I Wish My Cats Were Internet Cats

Oh hi, my cats. How you doing? Good? Great. We’ve known one another for a long time now. Trixie, it’s been, what, eight years? Oliver, I’d guess about four? How time flies. I know you’re probably busy doing absolutely fuck all, so I’ll try to be brief. I know you don’t have the longest of attention spans, you fucking idiots, you. Wait, what? Just kidding! So here’s the deal: cats have gotten popular online. You’ve gone viral. We both know it, and that’s fine. I hope you’re enjoying this newfound attention. But there are certain expectations that come with the territory, and I’d like to explain them to you. First and foremost: you have to stop doing so little. That whole lazy, useless, Garfield cat archetype is over with. Bill Murray killed it. I love the guy, but he did. When you just sit on your fat fucking asses all day, you provide me with little viral inspiration. You lack that I Can Has Cheezburger je ne sais quoi. Back when stacking loads of shit on your cat was in, maybe I’d accept it, but even that’s a little played out at this point. And you’re not even obese. What good is a lazy cat if not morbidly obese, diabetic and covered in it’s own feces? Take more interest in cardboard boxes. Have you not noticed the plethora of various shaped and sized boxes strewn about?If you think those are for my benefit, you really need to get your shit checked out. Those are for you to get inside of. Last week, you so casually side-stepped that miniature cereal box – you know, the one’s that come in like, variety twelve-packs – as if you didn’t have a natural inclination to do your very best to get inside of it. Just fucking live a little, why don’t you? And what the fuck is going on with your meows as of late? They’re so blasé. So unidentifiable: as if you ordered it online from some piece-of-shit sound effect website high-school theater clubs solicit for background traffic noises. Express yourself! Get creative! Give me fucking something to work with here. Do you think I’ve been learning to auto-tune just for shits? I’d like to think you know me better than that. Why not learn an instrument? That keyboard cat is motherfucking everywhere and I’m pretty sure it’s not even real! I’d suggest the ukulele: the internet loves cute chicks playing ukuleles, so why not cute pussies? Or make an unlikely friend! A dog, or mouse! Something that you would normally hunt and slaughter, but instead have found common ground with! Shit, if we just take a photo, the thing can even be dead for all I care: we’ll just hide its guts out of view and prop the eyelids open.I can tell you’re really not up for much, which is why I’m confused when you refuse to stay in an upright sitting position just long enough to snap a pic. Just put your arm on the armrest and let the beer bottle balance in your lap. Is it that fucking difficult? If you don’t seriously get your shit together, I may just have to move onto a dog: those fuckers are getting some serious viral traction as of late.


Matt Houghton, Clayton Long, ARTICLES

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