So just barely over a week into becoming the proud parents of two kittens, my roommates and I have decided to give up and return the little buggers from whence they came. It breaks my icy heart, but it is a decision that simply had to be made. It turns out that Chairman Meow and Fosse Uggums are sick. And I don't mean BDSM sick, also known as the "fun sick," but more along the lines of shitting blood sick--the "gross, should we call an old priest and a young priest?" kind of sick. And being broke college students, we just don't have the time, money or the amount of sober acumen necessary to take care of two child cats. Le sigh. Le purr. Le fuck. Oh, well. Anyone want a pair of blood-shitting cats?
In other mews (PUN!), I've finally learned the choreography to "Bye, Bye Blackbird" from Liza with a Z and my gay little heart couldn't be any giddier. It's only a matter of time before I re-enact the entire concert a la Rufus Wainwright, but my reviews will be considerably more favorable. After all, these gams were made for dancin'!
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