At least he doesn’t want to be Cleopatra…February 25, 2011
There’s a knock at my door, interrupting my afternoon of drinking toxic chemicals and playing Marvel vs. Capcom 3 on the Playstation, a game where my character choice for my team of fighting mayhem is mostly determined by such factors as cup-size, amount of cleavage, and a lack of pants. So I begrudgingly get up from the couch, open the door, and find Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat sitting on my welcome mat.
“I need you take me to Egypt,” says Bernie.
“How did you knock on the door?” I say.
“Never mind that,” says Bernie. “I need to get to Egypt.”
“I don’t know if you’ve been watching the people news lately,” I say, knowing that Bernie usually only watches the Cat News. “But Egypt just overthrew their decades-long dictator and shit is kinda fucked up there.”
“No, that’s exactly why I want to go,” says Bernie. “There’s a power vacuum and I intend to fill it.”
“What makes you think you can run Egypt?” I say.
“Um… I’m a cat,” says Bernie, giving me that “duh” look. “The Egyptians worshiped cats as gods. They see a talking cat over there with laser guns coming out of its hips and they’re going anoint me as the Sun God within seconds.”
“They kinda got over that whole worshiping cats things a long time ago,” I say. “They’re into Islam now.”
“Well, there’s no reason cat worship can’t make a comeback,” says Bernie. “Let me put it in terms you can understand. First there was 80’s music in the 80’s, and everyone loved it. And then the 90’s came and people didn’t like 80’s music anymore. But then the 2000’s came and all of a sudden everyone was into 80’s music again. Hell, they got so into it they even brought back tight jeans and leggings. Now if those things can make a comeback, why can’t cat worship in Egypt?”
“Getting people to remember that The Final Countdown by Europe is the greatest song ever is a much easier task than convincing several million Egyptians to forget all about Islam and get back to some good ol’ cat worship,” I say. “And why are you asking me to take you to Egypt. Why can’t you go yourself?”
“Because they won’t let me on the plane unless I’m in a kitty carry-on,” says Bernie. “And Marlie doesn’t want to go to Egpyt because she thinks her pale Irish ass will burst into flames out in the hot Egyptian weather.”
“I’m not going anywhere near the Middle East,” I say. “It’s crazier than usual over there. People marching in the streets. Soldiers gunning down protesters. They’re climbing in yo windows, they’re snatching your peoples up! No thank you, I’m staying here.”
“You suck!” Bernie hisses. “How dare you keep me from attaining my rightful godhood in a volatile region of the world!”
That gets the door shut in Bernie’s little kitty face. I don’t need that sort of abuse in the afternoon. Bernie will get over it, just as soon as he gets home and Marlie brings out the sparkly stick for him to play with. And I’ll forget this conversation ever happened after a few more rounds of improbably-dressed women fighting on my TV and a fresh gallon of Banana paint thinner daiquiris.