Tag Archives: Simpson

How much do you pay for your pussy . . . cat.


How much is your cat worth?

If you answer that by adding the cost of ammunition with how much time you’ll spent cleaning up the mess, you’re simply not helping.

And if you’re wondering what a skinned cat goes for on the open market, you’re also not helping. You’re also kind of a sicko. For the record the answer to that question, assuming the skinned cat is average-sized, is 18 cents. I’ve asked that very question myself.

I mean what is the fucking cat’s worth in dollars and cents if your wife loves the

Cat

Total value of all parts, 18 cents (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

fool beast with all her heart? Then what’s it worth?

I was actually just ripped away from writing this piece by my wife so I could go to the window to watch the cat do something retarded in the backyard.

That retarded something was watching the idiot beast roll around in dirt. Yeah, I know, it’s a natural defense mechanism many creatures on our earth participate in to defend themselves against skin irritants, but my wife found it cute.

We don’t have our own penis-in-vagina-made kids, and we certainly don’t have any actual children in the house, apart from myself I mean, so I think she dotes on the mouse catcher a bit more than most.

Or she’s just easily amused, who knows?

So I again ask the question, what’s that particular cat, in my set of circumstances worth — its well-being, its continued existence, its quality of life — what is that worth, if you were in my shoes?

Putting further parameters on the question: What’s all that worth over a two-week period when you’re gone? How much would you pay, in hard-earned cash to ensure that the beast is at least fed, watered and kept clean? Tack on the additional love and attention and what’s that cat sitter worth to you, dollars and cents wise.

I said $200, and that apparently means I’m spending all my money on hookers and heroin, because I think $200 is an insane amount to pay anyone for such services.

I bring all this up because that’s exactly what I recently paid a college kid visiting her parents here in Europe for the summer. The way I calculated that sum is described as this. Poor college kid, kid needs money, kid had to come to my house to perform the duties, we’re not poor (we’re not rich but really, we’re not poor), and don’t be a dick.

Mr. Burns

Not me. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Seriously, the kid had to come to our house. Meaning they have to borrow mom or dad’s car or be driven by a parent in order to complete the task each and every time. It’s also Europe. Europe is expensive. I realize it’s not my duty to fund a kid’s free-time activities while visiting mom and dad in Europe over summer vacation, but I’m also not going to turn into the Simpson’s Mr. Burns character either.

We’re faced with a similar situation in that we need help with the cat duties again. But this time we’re asking a friend watch the cat in her own house. So literally, all she has to do is not kill it. Not killing a cat, unlike the assholes that answered the lead of this blog with, “How much do bullets cost,” is the easiest thing to do. The person watching our cat while we fly back to the U.S. for vacation could, I know for a fact, not feed or water the beast for the entire two weeks and the little flea bag would likely survive the ordeal. Sure, Abby the cat (I think that’s its name) will have to drink toilet water, but who hasn’t done that? Everyone’s done that, right?

Here’s the part I can’t make up in a million years — the agreed upon price for cat sitting in her own home is  $100 bucks and a carton of Marlboro Lights (really the bar isn’t high with this person). If you don’t smoke, let me help you out with some basic math, a carton of name brand cigarettes here is about $45 on post.

So let’s add this all up. For a week college kid has to drive at least 20 minutes one way to feed, water, poop scoop and play with the retarded skin bag of claws my wife calls “her baby.” Two hundred dollars is a crazy fucking amount that no sane person would pay. Paying a person $145 to watch a cat for two weeks that she has at her home while she’s unemployed anyway, is totally, however, completely reasonable.

On top of all this lets all reemmber that the pussy was in fact free.

Here’s another fun married fact that cracks me up because it’s so very 110 percent the kind of thing my wife does.

This morning Dagmar called and mentioned she was going to the bank to get a money order for $3,500. This struck me as odd because I had no idea what the money order was for but it sounded like something I should know about.

I pressed her for more information. It turns out that she, throughout the last 12 months or so, has been saving up money on the side. On the side as in not in

Change

Tons of change (Photo credit: spcbrass)

the bank, but in a shoebox or some shit, for our trip to the U.S. This fact alone cracks me up because, well, we’re not children of the depression and she could have easily just deposited it in the bank every time there was a decent amount collected. She saved this amount by, a yard sale, endlessly vacuuming up my loose change and who fucking knows what else. But shit, $3,500 is a nice amount Bella, good job!

But why the money order? I asked this question and received a sane and well thought out answer if the year was 1956.  She wants a money order because she would be crazy to carry that much cash with her back to the U.S. Which, technically is true. It would be crazy, more crazy than having $3,500 just lying around the house anyway. When I suggested that she could — and this is a very radical idea — deposit it in our joint account and then withdraw it via ATM once we’re in the states — she replied that I was a genius and that I was the greatest … well she just agreed that I might have a point.

A friend that I’ve long since lost touch with once told me that couples don’t argue about how much money there is (or isn’t), they argue about how the money is allocated. But they were likely quoting Dr. Phil, so fuck them.

Thing is though, I always looked back on that statement during times like this and thought, holy shit, that’s a good call. Dagmar and I do this all the time.

I think, like a lot of couples, we tend to divide the roles up when it comes to money. If we were a corporation, I’d be in charge of the long-term financial strategy and she’d be CEO of day to day operations, watching what’s being spent on the here and now.

It’s just fun to occasionally poke the CEO of the day to day operations in the eye. But if she ever blogs about the long term CEO investment strategy, I’m screwed.

Beer on an empty stomach with Maggie and Alex


Spent three days with Maggie and Alex.  Maggie and Alex came to visit, obviously.   Drunken shenanigans followed.

I picked up Maggie at 1040 Thursday night at the airport. We arrive at our house at almost 2230.

No caption other than, hot works here. Thus, just hot. Until ...

2240 9 Feb 2012 until 1330 10 Feb 2012 Maggie and I: discuss fashion, giggle a lot, talk about work, cry and discuss fashion.  Maggie makes me gay.*

(Maggie’s description of what happened after she took her boots off at our house.)

Maggie: Do you mind if I take my boots off?

Todd: No problem, go ahead. Hey, did I say I really like those boots?

Maggie: Yeah, they’re cool but after having them on all day and all night through the airport. My feet hurt. (Boots come off)

Todd: Hey, what the hell is on your feet?

Maggie: Socks.

She is the reason we should be able to keep our shoes on at the airport.

Women. Look at the before photo. That’s a very cute, no a sexy look. Nice looking boots, hot skirt, black tights. You’d think that once the boots came off you’ve find seductive looking foot with red (or whatever) toenails … no this is the abortion she has on under those boots.

Friday

Three hundred dollars of sure to be AWESOME!!!

1331: Alex show’s up. I rediscover I’m a man when he shows me the coolest remote controlled helicopter ever, it only cost’s $300. I order it because I’ve had five beers on an empty stomach and I really like helicopters. I hesitate about getting a robot room sweeper … why I don’t know.

As people like Maggie, Alex, that woman that lives in this house with me and Gina know, when I’m sober I’m highly gullible to suggestions that if I do/get/buy something I’ll be cool. Gina once, in Iraq convinced me to buy a CD from a band that I had never heard of because she said it was cool.   I’m an idiot, I bought it. This is sober. Drunk, any hint at all is enough to send me over the edge. None of that matters though because now, sober I fully realize this thing will rock (video link).

Alex: There is an iPad app that will let you record the video that the helicopter takes…. Might come in handy….Just saying…

1335: I’m convinced, after the 10th beer on an empty stomach that I should call my office and propose my idea for a toy helicopter American Forces Network commercial shoot that involves our office staff meeting. Maggie talks me down from this, but encourages the purchase of 5 toy remote control helicopters for later use. Thankfully I’ve forgotten my Amazon password (the one that I had used 15 minutes ago) and/or lose interest quickly 

1445: Alex uses the term Mangina, which makes me laugh…

Alex: Reading the above…. I also use the term, “Man-Dang-Go” which I feel is funnier. Also, I like to say, “Laba-Daba-Doo” a lot when referring to female genitalia….

We go buy food. We wanted to get Donar Kebabs but the local restaurant is out of business so we go to a grocery story. We buy a crap ton of food (wine) and return home.

Food is eaten, it’s suggested I put on season one of Chappel show.   Maggie falls asleep and Alex and I laugh about the reparations skit because the phrase “tri-state area” when used in reference to a man’s ass, is funny.

Dagmar calls she’s working late and won’t get off of work until 1900. I wonder what she’ll walk in on (me wearing the Simpsonsunderwear she bought me and nothing else  if there is a god).
No man can fart more than Alex, Dagmar is no man though … she might be a contender.  Seriously though the amount of gas that man produced was at first humorous and then quickly became something I felt the scientific community should study.   I’m convinced he could have powered a small city, if only science could harness his gas.

Alex:  Dude… The gas can be traced back to having about 12 dunkle weisens over the past two days… And I think eating stir-fry cabbage at the DFC yesterday….

1815: everyone, including me, is into their own iIGNOREEVERYTHINGELSE device.

Alex: Todd begins speaking “Toddlese…” We are all perplexed as he’s only had two beers, (that we can verify)…

1955: With no context what so ever Alex yells out Poontang safari gone wrong … (edit my memory, because of the 143 beers I’d drank at this point is a bit off, he says this after leaving the Thai resturant mentioned later in this story, because the owner is German and married a Thai lady … his version is MUCH, MUCH funnier.)

2005:  Dagmar arrives home.   I am fully dressed and my Simpsons boxers are upstairs in the closet still.  There obviously is no god or he/she/it doesn’t find Simpson’s boxers as funny as I do.  Dagmar begins berating me, loudly in front of my friends, for choosing crappy beer, not good dark stuff like her and Alex like.   Then they proceed to kill (over the weekend I mean) the case of crappy beer I bought.

Alex: “Poop Talk with Dagmar” commences…

For reasons that baffle both Maggie and I, when Dagmar and Alex are ‘reunited’ they immediately start to discuss umm, well pooping.  I’m afraid to explore their desire to discuss this topic … afraid for my eternal soul afraid.  He also asks Dagmar to ‘pump his legs’ which somehow encourages more gas.    Open flames are banned from the living room for 24 hours.

Alex: Due to gaseousness… I wear paper underwear… Once time use only….

2030: We are informed by Maggie that we are going to get Thai food. I’m not hungry but realize I can drink beer there so why not.

2130: Maggie has finally herded us into the car, but not before I hand Alex a handful of plastic army men and dinosaurs with the instructions to “put these in your pocket” … he doesn’t argue or even ask why. He knows that I am an idiot. Beer has made me invincible to logic or maturity.

Drunk, I am immune to grown up logic

2140: I pull out my army guys and dinosaurs; no one is impressed but me. I stage fake army guy vs. dinosaur battles while quizzing people that don’t care if I should, ‘blog it?’

Dagmar foolishly thinks plastic army men are toys. They DO have feelings Dagmar. They're clearly fleeing in reaction to your mean gesture.

2145: Dagmar correctly refers to me as an idiot. I eat some chicken fried rice and drink beers.

2155: I go outside to have a cigarette and decide I’m going to steal one of the wooden, 3 feet tall oriental man statutes that decorate the windows of the restaurant.  I’m literally laughing out loud to myself in the frozen tundra that is Germany right now at how funny it will be when I get it home.  I think I have ‘blogish’ plans for it.  I can’t wait to tell Maggie.

2136: I tell Maggie about my plan.

2150: Maggie stops telling me I’m an idiot and that I am certainly NOT stealing a 3 feet tall oriental man statute, even though I thought for sure I was going to.

2151: We leave.  I don’t have a 3 feet tall oriental man statute.

Saturday morning I’m forced, with an epic hangover mind you, to venture out into the very cold outside for a death march through the vineyards.   When I’m elected king of everything any walking outside that doesn’t involve beer in 70 degree or higher temperatures will be banned.

* Truth of the matter is Maggie and Alex have been friends of ours since 2002, she and I just stayed up, catching up.