Posts tagged Cats
The Fourth Judge Doesn’t Feel Sorry for Vin Baker
A few weeks ago I read a story about Vin Baker, notorious NBA drunkard — not that I’m judging — reportedly losing $86 million in bad investments.
On the one hand I feel bad for the guy. $86 million is a lot of loot to flush down the toilet. But on the other hand, the hand that knows its ass from its elbow, what the fuck was he doing investing $86 million? You invest money so you can GET $86 million. Once you have $86 million you stop what you’re doing and you buy a bunch of coke and an island and a whole mess of shallots (they make everything more delicious). If there’s enough money left over you send your kids to Rutgers.
The Fourth Judge Dreams About His Mom Murdering His Cat
I had a dream that my Mom roasted a cat, mistakenly thinking it was mine. It looked just like a crispy roast duck you’d get in a Chinese restaurant, only cat shaped.
When I first saw the abomination (which looked perfectly cooked, to my Mom’s credit) I was devastated. How could my own Mother not only kill my cat, but attempt to feed it to me in an elaborate preparation? I knew I told her about the many problems he was giving me, but surely this was taking things a step too far, don’t you think?
After the initial shock of what had happened wore off, I started to appraise the situation. I had an inexplicable dream hunch that this might not be my cat, so I asked my Mom how she knew it was mine. She showed me a picture of the cat while it was still alive (it’s unclear why she took the picture), and I noticed that this cat didn’t have the same distinctive markings on its haunches that my cat does — black splotches on white fur that make it seem like he’s wearing assless chaps. This cat had no assless chaps!
The Fourth Judge Loves Pocketless Pants
I love it when a girl’s pants don’t have back pockets. Without pockets there’s nothing between me and that tush but a thin layer of fabric, easily removed by my mind. I’m assuming classy girls think this look is trashy, but I don’t care. I’m obsessed with it.
Sometimes I’ll see a butt in pocketless pants and start mentally fucking it. Then the owner of the butt will turn around and it’s a 65-year-old, balding, she-beast. And you know what? I’d still fuck that pocketless butt. That’s how strong the allure is.
