Last week I was in town doing my usual Sunday morning routine of walking around, spotting a policeman, and then running away screaming "you'll never take me alive!", when I found a wonderful catapult store. It was called Scatapults Olde Thymey Weapons 'n Such, over on West 82nd. Before I even begin, let me just say that this is officially the cutest name for a catapult store ever! :3
The store itself was quite wonderful. It had everything a busybody like me could ever want or need. Scented candles, weapons... Mostly weapons. But the main draw of Scatapults Olde Thymey Weapons 'n Such (:3 snerf!) is of course the catapults.
Not long after I entered the store, a neatly dressed young salesman offered me some assistance. I explained that I was having some day to day problems with my neighbor's cat, and also was being harassed by local law enforcement about my Sunday morning routine. Craig nodded his head and said with a smile, "I know what you need." And indeed he did! Because of the young man's excellent person-to-person skills, I am now the proud owner of a twenty-two foot maple and hickory catapult. After much deliberation, I have decided to name her The Gooch after my favorite Scrubs character.
The first thing I did with my Gooch was try to end my problem with my neighbor's cat. That furry little shitstain keeps sneaking into my yard at night and eating my dead small animal collection. What kind of country is this where a man can't keep a large heap of dead snakes, squirrels, and mice on his property without having to fear the reprisal of chubby, orange Ragamuffins? Thanks for defending my rights, Obama. NOT!
I waited in my garage with the Gooch fully loaded and at the ready for nearly ten hours before that tiny bastard showed up. To pass the time, I drank some coffee and uttered catchphrases to myself like, "Let's see if you really have nine lives,"and, "Let's see if this pussy likes my Gooch", or my personal favorite, "I'll have what she's having,".
At about midnight, Shitpaws McGee crawled out of my neighbor's yard started trotting across the street towards my house. That's when I knew I had to strike.
"Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal," I said, quoting Home Alone quite fittingly as I fired the catapult. "And a Happy New Year!"
Unfortunately, Craig from the store forgot to mention how difficult it is to aim a catapult. I mean, yes I did kill the cat with a flaming ball of dead snakes, squirrels, and mice, but I also hit my neighbor's car, mail box, and yard. My neighbor, Dana, which is a pretty stupid name for a man, alleged that this was vandalism and destruction of property. It seemed the many police officers he'd called agreed with him. I tried to inform the officers that, no, it wasn't my fault the flaming ball of dead small animals damaged his property, because I told Dana last week that I'd kill that fucking cat if he kept sneaking around my house, and also, maybe Dana shouldn't have built his house next to a maniac with a catapult.
And so, just like last year, I am on the wrong side of Johnny Law. It seems that the many petty felonies I've accrued over the years as a means of impressing my black friend Shane are catching up with me. I've been asked to bring my catapult to my hearing next month, and I have every intention of doing so. I've even thought up a killer line for when the judge asks me if I'm ready to present my evidence or whatever. He'll ask, "Is the defendant ready to proceed?" And I'll say:
"Is the court ready for my Gooch?"
Boom, baby. That's the sound of me, ruining your shit. Down with the man!
