Thursday, May 31, 2007
I have absolutely nothing more to say and need a break from all the adoration and attention.
Shit. This post is now #401. I didn't want to exceed 400; I've ruined my plan. I suppose I'll write, as usual, beginning tomorrow.
Damned 401st post. Effed everything up.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Anyway, in honor of me, I would like to take a walk down memory lane with you and direct you to some of my favorite posts...written by me. Call it bragging. Call it boasting. I see it as having a positive self-image and being in love with oneself more than you could ever be in love with another being. Is that wrong?
Let's take a look at some of my favorites (from Jul 2005 to the present):
- Top 5 Reasons I love the F-Word (and I use it throughout, so consider yourself warned...)
- Online Dating is a Bitch
- My Vay-cay with G-G-G-G-GEE-DUBYA!
- Did Someone Say "STRING?!" (a.k.a. The story of Brach swallowing a string and his subsequent surgery that stitched up 18 holes in his intestines.)
- Hiring Muscle
- Unleash the Lion Within!
- 26 Reasons Britney Spears is No Longer Allowed to Cat-Sit for Us
- Open Letter to Vince McMahon, WWE CEO
- Behind the Music--Kukka & Poison
- Goofus and Gallant
- Kukka's Book Sells Out at Amazon.com
- 360: Feline Food Stand-Off
- Celebrity Feline to Pen Autobiography
- Thirteen Court-Mandated Public Service Announcements Kukka has done that may (or may not) have been of value.
- Super Nanny vs. Kukka-Maria
- Pet Porn--An Investigative Report (Which, by the way, accounts for 40% of my Google hits, as sick effers search for "animal porn," "free animal porn," and "hot animal porn." Now, while spelling all that out, they will be directed to THIS post, which I'm glad to say, will be a disappointment for those sick fucks.)
- Next Time, I'm Sending my Agent
- Thirteen Settlement Points Outlined in the Britney/Kevin Divorce Papers
- I Still Haven't Found the Comments I'm Looking For (the blogging charity initiative led by Kukka and Bono)
- Thirteen Reasons I Should be Awarded Custody of Britney Spears' Children
- Sixteen Reasons I Gave Britney her Kids Back
- Open Letter to the Clearly-Insane Britney Spears
- Trans-Specied Animals: An Investigative Report
- Reps for Feline Blogger Say it was: "An Unfortunate Wardrobe Malfunction"
- 22 Reasons I Believe I Was Kicked Out of The Pussycat Dolls
- 27 Reasons Paris Hilton Will HATE Jail
And Elvin's Favorite: The Talk (wherein young cats learn about the birds and the bees, complete with illustrations)
And, for Miles Meezer (illustrious Tomcat Stable Member), there is Always Low Ethics. Always about the day I spent as a Walmart Greeter.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Open Letter to Brush from Brach, wherein he admits his undying love and addresses rumors of cheating with another bristled being.
What a tumultuous relationship we have shared over the years! But through it all, Brush, we've come through a stronger and more secure couple. Don't you think?
When I first met you, it was love at first stroke. When our Agent introduced us, Kukka took one sniff, whipped herself around and pranced away. She wanted nothing to do with you.
Oh, but not me. I knew I needed to have you. I nibbled at first, do you remember? I bit gently on the edge of your bristles until my Agent yanked you away from me, worried I was going to cut my gums with my aggressive kisses. I'll never forget how you and I laughed at that! To think that either of us would do anything to harm the other? That is just crazy talk!
I'll never forget the day you disappeared. We looked for you everywhere! I figured, if you had taken off for good, I would have received a "Dear
Remember when you came back, though? My Agent had found you somewhere outside the house. She explained to me, as she removed you from the shopping bag and from your plastic case, that you had undergone some dramatic cosmetic surgery and did not look like you did before. Brush, while you were beautiful before your disappearance, you were a knock-out after! I immediately greeted you with a tongue kiss and some biting. Your delightful squeals made it clear to me you would never leave me again.
Why do I love you so, Brush? The reasons out-number the stars. I love you because you are tender; you stroke my fur lovingly and never cause skin irritation. I love you because you are attentive; you diligently cover every square inch of my body with your bristly lovin'. I love you because your handle is red, and red is the color of passion. And I love you because you're mine; Kukka has no interest in you (what a rarity), so I don't have to worry about finding you in her arms.
What's that, Brush? A CHEATER? ME?! Wait. Darling, please let me explain!
I did have a relationship with a bristly broad before. It lasted a few weeks, but then I found you! Yes, she was a bit taller and yes, she had beautiful black hair--NO, BABY! I'm not making any sort of snide remark about your gray bristles! You're a silver fox, doll! Honey...sweetie...stop now...
Listen. I didn't have virgin fur when you found me--you knew that. You can not blame a 7.75 yr old tomcat for receiving caresses from humans, cats or other brushes before you met him. I'm not made of wood, darling.
No matter our past, I know our future. It is you and me forever, Brush...if you'll have me.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
I just found out I didn't win American Idol! What the...HUH?!
I didn't even post yesterday because I was leading a letter-writing campaign to vote for myself. Granted, the participants in the campaign were few: Brad Pitt, My Agent, Brach (who kept falling asleep) and that bitch-face, Oprah (who kept saying she thought my name was spelled "J...O...R...D...I...N...").
Now, this morning, I find out they were only accepting votes via the telephone. What gives, American Idol? Have you no respect for the art of long-hand letter writing?
Clearly this competition was not based on foxiness, super-sexiness or multiple nipples. I resent the fact I was robbed of my just recognition as the idol of all peoples American (including, of course, those of the Central and Southern variety).
I declare a secret fight on Simon Cowell, Randy Jackson (what up, dawg), Ryan Seacrest, and Paula Abdul.
By the way, Paula, if you wanted a nose job you didn't have to pretend to "break" it so you could justify going under the knife. Plus, you don't seem to need an excuse to be hopped up on pain killers.
I'm just sayin'.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
"I came home to find the entire house in disarray," explained Kukka's Agent. "While the laundry, piled on the floor in front of the washer and dryer is all about me and my negligence, the rest of the scene makes me tremble, just thinking about it. Well, wait. I guess it is me who left all those books on the coffee table and my water glass from the night before. And I supposed I am responsible for all of the shoes scattered across the floor. But still! It looks HORRIBLE in here!"
Initial reports suggested The Empress was sleeping inside her fort when the storm hit.
"Oh, there was no sleep happening," snickered Kukka. "Let's just say I may or may not have been entertaining one or more super-sexy tomcats in my love den. When the fort started shaking, I thought things were just heating up!"
Brach, The Empress' long-time companion and husband, was concerned.
"I know that when Kukka is entertaining guests in her fort, I'm not supposed to interrupt. The toy mouse hanging over the doorway is our signal for me to stay away," explained Brach. "When I heard the loud crash in the living room, though, I felt I needed to go to her to ensure her safety."
"All I know is that I'm entertaining members of my Tomcat Stable and suddenly my husband is cockblockknocking at the door. What a buzzkill!"
Several Tomcat Stable Members, despite being told by Kukka that she and Brach have an "open relationship," felt uneasy when the ginger hero showed up at the door to rescue everyone.
"Not only was it weird that her husband showed up, it was even more difficult when I realized Brach's logical explanation of the rolling fog trumped Kukka's super-sexiness," divulged one Tomcat Stable Member, who wished to remain anonymous. "There is no good way to tell The Empress, in all of her multiple-nippled glory, that you are far more concerned with saving your own ass from her ridiculously strong and foul farts, than kissing hers! I mean, the bitch has claws!"
Emergency personnel on the scene cleared all of the Sexy Tomcats from the room and, despite his whines to stay with his wife, moved Brach to safety. No sooner had the area been vacated and secured, the room fell silent.
The fort was tipping over--with The Empress inside.
"I screamed like a little girl and when I saw that fort tipping and knew Kukka was inside," cried ExotikSteve, a volunteer firefighter/stripper. "Ironically, I don't do well in emergency situations. Whether it's a building on fire or a man jingling my junk as he sticks singles into my banana-hammock, I start to shake all over. Watching the destruction of Fort Kukka had me a cold sweat!"
There was silence throughout the room after the fort crumbled. Necks craned, trying to get a glimpse of any sign of life from The Empress. Suddenly, her face popped through one of the windows.
"KUKKA!" shrieked Brach. "GET OUT OF THERE!"
"Kukka," screamed ExotikSteve through a megaphone as he ran his fingers through his gray locks, gyrated his pelvis and adjusted his g-string. "You really need to come out here!" Turning to Brach, ExotikSteve giggles, "I'm so scared right now, I think I just peed a little!"
"I AM NOT COMING OUT!" Kukka was stubborn.
"Give me the megaphone, for crying out loud," mumbled The Agent. "KUKKA-MARIA! YOU GET OUT OF THERE THIS INSTANT, DO YOU HEAR ME? KUKKA! GET OUT! KUKK..." Stopping to stare her cat down and regroup for an instant, The Agent cleverly changed her game.
"Kuuuuuuukkaaaaaaa," she crooned in the sweestest and most soothing version of her voice. "Kuuuuuuukkaaaaaaa, do you want some treeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeats?"
Climbing out of the rubble, Kukka trotted to the kitchen without a bit of hesitation. With one powerful swoop, her Agent lifted the fort and stood it against the wall once again.
"There! Problem fixed! All it took was the promise of treats and a moderately strong woman to correct everything. Now can you people all leave my house? This is hardly news-worthy shit."
There have already been whispers among A-Lists celebrities to hold a "Hurricane Kukka Telethon" to raise money for brackets that could be attached to the fort and then to the wall. prventing s tragedy like this from occurring again.
No telethon date has been confirmed.
Monday, May 21, 2007
I know what you're thinking, "But, Kukka...don't you have to be dead before you can be canonized (officially recognized) by the Catholic Church?"
I got the call from Pope Benedict XVI (or "Benny, The Pope-inator," as he likes me to call him) on Saturday. After shooting the shit about holy communion, Paris Hilton's jail sentence and the molestation of young boys, he finally let it slip.
"Kukka," he whispered. "Kukka, I have something important to tell you, but you must tell no one else! I'm serious! If you do, I'll have a shitload of cardinals on my ass for leaking this delicate information to you!"
"Benny..." I cooed softly into the phone. "Who do you take me for? You know I can keep a secret! Who bought you that red cowboy hat and didn't let you know about it until your birthday 3 months later?"
"Then recite a few Our Fathers and hope for the best. Yes, it's a risk, but I just might surprise you and keep my lips closed."
"Empress," he whispered. "You are up for sainthood! We all got a bit drunk on communion wine and Monsignor Horowitz, the Jewish convert, nominated you as a joke. No one ever thought the nominations would go anywhere, but it totally has!"
I rolled around on the floor as I laughed and laughed. "NO WAY! We are totally punking Catholics everywhere!"
Pope Benedict suddenly got quiet. "That's not funny, Kukka," he mumbled. "I'm just keeeeeeeeeeeding! It's effing hilarious!"
"Are you drunk right now, Benny?"
"Nope," he slurred. "I did smoke a little weed, though." The last part was hard to make out amidst his loud giggling and audible snorts.
"What do I have to do now?" I abruptly asked, realizing how much responsibility goes with a title like Saint.
"Well, there will be a press junket, appearances on the talk-show circuit, "Kukka-Maria Miracle Tour 2007," and you'll need to pose for your Popeball Card," he explained.
"Popeball Card?" I asked, a bit confused.
"Yes," he laughed. "Assuming you can perform a miracle or two on demand, you will have your image pressed into gold amulets that people will wear around their necks as good luck charms. All the Patron Saints do it."
"What will I be the Patron Saint of?"
"Kukka-Maria, Patron Saint of Air Biscuits."
"Farts? Seriously? People will pray to me about farts?"
"Hey," he snapped. "Our people releasing foul farts has been a long-standing issue. You should feel lucky you will be interceding on behalf of gaseous Catholics everywhere!"
"Wait," I protested. "Aren't Popeball Cards a form of worshipping idols? And what about the Marys in bathtubs that people put in their yards?"
"Oh, snap!" Benny exclaimed with a laugh. "I guess that IS a form of idol worship! Well, it's not like there's going to be room for everyone in heaven anyway. Maybe this little oversight will thin the herd a bit."
"Hold up! How am I supposed to provide the church with my remains to be used as a holy relic? I'M NOT DEAD!" I hissed.
"Let me think...let me think..." mumbled The Pope.
"Would a litter-covered turd work?" I inquired with a grin.
"Beautiful!" laughed Pope Benedict. "If a converted Jew can be a Monsignor, a litter-covered turd can be a holy relic. Is there anything we're forgetting?"
"When I go on my Kukka-Maria Miracle Tour 2007, can I wear red, Prada shoes like you do?"
Pope Benedict XVI suddenly grew silent. "You take that back, you miserable little cat," he seethed. "The Prada shoes are MINE!"
"Fine," I rolled my eyes. "I'll stick with Manolo Blahniks. Don't get so fussy!"
After a few minutes of him sulking and me apologizing (not because I was sorry, but because I thought I might be relegated to hell if I didn't), he calmed down enough to congratulate me. "Siete una buona ragazza..."
"I'm a good girl? That's awfully sweet, Benny. Now go eat some host to soak up that booze in your gut. You're going to have a hell of a time tomorrow morning."
So, I'm going to be a saint. Who would have thunk it?
Friday, May 18, 2007
"I remember the day I became aware of Kukka's existence. I had stumbled upon her blog and was enamored. Her piercing eyes, her indifferent expression and judgmental outlook on life were captivating! I knew, at first sight, that she would be mine," explains Ken Merriweather of Lubbock, Texas, from his prison cell. After six months of fantastical stalking, Merriweather was arrested and convicted of feline endangerment and conspiracy to kidnap a celebrity cat.
Many people have tried to duplicate Kukka-Maria (by creating cardboard cutouts and even painting their cats grey and white), but until Claude Gauthier, celebrated French eugenicist, successfully engineered a Kukka replica in 2001, the idea of owning one's very own Empress was just a dream.
"I knew the demand was out there," recalls Gauthier. "Even I had a secret desire to have my own Kukka-Maria. It was this craving that drove my research and, ultimately, helped me perfect a process to create mini-Kukkas for mass distribution."
Retailing for $10,000, the Kukka-Clone® Brand is considered the Ferrari of Felines. The features that are standard on the basic model are: Bitchy Disposition, Incessant Whining, Insistence on Physical Attention, and Foul Air Biscuits. If you are willing to spend the extra money for the Deluxe and Foxy models, you can select from the following optional features: Domination of the Bed, Claw Sharpening on the Carpet, Surgically Enhanced Multiple Nipples, Bad Breath and D-List Celebrity Connections. "We are working diligently to improve the celebrity connections feature," points out Gauthier. "Instead of exchanging emails with Screech, from 'Saved by the Bell,' one day we hope to include a friendship with A-list stars like Brad Pitt or George Clooney with the purchase of every Kukka-Clone® feline friend."
"We are shocked and disappointed at the insensitivity and self-serving approach of Kukka-Clone® Labs," asserts Misty Masterson, executive director of "Normal Cats are People, Too," a shelter for abandoned sub-standard cats. "The number of unwanted animals that are brought to our organization every day is growing. We have over 500 cats at our facilities whose only flaw is that they don't look like Kukka-Maria. What's worse is that they are basically considered unadoptable because of this perceived genetic defect."
Kukka-Clone® Labs is not surprised that Kukka copies are flying off the shelves. "I knew that if I could crack the genetic coding for Empress Kukka-Maria, the demand would be there and the cash would follow," bemuses Gaulthier. "I must admit, I was looking forward to hoarding all the profits, but Kukka, with the giant but completely underutilized heart she has, demanded we donate a portion of every sale to charity.
"Giving back to my animal community is important to me," Kukka explains with a tight-lipped smile and a patronizing look in her eyes. "That's why $1 from every $10,000 Kukka reproduction purchase goes to 'The Kukka Treat Fund,' a charity I started in 2003 to raise money for snacks for me. I've always said there is just no substitute for a generous heart!"
While some people purchase a Kukka copy to play with and love on and cuddle, others are merely displaying their cats in china cabinets for safe keeping. "I would never consider allowing my Kukka-Clone® to roam freely, look out the windows, or GOD FORBID rough-house and risk injury. I keep her far away from direct sunlight so her fur won't fade and I've never removed her tags so she remains in pristine condition."
"What will happen if this continues and they actually perfect the Kukka-Clone®?" questions Misty Masterson. "While the cats today are only moderately-sexy and can merely obtain D-list celebrity friendships, over time this can change dramatically! We are already seeing a great deal of disdain for 'regular' and 'run-of-the-mill' cats--a movement we call Kukka Glorification. Kittens nowadays are being inundated with pro-tabby messages and the Tuxedo, Sphynx, Calico and Siamese teens are taking a hit to their self-esteem. This disgusting smear campaign needs to stop!"
In an interview on the set of her most recent Kukka-Clone® commercial, The Empress expressed concern for the abandoned and dejected non-tabby population. "Hey, it's not my fault they can't be like me. Suck it!"
Listening to her sing the jingle, adapted from her stint with the Pussycat Dolls, it was clear she was proud of the Kukka-Clone® product and, quite frankly, herself.
"Don't cha wish your feline was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your feline was a freak like me?
Don't cha wish your feline was raw like me?
Don't cha wish your feline was fun like me?
Suck it, indeed!
(If you live in or around Grand Rapids, MI and would be interested in adopting the actual kitten pictured above, simply click on his photo and check out his details! For some reason, they are letting him go for far less than the recommended $10,000!)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
So, here you go:
7 Things About Brach
- When people come over to visit, he hides in the bedroom in his loft bed. He claims he is allergic to human dander, but I think he's just a scaredy cat.
- He is a vegetarian. He says his body is a temple and that only organic veggies shall pass over the threshold of his lips. I don't have the heart to tell him our food is packed with animal by-product. It would break his little, artichoke heart.
- He has read most of the Harry Potter books--all, but the last one. My Agent won't buy that one for him until he stops waking up with night terrors, screaming, "Voldemort, I rebuke thee!"
- He never agreed to marry me, exactly. I tricked him into it with a fake pregnancy. If he wanted to know that I was barren, he could have done the medical research!
- Every morning, after my Agent exits, he sits in the shower and stares at the shower head. For about 20 minutes. During which time nothing happens.
- He sometimes wears a leather jacket around the house and does a pretty fierce "Fonzie" impression. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy..."
- He once killed a man, just to watch him die.
7 Things About Kukka
- I have a healthy trust fund that I get when I turn 10. I've seen it. It's a huuuuuuge bag of treats in the cupboard above the stove.
- I only drink Evian bottled water...with a straw.
- I used to be a stripper at The Pussy Barn in Paramus, New Jersey. I was their biggest earner, but was fired because of the insane jealousy from the other dancers. Legally, I was the only dancer that could do full-contact lap dancing (which meant I climbed on a patron's lap and fell asleep).
- When I get my belly rubbed, I insist...INSIST my hind legs straddle the scratcher's arm. If they remove it from between my legs, I'll whip my leg over and straddle again. That's just how I roll.
- I have a secret stash of tampons in the back of the spare bedroom closet. I've heard they're good to keep on hand...just in case.
- I strongly suspect I may have some illegitimate children out there from when I spent my days in the streets, tweeked on Crystal Meth. Those were heady days...heady days, indeed.
- (Apparently I forgot this one the first time I published) I put out.
I'm not tagging anyone, but if you have a strong desire to tell me something about yourself in the comments, I'd love to hear.
I loooooooooove gossip!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Because the demand for this information is so high and there are so many desperate and dateless women out there, I thought I would finally release my proven methods...free of charge. The only thing I demand as a result of granting you these nuggets of super-sexy, savvy sage-wisdom: That I be the maid of honor at your weddings.
Without further ado, allow me to present:
Kukka's Guide to Hooking a Dude
- BE COLD
Never show your soft and vulnerable side. A man needs to be kept wondering how you feel. Not only will it keep him chasing you, it will deflate his self-esteem, allowing you to direct his every move.
- ALWAYS ASK HIS ANNUAL INCOME
If you would like to maintain the lifestyle to which you've become accustomed, you need to now he has cash. Cat treats, jeweled collars, litter and S&M gear are expensive! If he becomes offended, pee on his shoe and flee.
- FART EARLY; FART OFTEN
If you're like me, farting is one of your most braggable skills. From my experience, men will say they are turned off by air biscuits, but secretly, they can not resist a woman who lacks control over her bowels. Don't resist the urge to crop dust! If a man can not handle your best, he's certainly not going to be able to handle your worst.
- ORDER A LOT OF KIBBLE, BUT EAT ONLY 3 PIECES
Men like it when ladies eat like birds. No, I don't mean violently pecking at your food with your snout. I mean daintily eating and then, after merely 3 minutes, complaining how much food there is and wondering if you'll be able to eat it all. Nevermind the fact that you are packing some serious junk in the trunk and, if you were to eat this sparingly all the time, your trunk would be empty! Men are way too stupid to make that connection. I know you'll be starving by the time you get home, but that's where the hard work you've invested in training your human properly comes in handy. He or she will gladly doll out treats--no questions asked. Having a man + Secret binging = Bliss!
- HYGIENE IS CRITICAL
Men like women who look and smell clean. Does this mean you need to actually take a shower? NO! Give yourself a once-over with your tongue before he picks you up and, when you're at dinner, climb onto the table and lick your lady business and back entrance. Grooming your nether-regions in public shows you care enough to send the very best.
- TALK TOO MUCH AND INTERRUPT
When you tell a story, ramble on and on until you see his eyes glass over. At that point, you know you have his full attention. After all, your stories are fascinating! If he says he likes sports, purposefully avoid that topic at all costs. If he says he doesn't like chasing a laser pointer, talk only of that hobby. He needs you to educate him and grow his appreciation for the important things you love. When he begins talking about his own interests or sharing a story, cut him off. Talk over him until you wear him down. Your story of which his story reminded you is far more important than his original anecdote. As frustrated as he may be with you preventing him from sharing, he will soon see you have a delightful repertoire of tales to share that will make his man junk tingle with glee.
- DISCUSS, AT LENGTH, YOUR FORMER LOVERS
It's important for any new man in your life to know who has come before. Not only will it challenge his self-esteem and masculinity in a positive way, it will help you establish your expectations and boundaries with him. "My former lover, insert name here, used to say..." or "My former lover, insert name here, used to caress..." You might not get the same profound results as I do, as my "insert name here" is Brad Pitt. If you're going to talk about some D-list celebrity (Carrot Top, Donny Osmond, or Clay Aiken), you might want to keep this step brief. Talking too much about them could cause him to get an inflated ego and, let's be honest, there is only room for one inflated ego at that dinner table.
- LOOK AT OTHER MEN AND COMPARE THEM TO HIM
As different men pass your dinner table, undress them with your eyes. Your date will value your appreciation for the male form and find you even sexier than he did 5 minutes before. Saying things like, "Wow! That hot guy has far more hair than you..." or "Look at that tail! Yours is far less lengthy and fluffy..." It helps him evaluate himself and inspires him to take action on his appearance. Your opinion, after all, is extremely valuable to him. And always correct.
- IT HELPS TO BE A STRIPPER
Taking your clothes off for money is attractive and not-at-all skeezy. Knowing you have men ogling you and dollar-bills shoved next to your cha-cha is something EVERY man wants. If he calls you a slut? Correct him. "I'm a WHORE. I get PAID to sell my body." That is an important piece for him to understand, as it establishes you as a responsible working girl.
- BE MEAN AND HATEFUL
When a woman walks by and looks at your man, give her the evil eye and hiss. A swatting of your clawed paw helps, too. Establish with the rival chick that you are the alpha and you won't tolerate her sniffing around your boy. Your man will admire your go-getter attitude and sense of perceived ownership. Another thing you may consider shouting in public, "He is soooooooo good! It's a shame you're too ugly to be with him. Your loss!" That makes women like you more because of your brutal honesty and will make him stay in line, for fear you will turn on him with aggression.
- SKIP OUT WHEN THE CHECK COMES
It's not your responsibility. To reinforce this, don't bring a purse and don't bring the stash of singles you keep in your g-string from your "job."
- BE SUPER-SEXY
Sorry, but this one only works for me. Many of you have, with a great deal of effort and concentration, reached "Somewhat-Sexy" and "Moderately-Sexy" levels, but to be honest, that's just not going to cut it. I can hear you now, "But, Kukka...anyone can be super-sexy!" No, you can't.
- PROMISE TO PUT OUT, BUT DON'T
Order the most expensive dinners, flirt mercilessly during the meal, lick your lips a lot, make sultry eye-contact, even make frank and embarrassing sexual comments. You might even consider "presenting" (lifting your lady business high in the air and raising your tail), but deny him access. Even if he curses, calls you names, throws things or slams his fist on the table repeatedly, he will only want you more and will find the challenge intriguing. Trust me.
If you do these things, I GUARANTEE * you will nab that gem of a male and have him chasing your tail for years to come. Having said that, you "merely-sexy," "borderline-sexy," "somewhat-sexy," and "moderately-sexy" women out there should realize that you're not going to get the breed of men I get. The Brad Pitts of the world are not going to be chasing you down; they are going to be on my couch, rubbing my belly.
Deal with it.
* Claims of guarantees have no merit. Neither Empress Kukka-Maria, nor her Agent, shall be held responsible if you do not get a boyfriend using her techniques, if you incur bodily harm (from either your date, or surrounding women you insult), if you find yourself abandoned at the restaurant, and/or if you pull a muscle (stripping). At any future date, we reserve the right to deny responsibility for any other perceivably liable consequences that may or may not occur from using these techniques.
USE THESE METHODS AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
"After her on-stage shenanigans, we've considered revoking what was always intended to be open invitation to The Empress to perform/present at the ceremonies," explains Merv Fisher, Academy president. "Due to Kukka-Maria, we have had to adopt a 7-second delay on our live broadcast. We have hired an entire team of people to work the red censor buttons, instructing them to press the button any time Kukka meows a curse word. One man, simply trying to condition himself in preparation for tonight's broadcast, has developed carpal tunnel syndrome. Censoring The Empress is a task for 4 individuals...who do NOT take their jobs lightly."
Kukka-Maria's camp is far more casual when recalling last year's awards show. "Kukka-Maria is an A-List celebrity," her Agent rationalizes. "Stars of that caliber are excused when exhibiting what 'normal folk' consider questionable behavior. She did nothing that you or I would have done...if we were hugely popular and if we could have reached."
Brooks (or Dunn...we don't really care enough to do the research) has a very different recollection of the evening. "We were happier than a 3 yr old with a beer can when Kukka said she wanted to perform with us," he recollects. "Ah mean, Ah was so happy, Ah thought Ah'd hafta hire someone ta help me enjoy it! While mah singin' pardner and Ah were a bit troubled that we din' ain't had no rehearsals afore the show, we knew The Empress' reputation and knew she'd pull it off. We never thunk she would pull out what she did! Quaht frankly, Ah blushed a bit!"
According to archived footage, Empress Kukka-Maria did perform with Brooks and Dunn, as originally planned. Her lilting, melodic, yet slightly disturbing singing voice complimented the two gentlemen beautifully. During the last chorus, Kukka surprised the band, host and audience when she flung her hind leg over her head and began licking her nether-regions with wild abandon.
Reba McEntire was seated in the front row and remembers it like it was yesterday. "Y'all...she was lickin' her lady business! Ah was torn atween shock and admiration. Ah mean, who don't wish they could [clean] theirself that way! The real kick in the hind quarters was when she started singin' into her crotch, actin' lahk it was a microphone and accompanying herself on what she later called 'The Bass Buns."
"Kukka's lahk a booger ya just cain't thump awff," says Billie Jo Crabtree, president of a grassroots, morality-focused, Southern Baptist organization called, Killing Kitties for Jesus. "Ah lahk country music like the rest of y'all, but Ah'm nawt fixin' ta be made ta wawtch some cat flash her virginia in mah direction! She maht me cuter than a sack full o' puppies, but if she is allowed at the awards tonaht, we're picketin' and hollerin' and makin' quite the fuss. And when we start steamrollin' Dixie Chicks' cassette tapes, they're gonna know we mean bidness!"
While, at this point, Kukka's Agent is insisting The Empress will be on the red carpet tonight and seated in the front row, on Carrie Underwood's lap, numerous Academy members have said the committee is still in deliberating whether to grant her access or turn her away at the door.
When asked, in a phone interview, whether she is concerned about her attendance at the awards, The Empress stated simply, "Y'all...I really don't give two shits. I hate country music anyway!"
Monday, May 14, 2007
It has come to my attention, that I was to "show appreciation" for you yesterday and tell you how "important" you are to me. As you are well aware, that didn't happen. In my defense, I don't typically care to show appreciation to you, I rarely can identify anything in you about which I should be thankful, and I was a tad green in the gills from Sanjaya's Beer Bong Bash 2007 on Saturday night.
Don't judge me!
To reset the balance in the universe (and, more importantly, within our home), I'd like to take the opportunity now to thank you for all you do for me.
I call it:
"How Do You Love Me? Let Me Count the Ways..."
- YOU FEED ME SOMETIMES. You put food in my bowl. Big whoop. The only reason this one made the list is that I can't seem to figure out how to get into the cabinet above the stove, where the food is kept. Oh, and I lack opposable thumbs that would allow me to grip the bag and pour the food. So...by default, I thank you for feeding me. A bit of constructive criticism? I really get uncomfortable when the chow-levels in my bowl dip below 50 kibblets. While I know you've never tried to starve me to death before (aside from that day when I had to go 37 minutes with an empty bowl), I know you've thought about it. I can see it in your eyes. I'm watching you, lady.
- YOU PET ME ON OCCASION. Sometimes, when you're not too busy catering to your own selfish desires, you'll scratch my head a bit. Sometimes. I guess, while I deserve the entire cake, I should be thankful for the crumbs, right? I'm still not clear why I have to beg for physical attention from you. On one paw, I believe this is an epic battle of wills where I beg for attention and you withhold said attention...and we see who ultimately comes out victorious. On the other paw, I think you might just be too selfish and lazy. FYI, bitch: There are more humans than I can count who would kill...KILL to run their hands over my luxurious fur. One of these days, you're going to wake up and I'll be gone. Or, I'll just be lying in the corner, thinking about leaving. Either way, it will hurt you something fierce!
- YOU GIVE ME TREATS WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE IT. Seriously...not nearly as often as you should. In fact, I'm going to spare you a long and drawn-out explanation of this one and just give you the following instruction: MORE TREATS, MORE OFTEN.
- ___________________. You can fill in the blank with whatever it is you think you do for me for which I should be thankful. I know you're going to bitch to your friends that your "ungrateful little scamp of a feline daughter" didn't "love you enough" and "appreciate you enough," so this blank entry should cover all the bases and leave me looking good.
Oh, crap. For crying out effing loud! Brach wants to say something to you.
"LETTER TO MOMMY" by Brach Lee
I love you more than sunshine. I love you more than treats. I love you more than fetching milk jug rings or chasing the taunting red dot of the laser pointer.
At this very moment, I think I love you more is actually possible...no, WAIT! NOW I love you even more than I did in the last sentence! And now AGAIN!
I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth. Wrap it up, B.
In closing, you are the best mother a cat could have and I love you. I love you more now than I did 2 seconds ago. Even more just now! And now! And...SHUT IT! ENOUGH ALREADY! If you start flattering her too much, she'll turn conceited and will be a bear to live with!
Listen, lady. While we forgot to honor you yesterday, I think we can all agree, there was some mad love happening here today.
So to recap: Keep the chow coming. Scratch my furry belly every once in awhile. More treats=a happy cat. Got it?
Best regards, Homeslice!
Friday, May 11, 2007
I tried snuggling, but she moans, wails and cries. I tried licking her eye lids, but she swore at me and shoved me away (I know, right!? What could she be thinking?). I thought, when she curled into the fetal position and sobbed, there would be plenty of room for me to spoon with her, but she nixed that pretty quickly.
Let's recap the symptoms:
- Weepy eyes
- Puffy face
- Bad Hair (not related symptom)
- Resisting eye lid licks
- Curling into the fetal position, sobbing
- No desire to spoon
There are several theories as to what is ailing this woman:
- Brach believes it's a Sinus Infection (which would explain the green squirrels she's been blowing into tissues all over the house).
- I can identify a broken heart ANYWHERE! (Not because I've ever HAD one, but because there is a wake of them in the river of my love life).
- Some of My Agent's MALE friends were quick to blame something called "PMS," but that just made her scream like a banshee and throw things. I'm making an executive decision to rule that diagnosis out!
- Brach and I both agree that, no matter what the official diagnosis, the symptom we're the most concerned about is: Perpetual Litterbox Neglect.
We need her out of this slump! Not only is she slow to distribute treats, she is taking up most of the couch and relegating us to far less comfortable sleeping spots!
What do you think it could be?
What can we do to help her (get more treats in our stomachs)?
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
First off, let me express my disgust that you refer to yourselves as "Pet Owners." You don't own us. If anything, we own you. We shed on your clothing, claw your furniture and carpets, whine for treats (to which you respond eagerly) and sleep smack-dab in the middle of your bed, causing you a great deal of inconvenience, if not discomfort. If you owned us, don't you think you'd put a stop to all of this?
Well, you haven't, proving my point.
On to more important things, though. I've noticed a disturbing trend among your kind that I wish to address. This disruptive movement is the renaming of pets.
Some of you have adopted animals from shelters and for that, I thank you. This adoption process, however, does not entitle you to rename your new family member. My Agent, for example, had the balls to strip Brach of his original name, "Jake." Apparently, she had a sordid history with a "Jake" and felt Brach was "too good of a baby boy" to be burdened with such a repulsive moniker. While he was only 2 months old, in cat years, he was about 1.16. Many children, by the age of 1, already recognize their names when called and Jake was no exception.
Others of you feel that, after a certain period of time, you can just change your animal roommate's name to suit your own needs. Perhaps the clever name you bestowed on them originally has lost its luster. Maybe it doesn't roll off your tongue as easily as before. Maybe you're just sadistic and looking to inflict an identity crisis on the cat. Whatever the reason, it's wrong.
My Auntie, for example, shares a home with two cats. Their names are Grace and Lucy. Are they called that? Nope. Grace is called "Zig" and Lucy is referred to as "Widdy" or the ever-popular "Wids" (because she is a widdle baby girl compared to the beefy Grace). I can not imagine the confusion they feel being called names that are not their own! I understand the value of nicknames, but when you change veterinarians and officially introduce Grace as "Zig," there is a boundary that has been crossed.
Today, across the nation, animals are being re-named in record numbers. Fluffy is now "Stinky" and Bitsy is now "Jerome." These poor cats don't know whether to lick their nether-regions or run toward their humans when called. Unfortunately, this confusion has little to do with the renaming and more to do with some slight retardation.
Pet Servants, I beg you to reconsider your position on the renaming of animals. Consider this: Your parents arrive at your home, sit you down, and tell you they've been thinking and would like to change your name. How would you cope? Other than taking a moment to lick your nether-regions, my guess is you would be filled with anger and confusion.
The next time I hear of a pet renaming, I will take liberties and rename the human. Your new name? Inconsiderate Ass.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Based on our tearful conversation, I've drawn up the following list so you, the run-of-the-mill American, might better understand the struggles we celebs face.
I caution you: It's not pretty. You may want to have some Kleenex handy!
- Fendi doesn't make a handbag that matches Prison Orange.
- Government-issued granny-panties must be worn at all times.
- Orange jumpsuits don't come in size -4.
- She'll have no access to her pink gem-encrusted T-Mobile Sidekick; she'll have to use a regular cell phone and only one time per day!
- Her cellmate, Yolanda (a.k.a. "Abadesa" or "HBIC").
- Stilettos are considered weapons and not allowed. So long, Manolo Blahniks!
- Great opportunity for another "leaked" sex tape, but cameras are not permitted in jail.
- She's given 3 squares a day, but any meal greater than a single saltine and Diet Red Bull makes her bloated.
- Exercise in the courtyard doesn't include Pilates.
- 45 DAYS?! How will she get her dark roots touched up?
- The orange jumpsuit will guarantee her a spot on Mr. Blackwell's Worst-Dressed List.
- No red carpet or flash bulbs between her cell and the mess hall.
- With limited visitors, her family will be disappointed the paparazzi out-rank them on the media whore's "approved guest list."
- No opportunity to continue drinking and driving on a suspended license.
- Prison bitches are not her demographic. In fact, they'll kick her ass because of her wealth and unwarranted fame!
- In jail, "Crack Whore" trumps "Media Whore."
- Unlike her television show, "The Simple Life," real-life scenes will not be scripted so she'll have no idea how to exist.
- She has to be married to get conjugal visits.
- Prison guards, not body guards.
- Making license plates is a bit different than hands-off consulting on your very own handbag collection.
- She might have to learn a valuable life lesson.
- A dance-off is not going to keep her from becoming Yolanda's bitch.
- She will be overlooked for the leading role in "The Paris Hilton Story" on Lifetime television for women. The role will probably go to Lindsay Lohan.
- Her publicist doesn't have enough time to spin the jail story into a feel-good rehab tale.
- It's finally Nicole Richie's turn to get the positive press.
- 13 year old girls (and intellectually stunted grown women) everywhere will strive to drive on suspended licenses just to be more like their idol.
- The term "Fire Crotch" will take on a new meaning!
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
She joined Pogo.com in October, at the insistence of a good friend. "You'll love it," the friend giggled. "It's games and fun and you get to meet and chat with cool people!"
I think that was the last time I saw my Agent without the notebook computer permanently affixed to her lap.
Here is a typical evening at my house:
Me: "Agent! Listen up!"As you can see, we were in need of a Pogovention. I arranged for the A&E TV crew from "Intervention" to come to my home and help us address my Agent. So she didn't suspect anything, she was told she was participating in a documentary on Pogo and its most super-sexy players.
She: (Not looking away from her screen and delivering the following with a tone that I consider inappropriate, if not downright offensive) "What is it you need, Kukka!? Unless the house is on fire, go lay down!"
Me: "Um...HELLO!? The litter box has not been scooped in days. My food bowl only has about 1/2 cup in there. And Brach? Brach has permanently parked himself in the shower, licking the faucet. He needs serious help, Agent."
She: (Clicking furiously with the mouse and mumbling) "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Can't you just take care of...YES! I HAD A 1,000 TOKEN JACKPOT SPIN!"
Me: "AGENT! LISTEN TO ME NOW AND HEAR ME LATER: YOU NEED TO LIFT YOUR LADY BUSINESS OFF THAT DAMN COUCH AND TEND TO YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES! EAR SCRITCHES AND BELLY RUBS DON'T JUST HAPPEN ON THEIR OWN, SKANK!"
I still can not believe she bought that! Like she is super-sexy?
As my Agent thought she was arriving to participate in her final interview for the "documentary," play one final game of Dice City Roller for the cameras, and show of her mini's new outfit (the customizable miniature version of my Agent that she believes looks just like her, while I'm of the opinion her mini has far more superior abs), she walked into a room full of people and cats who love her.
Okay, well, Brach and I were there, at least.
I know I haven't been able to visit my friends as much as I have and I miss that. I will continue trying to help her help herself, but I have to admit: When treats are at stake, my motto is and has always been "Live and let live!"
She: "What the hell is going on?"
Me: "Agent, this is a Pogovention. We are here today because we love you and want you to stop playing Pogo so much. Brach, will you read your letter first?"
He: "Dear Agent. When you play Pogo so much, it makes me sad..."
She: "Um, Brach? Don't you sleep all evening long?"
He: "Yes, I sleep through most of it, but in my heart I still feel sad."
She: "And, Brach? How often do you ask to be petted or want me to play with you?"
He: "Well, yes. I'm sort of independent, but that shouldn't mat..."
She: "And, Brach? Aren't you lacking the balls required to even bring this up to me?"
He: "Um...er...FINE! Kukka put me up to it. I didn't even KNOW you had a computer!"
Me: "I guess it's my turn, then. Dear Agent..."
She: (Sighing loudly for dramatic effect) "Is this really necessary?"
Me: "Shut it...now listen. Dear Agent. Once upon a time, you were a fun roommate. You used to spend hours rubbing my belly and scratching under my chin. Although reluctantly, you used to scoop every other day at a minimum and make sure we had clean water an kibble as far as the eyes can see. Lately, though, you have been playing on the computer way too much. I've noticed your bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair and drool dripping down your chin from excessive mouth-breathing as you concentrate. I've noticed the computer is less available to me for blogging and visiting other blogs...and that is unacceptable. Agent, will you accept the help that is being offered to you today?"
She: "What is the help?"
Me: "We've arranged for you to go far, far away for a long time to receive treatment for your Pogo addiction. While you are gone, I'm the boss, right? I mean, I'm the boss of everything. Right?"
She: "I'm pretty sure I have this under control, Kukka."
Me: "Says the lady with a keyboard print on her face because she fell asleep at her computer early this morning..."
She: "I'm not going. You are not the boss of me. I don't have a problem and if you mention it again, I will have you euthanized!"
Me: "How. Dare. You. Euthanized? You know my fur is tongue-clean only!"
She: "I give up. What will it take to make this conversation go away?"
Me: "Treats. And keep 'em coming."
She: "Kukka, this is a Snackervention. We are here today because we love you and want you to stop eating so many treats. Brach, will you read your letter first?"
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
It is no secret my previous online dating search was dissatisfying, to say the least, but I've noticed the amount of foot traffic by my sliding glass door has diminished. Blame the crazed paparazzi camped outside my house 24/7. Blame my cock-blocking husband who arches his back and hisses when a rival male approaches. Blame the fact I refuse to press my super-sexy multiple nipples against the window without first being taken out for a respectable surf and turf meal. Whatever the reason, if they are not coming to me, I need to go to them.
So I posted my profile.
Breed(ing): Exiled Empress
Age: 7.66 yrs old
Hair: Short, black/white/gray tiger-striped
Eyes: Vertically-Pupiled Green
Interests: Napping, rubbing my face against things, trying to procure tasty people-food, talking, thinking of ways to antagonize Oprah, treats, and talking about treats.
Turn-ons: Licks behind my ears and between my eyes, my own reflection, gentle biting on the back of my neck, tomcats who adore me unabashedly.
Here are some of the (choke) gems I was matched with:
Eyes: Huge and bulging
Interests: Staying warm, avoiding cold, using my super-sonic satellite ears to pirate XM Radio, looking in the mirror and asking, "Why me!?"
Turn-ons: Large sweaters, warm human hands, moisturizer, heating vents, when my human takes her rings off so I can sit comfortably in the palm of her hand.
My take on him: I fear my scratchy tongue will leave abrasions on his delicate skin. I don't think I would be able to maintain eye-contact with him, as I wouldn't be able to control my laughter and/or might throw up in my mouth a little bit. How could they match HIM up with ME? I am super-sexy and he is, well...he is um...not. If I spend too much time with him, I might be haunted by flashbacks of my relationship with Vin Deisel!
Hair: Brown fauxhawk, thinning on top.
Eyes: Creepy and menacing
Interests: My job as a Gollum stunt double in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy, smashing the skulls of Hobbits, staring at people until they feel very uncomfortable, and BINGO
Turn-Ons: Leather, Latex, S&M
My take on him: I'm as freaky as the next feline empress (maybe more), but S&M? I get spanked enough just by jumping on the kitchen counters, thankyouverymuch! I don't mind the fauxhawk, if the rest of him weren't balding. I'm not sure I could tolerate him calling me his "precious," and dreaming of him at night would give me night terrors. PASS!
Breed: White Lion (with a follicle pigment disorder)
Hair: Dark brown with caramel highlights
Eyes: Hazel with golden flecks
Interests: Brushing my mane, poetry, designing plus-sized fashion for cats of all breeds. I should mention that, in my photo, I am singing, not roaring. I sing like Liza and dance like Michael Jackson (without the groping of small boys).
Turn-ons: A huge mane on a manly lion, Broadway shows (specifically 'The Lion King," and haute couture.
My take on him: Someone has caught the gay! I think Tiny might be in the wrong dating pool. Single Brown Male seeks Single Brown Male. Plus, I think his gaping mouth is just about the right size to fit a 12lb, voluptuous, super-sexy feline in it. EEK!
Interests: Getting my hair did, learning new tricks, touring the country winning pet look-alike contests at county fairs
Turn-ons: Dressing in clothes that are identical to my owner's (cross-species dressing), standing on my hind legs to dance for treats
My take on him: I don't know about you, but dating Barbara Bush is not something I strive to do. Wait...which one would I be dating? The one in the foreground or background? The "dancing for treats" thing sounds nice though. If he dances for treats, what else might he dance for? Purrrrr...
Interests: Alley fights, tending to my mohawk, partying and showing off my tongue implant
Turn-ons: Hot chicks with studded collars, beer.
My take on him: Hot? No. Sexy? Not so much. A star of the movie "Gremlins?" I think so! All I know is I have to get my paws on that jeweled collar! If he has the cash to buy that kind of bling, I would be more than happy to break bread with him. A paper bag over the head just might be the answer. With the swarming paparazzi, I'm just not sure whether the bag should be on his head or mine...