Look at this little bastard
Our children call him ‘Twix’, but we call him ‘Cunt’, short for ‘Cunt Chops’. For he is one, undoubtedly. He is, in the words of our mother, Grandma Bleach, a ‘right little fucker’.
We despise him. Detest him. Everyone else thus far, alas, adores him. It’s like living in a tv horror movie. We are the only person who can see the creature (some of us) so keenly welcomed into our spotless home is, and we’re not exaggerating here, the very personification of evil. This little wanker was gifted by God in two areas:
1) Winning affection by purring. We mean what kind of IDIOT is impressed by the fact a cat can fucking well purr? What type of naive fool is taken in by something as banal as THAT. Our wife, that’s who.
‘Oooh look at him Mr Bleach, just look at him’
‘Oooh, listen to him Mr Bleach, just listen to him. He’s purring! He loves his mummy! Ooh yes you do!’
‘Oooh mummy loves you! Yes she does!
‘We’re away out for another 2 hour walk’
2) Shitting and pissing everywhere. It’s relentless. It’s like the terminator This little bugger (sorry for swearing there) is trying to drown US in our own HOME with the oceans of stinking piss the little cunt unleashes at the drop of a hat. Never mind the japanese with that that tsunami that wrecked that power station, what about US? We’ve got gallons of the stuff to deal with when that little fuckface decides to unleash wherever the hell he feels like it. Where are you now Kate Aidie?
‘Ooh having a pet lowers stress’
We hear you say.
Well, number 1 we need stress for if we were not stressed we would spend all our day underneath the duvet howling and number 2 we can only imagine the state of the homes of these degenerates who release these studies that say pets reduce stress. They must live in absolute squalor and we’re sorry but some of us are just not prepared to do that anymore. Not after Wolverhampton.
In fact we’re getting stressed even thinking about that little shit right now.
==here he is not pulling his weight at work==
==you lazy fucking bastard==
Just like the po faced Greater Manchester police, when a harmless joke about Mrs Gin was, apparently, a credible and specific threat to kill, we imagine the Cats Protection league are not a barrel of laughs, either. So we had better stop here. Let’s just post some calming images of what, definitely, is not going to happen next Tuesday:
‘Oh my God where is my baby Twix! Twix! where are you? Mummy needs you darling’
‘Well, you know what cats are like. They roam. heh heh heh’
to reiterate: that’s what’s NOT going to happen