Canned Sheen

It’s only human nature to stare at a crash, or a car that has careened off the road into a ditch. We all do it.

Human rubber necks...wearing turtlenecks...staring at broken necks...causing bottle necks.

And while we’re rubbernecking...we’re thinking, “Whew...glad that ain’t me.”

Apparently Charlie Sheen is the proverbial car wreck we can’t stop from watching. Granted, we can’t help it, because the media plays him 24/7. But maybe the media is satisfying our appetite by spoon feeding us what we really want...Canned Sheen.

Obviously Charlie Sheen has some major problems, but it would be nice if the media turned off the spotlight they have focused on him. Take away his forum.

It seems that every day there is new Charlie crash...adding to his 12 car pile-up. Do we need to watch him crash and burn any further? He’s cooked his own goose long enough.

Charlie Sheen has become easy fodder for late night comedians, tabloids, and so-called news shows like “The Today Show.” Someone needs to rise up above this...and direct the rubber necking public off the low road...and onto the high road.

Besides...there will be others. Wait a few days and there will be another Hollywood crash and burn victim.

Anywhooooooooooooooooo...............................

The Sheen is well worn off Charlie and he appears to be in dire need of real help.

And we continue to say to ourselves, “Whew...glad that ain’t me.”

Canned Sheen...a huge can of cooked goose.

I’m full of it. How about you?

The Kat in the Hat

March 2nd is Dr. Suess's birthday. Today children of all ages are making rhymes and committing crimes. (Hey, it works.) This pseudoSuess blog is in honor of what would have ben Dr. Suess's 107th birthday.


The Kat in the hat
All day she done sat

All day she did blog
‘Bout nonsense and hog

‘Bout dogs that can talk
And fish that can walk

She never could stop
So they sent for a cop

Or someone in white
Whom she tried to bite

But alas she not win
Off to the loony bin

And there she does bloggin’
Not go for a joggin’

Not get off her butt
She is caught in a rut

All day she does ponder
In a seat over yonder

While her ass spreadin’ fat
Oh, that Kat in the Hat

Anywhoooooooooooooooooooo....................

One more that is soo hard to resist: GREEN EGGS AND HAM

I do NOT like Green Eggs and Ham.
I do NOT like them, Kat I am.

I do NOT like them on a bun.
I do NOT like them with a nun.

I do NOT like them for my dinner.
I do NOT like them with a sinner.

I do NOT like them with a bore.
I do NOT like them with a whore.

After a taste of Green Eggs and Ham....YUM YUM

I DO like Green Eggs and Ham.
I DO like them, Kat I am.

I DO like them in a jar.
I DO like them in a bar.

I DO like them there and here.
I DO like them with a beer.

I DO like them with my momma.
I DO like them with Obama.

Obviously...there is only one Dr. Seuss.

It’s hard to write like THE DOCTOR...without looking like you need one.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DR. SUESS.

Air Today, Gone Tomorrow

Hitting the Friendly Skies today. Let's hope they really are friendly. My blog title has me kinda worried.

All I can say is:

RABBIT, RABBIT, RABBIT

Tick Tock Oscars

The Academy Awards Show is so lengthy.... it’s a lesson in endurance...which can be as painful as a root canal/a movie with English subtitles/a confession.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...I recently wasted 3 hours of my life watching the Academy Awards. Plus the hour and a half watching the pre-show red carpet...if I’m being truly honest.

Why do we watch The Academy Awards anyway?

Maybe to learn about the movies we haven’t yet seen, or to watch our favorite actors act happy when they lose, or to laugh at any verbal gaffes. (Note to Melissa Leo: Never drop the F-bomb at the Oscars.)

In reality...most people watch The Academy Awards to see what the beautiful people are wearing. The beautiful actors and actresses have worked hard with diet, exercise, and Botox to make a fashion statement: “Tonight I’m wearing a strapless champagne-color beaded Marchesa gown, Prada high-rise heels, bling by Tiffany, and face by Dr. Ramsey.”


When I watch the Oscars I make my own fashion statement: Tonight I’m wearing an off-the-rack 3-button flannel nightgown by Macy’s, bunny slippers by Target, and face cream by Revlon.

Anywhooooo..................

The important awards ...the ones that matter...don’t come until a few minutes before the show ends. “May I have the envelope, PLEASE!”


By then...I am so tired of waiting for an Oscar to be handed to Best Something-that-isn’t-a-Documentary...that I’ve nodded off. I wake-up when the credits are rolling.


It’s now midnight, but only 9pm at the Kodak Theatre in LA. My slippers are doing the bunny hop upstairs to bed, while the beautiful people are kicking up their Jimmy Choo’s with Hugh Heffner's bunnies.

Oh, I just remembered another thing that is a lesson in endurance...THIS BLOG...way too long, very draggy, and should be cut short.


Tick Tock. On the Clock.
Thanks for your time...Ke$ha KatOUT

Like Sands of the Hourglass...

Hell no…He won’t go.

Here we go with another political uprising in the Middle East. This time…it is the Libyan people protesting against the rule of Colonel Gaddafi…another Arab leader with his heels dug deep in the sand.

Gaddafi has been the leader of Libya for 41 years and is now desperately clinging to power…like my socks to the inside of my dryer.

He’s refusing to step down…refusing to throw in his military cap and gold epaulettes…for a turban, simple robe, and sandals. (I can understand that.)

Gaddafi has threatened that he will not succumb to the protests...like his neighbors, Egypt and Tunisia. Woah, those are fighting words…he isn’t going down without a struggle.

Believe it or not, Ripley…I was practically neighbors with Gaddafi in Tripoli, Libya many “midnight at the oasis” moons ago. Okay, I lived on an Air Force Base while Gaddafi lived in the palace. I’m glad we weren’t neighbors. I think he would have been a pushy and bossy neighbor…and never return anything he “borrowed.”

Anywhoooooooooooooo………………....

In 1969, Gaddafi came to power at age 27 when he staged a coup against an ailing King Idris who was in Turkey for medical treatment. He proclaimed himself “Colonel.” Kinda like I’ve proclaimed myself “Blogger Extraordinaire.”

Now Colonel Gaddafi is 68, and hides his age with sunglasses and jet black hair…so the Libyans won’t realize how much time has passed. Only his hairdresser knows for sure.


So…like sands through the hourglass…so are the days of Gaddafi’s life.

Even though Gaddafi might not want to acknowledge it….his days are numbered. But after 41 years of clinging to power...he isn't walking into the desert without a fight.

There are ways of dealing with a stubborn, unrelenting resolve for clinging …may I suggest…dryer sheets.

They work for my socks...most every time.


PS. There are between 40 to 112 different spellings of Muammar Gaddafi’s name...Qaddafi, Kadafi, etc. My name, however, has only one correct true spelling….. “Blogger Extraordinaire.”

Tiger Spit Fire

Shame on you Tiger …spitting in public…spitting on national television. Who do you think you are? A baseball player?


Spitting in public is just plain gross. You wouldn’t catch this Kat exhibiting bad manners. I’m no Emily Post but I’m pretty sure “no spitting in public” is on the list, right before “no 'f'-bombs during a golf tournament," and after “no farting out loud.” (I think Tiger may have been fined for previous 'f'-bombs.)


Apparently Tiger was having a bad day and stinking up the course at the Omega Dubai Desert Classic. While playing the 12th green, he spat (ugh) on the green before he putted. I couldn’t tell from the video if it was a minor spit…like a spit of rain. Or he coughed up a major Loogie.


(Note to self: Why does the word “spat” sound grosser than “spit.”


I do understand Tiger’s frustration. He was having a rough golf tournament…missing fairways into the Dubai Desert…and 3-putting greens…a la Katgolf style.


But this is golf, ladies and gentlemen. The Game of Etiquette. The Game of Decorum. And spitting is very offensive to the Middle Eastern culture. The European Tour had no choice but to fine him. That’ll be $4,000 for that 4 mm of saliva.


During the televised golf tournament, the announcers made a comment about the disgusting possibility of a golf ball rolling through Tiger’s saliva…but no one ever mentions anything about handling a baseball after C.C. Sabathia has spit all over it. Spit and Rub technique. Go figure?


Anywhooooooooooo………........…..


Tiger apologized…thru Twitter…the 2011 way to say you’re sorry. I’m sure Tiger didn’t mean to be rude. But his behavior conjures up spitting images of other athletes exhibiting bad behavior…Serena Williams, Latrell Sprewell.


Since Tiger’s sexcapades with 14 different women...there has been a lot of Tiger bashing. I think we should give him a break and pull him off the rotating spit of condemnation.


Hey…Tiger may have fired off "f"-bombs and spat on a golf course…but it’s not like Tiger ever had an infartion on a golf course. (To my knowledge.)

Duncandog's Best Friend

Colinboy and his dog.

The last time Colinboy came home…Duncandog went ape. He was wild with excitement to see his brother. It’s nice when the brothers can see each other every now and then. They have a lot in common…frisbee…naps…long hair.


When Duncandog sees this Katdog…he rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. Ho Hum. The last time Duncandog was ape excited to see me was when I came home with a bag of dog food…after not feeding him for a few days. (JK...bad joke…I would never Mick Vick my dog. It was only one day.)


Duncandog is such a lucky dog to have Colin for a brother. The first thing Colinboy does when he’s sees Duncandog is remove his collar. (So does his sister, Big C).


And Colin’s last visit home was no exception. So I called him on it.
“Hey, Colinboy what’s with taking Duncandog’s collar off?”


His reply, “Mom how would you like to wear a collar all the time.”

I said, “No problem. I’ll show you.”
What’s the big darn dealio?


Anywhoooooooooooooo…………………


With Duncandog’s collar fastened around my neck, I continued with my daily routine. I laid down on the rug by the kitchen sink for a little nap. I love the forced hot air gently blowing on me during the winter. But I couldn’t sleep…the feel of the collar kept waking me.


So I decided to play with my favorite toy for awhile. I was having a great time throwing it up in the air and barking at it…but then I became overly sweaty…very hot under the collar.


I trotted over to my bowl to get a drink, but the Big” D” initial that hangs down from my collar kept getting in my way as I tried to drink. (For some reason Kat thinks the “D” is funny? Cute? WTH?)


This Katdog had had enough. The damn collar was driving me mad. I wanted it off…and I wanted it off immediately.


Only problem…I couldn’t get the thing off by myself…the clasp was jammed. I rolled around on the floor in frustration.


I needed Colinboy.


I found him and ran to him wagging my tail….."Please. Please. Get this thing off.”


“Ahhh…Thank you Colinboy. Get back over here…so I can lick your face.”