More Survivorblog Detrius

Today's Prayer

Let us bow our heads.

Praise be to the procrastination god.

May he help us find new ways to avoid the awful things we have to do.

He maketh us to write blog entries while our coworkers aren't looking.

May he watch over us as our boss bursts into our office and asks us, again and again, why we haven't finished that one page report.

He maketh us to seek out headache relief when no headache is there.

May he help us be fast enough to click the minimize button on out Free Cell screen before anyone notices that we aren't working.

He maketh us to forget to write things down.

May he forgive us when we actually do turn something in on time.

He maketh us to use called I.D. so as not to answer unpleasant phone calls.

May he walk by our side when we take the long way from the bathroom back to our desk and keep people from asking where we are going.

(0) comments


More SurvivorBLOG Detrius

So that it won't vanish, I post this discussion from Survivorblog.

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart

Did everyone see this? (Note: Ben said that the SurvivorBLOG money was coming from his own pocket.

Apparently, our host was going to be paying the prize money out of his own pocket. Now, I realize that it isn't as fun for the readers to donate money to SurvivorBLOG as it is to donate money to SurvivorCAM (I mean, what with the chance that bigger donations to SC increase the chance of nude boobies), but I hate the thought of Ben having to pay it all himself.

I figured one way we could increase the chances of donations is to offer something in exchange for the donations. To this end, I pledge to send the phrase "boobies" in an e-mail to anyone who donates money. If you want, I will even add a name before the word "boobies." For example, if you are a fan of Stacia's, I will send you "Stacia's boobies." Not a picture, mind you, just the words more or less exactly as they appear in this paragraph.

For an extra donation, I will include your name and a verb of your choice. That way, you can imagine you are performing that verb to the boobies in question.

All right, everyone, stand back. The donations are going to start pouring in right now.


i'll donate for the following phrase to be emailed to me:

lola bites joey michael's boobies

thankyou, and good day!

Posted by lola at March 4, 2003 06:56 PM

what's a single word that means "to put one's face in between two objects, and shake it (the face) around, blowing voraciously?"

Posted by noah at March 4, 2003 07:28 PM

noah; um.. zerberts? he he he.

Posted by
lola at March 4, 2003 07:35 PM

Yes, Lola is correct. This would be used in the sentence, "Noah zerberts Lola's boobies."

D'oh! I keep forgetting, don't work for free! Don't work for free!

Posted by Joey Michaels at March 4, 2003 08:03 PM

i'm beginning to think jm is obsessed with my boobies...

Posted by stacia at March 4, 2003 08:26 PM

Hey, wait a minute - how did my tee tas get involved in this?

Posted by lola at March 4, 2003 09:29 PM

*ahem* 50 bucks to the winner from Trouble...where's my booby email?

Posted by trouble at March 4, 2003 10:01 PM

trouble; i'll email you - do you wanna be on the giving or recieving end of the sentence? =)

Posted by lola at March 4, 2003 10:04 PM

Alas, Stacia, I am really only obsessed with your nose.

It's just so darn cute. :D

Posted by Joey Michaels at March 4, 2003 10:28 PM

Screw lola's tee-tas...whoa, bad choice of words, let me try again...

Forget lola's tee-tas and Stacia's nose. I'll all up on JM's old school MS Paint mustache!

Posted by Pretty Big Duck at March 5, 2003 06:04 PM
(0) comments


SurvivorBLOG 3 Detrius

So, apparently, Ben will be deleting the Survivorblog entries by the 29th. Since I want to keep them, I will be posting them here. Hurray! Today, we begin with the Kitty Michaels saga:

From Kitty Michaels

Dead cockroach on the living room floor. Was it moving a while ago? I forget. I wish it would move now, for batting around a lifeless bug corpse doesn't quite match the thrill of the hunt, which is what I crave. In disgust at this life that the horrible, horrible humans have forced upon me, I throw up some cat food and two bug legs in the middle of TV Guide, their sacred book.

The male human returned home a short while ago, and I stared at him for several hours. He was clearly unnerved. Perhaps he suspects... no, that would be giving him too much credit.

I glance over at the white cat. I have tried to enlist her in my scheme, but all she wants to do is spin, spin, spin. I don't know why she is spining, but I watch her spin, sometimes for hours at a time. Sometimes until I myself am dizzy. It makes me so mad that I want to attack! Attack the curtains! Attack the kitty toys! Attack the cursed foot of the wide male with the pedophile moustache.

Soon, soon he will sleep and I can continue my long term plan: I will bat his chin at three in the morning and howl until he gives me food, though there is plenty in my bowl. Soon, the lack of sleep will make him collapse and I can eat his face.


kitty michaels again

i don't know why i was complaining
master good
cleaned muh sandbox just now
when he took off his shirt i noticed his back hair and thought "maybe he is a cat, too"
i'll smell his butt later to see if maybe he is cat
's a good cat
kitty kitty meow

even white cat and grey cat are nice and beautiful right now
everyonessss beautiful
catnip is beautiful
i love you all

Mood: Awesome
Music: "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd

The Inglorious Return of Kitty Michaels

My bones ache. I am dizzy and nauseous and hate the vile humans more than ever. What's worse is I think that white cat might have located my stash. I've been hiding my 'nip in the dust bunnies underneath the refrigerator so that whenever I need a fix, I can just eat some dust.

This morning, I woke to the sound of the humans using the horrifying sucking machine on the floor. I had one of those pounding catnip hangovers and the last thing I needed was to hear the whirring sound of that machine. I hid under the covers on the bed, hoping beyond hope that this would drown out the sound. Unfortunately, white cat saw me moving and mistook me for some sort of prey, because the next thing I knew, I was being pounced on from outside the covers.

It isn't pleasant hiding in the covers as it is. They are always wet from the sweat of the fat man or, at best, mildewed. It makes me sick. How can humans live in such filth and squalor? That reminds me. I just buried some litter, so I had better lick my adorable paws clean.

When I finally came out of the covers, my whole stash was gone. I realized that the reason white cat mistook me for a gopher must have been that she had eaten it all. Right away, the withdrawal symptoms set in. I know, I know, it's psychosomatic, but I can't help that, now, can I?

I decided to try and find white cat's stash. She must have one! Unfortunately, all I found was her journal. I quote:

Monday, February 24, 2003

Wow, I really love spinning. I could spin around all day! I think I will.

Tuesday, February 25, 2003

Spun some more today. Gosh, I sure am dizzy! I ate some cat food, then spun. The nice humans then picked me up and scratched me and told me I was adorable, so I spun some more. Man, spinning is so cool and great.

Wednesday, February 26, 2003

The angst came upon me today, creeping, creeping up my spine to the base of my brain, where it nested and bred a dismal litter of ennui. There is no comfort for me in this life. So I decided to spin and felt much better. WHEEEEEE!

It goes on like that for pages and pages. I'm going to die. I'm going to die of withdrawal and all white cat will do is spin around my still twitching body. I blame the humans. If I make it through this, they are so dead.


Grey cat woke up for a moment today. White cat and I sat at her feet waiting for some words of wisdom, but she just rolled over and went back to sleep. What a let down.

Mood: Miserable
Music: "Jesus Don't Cry" by Wilco

Kitty Michaels, 35 in Cat Years

i'm fiending so bad
i ate the fern but it didn't help
i wanted grey cat to
give me some advice
so i bit her on the head

swat me on the head
then went back to sleep

please come home, fat man
i promise not to claw the wicker
i promise not to sit on the roasted chicken
i promise not to eat geckos and then barf them in your work shoes

help me somebody

Mood: Aching
Music: "Happiness is a Warm Gun" by the Beatles

Kitty Michaels, Masked Avenger of the Working Class

Well, fat man finally came home last night. I was collapsed in the bathroom near a pile of my own vomit. I howled weakly at him and he got me my fix. He thinks it's "cute" how I play in the catnip. I know, though, I know that he got me hooked to this stuff so he could control me. How can I kill him and eat his face if he is my only source for catnip? If I don't get this jones under control, I will never be able to punish him in the manner he so richly deserves.

Grey cat and white cat tried staging an intervention for me last night. Grey cat complained that I had bit her head, and white cat expressed her anger about my posting parts of her journal online.

"I marked it private for a reason," she said.

I hadn't figured she had urinated on it to mark it private. I just figured she had poor bladder control. I guess if I had smelled it, I would have known.

Anyhow, I denied all of this, but then they showed me my journal and I was all like, "shit, I shouldn't put all this stuff online." Reading over it, though, and seeing how much my mood had been swinging for the past few days really shook me up. Clearly, I do have a problem.

I decided to cry for help to female human, but all she did was give me more catnip. Check me into a clinic, for Christ's sake! Either she doesn't understand or, worse, she is working alongside fat man. This possibility, though remote, is terrifying. I am going to try to scratch a message into the couch for her later. Maybe she will smell it and realize that we are all in grave danger.


Played with mousie for ten minutes earlier. Perhaps a rigorous physical workout will help me stay focused on getting clean?

Mood: Concerned
Music: "Physical" by Olivia Newtown John

Kitty Michaels: The Final Chapter

Well, the intervention didn't work out the way we hoped it would. I just saw the black cat trying to claw his way into the kitchen cabinet, crying "where's the stash!"

I tried to comfort him by spining around and around, but his eyes started rolling around in a crazy way. I felt much better anyways.

The portly human came in and saw him rolling around on the ground and laughed. He said something like, "at last he is in my power" or something, and then carried black cat off to the thin human's sewing room. When black cat came back out, he was wearing a little pirate outfit.

Normally, this is the sort of thing black cat would hate, but he just sort of sat in the middle of the room, stunned, while portly human came out, also dressed like a pirate, and announced, "come matey! It is time to plunder us some booty."

They ran out of the apartment together. Sort of just another day around these parts.

However, I think I am begining to understand why black cat hates him so much.

- except from "White Cat's Journal" 2-28-03

Mood: Spinning
Music: "Working my Way Back to You Babe" by the Spinners
(0) comments

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?