First Breakdown in The Middle

Living here is hard, there are no people, there are not adequate restaurants, no decent employment oporitunities and all the parks are closed for winter. Nothing to do you get your mind off the worldsuckage. I mean since the New Year the VlogBrothers only make two vids a week, HOW WILL I EVER SURVIVE?!

Answer: Booze.
Booze helps, last nigth after watching my family gorge on fried country steak and lard thick gravy sauce (I stuck to my Slim Fast[Happy Fucking New Year]), I cracked open a wine cooler.
Flavor: Jamaican  Me Happy (I don't think that ACTUALLY a normal flavor of anything, but the title was fitting). Then another Jamaican Me Happy, and another then a Coors Light (because that's all that was left, I had lost my tastebuds at that point). As I lay sprawled out on the floor at 9:30pm, moaning as one of the cats licked my face, I wonered "HOW COULD THIS POSSIBLY GET WORSE?" Just then my Grandma asked me if I was watching the television, I didn't answer.
"Well, your eyes are closed, so your probably not."

So she started narrating everything what was happening on Whitney. "Haha, she got a dog, it has an I.V. and a cone around it's neck!"
"UUUUUUGGGHHH" I moaned, which was cave drunk speak for, 'Whitney Cummings has become seriously less funny since this show started, I'm drunk and sleepy please stop making this experience worse for me.'
"I know!" She wailed, "It's so funny! Oh! They're trying to play fetch with the dog! It's not moving! Hahaha."
"MMMMUUUHH!" = 'I couldn't care less, really. '
"Oh, hahahha, it just  died!"
"Muggggglaaaaaa." = 'Well thank, God for that."

Then I fell asleep and woke up 4 hour later with a cat on my face. So I realized, as long as you wait, and live through whatever worldsuck is going on right then, you can look back and laugh at it, or cry, I'm doing both.

...God my head hurts.

Cats. So Many Cats

 I do not own cats. I do not like cats. Cats are rude and obnoxious. They smell. they bite, they shed, GOD they shed, but somehow every morning I wake to this. Three or more cats in my bed at one time. When I met my land lady she informed me that she had "a few" cats. A few is one, two, or three. I have witnessed at any given time, six different cats roaming my halls. I chase them off my bed, honk them out from under my car and try not to hear as they scratch late at night on my windows attempting to escape the bitter cold. "No," I tell them, "You cannot sleep here, I will not give you shelter." I mean honestly what are they going to do turn me more into a beast? I don't think so! After almost three weeks of this< I just about lost my mind, I woke up with my black band tee's covered in tons of hair, I heard purring everywhere I went and eventually one of the unnamed felines did his business on my bed. Yes MY BED. Took a piss while looking me dead in the eye. I ran up to him screaming I swear he winced and peed harder. So that was it. I had had it. So, I now have my own secret weapon because the pig just wasn't doing it, he was scared to death of the cats.




This is Lola Gilda Henri.
She's basically a cat, but a dog. Cats quiver with fear at the very sight of her. Her curly paws and her terrifying energy keeps the purring squatters away!
She has the key to my heart.