$29.99 plus labor.

Cruz might be making his big move on Super Saturday, but it’s nothing compared to what Boudica and I did in just under an hour. We assembled the cat gymnasium we recklessly purchased after midnight some days back. It came in pieces with two bags of undifferentiated screws and washers. We assembled it with no yelling(!), a vendor supplied Allen wrench, and a good old fashioned hammer. We have also solemnly warned the cats to stay away from it. Forbidden. Verboten. Achtung!

Maybe they’ll ignore it. Cats generally prefer cardboard boxes filled with styrofoam peanuts. Mamas prefer thoughtfully designed cat toys. Husbands prefer getting the damn thing built and then watching the chips fall where they may.

We’ll let you know.

Money is contagious. Far more serious than orgasms are the thrills of being close to very large sums of money.

Goodby, Ruby Tuesday. Who could put a blame/dame/fame/lame on you?

She ducks her shark eyes just before she kills you.

Yeah. She tried to skewer Trump. Tried really hard. All she did was prove how she looked in a short haircut and white stuff. Here’s how she looked.

What guys were seeing anyway.

Except when guys think they can see her without her clothes.

She was not cool and collected. She was Lamia.

“She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr’d;
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
Dissolv’d, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries–
So rainbow-sided, touch’d with miseries,
She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf,
Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self.”

— John Keats, Lamia

Yeah. She was a serpent. A killer. She almost killed me. Except for me being immortal.

Yes she is. She’ll be ditching her husband any minute.

She thinks she’s smarter than everyone else. She thinks wrong.

Missssster Trump….

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yfcmoo3a_24

Mitt, with the peekaboo stance, lost the big game twice too. Lost the heavyweight title to a Swedish guy nobody ever heard of unless it was really McCain drenched in lutefisk, got it back, and then lost to Sonny “the Shroom King” Obama. Which was obviously great preparation for the boxing world’s near unanimous desire to defeat, humiliate, and otherwise lay low the Louisville lip.

Didn’t work out. Won’t do anything but tarnish a personal reputation Mitt Romney spent a lifetime building. Feel sorry in that regard. But he’s made a sad hollow shell of himself on the public stage. He’s exposed as a hypocrite, a treacherous friend, and a mere tool of the power players in his political orbit.

Trump will now proceed to demolish him, and given the party tactics employed against him, Trump will have no reason to hold his punches.

What a giant fail. Almost as bad as Floyd Patterson playing peekaboo with Cassius Clay.

We didn’t plan on it. But we got it.

Black and white. Night and day. Literally. Iris the White Queen does her crazies in the morning. Raven the Black Queen does hers at night.

The chess has to do with the intricate machinations involving access to soft cat food. The real food is kibble, which is continuously available, but the contention is for the contents of those tiny cans filled with unspeakable who-knows-what that cats just love.

Squared off 24/7. Only thing missing is the clock chess nerds use to show how quickly they decided on their next move.

Iris attacks early and hard. Gulps down the first doling out of the day. Raven who is more passive aggressive waits for later, knowing she can stay up all night and feast while Iris gets more and more settled on the pleasure of sleeping on mommy’s feet behind a closed bedroom door.

But Iris dispatches her Bishop, Elliott, to block Raven during the night. Sometimes we wake to the sound of yowling as Elliott pursues Raven downstairs. Which is when the Black Knight, Raebert, wakens with a what-the-hell woof and runs pell mell downstairs to rescue his liege.

Yeah. After the first night or two, it seems the two Queens no longer sleep together in the same cozy bed. They’re not enemies but they are competitors. The good news is they both think they always win. As soon as they get their own fine banquet of salmon entrails or whatever is in those cans.

Iris wins!

Raven wins!

Or I guess you could call it a stalemate.