Blue Eyes Make Me Think Of Smurfs - what color do they turn if you choke them?

I’m really, really tired, so I’m just going to post random thoughts and try and stay awake, and fuck you all if you don’t like it, Slinky yawns in your face, take that!

The ultimate feline future in 10 years time through Slinkyvision:

1. People having to bow and scrape and call me "Doctor". Or maybe, in the right circles, "Your Eminence". I will, sometime during those ten years, save someone’s life on board a plane because he is having a heart attack and I will know exactly what to do, and they will upgrade me to first class and let me eat all the fancy cheese I can lay my hands on. Plus, the airline will be so grateful that I save them from litigation that they take me to the cockpit and fly the plane, and I will not crash it! (This actually happened with my dad, except for the cheese, the plane flying and the upgrade, since he was already in first class. But they did let us run around the cockpit)

2. I would have found the cure for CHD (chronic hip dysplasia), which will make me wildly rich and famous (in the right circles).

3. Thanks to my brilliant discovery, I will be living in a truly ginormous plot of land, with a little cozy house and forests and fields and a graduated swimming pool specially designed for me and my dogs. I will have a veritable wolfpack of dogs, including but not limited to Dobermans, Malamutes and, of course, a gazillion prize-winning German Shepherds, all of whom will be roughly the size of a house. There will be a pug or two somewhere in the mix. They will not be eaten by the larger dogs. Or smooshed. On the weekends I will go riding on my Arabian and they will all run around with me, terrorizing the local wildlife. And we will all go swimming later. They will magically have self-cleansing fur and claws and teeth that never grow long or plaque-y. (If I had to groom, bathe, clean and brush the teeth of a whole wolf-pack of dogs, I will not have time for my fabulous career)

4. People will not have to ask me That Question anymore. Instead, they will ask me The Other Question, and if they do, my wolfpack of dogs will sic them. I won’t have to feed them for a week.

5. I will also have invented cigarettes that will not kill you/ give you black lung. Instead, inhalation releases essential vitamins and minerals in the filter which are heat-activated. Plus, the ciggie filters have this fantastic heat-release micro-capsule thingy (you fill in the science bits, I just provide the imagination) that plumps up your lips and gets them all dewy, so you don’t get that dreaded dry-lip thing when you smoke too much and your dry inner lip stick to the filter paper so when you take the fag away you inadvertently remove the top five layers of skin adhered to the filter, causing some major screaming and leaving you with an extremely embarrassing flesh wound. (although not as embarrassing as this one). Cigarettes will come in smoky bacon, hot chocolate and cinnamon pretzel flavors (in light, extra-fat and extra sugar!).

6. I will have cured Bono’s dog of CHD and he is pathetically grateful and I give him a smoky bacon safe-cig and he vows to have the whole of U2 come to my doorstep and perform for me.

I think this is the result of me getting very teeny amounts of sleep over the past week or so. I’m beginning to walk in circles and bump into things. And I’ve lost all sense of judgement, which is my explanation as to why I plonked down a good amount of money for a bimbo Shakespearean- Juliet-type top, puff sleeves at all. I’ve also had a lot strange thoughts, like what I’d do if I suddenly discovered I had incurable brain cancer and would be dead in a month (take out all of savings and have a whole lot fun before I conked off. Sorry sibs, no inheritance for you). Incidentally, if I died suddenly, burn all my short stories and dress me in jeans please. I’ll come back and haunt you if you bury me in a skirt. Oh, and I’m thinking of taking up kickboxing, so I will be a deadly weapon. Even if I am going to be ethereal. I also want to take up horseriding, but that doesn’t make me very dangerous, except maybe to the other riders.

Mysterious Miss C and I were discussing on the phone the other day how life would be a lot easier if people came wearing badges which displayed their neuroses, so that you didn’t waste all that emotion and time and pain on someone and then get a hell of a nasty surprise later on when you need it least. So we should all wear these button, hear? Miss C always comes up with good ideas like that. MFC’s would probably read "High Voltage Emotional Fuckwit: Mr PinkyWinky sucks at his job". Miss C’s apparently would read "Attention whore: pet me, stroke me, don’t leave em alone!". I suspect mine would read something like "Borderline homicidal: prone to violence in the face of infidelity and fuckwittage." So, send your cheques for $39.99 to The Slinky Cat today! Submit yourself for a personal assessment, and receive your very own Neurosis Badge of Dishonour! Made of cheap tin by poverty-stricken factory workers in deepest darkest China!

I really need some sleep.