The Opposite of Heartfelt
Yesterday there was a piece of mail waiting for me, courtesy of one of my credit card companies. Much to my pleasant surprise, upon the front of it were the words "Happy Birthday." Granted, it was a generic preprinted sort of thing, but the fact that a giant corporation would notice/care about some pithy little peon's birthday was almost touching.
With great anticipation, I opened the envelope...
...and beheld an application for a life insurance policy. Well, there goes that "almost touched" feeling, right down the drain and into the sewage treatment plant.
In other news, I'm rather tired of a multitude of things, the least of which is Christmas music. Why, of why must I be told how Rudolph was the most specialest reindeer of all? And no less, in a voice that sounds like a lounge lizard? At least give us classics like "Vincent the Christmas Virus" or "The Night Santa Went Crazy."
Please?
Oh, and it appears our cat has a shoe fetish. And by fetish, I mean "illicit trysts I end up walking in on, only to see Chance entwined in a disturbingly romantic sort of way with Mel's flats." It's reasons like this that I really regret turning on the lights to see why the cat is making odd sounds.
Labels: happy birthday and perchance are you going to die soon, hot cat on shoe action
posted by Phillip at 10:00 PM
