Wednesday, February 28, 2007

ThePeach's Reading Week: Kitten Wars and Vom

This past weekend was really special. Gather round, my children, and I shall tell ye a tale in two parts.

Kitten Wars

It was reading week last week in Universitytown, which meant that all of the students and most of my friends traveled down south. Pretty much everyone I knew spent their week lying on a beach, sipping tropical drinks with Hep-A ice cubes floating them, and becoming tanned negroids. My own damn sister went to Jamaica with CockDoc, where she feasted upon delicious buffets and soaked up some skin cancah (that’s cancer, folks).

I spent reading week working, because there is no reading week in the real goddamned world. I also spent my reading week cat-sitting for TheTeen while the bastard went to Cuba. TheTeen’s cat is fat, slow, and friendly. Her name is Potter. I naively assumed that she and Milo would be best buddies and maybe even lovers. I had visions of them cuddling with me in bed at night, curling up around each other in picture-taking adorableness. Oh fuck me, I was SO wrong.

The second that Potter entered my apartment she tried to scratch Milo’s little eyes out, growled like a bulldog, and ran as fast as her fat little legs could carry her to the darkest corner under my bed. Like the tard he is, Milo gleefully chased after Potter, scurried under the bed, and, I can only assume, tried to pounce on her. Potter responded with a fit of hissing, slashing of claws, growling, and running like hell with her pot belly swaying beneath her. Milo looked at me confusedly with his wide kitten-tard eyes, shook his scratched-up head, and ran after her to try being friends again. This pattern would continue for 8 days. 8 days of hissing, clawing, cats flying at each other in full on warfare, feces being left in various places to mark territory, and Milo never learning to leave the bitchy cat alone. Poor little reetee.

I should mention also, just to give you the appropriate visual, that Potter is about twice the size of little Milo. She left poops in corners of my apartment that were bigger than he is. So, don’t feel bad for Potter when little Milo would fling himself at her. Milo would usually just bounce off her massive ass and trot away, leaving Potter to growl in her precious way and continue to eat holes through everything in the house.

On day 3, Milo was, as usual, attempting to befriend Potter by running after her and jumping on her face. This time, Potter actually stood on her hind legs and swiped Milo with both paws in some kind of mystical, black arts, kung-fu kitten move. This was accompanied with loud cat screams and hissing, presumably to scare Milo away. Milo, being a mentally stunted kitten, responded in the only form of attack he knew. He ran like hell to the futon, jumped up, squatted, and released a torrent of urine into the fabric and into my soul. Way to show her, Milo. Way to show her.

On Day 5, Potter was finally starting to warm up to her new surroundings. She only growled 50% of the time, and only swatted at Milo’s face when he got all up in her grill. I was finally starting to think that they might be able to peacefully co-exist. I had spent the past 5 sleepless night covering my head with my hands as the cats chased each other, jumped on my face in anger, and knocked shit over in their quest to kill each other (or, in Milo’s case, make friends with the nice kitty). And then, we had a breakthrough! Potter was rolling around in her own dirt on the floor when Milo timidly approached her and sniffed her ass. Potter warily gave him the evil eye, but refrained from trying to eat his face. Miracle!! Finally, they would get along!

Of course, Milo responded to this gesture of peace by jumping up on the kitchen table, knocking a glass over in his excitement, and throwing himself – spread-eagle style – onto Potter’s peaceful form. It was a kitten kamikaze attack. Potter, upon being bombarded from above with flying tard-kitten, attacked Milo with all of the force in her tubby soul, ran under the bed, and bit me every time I tried to feed her for the next 48 hours. Milo found more luck making friends with a twist tie that he found under the counter, and happily entertained himself with his new best friend until Potter went home 3 days later.

Cats are precious, don’t you think?

Weekend of Vom
Part 1

I also spent my last few days of “reading week” with the flu. It was unpleasant. I started feeling nauseous and achy Thursday morning, and I spent all day moaning and bitching at work about how much I hated everything. Being sick makes me cranky and depressed. And a real treat to be around. By Thursday afternoon, my stomach was in knots and I was sweating like Oprah on a treadmill with a shake’n’bake pork chop dangling in front of her. I decided to skip the gym, fearing that I would shit my pants. I napped, cradling my bloated, tender gunt as I moaned in discomfort.

I was convinced to go to the bar, somehow. I say “somehow” like it’s hard to convince me to binge drink, which is a lie. Being an alcoholic isn’t easy, but I do my best to keep myself baseline drunk at all times. Anyway, I skipped dinner for fear of the poops, put on loose-waisted pants, and waddled to the bar. I managed to stomach 2 drinks before I waddled back home, pooped a garden hose, and passed out in a feverish state of delirium. I spent the next day sleeping, sipping water, and feeling like a garbage-bag of ass. I avoided all foods. Foods make me die. Flus make me skinny?

And then, Milo barfed. This isn’t unusual, as he has some sort of kitten puking disease that we can’t diagnose but is costing me hundreds of dollars in tests and special hypoallergenic hippie/lesbian kitten food. But what was unusual was that, this time, Milo puked like the forces of evil were compelling him. Usually he just regurgitates whatever he had just eaten in a neat little pile, sniffs it, and then eats it again. This time, he projectile vomited in a serious of violent outbursts all over the kitchen wall. Scared at his eruption, he backed up and cowered behind the bamboo plant on my table. He looked so pathetic and frightened that I immediately picked him up to comfort him.

Big fucking mistake.

Upon touching him, Milo burst into another series of projectile vomit, this time coating the table and all of its various coverings (bills, dishes, sex toy order receipts….what?) in chunky, smelly, kitten ralf. Motherfuck!! I used almost an entire roll of paper towels to clean his mess. If there had been food in my stomach, I’m sure I would have joined the festivities. If there had been anything but flu and monkey-poop in my heart, I would have laughed out loud at the hilarity of the situation.

Part 2

Saturday came, and I still felt gross. I still hadn’t eaten, hadn’t left the house, etc. But there was a big party that night at TOP’s that I couldn’t miss, so I napped and prayed that I would feel better by 8pm.

I should mention that the party had a theme: no clothes. Yes, the theme was no clothes. You could wear anything but clothes. How could I miss this??! Even in my flu-riddled state I wanted to dress like a crazy slut and funnel. So, at 7pm I got out of bed and started getting ready. I picked my outfit – a wee little apron and a tea towel, pinned appropriately to cover my knockers and ass. I showered to get the kitten vom and garden-hose smell off of me. I made soup, so that my stomach wouldn’t be totally empty when I started pounding ‘em back.

I ate the soup. It was tasty. I immediately lunged to the toilet and puked the soup and a layer of stomach lining for 10 minutes. It was still hot. And no longer tasty.

I rinsed my mouth and continued getting ready. I went to the party. I felt much better after puking. Really.

Part 3

Woo, party! I drank gin and tonic all night, thinking that tonic would calm my stomach. And gin would disinfect my gut. Made sense to me. We all got pretty hammed. TOP wore a tube top and mini skirt made out of LCBO bags, which was very resourceful of her. TheCrazy wore saran wrap, which was very sexy of her. We broke out the pot, and then made saran-wrap boots for ourselves, which gave us magical dancing powers (see last post). I should mention that there was one brown guy that none of really knew that well at the party. He showed up in a toga and had a very hairy back. He was like a shaved orangutan…except not shaved. Not shaved at all. But he joined in the festivities and drank and smoked valiantly with us. The he disappeared with the chip bowl.

He returned a few minutes later and sneakily emptied the chip bowl into the garbage. Curious. Then he disappeared again. Curious. Except not curious, because I was too focused on my magical dancing abilities to notice anything awry.

And then…

TOP: That guy is passed out behind the couch.
ThePeach: LOOK AT ME DANCE!!! *goose-steps in a circle around the coffee table*
TheCrazy: I TOLD YOU, THE BOOTS ARE AMAZING!! *Jumps and falls into the splits*
TOP: Seriously, that guy is behind the couch on the floor.
ThePeach: Shut up, he is not *goose-step*.
TOP: He is.
TheCrazy: I don’t believe you *high kick*.
TOP: He’s there.
ThePeach: Let’s check. *all 3 peer over the couch*
All: MOTHERFUCK!!!

The brown guy was passed out in a massive pool of his own vomit. Like, a tidal wave of vomit. A tsunami of beer and chips and fresh death. That explained the chip bowl. Panicking, and also laughing out loud at the pot-fueled hilarity, we ushered the guy to the bathroom, where he vomited directly beside the toilet and all over his toga and every towel in TOP’s house. I hadn’t seen this much vom since I was 16. Seriously, I didn’t think people still got sick like this at parties. But then, we had been riding this bike for a good 10 years, and this guy still had his training wheels. You can’t expect to keep up with the Tour De France of drinking when your bike still has streamers on the handles. But all metaphors aside, there was a lot of fucking puke to deal with.

The brown dude briefly wandered out of the bathroom, told us he was fine, and then threw up in the hallway and onto the shoes. He was shunned back to the bathroom. We had some serious puke to contend with, here. TheCrazy decided to gather the sullied towels and toga and run them to the washing machine across the hall. She bravely gathered the puke linens in her arms and ran to the hall, screaming at the top of her lungs, with puke dripping onto her. She discarded her load into the washer and felt a trickle of vom make its way down her forearm.

The she threw up into the washing machine. Right into the washing machine. She closed the lid and came back to the apartment.

TheCrazy: I put the towels in the washing machine.
TOP: *mopping hallway* Thanks.
TheCrazy: No problem.

Before all the vomit could be mopped up, TOP’s cat got out of her room and excitedly ran towards the pool of regurge. She started lapping up the bits of food, which caused TheCrazy to run towards the sink and hurl what was left in her stomach into the dish-rack.

Cats are precious, don’t you think?

At this moment, several of TOPs friends decided to make a late entrance to her party. They had previously decided that they were too cool for costumes, and showed up in normal clothes. They entered the apartment to find a topless brown guy puking into the bath tub, TOP in a lcbo bag mopping up vomit in the hallway, TheCrazy wrapped in saran wrap and puking into the sink, the cat lapping up regurge, and me, in an apron, still goose-stepping around the coffee table. We really know how to party.

When the brown guy tried to crawl into TOP’s bed and smeared vomit all over her sheets, it was unanimously decided that it was time to call him a cab. TOP decided to give the guy a bucket to take with him, but found that he had already vomited in it. Thinking that the cab wouldn’t happily accept the brown guy and his bucket full of vom, TOP decided to rinse it out. Watching someone else’s chunks circle her sink drain was just too much for her, and TOP puked into the bucket herself. She shrugged it off and continued to rinse the bucket and handed it to the guy. He left.

The shell-shocked friends who showed up late were still standing in wide-eyed silence in the doorway. One of the guys cleared his throat and started addressing TOP, TheCrazy, and myself:

Cool Guy: So…let me get this straight. That guy puked.
All: Ya.
Cool Guy: And then TheCrazy puked.
All: Ya.
Cool Guy: And then TOP puked.
All: Ya.
Cool Guy: And ThePeach puked, too?
ThePeach: No, I puked before I got here.
Cool Guy: *shakes head* This is so sad.

Fuck you, cool guy. Fuck you.

Seriously, though. We really do know how to throw a party.



WOO, Reading week!!

ThePeach

3 comments:

Billy said...

“You can’t expect to keep up with the Tour De France of drinking when your bike still has streamers on the handles.”

Classic. Just Classic. Can I just tell you now that I’m going to steal that?

PS: I hate people like Cool Guy.

asian cymbals said...

That was literally the most vomit ever to appear in any blog post in the history of the universe.

I laughed so much, people at work asked what I was laughing at, and I had to tell them, and now they're not looking at me.

Much love,
AC

Anonymous said...

My company owns that apartment AND that washing machine.

Good thing i'm quitting and my last day is next friday.

I heart people who puke into washing machines. Its the new puking off balconies.