Napalm and Silly Putty (8 page)

And when does this coin retrieval take place? I’m sure they don’t do it on Sunday afternoon as some little girl is tossing in a penny, wishing for her daddy to come back from heaven. No, they probably do it at three in the morning, wearing black T-shirts and ski masks. I think this has gone far enough. I want to know what’s going on. My friend is still perfectly healthy, and I’m concerned.

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-24” ??Punk Bands I Have Known ?

Tower of Swine

Room in My Shorts

Mary Krenwinkle’s Revenge

Sphincter Hoedown

Basket of Fire

Trees for Lunch

Glandular Imbalance

A Fine Way to Die

Let’s Pull Our Eyes Out

Sewer Transaction

Cosmic Groin Pull

Pudding Disease

A Rare Twinkie

Rubber Thoughts

Vaginal Spotting

The Note Fuckers

Puke All Night

Anal Lace

Gorilla Tits

Harmony Sucks

Warts, Waffles and Walter

Mess-Kit Germ Colony

Hideous Infant

Clots on the Move

Systematic Rejection

The Stillborn

Household Pest

Breach of the Peace

Thankless Child

Persistent Rain

Days of Doubt

Sack of Shit

Hole in My Scrotum

Ed, Formerly Don

Cocaine Snot Groove

Hilda Fucks

Waitress Sweat

Infected Mole

This Band Needs Practice

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-25” ??A CAT IS NOT A DOG ?

Most people understand that cats are completely different from dogs, and generally they like them for different reasons. One quality people like in cats is their independence; they appreciate a pet who can take care of himself. “I never have to do a thing. He cleans his room, makes his own clothing, and drives himself to work.”

Unlike dogs, who are needy and dependent, and who like you merely because you know where the food is located, cats don’t get all hung up on fake affection. They don’t go nuts and slobber all over you when you come home, the way a dog does. They parcel out a certain limited amount of physical affection from time to time, but it probably has more to do with static electricity than anything else.

“Not Me!”

Cats have another quality I find admirable: blamelessness. When a cat makes a mistake, he doesn’t accept responsibility or show embarrassment. If he does something really stupid, like jumping onto a table and landing in four separate coffee cups, somehow he passes the whole thing off as routine. Dogs aren’t like that. If a dog knocks over a lamp, you can tell who did it by looking at the dog; he acts guilty and ashamed. Not the cat. When a cat breaks something, he simply moves along to the next activity.

“What’s that? The lamp? Not me! Fuck that, I’m a cat! Something broken? Ask the dog.”

“I Meant That!”

A cat can make any mistake appear intentional. Have you ever seen a cat race across a room and crash into a glass door? It doesn’t faze him at all.

WHIZZZ! SPLAT!!

“I meant that! I actually meant that. That’s exactly what I was trying to do.”

Then he limps behind the couch, holding his head:

“Oh, Jesus! Fuckin’ me-ooow! Goddamn fuckin’ me-ooooooow!”

Your cat is much too proud to let you see him suffer. But if you look behind the couch, you’ll see him recuperating from a domestic mishap.

“Hi. Tried to jump from the sofa to the window. Didn’t make it. Tore a ligament. Got milk?”

Rub Me Tender

Cats are very tactile; they love to rub against your leg. If you own a cat, and you have a leg, you’ve got a happy cat.

“Oh boy, oh boy! I’m rubbing against his leg! How I love his leg!”

If you have two legs, you’ve got yourself a party.

“Oh boy, oh boy, two legs! Now I can do the figure eight.”

They love to do the figure eight: around one leg, in between, and then around the other.

“Oh boy, oh boy. I’m doing the figure eight.”

He’ll rub against your legs even if you’re not there yet. You might be twenty feet down the hall. As soon as he sees you coming he starts walking sideways. He doesn’t want to miss a shot at your legs.

“Oh boy, oh boy! Here he comes! Soon I’ll be doing the figure eight.”

His Ass Is Yours

Cats are so tactile you don’t even have to do the petting. All you need is to put your hand somewhere near him, and he’ll lean into you and do all the work. They love to push back.

Then there’s the ass trick. Did you ever stroke a cat who’s lying absolutely flat, and before you’ve run your hand halfway down his back, his ass is sticking way up in the air? As if you pressed an “ass button” or something?

“Isn’t he a cute little . . . holy shit! How did he do that?”

Or sometimes if he’s on the bed with you he’ll climb onto your chest and stick his ass right in your face:

“Hey, here’s my ass! Check my ass, Daddy! Get a nice, clean look at my ass!”

And then while he’s showing you his ass, he starts that kneading thing with his paws; like he’s playin’ the piano. God, I hate that.

“Get him offa me! Jesus, I hate that! I don’t even know what it is, and I hate that. It’s as if he got hold of some bad drugs. What is that?”

“It’s an instinctive nursing behavior, honey. He misses his mommy.”

“You always say that. You said that about the mailman.”

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Fido Doesn’t Care

Dogs have no priorities or schedules. You rarely see a dog with a wristwatch. Most things they do they will do anywhere, at any time. Except for the things you teach them not to do:

“Laszlo! Don’t ever do that again. If you do I’ll beat the shit out of you!”

They do catch on to suggestions like that.

But basically, a dog doesn’t care what he does. He’ll simply do whatever’s next. He doesn’t really know what’s next, but he’ll think of something.

He might even do two things in a row that don’t go together. Did y’ever see a dog trotting through a room, apparently headed somewhere, and suddenly he stops and chews his back for about eight minutes? As if the whole thing were scheduled for that exact moment? And then finally, when he’s finished chewing, he forgets where he was going in the first place and just sort of looks around, confused.

“Let’s see, where was I goin’? Shit, I forget. Seemed important at the time. Well, I guess I’ll just lie down here under this chair. Hey, it’s nice under here. I must do this more often.”

He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care.

A Little Light Buffet

Like I say, he’ll do anything at any time. He might even embarrass you when you have company.

You might have some folks over to the house; folks you don’t know that well; people you’re tryin’ to impress. Hell, you might even be tryin’ to borrow money from one of these assholes.

And all these people are sittin’ around the living room, and you’ve put out some chips and a little dip, carrot sticks, maybe a little light buffet, and everybody is eating nicely and chatting politely, and the dog is lying there on the floor, in full view.

And suddenly, you glance over, and realize that the dog . . . is licking . . . his balls! Vigorously! Big, long, loving licks, in full view of everyone. And no one is saying a word.

Remember now, a spectacular thing is taking place: a naked, living creature is administering a modified form of autofellatio in the presence of strangers. Not only is it a spectacular act, it’s difficult to do. If I could do that I’d never leave the house.

And yet it goes unremarked. And if someone does say something, it’s usually innocuous.

“Look. Isn’t he cute? He’s taking a bath.”

“No, Carla, that’s not a bath. That’s called licking your balls. If that’s a bath, I’d have to say it’s a mighty selective one. He’s been on that one spot for over an hour now.”

Then the dog trots over and starts to lick your face.

“No, no! No, Bruno! Down! Down, Bruno! Nice doggie!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Don’t you know they have the cleanest mouth of any animal?”

“Well, I’m not a chemist, Velma. I’m just basing my judgment on his most recent activity, which you’ll recall was licking his balls.”

? HYPERLINK “file:///E:\\Documents%20and%20Settings\\Dom\\Desktop\\1791_NapalmSillyPutty%5B1%5D\\Napalm_body-contents.html” \l “TOC-27” ??SHORT TAKES ?

Here’s a word you don’t see anymore: foodstuffs. I wish it would make a comeback.

Suppose you took an oath by placing your right hand on the Bible and raising your left? Would the oath still count? Does God really give a shit? Does anyone?

Let’s give credit where it’s due and admit that Scotch tape was a really great idea.

Here’s a fun thing to do on a Saturday afternoon. As you watch the football scores on TV, try to visualize each college’s campus. Then picture yourself fucking someone on the lawn in front of the Administration Building.

You live eighty years, and at best you get about six minutes of pure magic.

America would be better off if we took all these male Citadel and VMI students and simply castrated them. What kind of pig jackoffs go to these places in the first place? I say cut off their nuts.

I think the blacks in South Africa should just go ahead and kill all the whites and be done with it. Problem solved.

Remembering exactly where you were when some famous person died is a meaningless exercise. It’s an attempt by ordinary people to connect their dull lives to important events. Can’t we discourage this practice?

There are eleven teams in the Big Ten.

The gray-haired douche bag, Barbara Bush, has a slogan: “Encourage your child to read every day.” What she should be doing is encouraging children to question what they read every day.

“Rivera Live” is such a good show. If only Rivera weren’t on it.

Sometimes when you’re burying a guy alive, for a moment or two you start feeling sorry for him. And then it passes, and you keep on shovelling.

I have a friend who loves to run through Der Weinerschnitzel yelling, “Bon appetito!”

I think everyone should treat one another in a Christian manner. I will not however be responsible for the consequences.

I wonder if an Elvis impersonator could ever get famous enough so that someone who looked like him could become a celebrity lookalike. Is there room in this culture for an Elvis-impersonator lookalike? Probably.

One objection to cloning human beings is that there’s a chance for abnormal offspring. Yeah? So? You ever take a look at some of those families in the South?

Why do they bother saying “raw sewage”? Do some people actually cook that stuff?

I think pimps should have an Employee of the Month the way other businesses do. It would be good for morale. And I’ll bet blow jobs would improve, too.

You rarely run into a damsel anymore.

Whenever I hear someone referred to as a spiritual leader, I wonder why the spirit world needs leaders.

Here’s more bullshit middlebrow philosophy: “That which doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” I’ve got something a little more realistic: “That which doesn’t kill me still may sever my spinal cord, crush my rib cage, cave in my skull, and leave me helpless and paralyzed, soaking in a puddle of my own waste.” Put that on your T-shirt, touchy-feely, New Age asshole!

These days many politicians are demanding change. Just like homeless people.

I think highways should have a beer lane.

Live and let live, that’s what I say. Anyone who can’t understand that should be killed. It’s a simple philosophy, but it’s always worked well in our family.