Friday, April 25, 2008
Wesley Snipes has just been sentenced to 3 years in jail for not filing his taxes, but I'm not seeing the public outrage that happened when, say, Paris Hilton was jailed for driving drunk. Or when I was arrested for any of my "indiscretions." Is it a race thing? A gender thing? An age thing? A species thing?
Let's compare arrests; you be the judge:
NAME: Paris Hilton
CRIME: Violating probration for a prior drunk driving incident
SENTENCE: 45 days in jail (served 3 days, released for a medical condition, returned a day later to serve a total of 23 days).
PARIS SAID: "This is by far the hardest thing I have ever done." (It should be noted, however, she also said that about shaving her legs.)
COURT OF PUBLIC OPINION: "This is so, like...unfair! Now where do I buy my 'FREE PARIS' baby-tee and download my 'That's hot...' ringtone?"
THE WORD OF KUKKA: They're right. It is unfair! Most citizens, guilty of the same thing, would have probably served all 45 days!
NAME: Wesley Snipes
CRIME: Forgetting to file tax returns for the years 1999-2001
SENTENCE: 3 years in jail
SNIPES SAID: "I'm very sorry for my mistakes and errors...I've asked the court to show me mercy and the opportunity to make things right." That makes sense. Because you've not had that opportunity in the last 6 years!
COURT OF PUBLIC OPINION: "Wesley WHO?! OH! That black guy from New Jack City! Has he even worked since 1991? Now where do I buy my 'FREE PARIS' baby-tee and download my 'That's hot...' ringtone?"
THE WORD OF KUKKA: Don't these celebrities hire accountants to help them remember things like filing taxes? Wait. That's even a cop-out. If you can remember to cash your multi-million-dollar paychecks, you can remember to pay your taxes, for eff's sake! Maybe you should stick to driving drunk like a celebutante without panties...you'll have a much better chance of skating away with a slap on the wrist instead of the unmentionable personal violations that await you at the hands of "Clem," who will tag you as his bitch on day 3.
NAME: Empress Kukka-Maria
CRIME: Indecent exposure (of multiple nipples), public intoxication, multiple counts of assault, etc.
SENTENCE: Still at-large. Sometimes called "The Teflon Pussy."
KUKKA SAID: "If you can't handle the awesomeness of my multiple nipples, it's your responsibility to look away! If I'm going to be arrested again, it should be because I'm so super-sexy...CHEERS, HATERS!"
COURT OF PUBLIC OPINION: "She's great! I'm having multiple nipple implants put across my abs so I can be more like her! [Cell phone rings with a 'ROWR, BITCHES' ringtone] If you'll excuse me, I'm trying to find some tomcats who think I'm super-sexy so I can fill my own stable..."
Now, if only they decide to arrest Amy Winehouse for allegedly headbutting a dude on the street at 3am as he tried hailing her drunken-ass a cab...I'll go into a legal-gossip-induced coma!
PLEASE GOD...MAKE IT SO!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
It's so hard for me to express the shock and horror I felt when I learned you had filed for divorce, mostly because it's difficult to talk when you throw up in your mouth a little bit.
How could a marriage that made so much sense to the world struggle and ultimately fail? I can't think of a single reason this didn't work...I can think of several!
- He's into dudes.
- He likes having sex with men.
- He's so gay he can't even pee straight.
- He shrieks at the sight of you naked (but, then...don't we all?).
- Insert something here about him having to be married to you and your ego...I haven't worked out all the details of that one, yet.
Maybe you should look those two words up. I don't think they mean what you think they mean.
Well, know I will be thinking of you and hoping you don't turn to junk food for comfort. I think, by now, you know that it doesn't matter how much you love the chicken and ice cream (or your gay husband), they just can't love you back.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
The Walt Disney Company, known for having their finger on the collective pulse of the U.S. "tween" population, is capitalizing on this untapped, communist market by introducing a new Cuban character to be broadcast on the government-controlled network, DTR (Death To Revolutionists).
"This new character is modeled slightly after the super-popular U.S. phenomenon, Hannah Montana," explains Robert Iger, Disney President and CEO. "With the subtle cultural differences between Cuba and the U.S., and the extreme restrictions of Cuban decency laws, we opted to not over-sexualize this character, so she's clearly nothing like Hannah Montana!" laughs Iger, uncomfortably.
Insiders say the show, called Havana Bandana, is the story of a homely Cuban feline who leads a double life. By day, she's a mangy housecat, scrounging for crumbs from the scraps and garbage her human family eats. By night, she is a spy for the Cuban government, hired to covertly weed out extremist rebels and sing catchy, highly-marketable songs.
In a stunning move, Disney has cast Empress Kukka-Maria as Havana Bandana's title character. "She astounded us at her reading," sighs Iger with a far-off look in his eyes. "While she is, obviously, super-sexy, she was able to downplay that and come off as barely-, if not almost-not-at-all-sexy. She's a true talent."
Wearing her character's signature bandana and sporting her signature "I'm-totally-bored-give-me-treats" expression, The Empress granted us an interview on the set of her new show.
"Is it difficult to stifle my super-sexiness? No. It's not. It's EXCRUCIATING!" howls Kukka, sipping a latte and taking a drag off a Cuban cigar. "I mean, can you tell the sun to stop shining? Or hide a rainbow behind another, more ugly rainbow? No. You can not. I can, though."
When asked about some controversial love scenes between her character and Fidel Castro, portraying himself, Kukka-Maria is very tight-lipped.
"I can't really comment on that," mutters The Empress, thwapping her tail back and forth to clear the air around her of the cloud of smoke being expelled from her tiny lungs. "However, I can tell you I found it a bit troubling he demanded an ungodly amount of questionable swats on the tail be written into the script." Rolling her eyes, she continues, "I mean, I like to spank a guy, but in every scene we share? Come on..."
It is rumored Empress Kukka-Maria wrote several of the sure-to-be-hit songs that will appear on the Havana Bandana soundtrack, including "Your Super-Sexiness Makes Me Want to Ride a Rickety Raft Across the Ocean and Into Your Heart," "I Don't Need my Government-Rationed Food...Just Give Me Your Meat," and more! With the limited technology in Cuba, the soundtrack is expected to be released only on vinyl, 8-track, and cassettes.
Disney execs believe Havana Bandana will be a hit not just among Cuban teens, but with the entire population...partly because ticket prices will be automatically garnished from all working citizen wages in what is now being called the I Heart Havana Bandana Tax.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
I'm sure you recognize me. I'm Right, one half of a pair of flip-flops that has, apparently, found its way to the top of your ass-kicking list. Where is my partner? Suffice to say, Left is shaken to his core and quakes at the mere mention of your name. He has declined to participate in this confrontation.
Why, Brach? Why us?
We're not the first pair of sandals that have found their way into your home! Our immediate predecessors (shown, on duty, to the right), though old and worn, tell us painfully long-winded stories of the good ol' days when flip-flops could peacefully nap in the middle of the living room floor, in the corner of the bathroom, under the bed, in the center of the kitchen, by the door...anywhere they were kicked-off.
Based on our 4:13am interaction this morning, it's clear those days are gone.
I do NOT appreciate waking to the shrieks of Left as you sink your teeth into the backside of his mushy sole with the speed, precision, and repetition of a piston. And, based on the incoherent, yet forceful mumbling of The Agent, I am not alone in my frustration.
It's a shame that, in this day and age, flip-flops are being forced back in the closet! For years, those who came before us fought for our right to walk proudly. They suffered so our beautiful voices would resonate in every quiet aisle in the store, silent hospital corridor, and noiseless office hallway and library. Snip-snap...snip-snap...snip-snap. WE HAVE IMPORTANT THINGS TO SAY!
Currently, we are being temporarily housed under The Agent's pillow. While it's not the most comfortable situation (for any of us), at 4:13am, desperate times called for desperate measures. It was critical we be removed from your path of destruction, but in a way that prevented The Agent from actually getting out of bed.
It is my understanding our permanent shelter will be the bedroom closet, when not on active duty. If you wish to hunt us down there, we'll be packed, like sardines, next to the grumpy winter boots, pretentious 3" stilettos, and stoned-out-of-their-gourd hippy clogs.
Good luck getting the closet door open, ass.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
You are "cute" NOW; THEN, you were more "super sexy."
Maybe it was the long, luxurious whiskers.
Or the jet-black, old-man comb-over...
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Whilst skimming over some moderately scandalous drivel about a war that is going on (allegedly) and an apparent marital dispute that is being played out in the media between Hillary C. and Barack O. (at least I try to preserve their anonymity to help them maintain SOME of their pride), my eyes fell on an article I thought might be interesting: The Essential Ingredients of a Man Cave.
Let me save you the trouble. Reading that article is 3 minutes you'll never get back! Instead of reading about man caves, why not just take a glimpse of what makes a great Empress lounge!
The Essential Ingredients of an Ideal Pussy Palace
(complete with secret entrance and password)
My pussy palace always has a fully-stocked bar (and a pleasingly-packed bartender). Sipping Perrier-Jouet champagne on pink, fur-lined chaise lounges served by oily, bare-chested man-servants is not a privilege...it's my right!
Only the best live music is featured in my pussy palace! Musical legends like The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin, and more have placed their names on the three-year waiting list to perform. It was rumored that the Beatles were cosidering coming out of retirement (some, from extinction) to play in my pussy palace this summer, but I nixed it when Heather Mills-
If it involves a ball or any physical activity whatsoever, it is not allowed in my pussy palace. Lying around and gossiping over mani/pedis is the only approved sport! Well, that and the strenuous act of stuffing singles in the g-strings of my tomcat strippers...
If you're name's on the list, you're in. If not, take a long walk off a short pier. Yes, I'm talking to you, Cruise and Winfrey!
Automatic fur strokers and litter flickers are among the high-tech marvels in my pussy palace. I'd tell you about the intricate dingleberry removal system, but that's really reserved for invited guests.
"Pin the Prescription Psychiatric Drug Bottle on Tom Cruise" is a favorite of mine. Drinking shots every time Oprah raises her voice in excitement, gambling last week's paycheck guessing Britney's next move in the game "What That Eff's Dat Crazy Bitch Doin'?" and "Lindsay Lohan Substance Abuse BINGO" (B...Sober, that's B...Sober) are pussy cave standards.
Now, don't just go and replicate MY pussy palace (although, I do recognize it is the epitome of awesomeness). Creating a "me" space should be a very personal process, not to be taken lightly!
Having said that, for the delight of you and your crew, I will provide an autographed 8x10 glossy to be prominently displayed in a glass case, for a mere $99.99.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Dear Mr. IRS (if that is your real name),
After working diligently with eleventy-four different CPAs to prepare my 2007 tax returns (all of whom removed themselves, many citing "horrific emotional abuse" and one alleging "highly inappropriate sexual advances"), I chose to prepare my own taxes this year.
I thought, by filing early and spritzing my return with my signature perfume, "Love Juices of The Empress," there would be little chance of an audit.
[Editor's Note: "Love Juices of The Empress" is set to be sold at a fine retailer near you in the fall...of 2011, once PETA vs. Empress Kukka-Maria is resolved and all the scabbed, marred, and blinded laboratory animals have healed and/or died. In addition, it should be noted I have been advised by my personal attorney to distance myself from any legal and/or moral obligations stemming from The Empress' fragrance initiatives. Kukka-Maria acts on her own scruples (or lack thereof) and, while I feed, care for, and scoop after her, I am no more to blame for her business decisions than I am for the constant exposure of her multiple nipples.]
Well, imagine my surprise, Mr. IRS, when I was served with a certified letter, requesting me to produce documentation for my claimed tax credits!
Please firmly affix a pink Post-It® to my return noting the following: I will NOT participate in any audit or provide any receipts justifying what we both know are legitimate business and personal expenses or defend my VERY generous charitable work. In fact, in order to prevent me from bringing legal action against you and the little man behind the curtain who controls your mind and body, I am requiring YOU to provide legitimate reason for rejection of my 2007 tax return.
To: Empress Kukka-Maria
We have received and read your correspondence and thank you for your inquiry into the state of your federal income tax return. At this juncture we are unable to provide you with the refund you insist is due you, but are willing to cite more than enough reasons to justify our decision.
DEDUCTION/CREDIT: Dior Sunglasses (2 pair)
REASON: To keep fur extensions out of eyes
REJECTED: Personal enhancement for the sole purpose of preserving one's vanity is considered excessive, therefore any personal protective equipment purchased, as a result, can not be deducted.
DEDUCTION/CREDIT: "Handfuls" of diamonds
REASON: To be strewn in cat litter for decoration and to optimize light reflection on perfectly-formed turds
REJECTED: Glamorizing ones waste with the use of...I can't even finish this. DENIED.
DEDUCTION/CREDIT: Charitable donation of loose fur
REASON: Donated to "Locks of Lust," an organization that makes genital wigs for porn stars with cancer
REJECTED: Cat fur pubic toupees? SERIOUSLY?
DEDUCTION/CREDIT: Charitable donation of perfectly-formed turds
REASON: Donated to "Poop Pendants, Internationale," an non-profit committed to adorning impoverished teens of Beverly Hills, CA, with charm bracelets...made of baked and tempered royal feline excrement
REJECTED: Okay, this is just getting ridiculous.
DEDUCTION/CREDIT: Sphincter Coach Services (3x/wk at $45/hr)
REASON: The conditioning of my unmentionable region to consistently pinch perfectly-formed turds for charitable donations.
REJECTED: You can't just...UGH!! I went to college for this?!
DEDUCTION/CREDIT: 365 Custom-designed multiple nipple bras, each to be worn for 1 day, then discarded.
REASON: To house the world-renown "girls" and keep them in pristine, perky condition for the enjoyment of my legion of rabid fans
REJECTED: Federal law allows for the credit of a single, standard brassiere to host two breasts, for those in the "entertainment" industry. By this standard, a single bra for "multiple nipples" is not deductible.
Empress, while it was difficult to distinguish the rest of your deductions and credits due to the holes burned through the paper from that incredibly pungent perfume, I was able to see you tried to deduct whisker extensions, false eyelashes, acrylic claws, fang-whitening, and tinted contact lenses. Your request that the United States Government solicit rebates from the country of Brazil to reimburse you for full-body waxes [Editor's note: Think about it...] was considered an insult to our organization. And, our intellect.
Your claimed charitable donation to "Air Biscuit Revival" of your bottled flatulence to be used as smelling salts for narcoleptics was absurd, to say the least! Furthermore, we have no record of "Air Biscuit Revival," "Poop Pendants, Internationale," nor "Locks of Lust" in any federal record, as legitimate charitable organizations. According to IRS Tax Code 2758394.527b, you could be arrested for fraud!
Fortunately, you are but a tiny cat in a very large country. It would be a waste of our time and resources to pursue an arrest or any further dialogue on this subject.
Along those lines...what made you think, as a cat, you needed to file taxes anyway? My advice: Save your energy. Don't file. Lick your butt (or whatever it is you cats do) and take a nap. I've invested too much in this issue, as it is.
Samuel Q. Clarke
And, no..."Mr. IRS" is NOT my real name.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Outraged Kukka fans dismissed Brach's claims as "unrealistic," "unnecessarily harsh," and "verbal diarrhea that makes my brain bleed;" however, from these photos, it is clear there may be some truth to what Kukka-Maria's husband is alleging.
Fluffy VonFuzzenheimer, animal activist and founder of "Second-Bananas Taste Just As Good," an organization committed to the rights of younger, weaker, smaller, and mentally-challenged pets living in peer-abusive homes across the country, is relieved to see TMZ providing what she believes is proof-positive that horrendous travesties happen every day to second-banana pets, giving our society a solid foundation from which to leap in effort to eradicate these injustices.
Said VonFuzzenheimer, "I'm relieved to see TMZ providing what I believe is proof-positive that horrendous travesties happen every day to second-banana pets, giving our society a solid foundation from which to leap in effort to eradicate these injustices."
Authorities have yet to confirm whether formal charges will be brought against The Empress.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
by Brach Lee
Let me set a familiar scene:
It's any-o'clock and I am peacefully sleeping in my bed. I warm my whiskers in the springtime sun beaming through the tiny spot on the window I have licked clean, since The Agent has yet to do a nugget of spring cleaning (THAT should be the debate, but alas...I am told not everyone is a germaphobe, like me).
I breathe deeply, emitting an occasional snore. As my chest gently rises with every intake of breath and my lips flutter with every lazy exhale, I suddenly sense a shadow over me. I know opening my eyes will officially thwart me from my slumber, so I pretend, with all my might, that I can still feel the sun's heat on my caramel coat and concentrate intently on my chipmunk chase in my dream--already in progress.
I hear her sigh. I remain still.
I hear her snort and mutter, "You've got to be kidding me" under her breath. I know if I move a hair on my body, she will claim victory and I will have surrendered what could be the best nap of my afternoon.
She waits, patiently, with her bulky frame looming over me. I hold my breath, worried that the slightest bit of air from my lungs could be the force that topples her beefy body onto me, resulting in a certain death or, at best, broken bones.
Suddenly, she leans forward and begins licking my nose. As her tongue scratches the tender space between my eyes--the space I wish I could reach on my own, at will--I realize she is there to show me affection. I begin purring loudly, open one eye, and roll my body to one side, allowing her to bathe me. I feel the sun's warmth again as she moves around me to nuzzle my ear and I breathe a relaxing sigh.
In one swift movement, she flops down next to me. I feel my muscles relax and I snuggle in for a tranquil napping duet.
Then I feel it. Her feet--all four--pressing into my stomach. Persistent paws, rhythmically sinking into my flesh. Right...left...right...left...and now the hind legs join in the action. I flex every abdominal muscle I can find and do my best imitation of a drunken frat-boy who has just dared his buddy to punch him in the beer belly as hard as he can, but the pressure of her paws intensifies to what can now be described as KICKING.
KICK...KICK...All four paws, now moving wildly.
I move back a bit. Now further. I can feel my ample ass (hey...it's been a long winter) teetering over the lip of the bed and I fear I will crash to the floor with the next boot to the gut.
And, it happens. With one powerful paw punch, I fall. Stunned, I stand and look into the bed at an Empress who is now stretching in my warm spot and tanning her fur.
See these well-manicured paws in my ears? They are the very things preventing me from having to listen to this miserable belly-aching!
Well that...and my obvious disinterest.
First come; first served? Try BEST come; BEST served.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Friday, April 04, 2008
Though highly attractive, it is clear my Mini-Me is lacking some smarts. I fear, while impersonating me, if he were cornered in a dark alley, surrounded by paparazzi, we'd end up seeing pictures of "me" in all the tabloids...crouched down...paws over eyes.
"PEEK-A-BOO, EMPRESS! ROYAL FELINE CLEARLY ON CRYSTAL METH."
Frankly, I don't need the bad press.
My Agent says that you either have looks or brains, but never both. What the french, toast?! Has she not met me?
The kid goes home today, unless I decide to send him on a mission. We'll see how my mid-morning nap goes and how fussy I find myself this afternoon.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
With the relaunch of my blog, I've received thousands, upon hundreds, upon several congratulatory messages from fellow celebrities. Many were heart-felt and sincere (the gift basket of cigarettes and Altoids from the Olsen twins, the half-empty bottle of hooch from Lindsay Lohan, the collection of panties she's clearly not wearing from Britney, etc.), but some were snide and insulting. (Thankyouverymuch, Oprah.)
Take a look at the e-card Tom Cruise sent:
Notice the snarky lyrics and how he's wearing sunglasses to disguise his indentity so he can later deny he ever sent this to me? And, it's obvious the back up band is comprised of non-union cats. In fact, I strongly suspect they are either Scientological aliens or robots. They are dead behind the eyes...just like him!
Tom Cruise, you can take your fake congratulations and bite me.
[Editor's Note: Who knew Tom was so flexible, though!]
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
WANTED: One cat who looks like Empress Kukka-Maria (though lacking her obvious super-sexiness). Must have a pleasing and agreeable personality (exactly like The Empress) and be willing to perform grunt work for no pay.In short, this individual would perform the tasks I didn't want to perform, make the appearances I didn't want to make, say the things I didn't want to say,
Once I realized the audition process was going to require me to stay awake for more than 32 minutes at a time, I decided to go the easy route and hire a family friend, Mojo. The trouble with that plan is that Mojo outweighs me by about 20 lbs, his ears are too big, and he's...a dog.
Mojo's kid-brother, Sabi, seemed a much better fit. Though a male, Sabi bears a remarkable resemblance to me. He's young. He's energetic. He's skinny, to the point I might actually call him "manorexic." [Editor's Note: Kukka is none of these things, but you try pointing that out to her...]
My Agent insists the little tomcat is not manorexic, but actually the ideal weight for a cat his age. She futher explains if I were younger, more active, and ate less treats, I might not have a saggy belly and be at my ideal weight, too.
REALLY! Hello, Pot? It's me, Kettle.
In hindsight, perhaps I shouldn't have cut corners in my search, for my experience in having a stunt double has been nothing like I expected. Allow me to share with you some of the things I've learned about outsourcing:
- Little cats, 1 year and younger, leave toys ALL OVER THE MOTHER-EFFING PLACE! Toys are meant to be purchased, tossed around once or twice, then left in the basket or under the couch/bed/tv stand/piano, only to be deemed lost forever and replaced with new toys. If your stunt double has enough time to play with one toy after another, he's slacking on the napping.
- When it's treat time, step back, Jack! There's a difference between "cute and spunky" and "freaking annoying." If your stunt double decides the treat you are eye-balling is the one for him, make no apologies for proving him wrong, using any force necessary.
- The hired help should stay in the servants' quarters. If your stunt double insists upon sleeping on your [Editor's Note: MY] bed, releasing a well-aimed, noxious air biscuit can remind him who is in charge. Side note: Aim really well. A misfire can remind your Agent that it's really her bed and you might end up sleeping on the floor.
- Eating is NOT something one delegates! I repeat: THIS BITCH EATS HER OWN FOOD! I don't appreciate the little darling thinking he can jump on my back or stick his nose in the bowl while I'm munching. If your stunt double gets confused and salivates on your food, kill him.
- While it's great to have someone who tortures Brach on my behalf, when it interrupts my napping, I'm over it. If your stunt double's ass-kicking schedule conflicts with your sleep, I suggest you deliver a stern, "Do I need to come back there and separate you two boys?"
- The prime sun spot (that has been dormant all winter, I might add) is no place for anyone but moi. Brach knows it. The Agent knows it. If your stunt double pretends not to realize this, just let him be. For crying out loud...there are other eastern-facing windows. Do you really have the energy to fight every battle? After all, didn't you hire the stunt-double to get rest?!
- Kids talk...constantly! I certainly didn't get the nickname "Lips on Legs" because I'm mute, but his persistent cooing is a bit much. What can he possibly have to say that is even remotely interesting? "Look at me, I'm jumping around the room at speeds you can only achieve in your memory!" Blah. Blah. Blah. If your stunt double is a chatterbox, develop a mantra you can mutter over and over to calm yourself. For me, a very simple, yet appropriate, "Shut the eff up...shut the eff up" is quite soothing!
- In my house, height equals power. Brach is scared to walk the beam. I walk the beam daily. When, after only 5 minutes of being in your home, your stunt double climbs on the counter, jumps to the fridge, walks along the top of the cupboards and ambles onto the beam spanning the kitchen entry...then throws you a look from above? I can't even finish typing this thought; my claws are fully-extended.
- Never hire a little boy to do a woman's job. If your stunt double has a bump where his nuts used to be, a youthful spark in his eye, and enough endless energy to make you throw up in your mouth a little bit, thank him for applying and send him on his way.
The sad part about hiring someone who was supposed to make my life easier is that I'm now even more exhausted, sore, hoarse, and cranky than I ever was! Fortunately, my contract with this employee ends on Friday and he will be returning home...until the next time his agent travels for her job.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
"Retirement" wasn't all it was cracked up to be and, while I refuse to comment on my whereabouts over the last 9 months, I would like to point out that whoever said you can't be too rich or too beautiful was wrong! I'm living proof that excessive wealth and super-sexiness can take its toll on an exiled empress.
Over the last few days, I've had some fierce fun reading the tabloid rumors about my absence. To kick off my return, I'd like to share some of my favorite rumblings from the gossip magazines and websites.
If only they knew the real reason for my departure is FAR more scandalous than what they've come up with!
- Hired by his disfigured friend, Kukka shot Dick Cheney in the face with "friendly fire" on a mouse hunt. Well…have you seen Cheney lately, either?
- The Empress lost her fortune and desperately took a job massaging J-Lo’s swollen ankles for the 9 months of her pregnancy. Good Ol' Jenny from the Block doesn’t allow "the help" to have internet access. Or dignity.
- Kukka-Maria won the Tour de France, but later tested positive for catnip. And had cancer in her balls.
- Kukka's been touring the US on Hillary's campaign bus. It is rumored she left the campaign trail, not because of Bill's sexual advances, but because of Hillary's.
- The Empress was deployed to Iraq, but fled to Canada. Some say she is a Al Qaeda sympathizer. Others say she just likes hockey and beer. Anonymous insiders suggest it was because her ass looked huge in desert sand camouflage.
- Poor Kukka-Maria developed a severe psychological disorder and locked herself in the bathroom for 9 months, until her ass grew around the litter box that, as a result, she had to have surgically removed.
- After 6 months of being a Jenny Craig spokescat, and not losing a single ounce--actually GAINING 2 pounds, Kukka was fired and replaced by Valerie Bertinelli. She took to her bed with a bag of Temptations and a river of tears.
- After losing a drunken bet with Britney Spears, Kukka had to shave Jimmy-Joe-Billy-Bob's NASCAR number in her fur. Took 9 months to grow back.
- Due to Kukka's intense stare, intimidating hiss, and foul flatulence, she was hired by the CIA to interrogate prisoners at Gitmo. She was relieved of her duties when it was determined that raging cat farts are considered torture by the Geneva Conventions.
- Kukka-Maria has been in a botox coma and has come out of it with mild amnesia, but no wrinkles!
- After guest-preaching at Barack Obama’s church and spewing what was called by civil rights leaders as "a heinous display of bigotry against dogs--large and small," Empress Kukka-Maria was advised to go into hiding.
- Master Kukka was in the far-east training to be a ninja and had an "unfortunate" throwing-star incident. Let’s just say she'll never sit the same again.
- Empress Kukka was hunting down Bin Laden in Afghanistan and only came back with a rug.
- The Empress decided to dedicate herself to God and joined a monastery, only to find out she wouldn't be allowed to join because of some theological "technicality" about pets not going to heaven. She also learned that "poverty" wasn't a good thing and her exposed multiple nipples violated some sort of modesty clause.
- After publicly disagreeing with Barbara Walters on The View, Empress Kukka-Maria mysteriously disappeared. The View staffers report hearing Barbara mutter, "Dispose of that bitch like we did our first token black girl."
- While visiting the Neverland Ranch, Kukka drank her weight in “Jesus Juice” and woke up being spooned by a very handsy Michael Jackson, in feeted pajamas, less one nose he keeps in an air-tight, glass display case on the nightstand.
- After several meetings with George Bush, doctors regretfully informed The Empress that the IQ points lost from discussing cartoons, NASCAR, and "how awesome war is," will never be regained. And the smell of verbal diarrhea is permanent.
- Kukka was the ORIGINAL striking writer, beginning her writer’s strike in June of 2007. The Writer’s Guild of America are just copy-cats who whined louder and got more press.
- Lindsay Lohan, abandoning her teacup chihuahua, decided that carrying The Empress around in her oversized Hermès Birkin bag was a far more fashionable choice. Lindsay now claims, "Had I known the stench of cat piss on saltwater crocodile leather would be permanent, I might have left that damn cat alone!"
- After being elected Governor of Michigan, Empress Kukka-Maria was found to have spent 5k of the state's money on a high-class, Siamese Gigolo named Throbby VanHarden.