Prepare . . . for total domination.
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Hand Mommy That Bag Of Pork Rinds, Wouldja?
I'm a white-trash cat mommy. Neal's scared and I'm upset, but I think we just need to face up to that.

While cleaning the house yesterday, I hear an unholy cat yowl coming from outside. I know our darling Budina is probably out there beating the shit out of the neighbor's cat, so I go running out the door to break it up. The next thing I know, I'm standing in the front yard, brandishing a broom, screaming, "You git away from that cat! I mean it, Budina! Git inside, raht now!"

Had I been wearing a tube top and curlers, I would have immediately checked myself into the Happy Valley Trailer Park to begin my life of chain-smoking Basics and chugging Schlitz and telling the cat to be quiet while mommy watches her stories.

Then I did it again! It was getting out of control. Neal's home, we're talking, and I see the cat jump into the kitchen sink.

Me: "HEY! You git down from there raht now! Budina! I said git down NOW! You hear me?!"

Neal comes running over, grabs me, and slaps his palm onto my forehead.

Neal (shady evangilist voice): "Demon of the trailer park, begone! I command thee! Get thee gone unclean white trash spirit, and leave my sister alone!"

I laughed hysterically and fell on the floor.

I think it's gone now, but I ain't sure.

The Realm of Monkey Love
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