Cutie Calamity Brouhaha Donnybrook 2012

I'm not ashamed to say I am a man who loves my kittens, so when I got to work today and opened an email from my wife informing me that the alarm in our house had been tripped just minutes after I'd left for work, my first and only worry was whether our kittens had been harmed or had escaped. Stuff is just stuff. Shit is just shit. Stuff and shit can be replaced, or barring that, downloaded. But my awesome weirdo adorable cats, Loretta and Fern? Animal God broke the mold when he built those motherfuckers, I tell you what. And I say that as someone who doesn't even believe in Animal God. After several worried emails from me, a visit from the police to check out the alarm situation, and a thorough going over of the place from my wife, who was able to leave work to check it out, the cause of Alarm Tragedy Wednesday was discovered.
I'm going to digress for a minute and ask if you've ever eaten a cutie? A cutie is a hybrid between a sweet orange and a Chinese mandarin, and it has what it takes to provide you with that necessary blast of citrus delight you sometimes need to kick your day in the ass. I bought a bag at the grocery store last night, because they've been pretty good lately. When I got home, I realized the bag of cuties I bought was comically oversized. So oversized it barely fit in the large bowl on our kitchen table I usually put it in. I have three cuties in my lunch today and ate three last night, and still the enormous bag of cuties sits atop the bowl like some mighty citrus mountain.
Back to the story. You can probably guess why the alarm was tripped. The kittens climbed on top of the kitchen table, which they know they're not allowed to do, and knocked over Giant Mt. Cutie, spilling the dozens and dozens of small citrus fruits all over the house and setting off the horrible screeching nightmare alarm. That will teach them. I hope. Anyway, I could conclude here by saying that some cuties knocked over some cuties, but that would be a really uncool thing to say, and I'm pretty fucking cool and make Fonzie look like Jim Lehrer so I would never say some shit like that. THE END
(Bonus fun fact: A Google image search for "mountain of citrus" is disappointingly unsatisfying.)

A song for every year of my life #24: 2000

I escaped from the 1990s, much like Snake Plissken escaped from New York, only to find myself in the 2000s, much like Snake Plissken found himself in LA. This was the decade where everything got quicker, shorter, and smaller, except for my waistline, and where we all decided to make our private lives public, on several different websites and electronic devices. Turn on your television. Someone is probably yelling at someone else. If no one is yelling, someone is either crying, looking into a mirror shirtless, falling down stairs drunk, or about to yell. Change the channel. You will see a talent competition involving dancing, singing, weight loss, weight gain, bug-eating, catwalk-prancing, Bret Michaels-sexing, pretend policing, inspirational home building, dog whispering, storage shed buying, wife swapping, briefcase-guessing, Donald Trump-enabling, or strategic insult placement. If you are unable to locate any yelling or competition-based programming, get your bearings and take a closer look at the immediate vicinity. You are probably looking out your window and not at your television.

Smog - "Dress Sexy At My Funeral"

 

Alternate choice: J Mascis + The Fog - "Same Day"
This song provides the chocolate and peanut butter-worthy combination of J Mascis, Robert Pollard, and Kevin Shields.