Yah, this ain't no party, nor is it that honey-jello-shot for brains bear. This is G.B.'s annoyingly fat Al Bundy clone of a cat Fluffernutter. And I'm barging in today 'cause G.B. is busy trying to decide whether or not he should write or simply chuck it all and cover himself up with compost and think unpleasant thoughts of what might have been, so his little hardwired brain is currently incapable of multi-tasking a simple thing like writing a blog post.
So I took upon myself to cough up a beer flavored hairball (and no, my beer of choice ain't that wimpy beer Bud Light. I'll leave it up to the smarter people out there to guess my liquid of choice and it ain't beer. Beer is for wimps) and type up a post for G.B. 'cause you know, the only smart thing he's done so far is kick me out of the house. Not that it didn't work, 'cause you know you just can't get rid of Fluffernutter, because without Fluffnutter, you don't get the remote.
Anyways, I dug around one of his folders and found this nasty little poem that he done got some ten years ago. It's got no title, so I've taken the liberty to come up with one.
When you are sad...I will get you drunk and
help you plot revenge against the sorry bastard
that made you sad.
When you are blue, I'll try to dislodge
whatever is choking you.
When you smile, I'll know that you got laid.
When you are scared, I will rag on you
about it every chance that I get.
When you are worried, I will tell you
horrible stories about how much worse
it could be and to quit whining.
When you are confused, I will use little
words to explain it to your dumb ass.
When you are sick, stay away from me
until you're well again. I don't want
whatever you have.
When you fall, I will point and laugh
at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath, I pledge to the end.
Why you may ask?
Because you're my friend!
Send this poem to ten of your closest friends
and get depressed because you
realize you only have two friends
and one of them is not speaking to you
right now anyway.
P.S. A friend will help you move, a really good friend will help you move the body.
So there you have it ladies and gentleman, boys and girls AND children of all ages. A bottom feeder of a poem written by someone on this great blue marble with way too much time on their tiny little hands, brought to you by the best cat in G.B.'s house, Fluffernutter.
Be sure to tune in next to see who will write the next blog post: the best cat in G.B.'s house, Fluffernutter; that honey soaked alki Yello Bear; or the titular head of this blog, G.B. Miller.
Personally, my money is on Fluffernutter. D'oh! Did I say that? Shame on me. Perhaps I should be sent to my luxurious kitty box with a large helping of Taco Bell Nachos Belle Grande (yeeeeccccch) and a six pack of wimpy beer (coughing up a hairball) to wash it down with as punishment, for I am a very bad putty tat.