They say a picture paints a thousand words. I have decided to see if this is true. I found this picture on the Internet. I'm not sure whom to give credit to, and if I borrowed it from you I apologize and thank you.
As I stare at this picture, I laugh at the comical element of this proverbial "fat cat" and wonder what he may be thinking. The first thing I think of is the fact that he looks like he just smoked a big ol' fattie blunt and is wondering where the Cheetos are hiding. "Why are you pointing that device at me laughing man? Quit screwing around and pass me the Cheetos man. God I am so wasted. Why is there no hair on my belly? Seriously man where are the Cheetos? Wow I have gloves on my hands. Check this out, mittens. Hey that rhymes with kittens. I used to be a kitten once. Whoa, my belly is so fat, maybe I ate a kitten. Dude, where's Bootsy? Bootsy? Oh God I ate Bootsy. Damn I could really use some Cheetos."
"Why am I sitting like this? I want to cross my legs but I can't. Check it, this is insane, I am wearing boots. He he he he, waiiiit a minute. I'm Bootsy. I didn't eat Bootsy, that would be impossible. I can't eat myself. I can lick myself. Watch this, uuuggghhhh, uuuggghhhhhhh, ok maybe I can't lick myself. What happened to you man? You used to be top cat. You were buff, you were suave. The ladies all wanted you. Now you're just a fat, stoned mess. Did you know cat nip is a gate way drug? Just try it they said, it's totally awesome they said. It's all natural. Drugs. Man I am really hungry. I think I saw some Ding Dongs up on the shelf. Mmmmm Ding Dongs. Are you still here with that contraption? Who are you looking at? Are you looking at me?"
"See this hand right here,the one between my legs? I'm gonna scratch myself with it. Where am I going to scratch? Figure it out man, right between the legs. You know what they say, if you have an itch, scratch it. Man, I have a dicky do. You know a dicky do, when your belly sticks out further than your dicky do. Damn I'm fat. I'm going to start exercising tomorrow. Turn over a new leaf. No more smokin' up, no more bags of Cheetos. Hell who am I kidding? Look at my face. I'm not going to stop. Are you looking at me? Take the picture already. Do you see this nose? This nose. Don't you just love how it is outlined from the rest of my face?"
"Did you know I am part tiger? Check out my stripes man. Tigers have stripes, I have stripes, ipso facto, I'm part tiger. Shear Khan was a tiger, he was a bad ass tiger. If I was Shear Khan I would have eaten that punk ass Mowgli. Tie a stick of fire onto my tail. Please, I would have knocked his punk ass down with one fell swoop of my massive paw and then just devoured his scrawny ass before he could be tyin' some fire stick to my tail. Wait. Dude! Did I eat Mowgli? Is that why I am so fat? Dude I AM Shear Khan." (571 for those of you who are counting).
I am now more than half way through 1000 words and quite frankly I think I may just be rambling hoping that I some how get to 1000. I mean seriously, a stoned, talking cat? Although come on, he does look stoned doesn't he? And fat, quite Jabba-esque don't you think? Yeah there is no way I am going to hit 1000. I am not even really inclined to continue trying.
Perhaps it is that I am not fully inspired by this particular picture. Perhaps I am not the word-smith that I thought I was. Maybe I don't see all the beauty that this pudgy little feline has to offer the world apart from a pretty stellar stoned face look. What about what's on the inside of this rotund mammal. His heart, what is it saying? "Damn I wish this beast would lose some weight so I can take a break from the responsibility of transporting all this THC to his brain so he can get his stone on." His lungs, are they laden with scorch marks from inhaling the smoke? Is his stomach really full of junk food from his constant state of munchiness? I wonder how much this portly fellow weighs. Is he sitting in front of that vent across the way so he can cool down with the nice cross breeze that wafts through providing a welcome respite from the no doubtingly increased body temperature that he experiences from the additional layers of cat blubber that he carries. For all we know this guy is just sitting there after suffering a massive coronary infarction while the owners are away and now rigormortis has set in. Maybe just maybe this is some backwoods family whose sick idea of cool is to stuff animals in funny poses after they die.
Regardless of what is really going on with our friend in the picture, did it live up to the haughty task of aspiring to create a thousand word blog on my part? Did it fall short like a geriatric Casanova hoping to satiate his proclivity for romance yet having the inability to create arousal without pharmaceutical assistance. 1000 words is not a task that one should undertake lightly. It can easily turn into non-sensical blabber that can leave the reader thinking that the writer should have stopped at word one. And for all of you haters out there that are going to count each and every word, pointing out that hyphenated words should only count as one word or that Jabba-esque isn't really a word (1000) and you had the nerve to use it twice. Well to you I say "Suck It" I did it with twenty five words to spare!
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