It is a physical law of the wondrous universe we inhabit that thirty-seven year old single men with five cats, one of them named Fluffy, seldom get laid (a euphemism).  I lined the troupe up one night and asked, “Why should I keep you?”  Got the whole song-and-dance routine.  Funny watching Fluff do the Tango.

     Homeless guys probably get more action than I do.  I was thinking of making a sign that said, “Will work for pussy,” but I already have enough cats.

     Cats.  Have you ever heard a cat fart?  I never have.  Not that I listen for cat farts, of course.

     I punched one of my cats in the face one night because he was fucking up.  I lost that fight.  That cat whipped my ass.  Note to self: do not punch cat in face.

     I named my new kitten Pretty Girl.  Finally got one to move in with me!

     I gave two of my cats to a guy who lives in a rural setting, because they didn’t like me, and I thought they’d be safe in the country.  Plus, I was trying to better my odds with the married babes at the grocery store.  Both felines were eaten by dogs within a week.  I remind my remaining cats of this every night.  A tale to regale, indeed.  It’s our favorite bedtime story. 

     The first cat I ever had was kind of fucked-up.  Dude who gave it to me used to smoke speed and blow the smoke in the cat’s ears.  When he could catch it, of course. 

2026 R.M. Reliable Electric