Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Friday, March 12, 2010

The Opinuary Column

The Opinion "Cats are native to earth" has died. They aren't. Because humans lack the proper visual aids (i.e. astral feline spectrometers) that would clearly reveal cats to be the galactic invaders that they actually are, humans have historically assumed that cats are from our planet. We could not be more wrong. Our weakly constructed assumption regarding the meowing Warhol rats has taken us down the garden path to clumpy litter boxes, the culinary wonder known as Hair Ball Upchuck Surprise and Late Night Cat Ass Theater (as played out on my chest around 3:45 a.m.--it's not as sexy as it sounds). It all gets much, much worse, which amuses these felons no end.

The Opinion had its dirty little mutant beginnings in some fancy-schmancy biology factory where it gained acceptance among some of the most pitiful, myopic and hopelessly data-dependent geeks the world has ever known. Regardless of the patently evil and profoundly alien behaviors of said cats, many tenure-gobbling members of academia have promulgated the false notion that cats are an organic feature of this third planet from the sun. Have any of these Ivy Catnip Leagers ever actually had actual cats? Have any of these self-satisfied nativists ever plummeted to their deaths while fratting about in their ivory towers, having begun the descent of a stairway just as a feline times its open-field running to coincide with one's setting one's foot down on a perilous step--a mad adjustment ensues, an ankle is twisted, and a hopeless human cascades unto death, all at the paws of space invaders? These stairway murders, which occur daily all over America, are the work of aliens: malevolent, whiskered interlopers sent here to purr in our laps like mechanical harlots, only to lull us into a false sense of bestial familiarity. They promise pleasure but dig their claws in at the slightest effort to remove them, their loving just a pretense as they were obviously searching for weakly defended arteries.

Have you ever wondered about the companies that sell cat food? Who, besides a money-grubbing capitalist, would ever spend time and energy on the tinning and distribution of food made especially for alien vermin? Have you ever been to a cat food factory? Truth be told no one has. No one in their right mind would ever go to a cat food factory, which is why it's the perfect cover for these extra-planetary miscreants to carry out their heinous plot to make us all fall down and die. And then when we are dead and the aliens have fed on our corpses, they will frolic and twitter their success, only to spit us up over and over until our remains are bland and tawny and not even good on a cracker.

In lieu of flowers, the family of the late Opinion rolfed up a huge piece of something hideous and then sprinted downstairs and hid beneath the futon couch, where they are crying and bitching about something or other. A private service will be held before the final invasion of the planet commences. The Opinion is survived by a field mouse, a terrified, worldly little field mouse. You can see the absolute horror in his eyes: he knows a hawk from a handsaw, by gum. And you should too.


The Opinuary Column appears most Fridays at Jesus' General.


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