Deep Blue never killed a mouse and left it in your shoe

I’m still hanging out with Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat and I read that IBM says they’ve got a supercomputer program that is more complex than the brain of a cat.  My expert on the issue strongly disagrees.

“IBM is full of shit!”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.   “There will never be a computer smarter than a cat.  There will be a computer smarter than a human before they make one smarter than a cat.”

I believe my Playstation 3 is already smarter than a good segment of the human population, but I keep that to myself because I don’t want to encourage Bernie.

“I threw up a hairball on the carpet today and Marlie cleaned it up,”  Bernie says.  “And later she spooned out some Fancy Feast for me.  Let’s see a computer be smart enough to vomit on a rug and still get fed.”

“IBM is saying that they’ve put together a program that’s more complex than the feline brain, not that it’s necessarily smarter,”  I say.

“The cat brain is the most complex system to ever evolve on this planet,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “You think we’re sleeping for 19 hours a day, but we’re really contemplating the truths of the universe while we’re curled up on the couch or sprawled out on the floor getting sun on our tummies.  And unlike you biped fleshbags, we get answers.”

“Yeah, but you won’t share those answers to the universe with anyone else,”  I say.  “Jerk.”

“We do share it… through nuzzles against your leg, getting our whiskers in your face at 5am, that time we pissed on the welcome mat…”  says Bernie.  “Your human minds are just too primitive to interpret them correctly.  But what can we expect from a species who believes in Intelligent Design, right?”

“Yeah, humans do not reason very well,”  I say, taking out my laser pointer.  “But at least it takes more to trick us than this.”

I turn on the laser pointer and aim it at the floor.  Bernie sees the red dot and jumps at it.  “Son of a bitch, it’s back!  I gotcha you bastard!”

I run the red dot up the wall so Bernie has to jump for it, and then he falls down behind the couch and gets all flustered.  Red Dot may be the only thing keeping the cats from taking over.

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Because you can’t spell hate without “hat”

I’m brought out of a coma-like sleep by cat claws digging into my back.  I’m a stomach sleeper for a number of reasons, one of which is it’s much harder for someone to cut off my penis in my sleep.  Sure, I’m completely vulnerable to things being shoved in my ass, but those are the sacrifices we make in the war to keep our genitals. 

When that doesn’t move me from my slumber I feel a paw bop me in the eye, forcing me to open it and acknowledge Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat sitting before me. 

“Why are you in my house?”  I ask.

“You’re on my front lawn,”  says Bernie.  And so I am.  “You blurted out something about Mikka and Samurai Cathy’s relationship making you sick, drank a whole bunch of rum and ammonia, then ran out of the bar.  What the hell was that about?”

“Hmm… I must have been wearing the Asshole Hat,”  I say.

“Like a visor or a Yankees cap?”  says Bernie.

“No, the Asshole Hat is worse than those hats,”  I say.  “It’s a special hat everyone wears now and again when they get into a really foul mood and the joy of others actually causes you pain, so you lash out to destroy that joy or at least the person having said joy.  Not to prop yourself up, mind you, but to bring them down to your deep misery level.”

“Damn, that’s some Asshole Hat,”  says Bernie.  “That’s way different than just the every day dickishness people usually display.”

“I blame Denis Leary for watering down the term Asshole,”  I say.  “Too many people think they’re being Assholes when they’re just really being Dicks.  Dicks are full of themselves.  They have an overinflated sense of self-worth and self-opinion.  There’s an emptiness to an Asshole.”

“When you stare into the Asshole, the Asshole stares back at you,”  says Bernie. 

“Now some people may try to fill their Asshole with things,”  I say.  “Try to gussy it up with political spectrum affiliations or religious beliefs or national heritage or saying that they’re just calling ‘em as they see ‘em.  But in reality it’s still a gaping Asshole they’ve got behind all that window dressing.  They just want all the Asshole benefits without paying any of the Asshole tolls.”

“There’s an Asshole tollbooth?”  says Bernie.

“Actually it’s more like a bank,”  I say.  “While you wear the Asshole Hat you borrow from the Asshole Bank, until such time as you take off the Hat.  But then you’ve got an Asshole Debt that you need to repay to all the people you were a complete Asshole to, else they still think of you as the Asshole Hat guy.”

“So your Asshole always comes out in the red?”  says Bernie.

“Well, if you’re smart and know you’re prone to put on the Hat, you build up anti-Asshole credit with your friends,”  I say.  “Sometimes it’s enough and your friends just shake it off, say you had a bad day or a bad week or something.  Sometimes it’s not.”

“How do you take the Asshole Hat off?”  says Bernie. 

“Sometimes it just falls off.  Like something good happens, improves your outlook on life, and blows it right off your head,” I say.  “Other times you have to put on the Asshole Hat so tight that you rip right through it.   It’s like going to the South Pole.  You go south and you go south and then you get to the point where there’s nowhere else to go but north.”

“North out of the Asshole,”  says Bernie.  “So how much Asshole debt do you think you owe this time around?”

“I’ll have to check with my Asshole accountant,”  I say. 

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Considering we thought we’d all be dead at the beginning of 2000, we’re doing okay

It’s December and we’re thinking about New Year’s Eve because it’s less painful than thinking about Christmas.  And since it’s the end of the decade, we’re thinking about what we did for New Year’s Eve back in 1999.

“Not sure where I was, but I had a girlfriend at the time,”  I say.  “And to think, the decade started off so well…”

“I was probably out robbing houses of people who went out to celebrate the new millennium,”  says Ninja Vicki.  “I think that’s how I got my first DVD player.”

“I was at a bar because no one ever remembers to invite me to any New Year’s parties,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Lot of desperate girls that year wanting a New Year’s kiss.  And considering I was drunk by 3pm that day, I was blindly willing to oblige.  Emphasis on blindly.”

“College friends, lots of box wine, probably some crying,”  Tina the Lesbian says.  “Every odd New Year’s Eve tends to be like that for me.”

Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat doesn’t have a story because he’s only seven years old in human years.  His wife Marlie doesn’t have a story either because years of severe alcoholism have rendered her unable to remember anything before 2002.

“I hadn’t gotten into Wicca yet, so I didn’t have a coven to drink with,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “I think I was probably working on a catering crew for some New Year’s gala, serving veal marsala to rich assholes, hoping that Y2K thing was real so we’d all die in some cataclysmic event.”

“I was in a bunker in North Dakota with a survivalist family who thought Y2K was going to cause a nuclear holocaust,”  says Samurai Cathy.  “Those survivalist families… the worst conversationalists ever.”

“Marathon Goldeneye tournament with friends,” Mikka says, referring to the classic Nintendo 64 shooting game.  “Deathmatches until the sun came up.  Sad, I know.  But at least this year will be better, right Cath?”

“Yes, rub it in a little more why don’t you, you fucking happy twat.  Your bliss makes me want to wretch my meal and torch the earth.”  

It takes me a few seconds to realize I just said all that out loud, as everyone is silently staring at me with that “Did he just say what I think he said” look on their faces.

“Um… did you know Tag Larkin celebrates New Year’s any damn day he wants?”  I say, trying to change the subject.  “So Tag Larkin is actually living in the year 29, 822.”

No, that didn’t work.

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Test Larkin

Ninja Vicki has a computer.  Stolen, of course.  She uses it mainly to load up her stolen iPod with Euro-dance (though I’m trying to get her into some Feather Healer; Vicki is big in synthesizers).  But she doesn’t have e-mail and she’s not on Facebook,  so she can’t do all those quizzes and surveys and tests that people do to determine which member of the Justice League they are or what color their soul is or which Harry Potter character are you most likely to give a rimjob to.  This means I have to hand-deliver such quizzes to her.

“The Tag Larkin quiz?”  says Ninja Vicki, reading the quiz’s title.  “Find out how much like Tag Larkin you are.”

“All you have to do is read each of the 20 statements and decide how much it applies to you,” I say.  “Put a zero if it doesn’t apply at all, a one if it sort of applies, and a two if it totally applies.  If you score over 30, you’re Tag Larkin.”

“Okay… Question one… Glib and superficial charm…”  says Ninja Vicki.  “I’ll put a zero there.”

“Yeah, Samurai Cathy says you have the charm of a sebaceous cyst,” I say.

“Question two…”  Ninja Vicki says with a growl.  “Grandiose self-worth.  Maybe a little.  I am a ninja.  We’ll say one on that.  Question three: Need for Stimulation or Proneness to Boredom…”

“You’re a ninja, so that’s a two,” I say.

“Question four: Pathological lying… wait a minute…”  says Ninja Vicki, who then starts flipping ahead to the other questions.  “Conniving and Manipulativeness… Poor Behavioral Controls… Lack of Remorse or Guilt… Impulsivity… Irresponsibility…”

“Don’t forget Promiscuous Sexual Behavior,” I say.

“This isn’t a test to find out if someone is Tag Larkin,” says Ninja Vicki.  “This is the test to find out if someone is a psychopath.”

“Can it be both?”  I say.

“Dude, you can’t be giving this test to people,”  says Ninja Vicki.  “You’re not qualified for this sort of thing.”

“I already gave it to Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat and he scored a 38,”  I say.  “He got a zero on the Many Short-Term Marital Relationships question because he’s only been married once.”

“Well, cats are one of nature’s prominent psychopaths,” Ninja Vicki says.  “Right up there with sharks, snakes, and swans.”

“So this test will tell you whether you are a cat, a psychopath, or Tag Larkin?”  I say.  ”That’s pretty cool.”

“No, it’s not cool,” Ninja Vicki says.  “I remember being forced to take this test in high school.”

“Then let’s see if you do better this time around,” I say.

Ninja Vicki scored a 20, the same score she got in high school, so she is not Tag Larkin.  Or a cat.  Or Tag Larkin if Tag Larkin were a cat.  I wonder if Tag Larkin has a cat.  Cat Larkin.

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming To Dinner: Part Five

Upon hearing the footsteps of the murderer coming our way, we hatched a plan to catch said murderer.  Ninja Vicki hides up on the ceiling, Samurai Cathy conceals herself against the wall near the entrance to the study.  Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat takes up sniper position by the couch.  Avonia casts an invisibility spell over the rest of us, which isn’t as good as Anonymous Doug’s original plan of having Marlie, Tina the Lesbian, and Avonia making out by the fire to lure the murderer in unawares, because murderers in horror movies can’t resist killing the participants of such wanton displays of lust.  But the ladies weren’t down for being girl-on-girl-on-girl bait.  Even on Halloween.

And so we took our places and listened as the footsteps on the hard wood floors thundered closer.  We saw a dark figure enter the study, but the shadows obscured his features.  He had something in his hands, something cylindrical, which we took as the murder weapon.  When he got to the center of the room where the body was Samurai Cathy threw on the lights and Ninja Vicki jumped down from the ceiling.  Swords were drawn, hip-mounted laser cannons were deployed, even Tina the Lesbian had a golf-club in hand.  But though our trap had been sprung, it was we who were surprised.

“It can’t be…”  Ninja Vicki said, staring down her blade at the suspected murderer.  “You’re…”

Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part Four

Tag Larkin remains dead at his own Halloween party, but the accusations are still flying about his possible killer.  So far we’ve pointed a finger at Ninja Vicki, Samurai Cathy, Avonia the Wiccan Pimp, Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat and his wife Marlie.  Right now we’re accusing Tina the Lesbian.

“I didn’t poison Tag Larkin,” says Tina.  “I don’t know anything about poisons.”

“What’s to know?”  says Ninja Vicki.  “Poison goes in drink, drink goes into Tag Larkin.  Shark’s in the water.  Our shark.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be helping me!”  says Tina the Lesbian. “Are you selling me out AGAIN at Halloween, like you did with the zombies last year?”

“Hey yourself!”  says Ninja Vicki.  “I didn’t hear a peep from you when everyone was accusing me of murder.  Where was my best friend then?”

“I don’t see Tina as someone who’s into poisoning people,” says Mikka.  “If anyone here is an expert of slipping things into people’s drinks, it’s Anonymous Doug.”

“Yeah, but that’s only in girls’ drinks,” says Anonymous Doug.

“But… who would be a more efficient killer than a ninja?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “How about a man you can’t remember?”

“Anonymous murderer!”  I yell while pointing at Doug.

“At this time I would like to appropriate one of Ninja Vicki’s defenses, except this time it won’t sound retarded,” says Anonymous Doug.  “If I killed Tag Larkin, and I know everyone forgets I exist after I leave the room, why the hell would I still be around?”

“Because you can’t get off the island until the ferry comes in the morning,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But I could hide in this vast mansion and you’d never find me because you wouldn’t remember to look for me,”  says Anonymous Doug.

“He’s got us there,” says Ninja Vicki.  “Who’s left to accuse?”

“No one’s accused me yet,” says Mikka.  His statement is met with derisive laughter.

“Feckin’ hell, Meeka, I cauld be passed aut drank as shite and ya still cauldn’t kill me,”  Marlie says.  “Yer a wee sprite of a pixie.  Fack, I’ve yanked out tampans meatier than ya.”

“Could you not emasculate my boyfriend in front of me?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “He’s got enough issues as it is.”

“Hey, what about you?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat, pointing a paw at me.

“What about me?”  I say.

“You could have killed Tag Larkin,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“No, that would be stupid,”  I say.  “The narrator of the murder story shouldn’t end up being the murderer.  It cheats the audience in my opinion.”

“You could be half-assing it with this story,” says Ninja Vicki.  “You’ve phoned it in before, why not again?”

“Sometimes you just don’t have the time to write quality stuff,” says Avonia.  “Sometimes you just want to put something up for the day and be done with it.”

“We all have bad days,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “This could be one of them.”

“So your theory on why I’m the one who killed Tag Larkin is that I might be in a creative rut?”  I say.

“Well, it makes more sense than Mikka killing Tag Larkin,”  says Anonymous Doug.

But just before Mikka could say something to feebly defend his manhood, we hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Wait, I thought no one else was here,”  says Avonia.  “Who the hell is that?”

“That, my friend…” I say as I put on a second pair of sunglasses over the sunglasses I put on before.  “…is our murderer.”

YAAAAAH!

to be concluded…

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part Three

Our investigation of the Halloween murder of  Tag Larkin has taken a turn for the magical as Avonia the Wiccan Pimp has been implicated by a suspicious Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.

“Why would I want to kill Tag Larkin?”  says Avonia.  “I barely have anything to do with Tag Larkin.”

“Except for that time he kept interrupting you like he was Kanye West,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.

“I’m going to kill someone over that?”  says Avonia.

“Victoria’s killed people for less,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But my soul isn’t empty like Ninja Vicki’s is,” says Avonia.  “I’m a healer, not a killer.”

“Then how do you explain why there’s no blood or visible wound on Tag Larkin’s body?”  says Mikka.  “It has to be witchcraft.”

“The body is face down,” says Avonia.  “We haven’t turned it over.  The wound could be on his front.”

“Still no blood,” says Bernie.

“Maybe that’s because he was hit with something that cauterized the wound immediately after inflicting it,”  says Avonia.  “Something like that laser cannon that comes out of your hip, Bernie!”

“That is malicious slander!” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat, his tail getting all bushy.

“Bernie does want the human race to die so that the cats can take over the world,” says Mikka.  “With Tag Larkin gone, who could stop them?”

“Hey!  Dan’t ya be accusin’ me Bernie a’ killin’ Tag Lark’n!”  Marlie says.

“We can accuse you too if you’d like,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Someone had to distract Tag Larkin while Bernie took aim and fired at him.”

“I say we flip Tag Larkin over and see what’s on his front,” says Tina the Lesbian.

So we all get rubber gloves from the cleaning closet and carefully roll Tag Larkin over to see that there’s no marks on his front.

“See… I told you it was witchcraft,”  says Bernie.

“Maybe he was poisoned,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“And you’d know all about poisons,” says Ninja Vicki.

“But I didn’t hand Tag Larkin his last snifter glass of rainwater and grain alcohol,” says Avonia.  “Tina the Lesbian did!”

“And Tag Larkin has been known to stand outside Tina’s house, serenading her with his boombox,” says Anonymous Doug.

“Looks like someone…” I say, putting on my sunglasses, “put a stop to the music.”

YAAAAAAH!!!

To be continued…

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part Two

We’re still standing around Tag Larkin’s body in the study of Tag Larkin’s secluded mansion that no one else can reach and we can’t leave until morning.  I think this place was called “Casa del Convenient Plot Device.”

“I didn’t kill Tag Larkin and I can prove it,” says Ninja Vicki, our number one suspect in this Halloween murder.  “Why would I still be here if I killed Tag Larkin?  Ninjas don’t linger after a kill.”

“Because if we found Tag Larkin’s body and noticed you weren’t here it would be even more obvious that you killed him,”  says Mikka.

“All right… well… I’ve been framed!”  Ninja Vicki dramatically announces.  “By my arch-nemesis Samurai Cathy!”

Everyone lets that sink for a few moments before speaking again.

“Wait… why would she frame you?” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“Because she hates me,” says Ninja Vicki.  “And because she’s afraid of fighting me and if I go to jail she’ll never have to.”

“If you want to throw down, sunshine, we can go right now,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But that won’t change the fact that you still killed Tag Larkin,” says Ninja Vicki.  “You killed him to frame me and because you fear Tag Larkin.  Remember our double-date at the Japanese restaurant?  You fear no man, yet Tag Larkin terrified you.”

“That doesn’t mean she wanted to kill him,” says Mikka.  “Besides, what about when you got jealous that Tag Larkin wasn’t stalking you anymore?  That sounds like a stronger motive.”

“For murder!”  I say, punctuating Mikka’s sentence.  And hitting a little button on my keychain that does a thunder sound effect.

“I’m going to ask that you stop doing that,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “It’s going to get annoying really fast.”

“Hey, I dahn’t think either Vicki or Cath killed Tag,” says Marlie.  “Na stab waunds.”

“She’s right,” says Anonymous Doug.  “I don’t even see any blood.”

“You know what this means?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “Tag Larkin was killed… BY WITCHCRAFT!”

And everyone gasps and points at a very shocked Avonia the Wiccan Pimp…

to be continued…

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part One

We were surprised to hear Tag Larkin owned a mansion on a remote island with no workable phones and no cell coverage that is only accessible by ferry from 7am to 7pm.  We were also surprised that he invited all of us over for an overnight Halloween party.  Us being me, Mikka, Samurai Cathy, Ninja Vicki, Avonia the Wiccan Pimp, Tina the Lesbian, Anonymous Doug, Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat and Marlie.

And it was an even bigger surprise when we found Tag Larkin’s body on the floor of the study.

“Murder!”  I declare.   “Tag Larkin has been murdered!”

“Are you sure he’s not just drunk?”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“E’ was anly aun ‘is tierd snifter a’ rainwater an’ grain alcahal,”  says Marlie.  “Tag can ga’ thra at least sex a’ them befar gettin’ tipsay.”

Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat sniffs Tag Larkin’s body.   “He doesn’t smell dead.  Then again he’s wearing a lot of Hai Karate. That can mask the stench of death for hours.”

“I don’t think he’s breathing,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “And I don’t sense his overpowering aura.”

“Should we poke him?”  says Samurai Cathy.

“Is no one else freaked out that we have a dead body right in front of us?”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“No, it’s just another Tuesday for me,”  says Ninja Vicki.

“Murder!”  I declare again.

“Someone call 911,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“There are no phones and I can’t get a cell signal,”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat, who has a cell phone built into his robot parts.

“And we dahn’t kna’ ef Tag’s really dead,” says Marlie.

“Maybe someone should check him for a pulse,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“No, we shouldn’t touch him,” says Mikka.  “It might contaminate the crime scene.  I saw this on CSI: Intercourse, Pennsylvania.”

“What crime scene?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “We don’t know why Tag Larkin is like this.”

“Stand back, I’ve done this before,” says Anonymous Doug, taking a small compact mirror from his pocket and holding it under Tag Larkin’s nose.  “It’s not fogging up.  Tag Larkin is dead.”

“Murder!”  I declare even louder this time.

“Why do you keep saying that?”  says Bernie.

“Because no one of dies of natural causes during a dinner party in a secluded mansion,” I say.  “They only die from murder.”

“But no one else is in this mansion, or on this island,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “The last ferry left hours ago and won’t be back until the morning.”

“Then that means the murderer is in this very room,” I say.  “And is not a Spaniard.”

“It’s Victoria!”  says Samurai Cathy, pointing at the ninja.

“No it’s not, shut up!”  says Ninja Vicki.

“Yah, is prob’ly Vickay,”  says Marlie.

“Oh, sure, blame the ninja for the dead body,”  says Ninja Vicki.  “This is racial profiling.”

“But you’re an assassin,” says Mikka.  “Who else should we immediately suspect when someone is murdered?”

“He’s got a point,” says Tina the Lesbian.

“That’s entirely reasonable,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“Oh, you can all suck my twat!”  says Ninja Vicki.

“No one’s done that since the Clinton administration…” comments Samurai Cathy.

“Oh snap!”  says Anonymous Doug.

Yeah, we all got a chuckle out of that one.  Tag Larkin probably would have laughed too… if he wasn’t murdered!

To be continued…

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Haiku Friday 10/23/09 – Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat

This one is called “When Marlie breaks out the laser pointer.”

Red dot glides, dances
Can’t catch it, but when I do
It will be awesome

This next one is called “Why we eat what we eat.”

There is no cat flu
That’s why we eat birds and pigs
One day: canine flu

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