128 Ways To Ensure You Will Never Get Laid

I read a lot of books on a lot of different subjects. If you asked me what my favorite kinds of books are,\ generally I’d tell you that I enjoy reading literature on reptilian biology, media criticism, and the occasional humor compilation. That’s what my bookshelves consist of: one for sarcastic quips on everything, one for critical (and sometimes satirical) analysis of media, and one for an assload of books on dinosaurs, dragons, reptiles, and anything else that would make you believe my nickname “Dracophile” was earned and not self-appointed. It goes without saying one of my favorite stores to shop at is Half Price Books, a chain of second-hand retail stores that sends out coupons every so often and whenever I get them my inner Jew comes out and I go out and buy a fifty pound stack of books that I won’t  finish off until, well, the next time they send me coupons I guess. If all I ever buy are installments of Roger Ebert’s Your Movie Sucks Shit Through A Straw and crusty old copies of PlayDragon then nothing can really explain what the hell I was doing in the cat section where I inevitably found the subject of today’s article.

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It would be less insane if it were in 128 languages.

Maybe during my mindless meandering throughout the store I was subconsciously looking for a copy of I Can Has Cheezburger to use as emergency toilet paper but I cannot be certain. Regardless, my search landed me upon a copy of 128 Ways To Say “I Love You” To Your Cat, an advice book that’s about as retarded as it sounds. Every single page of this book is full of life ruining “advice” so mindlessly bizarre and insane that the only person capable of writing this is what you would literally define as “crazy cat lady” and to be honest that same archetype is the only demographic this book could possibly be marketed to. Well, crazy cat people and Internet humorists, I guess. This book does not contain 128 ways to show affection for your cat, it instead showcases 128 different ways for you to become even more socially retarded than you already are, irreparably damage relationships, or die alone and surrounded by fifty cats that will most likely try to eat your rotting carcass because, as you know, that’s what true love is (and every voraphile’s wet dream come true). Apparently the author has fooled one too many people with this advice because the copy I purchased was clearanced out at one dollar which means people were obviously getting tired of this furry fortune cookie; this book was written for me, I was meant to find it in that Half Price Books.

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I have edited this page. Somewhere.

There are 128 pages of “advice” in this book, but for the purposes of convenience — and being able to invoke Fair Use by means of media criticism to avoid having my ass sued by a cat molester — here are a select few of Fancy Feast proportions. (Like with any graphic-intensive article you can click any image to enlarge it.)

 

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Only cats can see true evil.

 

In the preface of the book author Beth Pratt-Dewey details her first kitty encounter that turned her on to companions of the feline variety. Every bit of sexual innuendo in the previous sentence was entirely intentional. In her story she talks about how she met her first cat in a supermarket parking lot, let it ride in her car, and that it vomited in the car as well. Despite the fact that her backseat was now covered in bile and undigested Whiskas cat treats her instinct was not to throw the cat out of the window while going 70 MPH but to instead keep it because the cat’s antics were “cute”. Replace “cat” with “homeless man” in her story and read it again. I’m willing to bet if she gave a ride to a homeless hitchhiker and he threw up in her car she wouldn’t say “Awww how adorable I’m taking you home with me forever and ever and EVER!!” No, she would say “What the fuck? GROSS. Get out. GET OUT OF MY CAR!”

To compliment her newfound furry friend Beth decides that felines with weak stomachs are suitable sources for relationship advice and regardless of the nature of your significant other, be it a millionaire or international superstar, if your pathetic cat hisses at him you know he can’t possibly be good enough for you, right?

 

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Can you spot the optical illusion here?

 

The advice on this page isn’t so much an “I Love You” because it’s more like “How to Not Be a Total Dick to Your Cat or Any Animal You May Own”. I’m not even highlighting this page for the advice printed on it anyway, I’m including it for the advice it infers in the picture. If you’ve ever even heard of optical illusions then you’ve most likely encountered the “pop cube” illusion, a wireframe cube figure with accompanying text that asks you if the cube is facing toward you or away from you; it’s a perspective and depth illusion just like the “do you see a vase or two kissing people” image. I invite you to take a second look at the 51st page of advice, then, and see if you notice anything that seems to flicker in and out of perspective like that. Give up? Our cat owner is either comfy and cozy under the covers of her bed or is sporting a huge (but strangely placed) erection… most likely because of Fluffy. See it now? Great! Now you can’t unsee it.

It’s not nice to kick your cat off of the bed, but if you find yourself feeling yiffy at three in the morning it’s okay to use Fluffy as an outlet for your lack of a sex life.

 

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“WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS BEFORE, KID. DEAL WITH IT.”

 

There are times when I realize that this book is clearly not meant to be taken completely seriously but when anecdotes like these are nestled in between small nuances like “don’t roll over in bed” and “only buy MeowMeow the best kitty litter” it blurs the reasoning behind everything, and besides, you know there are awful people out there who regretfully had kids and don’t take care of them because MeowMeow deserves only the best. This advice boils down to outright child abuse, favoring a pretentious animal that hates your guts over another being that has the capacity to demonstrate affection. Perhaps if I didn’t know of any cases off hand I wouldn’t be so inclined to include this page, seething with hatred over the matter. It’s an awful thing to imagine, but somewhere out there someone has a cat and a newborn child and only one of them gets showered with attention. I’ll let you figure out which is which.

 

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I love you kitty! PS: I cut off your fingertips! <3

 

Declawing cats is something that is largely debated among people who use their furry friends as crotch warmers and those who just couldn’t care any less. Personally? I can tolerate cats to an extent but they are by no means my favorite animal but even I consider declawing a pretty awful practice. If you aren’t familiar with what it actually entails in summary it’s a permanent solution to Patches ruining your furniture by having the final small bone of his toes cut off at the joint. To compare it to you, the reader, that’s like someone giving you a manicure by severing the end sections of your finger where your fingernails grow; yes it is painful, and yes having it done to your cat is so far from the opposite of saying “I LOVE YOU THIS MUCH” that in an Orwellian future such as the one where this book takes place it can only be summarized with “double plus ungood”. How can you make up for going all Jason Voorhees on your kitty’s paws? You can buy him fake nails.

Because that certainly makes everything okay. Dick.

 

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“Milky put this book together with me!!”

 

I cannot speak fully on behalf of dating websites and dating services because as much as I should probably be using them I don’t so I don’t know if there’s a checkbox or a field for “Has a photo album of his/her cat and desperately wants to show it to you”. I may not be a relationship counselor but I do know that anybody who wanders around carrying a scrapbook of their cats is basically carrying around a 14″ x 14″ box of Boyfriend Repellent with a heaping helping of “holy shit that’s awkward and creepy” for good measure. By the time you spiral this far down into cat insanity you’ll likely be about 20 years past the “do-able” stage of your life anyways, your obsession with cats and wearing sweaters made of your pets’ fur having ensured you’ve lived a lonesome life, so in essence the lonely middle-aged individuals carrying these books around may as well be showing you a book of their biggest mistakes in life, all of which happen to be cat-related.

If you’re ever cornered by one of these individuals there is no escape. You will be converted into a makeshift life counselor and be forced into reading all 47 chapters of The Adventures of Sandy and Her Cat Muffins including its work-in-progress sequel How I Died Alone. By the time they’re done you will be the one needing counseling, so run. Run fast, very fast.

 

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“She’s a goddamn lunatic show me where to sign.”

 

Assuming their disposition still lands them a mate (perhaps a misappropriation of the term “cougar” mislead someone) there’s always the chance that after years and years of thinking  imitating a cat is “sexy” they may actually chase their significant other away; for the record, asking your lover to role play as either Simba or Nala is most commonly the straw that breaks the camel’s back in these relationships. With people so jaded into treating their cats like their own kids there’s a high probability they’ll end up filing custody suits over their recent divorcee demanding ownership of Froo Froo (and likely child support until the animal dies because they don’t live past 18). If only it were legal to marry your pets these people wouldn’t be holding up the courts with their petty arguments and suits; they would instead be holding up regular church services by having weddings constantly while forcing government officials to take time off of their busy schedules of taking bribes to consider if polygamy laws apply to pet marriages, and while the government is too busy attending to psycho pet owners’ demands for attention… 9/11 Part II happens.

Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. I saw it in a movie on Lifetime.

 

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Who’s laughing now?

 

And finally, if all else fails and your lifestyle has led you down a depressing road in life where you’ve chased away your lovers, resorted to having sex with your cat, disowned your children, chopped your cat’s fingertips off, made a scrapbook out of your cat’s life, and finally divorced your husband because he thinks your cat obsession is scary you can always sit down and put together a list 127 of the biggest mistakes you’ve ever made and make #128 a killer hook meant to troll anybody looking to make fun of you and your book, you sneaky little cat fucker.

– Dracophile