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I don’t think Ronco makes a juicer that big

September 17, 2007

Psycho Dave is at my front door with a big box of kittens.

“I don’t want any kittens,” I say. “I am not to be responsible for the life of any creature, considering I’m awful at being responsible for my own life.”

“No, I need your giant juicer,” says Psycho Dave. “I came up with a plan to cure autism with kitten juice.”

“So you want to put kittens in a juicer to test your theory that kitten juice cures autism?” I say.

“It’s not a theory, it’s a plan,” says Psycho Dave. “It hasn’t been tested, but autism won’t wait for us to test out our plans and it sure as hell doesn’t abide by the quaint Geneva Conventions.”

“No, you’re not using my juicer,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were an autism apologist,” says Psycho Dave. “Look, we’re in a war whether we like it or not. And autism hit us on 9/11 without any warning or provocation. I say we need to fight autism over there so we don’t have to fight it here.”

“And you’re going to fight it with kitten juice?” I say.

“We have a vast coalition,” says Psycho Dave. “Puppies, ferrets, chincillas…”

“There’s nothing that grinding up kittens or any other small animal into pulp will do to stop autism,” I say.

“I think before you complain about my plan that you should have one of your own to offer up,” says Psycho Dave. “I’m trying to bring about solutions, and you’re just saying no. Bring a plan to the table.”

“Yeah, here’s my plan, don’t shove kittens into a juicer,” I say. “And it’s a plan that’s real easy to follow too. As long as you haven’t put a kitten into a running blender you’re succeeding in your objective.”

“That’s a pre-9/11 mindset,” says Psycho Dave. “Look, maybe blending four thousand kittens into paste can be upsetting to the more delicate members of our society, but just think about if it works. Don’t the autistic deserve that chance?”

That’s when Psycho Dave steps aside to present Republican House leader John Boehner (R-OH) to me. I think he appeared out of a rift in time and space.

“We need to continue our effort here,” says Congressman Boehner, “because, long term, the investment that we’re making today will be a small price if we’re able to stop autism, if we’re able to cure autism, it’s not only going to be a small price for the near future, but think about the future for our kids and their kids.”

Hmm… he has the same stance on our soldiers dying in Iraq.

“But grinding up kittens won’t cure autism in the first place,” I say. “And I’m really not sure that four thousand liquefied kittens is really a small price. Everloving Mohammed in a deep-fryer, four liquefied kittens isn’t even a small price. It’s friggin’ huge!”

“Obviously, like other opponents of my plan, you’re a very unserious thinker,” says Psycho Dave. “But let’s see how you deal with this reasonable voice.”

Just then General David Petraeus rises up from a ring of fire on my porch.

“I just want to tell you that testimony I’m about to give is my own, and not Psycho Dave’s,” says the General.

“So will blending kittens into smoothies cure autism?” I ask.

“I believe that this is indeed the best course of action to achieve our objectives,” says the General.

“So… does kitten puree cure autism?” I ask again.

Sir, I don’t know actually,” says the General. “I have not sat down and sorted out in my own mind. What I have focused on and been riveted on is how to accomplish the mission.”

Hmm… he has the same outlook on whether the surge strategy he endorses in Iraq has made the United States safer.

“Look, just because you’re in the military and have a big fancy rank doesn’t mean I can’t call you a blabbering tool,” I say. “That’s my right as an American. And if more people exercised that right, maybe Colin Powell would still have a job in government instead of standing in my kitchen and inserting silverware up his ass like he’s doing right now because I told him to.”

“Just give us six months,” says the General. “Then we’ll be a better position to evaluate our position.”

“No, because your position six months from now will be just the same as it now, except you’ll have six months’ worth of dead liquid kittens around you,” I say. “No more six months. No more Friedman Units. No more kittens in a juicer!”

“Have I mentioned that the talking heads on the TV like me?” says the General.

“I don’t care! Now get off my porch before I vomit on you,” I say. It’s the best I can do since I can’t spit venom.

“If we don’t use your juicer to make kitten juice then the autism wins,” says Psycho Dave. “Stop hating America!”

It’s at this point that I wake up on my lawn. I notice the empty bottle of Pepsi Mescaline in my hand. I laugh to myself and say “It was all just a dream.” I don’t own a giant juicer.

2 comments

  1. The poor kittens!


  2. ewwwwww! oh, and lol :P



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