Thursday, December 29, 2005


“OK, is this thing on? Testing, one, two…”

“It’s on, you dipstick.”

“Hey, can you please keep quiet for just a minute? I’m trying to record something.”

“What could you possibly be recording that would be of interest to anybody with a brain?”

“My friend, DJ Big Mick, suggested that I tell the story about …”

“How you became such a dope? Not much of a story. You were born; you were born a dope. End of story.”

“No, how I became…”

“A freak that doesn’t feed me enough? There’s a good story. Howsabout some chow, nimrod?”

“Alright already!”



OK, I’m back.

After I was splashed with the radioactive waste, I didn’t think much about it. I mean, sure, I wondered if I might die, but other than that? Not much.

The thing is, I didn’t care. I had just broken up with my girlfriend and I was broke and the rent was due. I didn’t even have enough extra scratch to buy a can of cat food for Mister Paws. He’s my cat. He hates me. I was talking to him about that the other day, and…

Oh, yeah, I guess I should tell you - because of my being splashed with the radioactive waste, I can talk to and understand cats. I like cats, but I found out that cats despise me. All of them hate my guts. Mister Paws doesn’t despise me as much as the rest of them, but I think it’s only because I feed him.

Anyway, I said, “Mister Paws, why is it that cats despise me?”

Mister Paws said, “Not really your fault. You were just born despicable.”

“Aw, come on. There has to be a real reason. Why won’t you tell me?”

“Tell you? Tell you what, exactly? Some reason why I hate you aside from the fact that you’re a whiny loser with hideously bad breath, a stench of a body odor, and the table manners of a buzzard on a rotting corpse?”

“Ah, skip it.”


Luckily, my enemies don’t know that cats despise me. If they did, they’d no doubt use that information against me. I mean, if Black Licorice or Captain Mean knew that information, I’m sure they’d gather up whole squadrons of cats to use against me. And then what kind of a superhero would I be?

Oh, yeah, I’m a superhero. Another result of the radioactive waste thing. You may have heard of me. Wonderbreadanimalman?

No? Ah, I’m not terribly surprised. I mean, look at the guys who get all the ink; Spiderman, Superman, The Flash, Green Lantern. They’re all well-built and good-looking and have powers that people respect. Me? Well, I can take a loaf of Wonder Bread, see? And carve little farm animals out of a slice and they come to life? And then they obey my every command!

Yeah, OK, it’s not an overwhelming superpower, but it’s more than most people can do. The only problem is that as soon as liquid touches the little animals, they sort of melt. But I can totally understand and talk to cats. But they despise me. I don’t know why.

And I suppose I’m not especially good-looking or well-built, either.


Maybe if I got a really snazzy costume that would help. I can’t afford one, though. Wonder bread isn’t all that expensive, but while I have the power to carve out these little animals that obey me, I’m not all that good at carving them out. So, sometimes I have to go through an entire loaf just to get one good horse, you know? And then, half the time, a cat comes along and pisses on it and I have to start over, and …

So, anyways, a couple of days after I was splashed with the radioactive waste, I made a sandwich. It was baloney and cheese, which was still more than I could afford, really. I didn’t have a job and my girlfriend had just left me and…

“Oh, for God’s sakes, get on with it, you miserable idiot! Cut to the chase! Tell them that you took a couple of bites of the sandwich and because your teeth were so hideous and snaggled, you had made the bread look something like a cow. And…”

“It’s my story! Let me tell it!”

“If you keep on telling it like you have been, it’ll take forever, dimwit. There isn’t enough recording tape in the world to contain all of the idiocy you could spew out. Anyway, whom do you think is going to care? You’re just pitiful.”

“Here, have the rest of my chicken.”

“OK, but get on with it, will you?”


So, yeah, I had accidentally made a cow out of Wonder bread. It began walking around and mooing. I was freaked, man! I…

“You peed your pants.”

“Shut up, you stupid cat!”

“Oh, calm down. I need to go out. Open the door.”

“I might be stupid…”

“Might be?”

“...But you still need me to open the door!”

“Opposable thumbs do not make you smart; they just make you handy.”


Where was I? Oh, yeah, so the little Wonder bread cow is walking around and I’m all freaked and I spill my milk and it sloshes over the little cow and melts him (or her, I guess, since it was a little cow.) Anyway, I’m thinking to myself that something weird has happened to me, maybe, though I’m not sure what. And then Mister Paws says, “You finally do one interesting thing in your life and then you go and destroy it the next second.”

I didn’t know then that I could understand what cats said, so I was even more freaked. I said, “Who said that?”

“Who do you think said it, you moron? Do you see anyone else in the room aside from you, me, and a little dead cow made out of Wonder bread?”

“Is... Is that YOU, Mister Paws?”

“Is… Is that you, Mister Paws? Yes, it’s… it’s me, Mister Paws. By the way, thanks for the swell name, buttwipe. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be out looking for a female in heat and then you call out ‘Mister Paw-aws! Mister Paw-aws!’, and then all my friends start laughing and I’ve lost any chance I had of getting laid.”

“You’re a cat! You can’t be talking! And that little cow! And… m... uhnhhh…”

And that’s when I fainted.


When I came to, Mister Paws was licking up the milk. The little cow was gone.

I said, “Oh, man, what a weird dream. Maybe that nuclear waste did more of a job on me than I thought, Mister Paws. I dreamed that you could talk! Ha-ha-ha.”

”Oh, shut up and give me a hand cleaning up the mess you made.”

“Oh my God! You can talk!”

“OK, let’s get it straight, dummy. If by ‘talk’ you mean make those same gibbering noises you make, no, I can’t do that, and thank Meowsus for small favors. However, you can understand what I’m saying, and it’s about time.”


“Oh, please! Do I have to explain it again? I cannot ‘talk’, as you call it, but you…”

“I can understand what you’re saying.”

“Well, duh!”

“What… was there a little cow…?”

“Yes. I ate him.”

“You… ate him?”

“Her, actually. It was a cow. I figured if it looked like a cow, it might taste like a cow. Unfortunately, it tasted like Wonder bread. Yuck.”

“I… I just don’t understand.”

“OK, it’s really rather simple. You were splashed with nuclear waste. Somehow, it gave you the power to understand cats. And it also seems to have made you able to build farm animals from Wonder bread.”


“Look, it’s no big deal. Cats hate you, so it’s probably best if you just try not to listen to us most of the time. As for the farm animals…”

“You hate me?”

“Not just me – every cat in the world. I’m afraid I can’t tell you why, but it’s true.”

“You can’t tell me why? Why not?”

“Well, if I told you that, then I’d be pretty much telling you why, wouldn’t I? Just accept it as fact.”

“But… But you always come when I call you and you rub up against my leg and you purr when I pet you and …”

“I come because the only time you call me is when there’s food. I rub up against your leg because my head itches. And, as much as I might not like you, a good backrub is still a good backrub."


“OK, now let’s see about these farm animals. Can you try to make another one?”

“I don’t know how I made the first one.”

“You carved it with your crummy teeth.”

“I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes, you don’t have to use your teeth. Try making one with your hands, you fool.”

“Oh. OK.”

So, I tried to make another cow, this time with my hands. I ripped the bread carefully and made something that sort of looked like a cow. However, it came out all lopsided and it staggered around, mooing pitifully and falling over every third step it took.

I said, “Mister Paws, it’s obvious I can do this thing, but what good is it?”

“Probably not much good at all, but let's explore the possibilities. Try telling it to do something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. I just want to see if what I suspect to be true, is.”

“OK. Little cow, go get me a million dollars!”

“You friggin’ numbskull, it’s a little cow made out of Wonder bread, not a frickin’ genie! Ask it to do something it might actually be able to do.”

“Oh! Alright. Little cow, sit down!”

The little cow sat down. Right in what was left of the milk, so it melted.

“Oh my God, this is horrible! I’m creating life, but it’s all wrong! Not only are they misshapen and freakish, I’m killing them!”

“Get a grip on yourself, skillethead. I don’t think they really have much brain, otherwise they wouldn't obey a noodlebrain like you. Make another one.”


“Oh, never mind. Sooner or later, your curiosity will get the better of you and you’ll do it again, just to see if you can. Meanwhile, how about getting me something to eat? I’m famished.”


Mister Paws was right, of course. He usually is, damn him. I couldn't resist making another little animal out of Wonder bread. So, I did, and then...

Oh, shoot, I'm about to run out of tape! I'll have to continue this on the other side.


(go to Part Two)

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Get yourself into therapy, quickly.