendencies," explains Horace Bowman, author of the best-seller, "My Animal is Queer: A Look at the Trans-Specied Pet." Bowman is full of concern for Ewelanda. "Not only is this transformation emotionally exhausting, it is major reconstruction on the body! I hope Ewelanda, and animals like her, take care of their insides with the same enthusiasm they butcher their shells."

"Fortunately, my poodle family is French, so I've found a great surgeon in France who is willing to make me into a cute little bunny rabbit," says a confident Ewelanda. "Being a bunny is going to ROCK!"

Whether a blessing or a curse--a solution or the problem itself, species-reassignment surgery is becoming more and more prevalent. The next time you see an animal dressed as a different animal, don't be so quick to attribute it to the craziness of their human owner.

Instead, look deeply in the animal's eyes and say, "Friend, are you trying to tell me something?"

He may thank you for it.

I Say Sexy Things to Myself When I'm Dancing!

I have nothing today. Watch this.

Kukka Questioned in Doggy Dietary Disaster

Associated Press (AP): In the wake of a heated blogging strike and glamorous picket line--complete with red carpet, sources are reporting Kukka-Maria, celebrity feline blogger, is being held for questioning surrounding the recent recall of toxic dog food.

Officials say Menu Foods provides wet food for over 100 different brand names, such as Iams, Eukanuba, and Bob's Totally-Not-Poisonous Dog Chow. Brian Padeiro, lead investigator into the case, expressed great concern for the health of affected dogs. "Ten cats and dogs have died from kidney failure after eating the food and hundreds of others are gravely ill. While we are not naming names at this point, it is clear to us this is a heinous act of genocide. Someone wants these animals, primarily dogs, dead."

"Oh, I'm ready to name names," stated a source who requested his identity be concealed. "I know exactly who is behind this entire thing: Empress Kukka-Maria."

When pressed for reasons for this accusation, the source continued, "The connections between The Empress and this horrific plot to murder animals are countless! This crazy cat is looking to rid the planet of the canines she calls 'monsters' and is even willing to take out a few fellow cats to get the job done." To support his argument, the source outlined several points:

• Kukka-Maria hates most dogs. She has gone on record as calling them "foul creatures" who aren't fit to "lick the litter dust" from her paws.


• While Kukka has always claimed to neither speak, nor understand Canadian English, she has been linked to our neighbor-to-the-north regarding cosmetic surgery procedures not legal in the US and the acquisition of cheap prescription drugs.


• Tired of seeing her blog strike dragged through the tabloids, she was overheard as wishing for "a more scandalous and tragic story" that would bump her to page 4.


• She has, allegedly, been working on what she calls "The Dead Dog Manifesto," a detailed, secret run-down of her hatred for dogs and the strategies she intends to employ to eradicate the entire species.


• The drum of "meat-flavored poison" hidden in the spare bedroom closet.

Kukka-Maria was apprehended Saturday at The Post-Picket Extravaganza, a star-studded party to celebrate the resolution of her blog strike. In front of guests like Sting, Reese Witherspoon, Samuel L. Jackson, Adrian Brody and Barack Obama, a highly-intoxicated Kukka was wrestled to the ground by eleven officers cloaked in protective gear. "We don't really have the budget to purchase scratch-proof and puncture-resistant equipment. Fortunately, a local neighborhood crime-watch group donated twenty pair of elbow-length oven mitts so we could seize the suspect without harm. Other than a bit of pee on my uniform from a stray stream of cat urine, it was a pleasantly uneventful capture. Fortunately for us, The Empress has very little self-restraint; the fact she was pretty sedated from consuming staggering amounts of vodka worked in our favor."

When asked about their client's involvement in the potential poisoning of hundreds of animals, attorneys for Kukka-Maria were hopeful. "I'm going to be honest with you," said Banjo, feral alley cat and lead attorney on the case. "None of us are real lawyers! We are stray cats who eat out of the garbage cans. One afternoon, Kukka mistook an old grocery receipt as a copy of my law degree and retained me as her attorney. She pays well, so I never felt the need to correct her error."

When asked directly about the chances of The Empress being jailed for her alleged crime, Banjo replied, "Kukka is selfish. Kukka is a bit intense. But, Kukka is no murderer." Turning to the sound of someone meowing his name, Banjo excused himself. "Listen, Larry just found a partially empty tuna can at 819 Elm. I hate to cut this short, but I have to eat. Kukka won't spend a single day in jail for this. She is innocent!"

In a telephone interview shortly after her release on bail, The Empress was far less encouraged. "I've was in jail for 2 days and my attorneys are not returning my calls. My Agent has suggested they may have pawned the cell phones I bought them for the cash. [EXPLETIVE]ing alley cats!"

If you are unsure whether or not your pet has consumed tainted food or if you believe Kukka has a vendetta against your pet for any reason, please visit the Menu Foods recall page to find your food brand and then track by UPC code. This recall covers many different brand names, but is specific to moist food.

"We are desperate for community involvement in proving our key suspect's guilt or innocence," explained Inspector Padeiro. "Any witness statements offered in the comments section can help exonerate her or send her up the river for good."

While the motive and true source of the contamination has yet to be officially determined, the recall is serious. If you believe your pet has consumed infectious food, do not hesitate to seek veterinary assistance.

While out on bond, Empress Kukka-Maria maintains her innocence and vows to find and help prosecute the "real killer" she believes is responsible. "Just because she has dogs of her own, does not make her innocent," chuckled Kukka. "It's no secret Oprah Winfrey likes to kill animals and blame me. This isn't the first time I've faced off with that [EXPLETIVE]...and it won't be the last."

Kukka's involvement is purely speculation, but this recall is very real. Please visit the Menu Foods recall website to rule out the possibility that your pet is dining on toxic food.

Violence Erupts at Kukka-Maria Protest Red Carpet Event

Associated Press (AP): Empress Kukka-Maria's picket line was described as "nothing short of spectacular" by onlooking fans last evening. The protest, catered by Wolfgang Puck and resembling a swank A-list party, was riddled with celebrities and paparazzi, and was covered by most of the major hard-core news teams (Inside Edition, Entertainment Tonight, and E! News Daily, among others).

"I think I just saw The Empress!" screamed a fan, from behind police barricades. Waving a homemade sign, reading, "DON'T STOP BLOGGING, KUKKA-MARIA! WE LOVE YOU," the rabid fan continued, "Oh...my...GAWD! I think she just made eye contact with me!"

"When we heard about the Empress' plight, Ryan and I both felt it was critical to work out our differences and support her with a solid, united front," stated a tearful Reese Witherspoon. "She needs us right now. I can't tell you how many times that cat has been there for me; it's the least I can do for her."

Other than the temper-tantrum thrown by Paris Hilton, when she was not granted admission to the event, the night was going relatively smoothly. Smoothly, that is, until a group of second-string bloggers were brought in to write a series of posts for "Memoirs of a Feline Empress in Exile."

"I was asked to write in her absence," explained Brach, who is said to be The Empress' brother, but has been rumored to actually be her husband. "Our Agent is furious with her and is not letting her win this time. Since I am a prolific author, in my own right, and Kukka's blogging audience has been demanding to hear more from me, it made perfect sense that I would stand-in for my very selfish, yet super-sexy wif...I mean sister."

"SCAB! SCAAAAAAAAAAAB!" yelled a clearly irate Kukka-Maria, as Brach and the substitute squad of scribes entered the velvet ropes. Waving her middle claw in their general direction, Kukka screamed, "Get the [EXPLETIVE] outta here, you mother-[EXPLETIVE]ing SCAAAAAAAAABS!"

"You can't touch this, Kukka!" giggled a nostalgic MC Hammer, hoping to rejuvenate his lost career by writing a suite of blog posts that recounts details from the days when he was "2 Legit...2 Legit 2 Quit..HEY, HEEEEEEY!"

Pacing back and forth on the red carpet, Kukka glared and hissed at the group of writers. "Et tu, Tom Cruise? You are dead to me! Get the [EXPLETIVE] out of here, you [EXPLETIVE]ing freak!"

"I was excited to get the call from Kukka's Agent this week," disclosed a manic Cruise. "Was I scared out of my skin to go against The Empress? Hell, yes! But Xenu told me I would be safe, as long as I used this opportunity to teach the ways of Scientology to the masses via a strongly-worded blog post I like to call, 'Memories of Being Run Over by a Martian Bishop on My Way to the Planet Nostra 23,064,000,000 Years Ago.' No intelligent person could deny these logical arguments for Scientology!"

Linking arm with arm to keep the scabs from crossing the picket line, Brad Pitt led the chants of "IF YOU WANT MULTIPLE NIPS AND MORE, QUIT TREATING KUKKA LIKE A BLOGGING WHORE!"

Vanilla Ice, anxious for an opportunity to "get his write on," tried drowning out the Empress brigade with his own chant: "ALRIGHT, STOP! COLLABORATE AND LISTEN! ICE IS BACK TO WRITE SOME FICTION!" He was quickly apprehended by police and dragged to the drunk-tank.

By the time things got really ugly, Kukka-Maria was soused in Cosmos and catnip. Picking out clumps of Brach's fur from her claws, a steaming Empress explained her frustration. "I don't know how things got to this level. If my Agent had been thinking clearly, she would have just met my strike demands from the start and we could have avoided this carnage. I make no apologies for my actions this evening. Danny Bonaduce came at me first; I was completely justified in sending him away with a mauled face."

It is unclear whether or not The Empress will take to the computer any time soon and, if she does, she will be sober enough to form complete sentences. One thing is certain: You are either FOR The Empress or AGAINST her.

If you're against her, wear some huge oven mitts when approaching her. She's out for blood.

Earn Your Keep, You Miserable Cat!

Dearest Empress,

I've read your demands and am horrified to learn of your drug use! YOU MUST BE MOTHER-EFFING HIGH IF YOU THINK YOU CAN NOT BE REPLACED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE!

To be fair, I would like to address each of your concerns:

1. I've phoned Josh Duhamel. His people regret to inform you Mr. Duhamel has no idea who you are and, moreover, is severely allergic to cats. Apparently, at the mere mention of your name, he begins retching. On a positive note, Fergie sends her "T...T...T...TASTY...TASTAAAAY" regards.



2. I'll start scooping promptly the very same day you stop flicking litter out of the box and onto the floor. "Surfing turds" is probably the most exercise you get during the day, so quit your bitching.



3. For the last time, I do not have your Swarovski Crystal g-string! Why would I steal that from you? It wouldn't even fit me...because my ass is far smaller than yours!



4. I gauge your need for a basic, run-of-the-mill mani/pedi based on the scratches you leave on my arms as you paw me for attention. I don't intend to change my claw-assessing methods, nor the quality of your nail trimmings. I might consider giving you a french manicure...if you were to commit to a life of carpet-plucking abstinence. I'm not holding my breath.



5. I did make every attempt to get the notarized letter from Oprah claiming you are the most powerful female in the world. I am now forbidden from getting within 200 yards of the bitch. Thanks.



6. You will eat the treats I give you and you will like them, young lady! I celebrate the fact I give you cheap cat food as treats! It's cheap. It's healthier. Other cats may get premium treats, but other cats probably get one or two nuggets...once per day! One more word about it, and you can enjoy being snackless, altogether! I have no trouble cutting you off completely. Test me. I dare you!



7. I bought a shock collar, but it's in your size. It's the only one they had. Don't judge me. I get bored, too!



8. My bed is mine. You are allowed to sleep there out of the goodness of my heart. The day you launder your cat hair off the bedding is the day you can officially claim it. Until then, if I move, you adjust. It's really that simple. And while we're on the subject, the next time there is someone in the passenger side of the bed, you are invited expected to hit the bricks. Any "heavy petting" going on will have absolutely nothing to do with you.



9. You don't need anything from bebe to accentuate your multiple nipples. They freely flop to and fro as you lumber across the room; I am sure people can't help but notice them already. [On a side note: How incredibly funny is it that bebe is calling their line of spring shorts "super-sexy?" This is a scrumptious nugget of silly for those faithful readers...]



10. I WAS able to get the life-sized poster of Star Jones-Reynolds eating fried chicken and ice cream...only because they were giving them away at the gas station.



11. I applied as a Wal-Mart greeter, on your insistence, but when they saw you listed as a personal reference, I was promptly asked to leave. Burn bridges much?



12. The kind folks at Grey Goose Vodka have asked that you refrain from using their product exclusively. They are concerned you are degrading their image as the official vodka of "responsible drinkers."



13. I can not promise you the head of Angelina. I'm a lover, not a fighter. However, I can promise that if, for some reason, I am presented with her severed head, I will pay to have her lips surgically installed on your mouth. It will do wonders for your foxiness level.

If you are not satisfied with my efforts to stroke your fragile ego, you can suck it. You think you're special, Kukka, but I am here to let you know there are a squillion beings who can blog in your place! I've been approached by every B-List "celebrity" who has appeared on VH-1's "The Surreal Life." Vanilla Ice has already submitted three posts for consideration; he's practically begging for his 16th minute of fame!

And don't underestimate Brach's blogging power. He is prepared to blog at the drop of a hat and, let's be honest, the public has been demanding more of him lately.


Suck it, Kukka!
Your Agent

BLOG STRIKE, DAY 2

Dearest Slave Driver (a.k.a. "Agent," if that is your real name),

Based on your constant cries of "We really need to talk about this, Kukka...," it is clear you are aware of my blogging strike. Good. While I would like to converse in person with you on this subject, I have been advised by my attorneys and my Blogger Union, Local 657, to deliver all strike-related communication to you through written documentation. Since you don't seem to be taking my Post-Its on the bathroom mirror seriously, you have forced our private negotiations into a public forum.

So be it.

Despite the fact I enjoy blogging and the intoxicating fame that accompanies it, I do have some basic needs that are not being met at this time. I don't feel I should have to list them, as you have been my maid-servant for 7.5 years and catering to my every whim should be second-nature to you by now, but it is becoming alarmingly clear you are not self-directed and require extensive supervision.

Please be advised of the following demands:

1. One evening with Josh Duhamel. That's all I will require to make him fall in love with me. Eff Fergie! I'm K...to the U...to the KKALICIOUS!



2. My litterbox scooped within 5 minutes of any deposit (2 minutes, if the deposit comes from Brach's body). Not only is my pretty pink nose sensitive to the pungent piles of poo, surfing turds is murder on my mani/pedi. If you are unable to satisfy this requirement yourself (because you claim to have a "job" or something), I expect you to contract it out. I know this is going to sound speciest of me, but skunks are cheap labor. Think about it.



3. My Swarovski Crystal g-string back. I know you took it, bitch!



4. Mani/pedis every other week, at minimum. I'm not talking about you tricking me on your lap and merely trimming my claws; I want the full-monty. The soak, the massage, the moisturizer, the buff and the french manicure...I deserve all of it!



5. A signed and notarized letter from Oprah, claiming I am the most powerful female in show business the world! You might have to get your hands on some paparazzi candids of her after a bender at a titty bar for blackmail, but it's doable.



6. More treats--and the good kind! I'm reading all over this cat blogosphere that others are fed Temptations and Whisker Lickin's. I'm onto you, bitch. You buy cheap cat food and think you've tricked us into believing, because it tastes different than our food, it's a treat. Well, don't break your arm patting yourself on the back for that one; the joke is on you! That cheap food is what makes makes me fart on, around and near you every night! Good treats. More often.



7. A shock collar for Brach. Don't judge me. I get bored!



8. Admit the bed you call your own is actually mine. Verbally admit it. Physically admit it. When you sleep at night, I want it to be clear that you are a guest in my crib. When I am zonked in the middle of the bed, impeding your sleeping experience, I AM NOT TO BE MOVED AN INCH! Curl around me or go sleep in the spare bedroom. The choice is yours.



9. Something soft and fuzzy from bebe that accentuates my multiple nipples. This level of foxiness doesn't just happen on its own...



10. A life-sized poster of Star Jones-Reynolds eating fried chicken and ice cream. Shouldn't be too hard to acquire.



11. You must work one day as a Wal-Mart greeter. You made me do it; it's only fair.



12. An IV bag of Grey Goose for those mornings when I need a hair off the d-word that bit me. Shut it. I do not have a problem with alcohol!



13. The head of Angelina Jolie. He was mine first; he'll be mine last. That Lara Croft bitch is on notice!

I reserve the right to add to this list as further issues arise. I expect you to review this list, in full, and submit a strategic proposal for addressing each need.

Your prompt response is not only appreciated, it's required. Please do not force me to picket or, GAWD FORBID, hold a press conference during which, amidst very audible farts, I reveal all the filthy things you do when you think you're alone.

The choice is yours.
The Empress

I'M ON STRIKE!

AGENT, YOU ARE ON NOTICE!

NO BLOGGING FOR ME UNTIL MY DEMANDS ARE MET!

Calling in Sick, Part 3

"Hello?"

"Um...Agent?"

"Yes, Empress..."

"I'm not going to be able to blog today."

"No? [Rolling eyes] And why is that?"

"An account of I'm sick."


[Awkward pause.]


"You're sick..."

"Yes. I have Spring Fever, something fierce."

"I see...are you sure it might not be a ploy to enjoy a 3-day weekend?"

"How dare you, ma'am! How dare you suggest..."

"Kukka, what are your symptoms?"

"Well, I'm running a fever, of course. Says so right in the name. I have a hard time harnessing my creative energy as I find myself staring out the window, wishing the snow away. Oh, and severe diarrhea."


[Silence.]


"Empress, do you think the diarrhea might be due to your insistence on trying to eat people food...like that cheese last night?"


[Awkward silence.]


"What cheese?"

"The colby-jack I sliced for some crackers, left on a plate on the coffee table and promptly found your tongue all over merely moments later."

"I know nothing of which you speak."


[Silence.]


"Yes, you do."

"Listen, woman, I have Spring Fever! I am delirious! I am irrational! I am not to be held accountable for my bizarre and deviant behavior!"


[Silence.]


"So, what can I be doing to make you more comfortable as you struggle to deal with your affliction?"

"Treats."

"Treats...?"

[Rustling in background.] "Yes, treats. And lots of them. Oh, and a full-body massage. Helps temper the torment ravaging my poor, little body."

"Kukka, what is that rustling in the background? Did you get into the tampons again?"

"TAMPONS?! What are you inferring? I can't belieeeeeeve you'd even suggest..."

"Damn it, Kukka-Maria! I can forgive you for draining my cell phone minutes calling me, repeatedly, from within my own home, but if I open this closet door and find you chewing on tampons, you are going to be on the business-end of an epic hissy fit!"


[Silence.]


"Did I say 'Spring Fever?' I meant to say I can't blog today because I'm on my period. Crampy...fussy...bitchy...nothing a few good pieces of cheese couldn't cure!"

"Well, that actually explains a few things, Empress. Carry on."

Well, Good Morning to You, Too!

Oh, yes, I'm grinning.

How could I not as I watch my Agent step in a pile of Bulimic Brach's hork this morning...with her bare feet?

Brach's delicate and nervous stomach, coupled with his tendency to inhale his food, occasionally causes him to hurl "moist" kibble on the floor. He is in denial of his eating disorder, claiming he has to scarf the food as a matter of "survival." He whines that if he doesn't eat quickly, he risks starving to death because I'll eat it all.

Whatever, Brach. Boo-hoo to someone who gives two shits....like that "Darwin" friend of yours!

Normally, the full production, including his horrid gagging noises and arching of his back as he yacks it up, is the entertainment. This morning, it was the process of discovery that made me laugh so hard I nearly pissed my Randolph Duke original gown. Don't laugh at me! Every Friday, at 5:00 am, is "Oscar Dress-Up" time!

Back to my Agent's woes.

Leaping out of bed, she began grabbing her clothes for the day. In a maniacal, "I'm-already-running-late...shit" fit of hysteria, she ran into the dark kitchen to fetch a pair of grundies from the basket of clean clothes she had not yet folded...from two days ago.

SQUISH.

Brach's spew spread itself across the sole of her foot like peanut butter on bread. "SHIT!" she exclaimed as the bile butter forced itself between her toes.

I had to cover my face with my paws to keep from snorting out loud.

What is the lesson to be learned here? Only feed Brach tiny bits of food at a single time? Turn the lights on in the morning and watch where you step? Fold the damn clothes as soon as they come from the dryer; you probably won't step in upchuck when you're standing at your dresser?

And here I thought "Oscar Dress-Up" Friday mornings couldn't get any better...

14 Possible Tabloid Headlines About Latest Paparazzi Shot

1. Empress Drowns Sorrows in Vat of Vodka.



2. Kukka-Maria Demands to be Photographed Through Multi-Faceted Glassware, Claiming it Makes her Look "Freakishly-Sexy."



3. Feline Aqua-Muzzles, A New Hollywood Trend.



4. Empress Wears Glasses--And We Don't Mean Corrective Lenses.



5. Feline Blogger Sneezes and Fills a Cup!



6. Famous Blogging Cat a Seasoned Alcoholic: "I Don't Need No Stinkin' Straw!"



7. Kukka to Be Handy Drool Receptacle Spokes-Model.



8. Empress Refuses to Hydrate from Bowl on Floor: "I'm Not an Animal!"



9. New Ice-Hydrating Spa Treatment a Fav of Kukka-Maria.



10. Feline Royal Spotted Getting Cozy with New Waterford Crystal Heir Boyfriend!



11. Kukka-Maria's Legs Look Curiously Short. Has She Been Wearing Secret Stilts?



12. Intoxicated Empress Entertains Party Guests by Going Topless and Bobbing for Ice Cubes.



13. Empress' Beer Hat on the Fritz: "I'm Drinkin' Old School, Bitches!"



14. Proof: The Empress Looks Good in ANYTHING!

What have YOU read about this photo?

Calling in Sick, Part 2.

"Hello?"

"Um...Agent?"

"Yes, Empress..."

"I'm not going to be able to blog today."

"No? [Picking at fingernails] And why is that?"

"An account of I'm sick."


[Awkward pause]


"You're sick..."

"Yes. I have morning sickness."

[Mumbling to self] "Let's call it what it is...hung over."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. So, morning sickness? You think you're pregnant?!"

"I know I am."

"Reeeeeeeally! Look, I hate to be the one to tell you this, Empress, but you're not pregnant. It's impossible!"

[Chuckling nervously] "Well, I wouldn't call it 'impossible,' Agent. I've been getting all the sex something fierce recently."

"Oh, I don't debate that, [whispers under breath] hooker."


[Silence.]


"What did you just call me?!"

"I said 'you're so good looking!'"

"That's what I thought you said!"

"Listen, Kukka, you can't have morning sickness. You can't be pregnant. I have a receipt here from the vet and, how can I put this delicately...your lady business was ripped out as a kitten and thrown in the garbage, leaving you barren and unable to procreate and experience the bliss of motherhood."


[Silence.]


"So, you're saying..."

"I'm saying your reproductive region is desolate, fruitless...you will never have kittens."


[Silence.]


"So, you're saying I can whore it up without the risk of getting knocked up?"

"That's not exactly what I was..."

"I can knock boots and bang the screen door all night long without worrying about consequences?"

"Well, in all fairness, Kukka. Having no reproductive organs is only going to keep you from becoming pregnant. You should always use a form of barrier protection to keep you from contracting diseases. Have safer sex is a very importa..."

[Licking her paw and rubbing it against her face repeatedly] "Gotta go. Don't wait up."

Suggest a Caption?

The cries of "MORE BRACH! MORE BRACH!" have been deafening.

Fine. Here he is. Now let's make fun of him by suggesting captions for his ugly mug.

Drunken Text Msgs from The Empress

Another weekend of carousing. Another weekend of drunken text messages. To all who found themselves on the business-end of these texts, I apologize. Except to you, Star Jones-Reynolds. You are Satan's mistress.

Here is the log from Saturday night:


Mar 3, 11:03 pm
TO: Brad Pitt
"u r so sexxy. meetm e for a coktail. shhh don't tell anglinina."


Mar 3, 11:07 pm
TO: Brad Pitt
"r u coming 2 drink w me? i'l buy u a shot of tequillla & let u pet me til i purr. bring anglicina."


Mar 3, 11:12 pm
TO: Brad Pitt
"y r u ignoring me? all i want is 2 c u. i will not be ignerd."


Mar 3, 11:27 pm
FROM: Brad Pitt
"Kukka, I love u. I am busy 2nite. Call me 2morrow when ur sober. Angie says hi. Hugz."


Mar 3, 11:41 pm
TO: Tom Cruise
"this is xenu. i m picking u up in my space ship 2nite. b ready to go u crazy fuker."


Mar 3, 11:44 pm
FROM: Tom Cruise
"i am ready o great 1. use the servant's entrance to avoid paparazzi and evil engrams."


Mar 4, 12:07 am
TO: MC Skat Kat
"can aminated catz have sex? call me if u can."


Mar 4, 12:18 am
BROADCAST MSG TO: Tomcat Stable
"wanna date w me? i am furry drunk & feelin' frisky. Come get me boyz!"

[Editor's Note: The Tomcat Stable messages remain undelivered, as they don't seem to have cell phones.]


Mar 4, 12:55 am
TO: Star Jones-Reynolds
"let ur gay hubby no there r hot dudes here for he 2 have sex w. wait. ur a dude, right? nermind."


Mar 4, 1:06 am
TO: Oprah
"bitch."


Mar 4, 1:08 am
FROM: Oprah
"no ur a bitch."


Mar 4, 1:11 am
TO: Oprah
"ur a bitch, bich! ur dead 2 me."


Mar 4, 1:21 am [Editor's Note: After 2 more shots of tequila...]
TO: Oprah
"i so sorry, bich! ur a good bish. i m da bad 1. plz don't have me killed. i heart u."


Mar 4, 1:24 am
TO: Oprah
"did u get my msg? r we cool?"


Mar 4, 1:27 am
TO: Gayle King (Oprah's BFF and alleged lesbian lovah)
"have u hear from o? iz she made at me? i drunk. tell her no 2 b made."


Mar 4, 1:31 am
FROM: Gayle King
"she is incredible hulk mad. i m spooning w her now. she will 4give u in the morning. kisses!"


Mar 4, 1:37 am
TO: Bartender
"anothr rnd, por favor."


Mar 4, 1:48 am
TO: George Clooney
"do u wanna com over to my house 2nite? i am extra sper foxy and looking very fiiiiiine."


Mar 4, 1: 59 am
TO: George Clooney
"fine. fuk u then. i'll go home w man from bar who will b better than u anyway. dont call me. fcuker."


Mar 4, 2:10 am
FROM: George Clooney
"i luv u empress. just helping tom pack for scientology trip. Lucky effer got the big Xenu call! Talk 2 u 2morrow. Don't b a slut, KM!"


Mar 4, 2:14 am
TO: Bartender
"another round for me and my frends. plz."


Mar 4, 2:17 am
TO: Bartender
"whatdoyoumen last call was 25 min ago? Feck you!"


Mar 4, 2:21 am
TO: Agent
"plz send a limo. i chitfaced."

I think I'll go with the ol' drunk dial next time. At least there is no paper trail of shame.

It's Not Me; It's You...

**UPDATE: This is not a resignation letter. I am not shutting down my blog. This is just a "Dear John..." letter to those CRAZY cat ladies (with an extra dose of "crazy") toting their laptops and negativity around the blogosphere.

82% of the cat blogging community will not find themselves reflected in this letter. [Editor's Note: These figures are not based on actual data.] I am just inviting the other 18% to join me in being honest about our relationship and to remove my link from their cat blogrolls, as I no longer identify myself with them.**

Dear Crazy Cat Bloggers,

We need to talk.

We've been together for over a year. We've had laughter; we've had tears. I've scratched your belly; you've scratched mine. Over all, we've had an eventful relationship for which I will always be grateful.

Having said that, I am breaking up with you.

Stop crying! Seriously. If you cry, then I will cry. Shit. This is going to be harder than I feared.

Listen, I think we have different ideas of what we are looking for from our blogging experiences. I am seeking laughter with a smidge of honesty and a healthy dash of fantasy, served on a silver platter of sanity. You seem to be looking for a vehicle that fosters your need to overly identify with your pet, strokes your seemingly fragile ego and provides ample opportunity to be both paranoid and judgmental.

See? Neither is right nor wrong...just different.

Remember our mutual friend, Mad Moses Kitty? When his parents sent him to live in the barn at their friends' farm because of his bladder issues, they were kind enough to create closure with an explanatory post--almost a year ago. I was touched by their honesty, their candor and vulnerability. Clearly, it was a tough and emotional decision that they did not approach lightly. Many other cat bloggers agreed with me and expressed their love and support for Moses' family.

You, on the other hand, condemned them, suggesting they were only thinking of themselves and not the well-being of their pet. I was embarrassed that you did this not only in their comments, but on your own blogs. It was difficult for me not to address you then, as I was very frustrated and angry with your behavior. Instead of offering you constructive criticism, I realized that just as Moses' family had a right to share what they wanted, you did too. And, if I didn't like what I was reading, I was free to not read it. Instead of telling you that I needed space, I just created it by not visiting your blogs and removing you from my links. I still secretly hoped, though, that you would still love me and visit me regularly. I wanted space, but I wasn't ready to make a clean break from you.

I am now.

This week, I was especially repulsed by your behavior. One of my illustrious Tomcat Stable members, Zeus, hosted a Mr. Litterbox Contest for sexy and talented tomcats. Meant to be an imaginative and entertaining break from reality, it wasn't long before you turned it into a back-biting and cut-throat competition.

I was turned off by the comments that introduced entire church congregations (numbering in the thousands) "voting" for a single cat. I became uneasy when the pencil-whipped family members came out of the woodwork to display their loyalty (conveniently through their own nominees' sign-ons). I was slightly nauseous when it appeared people were cutting/pasting/editing others' votes. I even threw up in my mouth a little bit at the first accusations of falsifying ballots and the whispered demands of a recount.

Crazy Cat Bloggers, it was a fake cat beauty contest. It was supposed to be fun! Zeus not only had a creative idea, he even offered to buy shit for you. With his own money! Which is limited, due primarily to the fact he lives in a human-crazed, speciest society that deems him virtually unemployable!

But that's another issue entirely.

When Mad Moses Kitty's reality was too real...you pissed on it. When Zeus' contest was too fantastic...you shat.

It is no secret we were strongly attracted to one another in the beginning and our relationship was mutually beneficial. I sent traffic your way; you sent readers mine. I think, as time has passed, our insurmountable differences have become undeniable. You identify too strongly with your cat. You think other humans care...no, are proud of you when your cat wins a fake online beauty contest. And, while I am fluent in Meow, this Meowglish hybrid language you over-use (and I lovingly refer to as "CatSpeak"), is so baffling at times, my head spins when I read your writing.

You've taken it over the top and I've come to know that I'm just not that into you. I like you, but I don't like you like that. It's not me; it's you. _____________________ (Insert appropriately apathetic break-up cliché here).

I think cat blogging is supposed to be creative, fun and satisfying. My goal is to write stuff I want to read and, if I'm lucky, find an audience that understands, supports and wants to read me, too. You seem to want to have everyones' creative outlet to look exactly like yours. I've realized that, while I am a super-sexy and very influential feline, I will never be able to change you. And you know what? I don't want to change you! I want you to find what you're looking for in this magical place we call "the internets." It just won't be with me, I'm afraid.

Crazy Cat Bloggers, when you talk of this with your friends...and I know you will...please be kind. Know that I loved you the best I knew how and that I never wanted to hurt you. I've learned a lot from you and I wish you well in your future blogging endeavors.

No hard feelings, huh?
The Empress


[Editor's Note: Not all cat bloggers are crazy cat bloggers. Not all CatSpeak is annoying. Not all Mr. Litterbox voters were nuts.]

Sixteen Reasons I Gave Britney her Kids Back

Thursday Thirteen is officially kaputz, but I'm having a hard time quitting the lists.

In my final Thursday Thirteen last week, (what great fun Th13 was for the 23 weeks I participated), I listed the reasons I should sue for and gain custody of Britney Spears' kids.

Well, I had them a few days, and I'm giving them back. And here's why:

1. Apparently, babies have neither the patience, nor the physical endurance to scratch my belly for the required 6 hours per day.


2. Those kids take only one 2-hour nap in the afternoon, which means I'm supposed to stay up during the time I normally sleep my standard 12-16 hours?


3. The little bastards were upstaging me with the paparazzi. I've heard my last "Ok, now one without the cat!"


4. They kept falling from their designated sleeping spots...on the back of the couch.


5. Bathing them with my tongue left their skin irritated and, subsequently, the taste of cortisone cream made me nauseous.


6. Two words: Dirty Diapers.


7. My plan to use Sean Preston and the other one to get "play dates" with Brad Shiloh Jolie-Pitt back-fired when Shiloh was dropped off and I actually had to entertain her!


8. They are finicky eaters..."No like dry kibble!" "No like moist food!" Does Iams even make a food for spoiled brat humans?


9. The boys kept petting me backward which really chapped my ass and placed them at the business-end of my one of my hissy fits!


10. My sleep was constantly being interrupted by Sean Preston's night-terror screams of "Popozao!"


11. THOSE DAMN WIGGLES!


12. I thought teaching them to curse in both English and Meow was cute, until I saw "Federline kid cusses out peer at McDonald's Playland under Kukka's care" on the E! news ticker.


13. My bedtime stories of club-hopping, pill-popping and naked hot-tubbing gave them nightmares.


14. Apparently, when they cry, you have to do stuff to make them stop?


15. As a single, kittenless female, I used to consider "getting tail" a positive thing...with probing toddler hands around, it means I have to run.


16. Who knew my breast milk had 8.7% alcohol content?