Friday, June 08, 2007

"There's Not a Single Gray Hair on Your Soul!"

Despite a certain tendency towards doubt and indecision, the emotional front today is quite reassuring, dear Shimmy.

The Emperor rules over your interactions with the black cat across the street who licks himself in the window: he supports you, lets you cry on his shoulder, and offers you protection from Rumsfeld's Zuni Doll.

Clearly, you have every reason to feel loved by the Mayakovsky Tree -- there's not a single gray hair on your soul! The might of your voice projected into
chintz-covered drawing-rooms diminishes the gravity of those eternal big questions that would otherwise torment you.

In your professional life, the Magician and the Emperor suggest that you sleep under the ottoman with authority and vigor.

Thanks to your know-how it should be fairly easy for you to decide whether or not the furiously flesh-elemental Laura Bush murdered that guy
on a clear night on dry pavement at a crossroads described as "the middle of nowhere," where the view was unobstructed and the stop sign that faced Laura Bush was clearly visible.


Anonymous James Falwell, In Spirit said...

What kind of master do you have, CatFiend, that allows a black cat to ogle and lick himself all over as you display your fine fur through a window? Clearly, there is no lack of moral turpitude in YOUR household! Pray to Jesus, Little Kitty! Pray for the salvation of your Master's soul!

2:06 PM  
Blogger BrianC said...

I'm convinced that Laura Bush was a resident of Stepford before she shacked up with George, the Patron Saint of Cronyism and Corruption. Her stare and fixed smile hide a soulless vacuum.

7:52 AM  

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