I feel far too many posts have been about me and that goddamn marathon recently.  For that, I apologise.  So.  Back to the crazy we go.

It has always been said that the Germans are a little on the crazy side.  When I say “It has always been said”, I actually mean “I am making this part up”.  But what I am not making up is the story of a German man that married his cat.  As it laid there dying.  So I guess it CAN be said that they are a little on the crazy side then.

Marrying a dying cat?  What a guy!  Why not punch it in the gut just after it says “I do!” too?  You know…he is obviously marrying it for it’s money, but geez…what is it gonna have?  “Your cat…Cecilia…has left her worldly belongings to her husband Uwe.  The belongings consist of a bag of catnip and some pouches of food.”  Dufus.  What were you expecting?  Hidden treasure?  Gold coated fur-balls?  To sell it’s kidney as part of the Pussycat Shared-Organ Feline Foundation?  (Or PS-OFF for short)

Side note:  A man called Uwe?  What is he?  A ManSheep hybrid?  That would be a more fun news story though…German sheep marries cat.

Now, I can understand his loss.  I also love my cats.  Sure, I don’t want to have sexual relations with them, and they are ALWAYS the little spoon in the bed because I like to dominate.  But I just don’t get it.  He married it?  Was he just wanting to share her pain because generally, marriage will do that to a man.

But there is the one part I don’t understand (you know, apart from ALL of it).  Cats say 1 word and 1 word only.  Meow.  For instance:

Hey…Pussycat…do you want food?  MEOW!

Oi.  Tosspot…did you just throw up in my shoes?  MEOW!

MEOW! *cough* MEOW! *cough* – Fur-ball!  Result!  I shall leave that under his pillow!

MEOW! – I don’t care if you are sitting on the toilet…I want to come in!

MEOW! – I just left a dead mouse in your bed.

MEOW! – I don’t want to be the little spoon anymore.  Roll over.

MEOW! – I have just been hit by a car and lay here dying.

MEOW! – NO I DON’T WANT TO MARRY YOU YA SICK FREAK!

Meoooooowwwww – I am almost dead.

Silent and stiff as a board - I am dead.

See?  The only time they DON’T say MEOW! is when they have croaked it.  So when he married it, I find it highly unlikely that it was saying “I do! I do!”.

But then, as the NEWS STORY mentions:

“Cecilia is such a trusting creature. We cuddle all the time and she has always slept in my bed”

Yeah?  Well according to TV ads, I should buy a new mattress every 29 seconds because of bed bugs.  And if I don’t, I will be sharing the bed with millions of them.  You don’t see me marrying them though do you?  And we are close.  Very close.   They suck my blood.  You don’t get much closer than that without sharing a uterus.   

My cats also share my bed.  Even after hearing the words “Get the frig off of my pillow you furry annoying dumb stupid freakin little shit!  How many goddamn times do I have to tell you!”, I can generally be filled with an air of confidence that I will find said cat curled up on my bed.  Still not gonna marry it.

So.  In closing….if you marry your pet…I am gonna call you a freak.  Now.  Where is my cat.  I gotta get my spoon on.

I am alive!  The marathon didn’t kill me.  My date of death has been put back to…I dunno…when my heart stops?  So instead of telling you about how I died, lets just talk about a fun day.

By fun, I mean a day where death seemed like the way forward!

It started as many do.  I woke up.  Nothing unusual about that.  But I can’t say that the rest of the day followed my usual day. 

30 minutes after I got out of bed, I was standing in the shower, razor in hand, shaving my nipples.  Tingly!  I could give you some reason like “To help the plasters stick better” for my reason, but no, I was just feeling a little daring.  Smooth as a….erm…shaven nipple?  But on the plus side, the plasters did indeed stick better.  Which is what is was all about.  Honest.

Two hours later, I was stood in a tent with a hand full of vaseline down my underwear and rubbing my…well…lets just say “groinal area”.  It was while I had my hand down my shorts pleasuring myself infront of a tent full of men I didn’t know, that one of them walked up to me and said “Can I have some of that!”.  I considered a few things. 

1 – Punch him.  I mean geez…can’t he see that I am masturbating greasing myself up ready for the big event?

2 – Ask him out on a date and tell him that my wedding ring is actually just a friendship ring.  I mean hey, he uses safe greasing.  OK, so I would also have to turn gay, and well…he wasn’t a looker.  Nice nipples though.  He must use Vaseline a lot.  I am not kidding.  I am fairly sure he uses “man product” on them.  The way he put the Vaseline on them was like he was creating the statue of David.  It was weird.  I didn’t want to look, but wow…the guy finished WAY before the race started.  What is that all about?

3 – Hand him my tub of Vaseline, and feel good knowing I stopped him chaffing and having nipples that bleed to hell like I would do for any other runner.  Especially a woman runner.  And obviously I would need to watch, if not help her put it on.  And I would have to bring a camera so I could let her see how I did it.  What?  I am so NOT a perv.  Geez…you try and help someone, and get a label like that!

I went for number 2. I mean 3.  Dammit. 

Of course, as I looked around, I noticed a lot of men, hand down trousers, one eye twitching all in the name of “stopping a little chaffing”. 

A short while later, I ran for 4 hours.  I wont bother telling you about the race in detail.  Lets say:

37000 people.  People dressed up as the devil and many other things.  I was sweating.  It hurt a bloody lot.  My nipples are fine thank you.  I needed to use a little more vaseline ”down there” in future though as when I had finished, I got a touch cheese grated.  So if you ever want to know if my nuts are like balls of sharp metal…well…I just guess they are.  Oh, and I got sunburn.

As I crossed the finish line my slow run turned to a staggered walk.  My already diminished running style turned more to that of a wounded penguin.  I mean holy crap…I had done 20 mile training runs in my training, and could walk at the end.  But this time I had a walked like that of someone who had wandered down a dark alley, told the lady of the night to treat me a little rough and she then knocked me unconscious and inserted her piggy bank in to my anus.  Sideways.  And I hadn’t brought the Vaseline because some guy had used it all to smother his nipples and nuts in them earlier.

Later that night I had 3 beers and fell unconcious.  So.  Nothing new there than.