Via The Anchoress, I came across a hilarious column by Joel Stein of the LA Times.
He engages in some very public apologizing and flirting with Maureen Dowd, and ponders the intricacies of saying "sorry" to a feminist. Turns out wine-stalking isn't the way. Although, if you absolutely must be stalked, stalked with a good chardonnay seems hardly the worst way.
I will not rest until I get Dowd to stop hating me. Maybe it's male to pursue the one who rejects you, but I think it's just that I don't want to be dismissed by someone I respect.
She may believe, as she says in her book, that men are put off by women in power â€” that her Pulitzer cost her dates. But, to me, it just makes her hotter.
I know that's going to cost me another bottle of chardonnay. But it's worth it.
Then I read a story about a hero cat who saved his owner by calling 911. That doesn't sound at all like my cat. If I were lying immobile on the floor, she would undoubtedly be batting around the ends of my hair, coming perilously close to my forehead with her little, piercy claws. She would think not of cell phone or paramedics.
It didn't sound like any cats Acidman knows either. He wrote a cat diary, which expertly depicts the secret thoughts of the average housecat: (mild language warning)
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded. I must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repel these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair... must try this on their bed...
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...
It helps when you read the diary entries, if you use the voice of Stewie Griffin in your head.
Did you know there's now such a thing as a Groomzilla? Not Bridezilla, but Groomzilla.