My racist kitten was born on Lyn’s birthday, June 8th, so he’ll be three months old next month. He caught himself a mouse in the basement, and I’m proud of him. Never mind he scratches and bites me about 90 times a day. Some cat people refer to the bites as “love nibbles” or something like that. I thought "love nibbles" at first until he was finished feeding on me and my entire arm was bleeding like Abigail Folger.
Walter and Jane once had a cool cat named "Baxter." One holiday, I was invited over to eat. Jane's Mother , Margaret, was there, and we observed Baxter's propensity to "love bite" folks. Margaret said, "sometimes that cat bites kinely hateful." I thought so too, but Baxter got away with it because he was cool. He KNEW he was cool too.
Never cared much for cats, most likely because some of the ones I’ve been around practically begged me to torture them, and I was happy to oblige. The cat always wins, by the way. My best friend Paden’s girlfriend gave the kitten to me. I’m not going to name him. My animals end up deaf anyway, so what’s the point. I never thought cats had any redeeming social value. They are sneaky. They can read minds. They sense precisely what one does NOT want them to do, and then they do just that.
The kitty is a racist, though, just like Dante the Racist Badger, at the Oklahoma City Zoo. Dante’s job is to walk back and forth, and it is sad to watch him. His job sucks.
Zoos are not the best places. I generally leave feeling sorry for the animals and the grubby little Larry Mondello-looking fat kids who go there to eat even more junk food. If you get “Larry Mondello,” you’re old.
Anyway, this kitten is also surprisingly loving and affectionate. He likes to pile up on me. He enjoys sitting under the wheels of my desk chair, almost as much as I enjoy rolling over his tail. “That’s what he gets,” as my sponsor says.
The kitty and my aged Jack Russell, Micky, get along famously, which is another surprise. Once in awhile Micky will catch the kitten and bite his face off, which is payback for all the mean stuff he does to poor aged Micky.
When he gets old enough, I'm going to have his cute little paws sawed off, because I'm tired of being scratched. The cat hates white people, which is why I call him a racist.
Unless he keeps finding mice in the basement. I get them this time of year, and they come in through the dog door, or however else they want, as they are mice. Getting into places is their job. So if the cat keeps exterminating mice, he can keep his claws and scratch me once in awhile.
The best thing Senator Edward M. Kennedy did in his long career was run against that lying phony, Jimmy Carter, in 1980. The best thing I can say for Jimmy Carter is he makes George W. Bush look good. I mean that nice.
Carter wrecked, miscalculated, screwed up, and piously tweeked so many things it is hard to decide on the worst. Most likely, it was the summer of 1979 when he sat there on national television and blamed all of it on us. Double digit inflation, double digit interest rates, and double digit unemployment. Yes, son. Those stats make this dreadful Obama Depression look almost tolerable.
Carter sucked so much it was assumed that anyone who ran against him would win. Stalin would have been better. So Kennedy was talked into running for President, most likely against his better judgment. Many of his supporters figured he'd be anointed by the Democratic party, and he'd go on to destroy Ronald Reagan in the general election. Then came the famous Roger Mudd interview. Don't get into a land war in Asia, and don't agree to an interview with Roger Mudd unless you can explain why you want to be President and why you can't explain Chappaquiddick.
Jus' sayin'. Never hatin'.
Sidebar: I've always believed if Kennedy had told the truth about Chappaquiddick, which is, I think, that he was so drunk he was in a blackout and just doesn't remember it, he could have put that tragedy behind him.
Kennedy's heroic run weakened that putrid Carter. Reagan would have beaten Carter anyway, but it was nice that Kennedy sort of stabbed him a couple of times like the mean emperor in "Gladiator" did when he wanted to win. One of my fondest memories of the 1980 campaign, when I was only two years old, was the spectacle of Jimmy Carter chasing Ted Kennedy all around the stage at the Democratic National Convention, practically begging him to pose with him, hands clasped, for the traditional victory photo. Kennedy was having nothing of it. And so afterward, forgetting his own disastrous presidency, Jimmy Carter blamed Teddy Kennedy for his annihilation at the hands of the Great Ronald Reagan.
Dreadful presidents often lead to amazing ones. Carter made straight the path of Reagan. We're shaping up for another amazing one, which we're going to need, by the way, if that nut gets his $10 trillion health care bill. We'll all have microchips inserted in our foreheads, with the number 666 in arabic. I don't make this stuff up; I read it on the interwebs. Blame Al Gore for that.
I can't think of anything Kennedy stood for that I agreed with. When I struggle to think of anything good, why that is overshadowed by what he did to a fine man, my boy Judge Robert Bork. As many others have written, that slimy stunt ushered in this lovely season (which has lasted almost 25 years) of politics, in which no one plays nice like they were taught in kindergarten.
Wait. Here's a nice thing. In 1982, I was in Washington looking for a job. I passed Senator Kennedy in the hall of the capitol, the building the muslims wanted to destroy. He had an entourage, including "Turtle," "Drama," and "E." He stepped over and shook hands with me. I thought that was nice. Why bother with me? I was nervous, but I couldn't resist telling him I thought he was fat. Not really. But he did shake my hand. He had a fat hand though.
A friend and roommate of mine worked in Senator Kennedy's office in 1985. It was the experience of a lifetime. My friend also got to meet my boy Lyn in Washington. Lyn, typically, said something inappropriate: "has the Senator taught you how to swim?" Or was it "drive?" I can't remember now.
In later years, my friend became a prominent attorney in Kansas City. He and the Senator attended a fundraiser for that awful President Obama. Kennedy walked up behind my friend, put his hand on his shoulder and said, "Now, either I used to work for you, or you used to work for me -- which was it?"
What a memory. What a cool boss. What a mentor.
Kennedy was indeed the Sea Lion of the Senate. Jus' sayin'.
I've read a lot of nasty things about Senator Kennedy since his alleged death. I don't like to see it, because that sort of thing lacks class. It is disrespectful. I suspect people who post things like that at such a time, are fat, never leave the computer, eat Cheetoh's, and lick their fingers. No offense to myself.
Edward Kennedy knew what he stood for, and he got things done (much of it awful), and he made Jimmy Carter's life miserable. Good for him. I admire him for that, fosho.
But he was mean to Robert Bork.
R.I.P., Senator Kennedy.
(c) Randall P. Hodge, Esq., and Morningwood Enterprises, Ltd.
