My Cousin, Hank

Snooch to the booch, mes amis, the Whiz is on the Prowl again. That's right, you read that correctly. I spelled Prowl with a capital P. It's kind of like in Winnie-the-Pooh where A.A. Milne capitalizes various words to make them more important? What? You never read Winne-the-Pooh? Get the fuck out of here, Communist.

Okay, for the rest of you who made it through, the Big Man has handed me the keys to the blog today so that I can tell you about my famous cousin, Hank. Apparently, Hank is this week's Monday Frivolity. Whatever. I'm just doing this because the Big Man cranked open a can of tuna this weekend and the Whiz was on Cloud Nine Saturday night. See how it is? You scratch my back, the Whiz provides you with an amusing blog post.

Anyway, we're here to talk about my cousin, Hank. You see, Hank's hit the Big Time. That's right, he's a movie star. He's bordering on Internet Sensation, even, if you can believe it. I'd say I'm a little jealous, but the Whiz is above such petty things. I like to keep my deadly sins focused more on the lust, wrath and avarice side of the aisle. I'm happy for Hank, especially when you consider that he's named for a propane salesman from Arlen, TX (the Whiz and his family are big fans of Texas...get it? Big? Texas? Wait, where are all those crickets coming from?). For most of his life, Hank's been trying to break through the aluminum foil ceiling that keeps us cats down. I mean, seriously, most of the famous cats in the world are either a lot funnier when they aren't around or are just plain effing stupid. Hank, though, he's special. He even went out and learned French for this role. Granted, his accent is a little suspect and some of the translations are a bit off, but, hey, the Whiz claps his fuzzy little paws together in salutation for his cuz.

The only problem is that now Hank's a total prima donna. Yeah, that's right, Hank, I'm calling you out and I'm calling you a woman. Return my phone calls, buddy. I'm not trying to ride your coattails, I'm just trying to find out if you know what happened to cousin Rudy. Christ, man, your little box stinks as bad as anyone else's. Stop flipping your tail around all the time, you pampered little shit. I'm a wizard; I can turn you into a carbuncle. Pick up the damned phone already.

Anyway, in case you were interested, here's Hank's film. Feel free to call him and congratulate him on his fifteen minutes, or should I say "ses quinze minutes"? Yeah, I can speak French, too, Hank. And Latin. I mean, I am a freaking wizard, after all. So, piss off with your bad, cool self.

Anyway, if any of you do congratulate him, tell him to give his cuz the Whiz a ring-a-ding-ding. I need to know what he's taking to the carry-in family reunion at Aunt Donna's this weekend. Thanks and much love.

Blogging Time Out

Hey, all, WC here. Sorry for the silence, but the Big Man has been put in Time Out over his recent string of posts. Oh sure, it was funny and all to belittle the good people of Indiana--I mean, damn, I love a good laugh at the simple ways of backward folk as much as the next guy--but then he started making fun of the fat chicks, and, well, The Wiz has a soft spot for the Plumpies. You see, sometimes the old star and moon robe doesn't wrap around my little ass during those chilly winter nights, and The Wiz needs him an ass to cozy up to in order to keep warm. I'm not ashamed. I'm a whore for a nice, warm, soft ass, despite Bel Biv Devoe warning me to never trust a big butt and a smile.

But then the Big Guy started knocking the Canadians, and that didn't sit too well with the Wiz. You see, I'm a closet acerfoliumophile, so if there's one thing I can't stand, it's insulting the good folks up north (although the Wiz does think your ketchup tastes a little funny--don't get upset, I'm just sayin'). I mean, just because a nation has a bit of a funny accent, screwed up football rules, various places named after moose body parts, and trees--lots and lots of trees--doesn't make them a bad place. I mean, they gave us the Barenaked Ladies and...uh...Avril Lavigne and...er...Alex Trebeck! Okay, so you guys can take that pompous assbag back. We'll keep the nekkid ladies. Wait, what? They're all guys? Horseshit.

Anyway...the other night, the boss kind of lost it. He stormed out of here, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and tossed me in the Jenksennium Falcon and sped off. I was frightened for a moment before I realized we were headed toward Sonic, where the Big Man got his usual. As for me, he forced me into asking for my dinner in the most degrading of ways. How many times do I have to tell him, I does not talk like dat? Dammit. Anyway, it was an eventful dinner as the Big Man kept muttering something about "what the fuck kind of Communist doesn't like tomatoes on their burgers?". Yeah, I don't know either. If any of you know what's going on, clue me in, alright? Also, he got the chili cheese tots and then preceded to eat the whole thing, not even offering me one! To top it off, after we went to bed, that bastard kept giving me the Dutch Oven all night long! I've already admitted to my love of ass-sleeping--it's a weakness, alright? There, I've said it. But then this bastard goes and ruins it by woofing me under the blankets all night. And then his knowing snicker--that sonuvabitch knew what he was doing and enjoying it. Ugh. The Wiz is disgusted just talking about it again.

So, between the Canuckophobia and chili-cheese-tot ass symphony, the Big Guy's in time out. I'm not letting him near the computer again until he sifts the turds out of my litterbox and buys a pair of those charcoal underpants with that patch that helps filter out the stink. In the mean time, to make sure Zibbs keeps coming back, I thought I'd bust out the mailbag and answer a few nagging questions that have been hanging around.

Way back in June, Frank asked "Are we allowed to ask questions for [Q&A] volume 2? Do you like ice cream? If so, what flavor?"

Well, Frank...easy ones first. Yes, ask all the questions you want and I'll try to get around to answering them quickly, or as quick as a guy without the benefit of opposable thumbs can be, mind. I'll also be quicker on the draw when I've not been rendered loopy by rolling clouds of gas trapped under a duvet.

As for ice cream, I'm not sure if you're directing that at me or the Big Guy. The short answer for both of us is "fuck yeah", and to follow up, the Big Man loves his Moose Tracks (curious, what with the Canada thing as all) and cherry cordial. Both are mighty nice, but on those nights when WC feels like spoiling himself, I usually whip up my own recipe of kipper and catnip. mmmmmm-MMM! My insides are atingle with the mere thought of it now.

Back in July, McGone commented something about Kevin Smith's anal fissures being on Smith's blog and was it in the book. While not a question, I feel as if I should just add that Smith's book "My Boring Ass Life" is just the entries from his blog, gathered together in book form. So, yes, the anal fissure story was there. And, also, yeeeesh! *shudder*

Finally, a couple of day ago, Lisa and her tastrophies asked about an autographed picture of the Wiz. If I could blush, I would. Nah, I'm just kidding. The Wiz loves him some stalkers. All that extra attention is fantastic. If I'm not whoring for warm asses, I'm whoring for attention. The Big Guy will be in contact with you shortly, when I allow him back on the computer. You know, after he sifts mah shit.

Well, that pretty much closes up the mail bag. Keep the questions coming. Also, because I know you're all dying to know, the Wiz is available for guestbloggery, if you're into that sort of thing. I'm a whore for warm asses, attention, and guestblogging. In the meantime, I feel a big one a-brewin'. I think after I'm done burying it, I'll go cozy up to the Boss and stretch my feet out in his face. It'll be our little joke.

Would you like to buy a monkey?

I think I'm going to go blind spamming my own blog. The nuns said something about that or masturbation, I'm not sure. I was too busy playing with myself in order to pay attention.

Anyway, all my autoerotic exercises aside, I figured it was time to find out just what I was wanted for in the Wild West of Cyberspace.

Apparently, it's larceny. Better, it's monkey-theft.

matthewjenks.blogspot.com

WANTED FOR THE SUPREME ROBBERY of an ADORABLE MONKEY

$2500

What's Your Blog Wanted For?

Created by OnePlusYou

With that $2500 reward hanging over my head, I went tossing the place looking for the adorable little feller. Unfortunately, my search came up empty. Naturally, I asked the most powerful being I know: Wizard Cat.

Turns out that plucky little puss of prestidigitation [1] ate said stolen monkey. Now I'm in quite a bind. I need to either cough up the $2500 to clear my name, or keep feeding Wizard Cat delicious monkeys to eat, so that he will continue to keep my house hidden from the roving posses of bounty hunters. This is quite a predicament, to be certain. However, I could be in for quite a show as I'm sure the day will come when Wizard Cat will be going toe-to-toe with Boba Fett. Hopefully, I can stay away from carbonite chambers...

[1] I spelled prestidigitation correctly without looking.

Floored

Here's some advice for you, offered up free by yours truly. I'm just that fucking kindhearted.

If you want to boost your blog viewership, you should definitely pop in a link describing your disdain for shit-tastic cat art. I went through the hits and views over the night, and for the first time in a long time, neither "belly button torture sex" nor "Betsy Hagar pictures" topped the way people found me. I was stunned. Apparently, links to my blog are being tossed all over Shitty Cat Art Woman's livejournal pages, as all of her friends have stopped by. I'm guessing, thankfully, that the presence of the real Wizard Cat is the only thing that has kept them largely at bay. Either that, or it's the fact that I'm sitting here topless right now.

To that end, I'm keeping Wizard Cat around for a while. I'm going to try him out as the Blog Mascot. He may not be as handsome as Boxter nor as internationally renowned as Fernando, but Wizard Cat did pass his both his Potions and Charms O.W.L.s with flying colors. Plus, he's hours worth of fun if you give him a catnip mouse and then start dancing a laser pointer around on the floor.

Besides, I've long styled myself the "King of Thistles" on various internet outlets...such as yahoo mail and...uh...Runescape. And, every good king has a wizard for a chief adviser. If it works for the King of Id and King Arthur, I, too, shall drink of the wizarding advisory Kool-Aid.

Speaking of King of Thistles...I haven't touched it. I haven't even been working on King of Storms much lately. In fact, I haven't been working on much of anything lately. Feel free to blame it on my inherent laziness; I'll blame it simply on internet-based copies of Dice Wars. This isn't to say that I haven't done anything on it. It's amazing how you can plan battles and dialogue while playing Dice Wars. I haven't written or edited anything, but I have been doing things that don't require much in the way of putting letters on a screen. By the way, remember that whole "Meet the Characters" thing? Yeah, we'll be getting back to that soon enough. Damned basketball tournaments...To that end, I've kind of told myself to get King of Shadows edited and together without the major rewrites by the end of the month. I've also got the papers all sorted out to mail to the new agents for querying. I'll keep you updated there. Naturally, my uncanny excellent planning ability has me getting everything ready for mailing on a Sunday. Too bad I wasn't really good and have everything ready by July 4th. Brilliant, me.

Of course, all of these issues are now moot. Thanks, Wizard Cat.

Warning: Fluff(y) Post Ahead

Sorry for the lack of reading material this week. I've been busy wrapping up my current project so that I can get all my stuffs moved to the other building and start my new project on Monday. What? You didn't know I was getting transferred? Yeah, I got transferred to a different department where I'll not be battling the wretched hordes of cancer everyday. No, instead, I'll be trying to fight the wretched neglected diseases that are afflicting sub-Saharan Africa. Yeah, it's something I can tell my mom about and she can brag to her church friends about me.

To that end, I promise to supply something other than fluff posts in the near future.

As busy as I've been, however, I haven't been too busy to read your blogs and sometimes comment on them. I've also not been too busy to not see shit like this: Shitty Cat Jewelry. I mean, seriously? C'mon. You're kidding, right? Who buys this crap? I mean, someone must be buying it, as they have a whole catalog of garbage. And more, who wears it? The broad in Carmel, IN should be campaigning against these sins against artistic endeavors rather than Victoria's Secrets models.

I mean, it's enough to make Wizard Cat gather together a posse and kick some ass. Right after the one on the right can figure out how to use his new tiny little arms.