I read a news story this morning that said “Researchers find that exercise is no aid to period pain”.  I am sorry, but even being a man, I can promise you that exercise most definitely DOES help with period pain.  Whenever my wife hits that time, I ALWAYS go out and exercise.  I feel so much better for it instead of having a varying range of things thrown at me and being told I should drown myself in a large vat of peanut butter because I am a worthless specimen of hero man piece of human garbage.

But that is researchers for you.  Full of crazy crap where they don’t really look at the real facts.  Had they asked men for their comments, they would have heard all of them say “Yup, pubs help.  Exercise helps.  Locking ourselves in a different room and hiding under a cover quietly crying so she can’t hear helps.”

So if some “researcher” out there who don’t seem able to see the whole picture wants to do a little more research, how about you do it on the age old question of:

Why is my boy cat a complete bastard?

Yeah I know I have given him some bad press recently.  In fact I cant think the last time I said something nice about him.

This wont be the post where I do either.

I mentioned a little while ago where he is waking me up at night licking the ghost memory of his once impressive testicles.  Compared to last night, that was a walk in the park.

Let me set the scene.

It’s the middle of the night and I am asleep.  It is very dark in the room…because, you know, I am not 5 or something and need a nightlight.

Yeah I think you get the idea.

I wake up to a noise.  It sounds like someone has swallowed a squeaky toy and as they try and force it out, they are suffering for a touch of noisy flatulence.  It is about this time I realise that Yogi is lying next to me.  No, my wife’s name is not Yogi, and no I was not cuddling my lifesize Yogi the Bear Adult Sex Toy.  Yogi is the cat.

His convulsing body prepping itself for the removal of what I was soon to find was the bones from the ribs he had got out of the bin while we were asleep, and then came up to the bed to show me what he had partially digested.

Realising I was out of time, I moved my head just as he emptied out alllll over the quilt.  Launching him on to the floor, he ran off…to a pile of my clothes.  And carried on.   Thanks.

This wasn’t enough for him though.  So on chasing him down the hall, he stopped momentarily to continue on the stairs.  I didn’t see that as I went back to the room to clear up. 

It was to much surprise that after clearing it up, I went downstairs for a drink.  Well I almost got that drink.  Instead, 5 steps down, the insides of my toes got acquainted with the squishy mess that he had left for me as a parting gift.

I hate him.  I hate him with a passion.  It is 30 minutes since he chucked up on my bed, and now I am washing cat vomit from the bottom of my feet and on the floor where I had left foot marks walking to the bathroom muttering to myself about cooking him for Christmas dinner and throwing up on his grave to see how he likes it.

In unrelated news, I am selling a boy cat.  Just under 2 years old.  He is in good condition, loves cuddles with you at night and is very affectionate.  He is in a good state of health, and I am only getting rid of him because I am going to impale him on a friggin stick soon I am not an affectionate person, and he needs more love.

Any takers?

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