I thought to myself that this was more bizarre than the ferret I saw on the trail yesterday, which turned out to be a mink.
Then I realized that I was walking my cat, so who the f*ck am I to judge an elderly skateboarder.
Then I contemplated how walking my cat was more acceptable when I lived in the city whose motto is, “Keep Austin weird.”
Then I thought about how there’s cool-weird and there’s weird-weird, and pretended not to know which category catwalking would fall into.
Then I remembered telling my best friend in Austin that I was going to start a “PussyWalkers” Meetup group and join together with fellow freaks who push their pussies around.
Then I recalled actually starting an American Idol Meetup group at Mangia Pizza in downtown Austin and having only my 2 friends and one plump old lady named Turtle show up.
Then I recollected how this Meetup group led to me being interviewed by Nic Ciccone of Fox News Austin.
Then I cringed at what a mega-dork I was (am) and vowed to never appear on camera again.
Then I asked myself why I continually do super-nerdish things despite knowing that they’re uncool.
Then I wondered if I would have more friends if I didn’t walk my cat.
Then I remembered that my friends still sucked even when I didn’t have a cat to walk.
Then I remembered that I got a cat because some new-agey chiropractor lady put colored sunglasses on me and told me that if I was lonely I should get a kitten.
Then I recalled thinking that this was the most expensive retarded advice anyone could give an abandoned unemployed suicidal person.
Then I realized that my pussy is still here with me, and not one person from the past 4-odd years of my life is still around.
Then I decided that I should hate that rich chiro bitch a little less.
Then I wondered why I spent 40 minutes straining my eyes, unable to see sh*t on this laptop outside just so I could sit on my new chaise lounge.
Then I told someone off in a really catty way and wondered if that made me a pussy.
Then I decided that my cat is the only egotistical pussy I have to accept dealing with.
And then I decided this would be my last post written at a fourth-grade level.