Lucy is part of Generation Y, the generation born between the late 1970s and the mid 1990s. She’s a unique brand of yuppie, one who thinks they are the main character of a very special story. Only issue is this one thing: Lucy’s kind of unhappy.
So on point…for those other GYPSYs.
I woke up this morning to find the above link on my Facebook timeline (posted there by none other than enchante-moi.tumblr.com). Reasons why it’s totally worth clicking on:
- It’s written by George Takei.
- It’s written by the REAL George Takei.
- It’s well-written by the REAL George Takei.
And in the (probable) scenario that I’m not convincing enough for you to click the link, I’ve posted what you would’ve found below. Mr. George Takei’s review of the Accoutrements Inflatable Unicorn Horn for Cats:
Brad and I feed and care for three alley cats, who long ago adopted our home as their own. They prefer to remain outside, enjoying the protective nooks and crannies that a ranch-style LA house in temperate weather offers. Each was perfectly content to remain a simple felis silvestris catus, gutting the occasional bird to leave as a gift, yowling and tearing around for no apparent reason at midnight, and finding spare boxes to sit within whilst plotting cold revenges.
Their easy, idyllic life changed—and ours along with it—when Brad ordered ACCOUTREMONTS INFLATABLE UNICORN HORNS FOR CATS. Surprisingly, our cats didn’t resist and seemed almost *delighted* when we strapped the horns on. Once anointed, they sat straight up, gazing pensively at one another, their eyes aglow with a preternatural light. They tipped their heads to the left and to the right before commencing an eerie combination of mewling and rapid jaw chattering ordinarily reserved for moths spotted in the yard.
Soon things began to happen. Inexplicable things. The neighbor’s dog was found immobilized, trussed-up with some indeterminate golden binding, a warning sign scrawled above him, “Do not crosses the THREE.” A heretofore undiscovered hotspring bubbled up from beneath our yard and now transverses our property. Our clothes began to emerge from the dryer already pressed and folded, and the vet’s office mysteriously called to confirm we had intended to cancel their next appointments. But we had not.
The THREE materialize as if at once, a solemn triumvirate in a staggered row, so when the sun sets directly behind them, their long unicat horn shadows stretch forth and darken the yard. They will sit watch for hours, their majestic horns extending farther and father till all their domain is encompassed. The birds grow quiet. The squirrels sway in wonder.
And the expenses! The THREE demand much for their rule. They turn their heads in disdain at Meow Mix. Only skittles will do, individually unwrapped and separated by flavor. Harrods of London shipped three gold-plated water bowls, charged to “Mssrs George and Bwad Takei.” And only yesterday we received a note, with perfect penmanship, requesting that “henceforth” all water served in said gold-plated bowls should be of an imported varietal, well-chilled, and garnished with a “just a spwig” of the freshest catnip.
We’ve tried to remove the horns, but in the ensuing chaos, replete with flashing lights and a Benny Hill soundtrack, Brad slipped on the wet grass from our new bubbling brook and threw out his back. We called Animal Services, but as soon as we mentioned unicorn horns, they replied there was “nothing they could do.” One sympathetic officer did note that similar reports had come from other area households, and that there indeed had been a run on skittles at all local markets.
Bottom line: If you permit your cats to get horned up, expect to lose all mastery of your castle.
Sulu has around 20 Amazon reviews, and it would be criminal to wittingly deprive yourself of such entertainment/quality writing (//trolling).
Always in the mood for a Mad Hatter Tea Party in Valentino
- Photo Credit: Jamie Beck & Kevin Burg from Ann Street Studio
The Guide to London Underground Busking - a spread I put together for my journalism class last semester. I spent one weekend riding the Tube up, down and across central London looking for buskers to interview. Featured in the spread are Errol Linton, the “Brixtol Harmonica Blaster,” guitarist Wayne Myers, and Mark Campbell, the “human whistler.”