You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met; which is saying a lot since I’ve been married, have frequented C&W bars, have stood in line at the DMV, have been a legal secretary and currently work retail.
It occurred to me that you’re so fucking fat I could hold a pillow firmly over your face until you’re just another dead asshole and the Remote Control Terrorist will think you expired from a heart attack. (I blame television for these murderous thoughts, since almost the same thing happened on The Following; the difference being that the victim from the show was a grown man and a serial killer and you’re a cat, a bigger asshole and you still weigh more than he does.)
A co-worker younger than my daughter suggested writing you this letter might be a better alternative than becoming a cat murderer. I suppose he’s right. I wouldn’t want PETA (speaking of assholes) going apeshit on me. Am I allowed to say “apeshit” PETA? Am I?
I love cats and honestly don’t think I have it in me to hurt one. But you tempt me, Scerbadoo, you really do.
What is the purpose of all those nipples? Are you planning on breast feeding yourself, Oh, Glutton of the World? Are they the reason for your bad attitude? Or is it your long orange and white fur which causes your grumpiness? It’s your own fault if it gets matted and itchy because you’re too fat to clean yourself. For fuck’s sake, the Remote Control Terrorist takes it upon himself to clean your butt with a wet cloth. This is the same guy who would never scratch my back because it grossed him out.
What did my cats ever do to you? They were here first. You were abandoned by an asshole who obviously didn’t need the competition of another asshole in his or her home. You showed up at our door and stole my cats’ food. I never had a problem with that.
I did have a problem with you pouncing on them from behind and literally trying to kill them. If most of my cats were human, they’d be hippies. They are not into that alpha male shit. You turned poor Vegas from mildly neurotic into full-blown psychotic. She hates me now.
You chased Super Snatch into the closet and the two of you defied gravity as you whirled in the air. Sort of a cartoon Tasmanian Devil effect, with the addition of liquid shit spraying out of her asshole, you asshole! Was that called for?
You constantly terrorize Little Kitten who is the sweetest cat in the world. The Remote Control Terrorist named him, so it’s no wonder he’s cowed by your bullying. LK is black and if I could have named him Fat Asshole Killer of Doom your bullying ways would have ended badly for you.
Somehow this letter is not diminishing my murderous thoughts towards you, Scerbadoo. Could that be because you just walked by me with a mouthful of black fur? You asshole!
Very truly yours,