Like cats, but I LOVE dogs. Man's best fucken friend.

Tanner's mistake was not letting Jeffie recuperate from the surgery at home. Dogs understand the short-term pain of the surgery, but not the long-term, generalized benefits to the ecosystem, to wit, preventing canine overpopulation. If Jeffie doesn't return I hope that Tanner gets another dog and learns from her mistake.

On 16 Dec 2009, at about 7:30PM EST George David Clyde's God, who he had assumed abandoned him forever, returned from parts unknown.

When he laid his eyes upon his missing Lord, Clyde sang his song of angst & pain, but his Lord could not fully grasp his pain.

CLICK FOR YouTube SurroundSound

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ElectoStatic said in The Cage:
PS. Your cat NEEDS his own show on YouTube.

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The problem is he isn't very active or chatty normally.

He rarely cries unless he's in a cat carrier. And, he doesn't even walk much anymore. He just likes to sleep.

The only time he's moves a bit is during a grand mal seizure due to epilepsy. And, for months and months he either hasn't had one or I've been out when he did and left no evidence of an episode.

Starting in June, he developed the habit of crying and howling when I would come home after a long time away. He never did it before.

I decided to film it with my new camera. Otherwise he just lays near me, watching, resting and sleeping. This is likely his last Christmas.




Anyway ... Isn't it cool that he speaks German?!?

Dude, that was awesome and good for you...and your cat.
I really enjoyed it.

Sorry that your pet is reaching the end of the line. I have fond memories of all of my pets.

Awww, cute kitty. Sorry to hear about his failing health and I know how much you care for him.

Your a good man Fatman You can tell alot about I person by the way they care for their pets.

@Fatty

Don't give in so quickly, my aunt has had cats live 20 years or more. My dogs are 16 now and still going strong. What do you feed your kitties anyway?

No. A rather messy "technical" 3 bedroom apt.

What do you mean by "technical"? It has a living room and 3 bedrooms, but you sleep in the living room and spent the days in the bedrooms?

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But, mostly I need to clean out junk and throw it out. You can call the city here for bulk pick-up, and I have a small truck I can take to the dump.

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Here you call, put it outside on the day they tell you and they come eventually a few days later [after your neighbors call to complain, usually].

I've got a big dead TV I bought in 1998. And, Christ is that thing heavy.

I actually carried it up the five sets of stairs by myself in 1998. But I wasn't yet 38 then. Now I cannot be sure I could even get from the stand to the floor without a catastrophe. Especially since I cannot trust my right knee bent that far with weight.

I had all the cartilage removed from my knee by like 1989 after countless injuries that date back to 1971. In 1996, I had microfracture surgery when it was rather experimental. It was done by two surgeons who were team doctors for the NY Giants.

They really didn't explain the procedure too well until it was over. At the time, I was trusting, young, believed myself bulletproof and desperate to have less pain so I could walk my walks. Mostly I liked that I was awake and could watch the inside of my knee on a TV they set up for me. All my other knee surgeries were under general anesthesia. The little fractures looked like little oil well when the blood spurt up ...

At first it did well, but it's been eroding on me since 2003. The weight I put on from 1996 to 2005 didn't help [obviously].


In September I just had to admit to myself that I'm not going to be involved in getting it downstairs [my knee has always made going down worse than going up anyway].





In the next couple of months, my landlady is going to pay for some Brazilians she knows to take a bunch of stuff down for me [TV, bed/boxspring, broken waredrobe].

It really pisses me off that my knee and shoulder aren't doing as well as I would like them to.

Good News:

My "infamous" cat George David Clyde the Monster Kitty has reached his 18th birthday, so is now theoretically legal for any cat porn for people desiring neutered tabby photoshoots.


Bad News: Unless there is a radical change, Clyde will be put down next week since he can no longer walk more than a foot or so at a time without stumbling down and resting for a half hour at a time. He couldn't get out of his box. ***

So the days of using "cat lady" as a barb re me will soon be completely over.






I will miss him terribly.





*** - [He is such a good boy to keep going in the box. If I were he I would have said "fuck it" and peed on the floor or wherever].

I am sorry to hear this. My son and I lost our hamster Grandpoopmaster Bitey two weeks ago. It is incredible the way animals work their way into your heart.
This was a moody little rodent who let droppings and teeth marks in his wake but I miss him every day.
One of my neighbors want to give us a puppy but I don't feel like I can give it the time they deserve right now

He's gone.

Just went to see how he was doing and he has passed.




I'm inconsolable right now.
I started typing this almost an hour ago.





btw, Sorry about GpM Bitey, Bishop.

Sorry to hear that Fatty. Hang in there dude.

Keep punching, Fatty. You know where to find me if you need.

RIP GDC

This is tough, fatman. I hate it for you.

It's gonna fucking kill me whenever my cat dies. She follows me all over the house. When I go to leave, she jumps up on the window sill and watches me drive away. Then she sits by the front door until I get home. When I get out of the shower in the morning she runs around in circles making cute little noises until I pick her up and let her lick my hair that I just washed. Wherever I fall asleep in the house, when I wake up, she's either curled up between my legs or under my arm. She's just like a dog. She even plays fetch.

You allowed him to have a good life, and he enriched yours. You were good to each other, that's what matters. I miss my cats, but not in a hurting way anymore.

Sorry about your loss Fatman. RIP George David Clyde.

Sorry about George, Fatman. He lived a great life because of you. R.I.P.

Thank you all for your kind words and thoughts.

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He lived a great life because of you.

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I really wish I could let my self believe/accept that.

I am in an unending cycle of criminal mental-self-abuse. I keep hammering myself with hateful thoughts and recriminations that compare, in boxing parlance, to an endless stream of "roundhouse to the temple". I believe the damage/scarring will be permanent.


I haven't slept. My thoughts have to slow down to sleep, and right now I won't let them.

I'm only able to cope when I distract myself. When my thoughts slow down I either broil myself with damning, scarring, brutal, abusive self-hatred, reflect upon every perceived misstep I've taken to erode any trace vestige of self-worth I might have had left in me, or cry, shaking from the gravity of the anguish.


And, I'm breathing short and fast because for some reason if I breathe deep it feels like I'm in the elevator in the old World Trade towers and get that queasy emptiness quirk those lightning fast cars used to give me. Then on exhalea a stabbing pain follows that make it seem like my heart is now but shattered crystal shards stabbing in.




I just got back from the vet where I dropped him off. For the first time since Spring 1992 I am the only other mammal in my apartment. An apartment which housed the birth of his 4 offspring and his death.

I am somewhat pleased he chose to die on his own terms and not at the point of the blue liquid like a convicted murderer.


On the other hand, I really do wish someone loved me enough today to take some "blue liquid" and put me "to sleep".



But, alas, my agony compounds like Pe**rt.

[clicky for anyone who doesn't get my reference and is interested nonetheless]




Me >>>> <<<< also Me

You're in a good place. You went right past denial and you are experiencing guilt and anger. This, too, shall pass, and you will adjust to a life remembering Clyde instead of actively grieving him. And, you will be healthier for being honest about how heavy it is.

It will come in waves later, then eventually subside. Then, hit you once again, hard. Some time soon, Clyde may send you a signal from beyond.

-Chuck, Vegetarian fanboy

Sorry to hear about your cat's passing. I still remember my old pets (mostly cats) fondly.

I have been forcing myself out of the apartment.

For some reason I keep reacting like my cats are still here. I pause while opening the front door for example to make sure none slip out.

Meanwhile, my stepdad has been diagnosed with the first stages of some undefined form of "dementia" that is not Alzheimer's. It is likely I'll be moving down to help out my mom. It's not like I'm doing much up here. At least I might be of some use down there ....

Anyway, I've been hitting the gym and beating myself up physically. I took today off since my legs are too sore to endure the trip home after a workout. That hill leading up from Bally's [which is also the on ramp to 495] is difficult after pounding out the cardio machines. Still I walked to the store and bought the makings for chicken soup from the Hispanic super market and the Arab veggie store.

But, distraction is my best tool right now. I cannot slow my mind or I focus on dark destructive thoughts.



As part of that distraction, I decided to start to look for my missing passport. I'll need it since I'm going to Bermuda, Lisbon and Paris in May. I hadn't been able to find it for about 8-9 months. I had more or less resigned myself to the fact that I would have to pay to get an "emergency" replacement.

The day after Clyde past, I was standing next to my computer desk fighting back tears when I saw something odd in a tin I keep receipts. BAM, my passport found.



NO IDEA how it could have gotten there.

With the weather warming and feeling like I needed a change, I decided to try the Barber School on 29th just off 8th Ave.

I've let my hair grow out for the winter and my beard was out of control [for some reason it grow much faster than my hair]. A thick beard is great for winter since it's like a warm scarf you can't misplace.

But, it's been bothering me during my workouts and making be very hot. So with little cold weather expected as winter winds down, with my step-mom having a birthday party this weekend and my mom coming up to see my sister next week, I decided it was time to get all the hair off.

The Barber School gives haircuts for $7 since the barbers are all students and learning. I've never used them before, but I have 6 weeks to my planned trip so I figured whatever screw up that might happen I have time to let the hair grow out a bit.

I saw a sign that they also did razor shaves, so I decided to add that to the tab as well. I told the black cashier that I wanted my hair cut, my beard removed and a razor shave. She said, "Seven dollars." I tried to correct her apparent error since that was same as the price of a haircut, but it seems that's the price. Whatever you want, it's $7.

My barber didn't know much English. I'm not sure of his ethnicity. He looked like a mix of Central American and Asian.

Anyway, I made is job easy by asking for "the #2" where they set the electric clippers to #2 and just go.

The shave unnerved him. After removing the beard with the electric trimmer at "000" he confessed to the teacher that he never shaved anyone before. He didn't even have his razor with him. He had to borrow one from another student.

I might have been nervous, cared, and/or backed out if Clyde had not just passed. But, I didn't budge and felt no nerves as he nervously and timidly scraped the remaining growth. He had his problems with the area between my nose and my upper lip -- the instructor did most of that while several students looked on.

One of these students was a larger woman. For some reason I was sure Christian would find her exceptionally hot.

All-in-all the guy did a fine job.

WTG Fatman. One of these days I'm going to hit up a barber for a straight razor shave. I think we have two in town still offering them.

I love a good straight razor shave.





My first was by a barber in Albany, NY in 1986, when like this time after a winter, I had a full beard removed.

He was a very old Italian man who had been at his location for decades. He had the steam machine, the razor belt, the heated shaving cream and everything. He claimed to have shaved Al Capone in Florida when he was young.

He said it was the only time he was nervous giving a shave.


I used to go to John's Barber shop in the basement of the "Equitable Building" at 120 Broadway when I worked in the building. They did good work.

My last two beard were removed by my Dad's barber in Little Neck, Queens. He wouldn't do the shave though. Claims the skin is too sensitive and the beard too soft from not shaving for so long. One of those times I had the beard over 2 years time.

But, I don't care. I like the shave when the beard is cut off.

My present persona wouldn't allow me to grow a years beard. However, I take at least one week a year and disappear to the coast. No shaving, no hot water, outside shower, etc. I may try the barber shave when I come back this year.

In a phrase that alludes to a favorite dark joke popular within my family, my mom called to say that she is "on the roof".


She had mastectomies in the sixties and seventies, and decided to go for reconstructive surgery when:
1. It was still new and experimental.
2. Her first radical left her with little skin or muscle to even work with.
3. Implants were less stable and full of silicone.


She already has Lupus which I AM SURE is a result of those stupid fucking implants.

Now the implants have completely fallen apart. Just loose silicone and empty containers. So she has to get surgery to have the leeching silicone sucked out and remaining baggie(s) removed.


I'll be going on down. I'll let you know how it turns out ...


If things go as they are, you may find out indirectly from mainstream media.

If my stepfather keeps whining with his "What is going to happen to me?" [i.e., if she dies] CRAP, I'm going to fucking kill him.

He's a quiet, passive man who LIVES to be bossed & henpecked, with a pension AND a driver's license ... I doubt he leaves the synagogue's funerary service without a fiancee.

Good luck with all that!

I'm back in Weehawken today. My mom is doing quite well after surgery and well on the road to full recovery.

I'm persona non grata with her plastic surgeon's office manager. I was looking at a booklet they had on implants, and she asked me if I knew anyone who might be interested, and forgetting that the world isn't XPT, I blurted out:

"Bolt-on's RUIN whores."

I'm not completely sure if her offense was my disparaging disdain of implants or my unflattering characterization of their clientele.

I'm sure that patient waiting on the other side of the office took more exception to the latter.

Fatman, sometimes reading your posts makes me feel really happy.

I'm glad to know that you are doing okay.

EDIT: And to be fair they do ruin whores.

I have known a few married women who had them. I asked one about it and she said she was trying to remain attractive.

I can understand and respect that.

Welcome back. I was wondering where you'd disappeared to.

Glad you are back fatman, and still making waves. Along those lines, can you swim? If so would you consider doing a cannonball into the pool at your parents retirement community, and having someone video it and the reaction you get?

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Along those lines, can you swim? If so would you consider doing a cannonball into the pool at your parents retirement community, and having someone video it and the reaction you get?

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I can swim, but mostly I walk in the pool. Their pools aren't very deep. The indoor pool is less than 4 feet at its deepest. Some of the outdoor variety claim 5 feet in the way I might claim my erection is 7 inches ... both estimates are blatant misplaced laughable bombasts.

Also, I'm not as heavy as I was. I lost over 60 lbs since last year. And, even at my heaviest, I wasn't anything compared to many of the residents.

My mom has a good female friend who at 6'1" is more than an inch taller than I and as of last week likely out weighed me by 3/4ths of a Padova. [btw this woman is a pervert who actually joined this board about 2 years ago after I blabbed about it. But, she was too scared to post.]

Another friend who recently moved near her son [a man with over 30 cats] in the James Madison U nook of the Shenandoah was barely 5'2" and weighed in excess of 350. Oddly she had been a successful dance instructor. Personally, I thought dancers never got fat.

And, they are NOTHING of note when contrasted some of the ponderous beasts of the male variety of this community.

So my size is no issue. The only disgust I could generate from a cannonball would be if turned around and sued their overall association for their pool being too shallow.



Perhaps if I yelled "Allahu Akbar" before plowing into a gaggle of alter kocker yentas during water aerobics ....

I'm sorry. Maybe I am not clear and of course I didn't know of your weight loss. But it is not about your weight so much as the exuberance of a cannonball into a retirement center pool. If you could do so, I'd love to see it. Personally, I use the "preachers seat" and at the very last instant I thrust my feet to direct the spray. Both moves can be shallow for anyone under 200 lbs in a 4 ft deep pool.

I hope you understand you will always be the fat man on the parkbench here at xpt, even though many of us are happy for your weight loss. (Weight loss = increased likelihood of fatman posts).

I got an interesting report from my sister while I was in Florida.

A suite-mate of hers from her freshman year sent her a PM via FaceBook looking for my email. Besides the fact that back then I was adorable, she found me very fascinating.

She used to have little tantrums at the fact that she found my writing better than hers and actually tried to organize my ramblings into some kind of publishable form in the mid-80s. [She's since published at least two books of her own, so she was quite wrong on who was the better writer.]

But, as is endemic to the bi-polar person, I would go from completing too many pages to edit on some occasions to none at all on others. In any case, as XPT members are quite familiar with, I have a tendency to stray far from my "point" and rebel to being confined and focused. So the poor thing had her hands full.

Also, she was frustrated as I began to stray from the GOP, invented my own religion [Radical Beliefism] only to become a Nichiren Shoshu Buddhist, and then promptly stopped writing altogether when I decided that whatever I penned, Nietzsche and Dostoevsky had already done it better.


After years of her bothering me to produce like a trained seal, I finally got fed up with her pestering and wrote her a rambling 17 page letter breaking off our friendship.



My sister has always been a bit peeved that her suite-mate found me more interesting than she, and since I had an incurable habit of regularly sleeping with my sisters friends, she is convinced I slept with this girl.

Honestly, I never even kissed her.


My sister is now annoyed that this girl PMed her about my email, but didn't ask anything about her and didn't even "friend" her.

It's also led her to believe that this is conclusive proof that, for some reason I can't begin to imagine, I decided to hide my tryst from her. It's not like I hid any of the others I banged.

Anyway ... I sarcastically quipped that she could feel free to give my email to anyone on the planet she was "100% sure" I defiled.

She then casually mentioned that at least one of her friends wouldn't be emailing since she had died of cancer. I was a bit stunned. She then told me a girl I dated in high school also was "no more" [suicide].


That's at least two girls who lost their virginity to me who are now forever free of that inglorious infamy.

So I caught up with my main client from 2003-4 yesterday at his son's surprise birthday party. Haven't seen the guy in quite some time and he was very happy to see me for someone whose books were completely fucked up by a bi-polar mess.

One the way back to the PA Bus Terminal, an attractive, well-dressed black girl who was having trouble navigating her CFM spiked pumps walked past my two past colleagues and me.

She came up to me and asked if I'd like to party. I said, "No, thank you" with a smile.

My friends were busting on me as to why she chose to proposition me and completely neglected them, especially since they have been known to partake in hookers and I never have.

The consensus was:

1) it was sad that so pretty a young lady had chosen to work the street.

2) this was more anecdotal evidence that darker women inexplicably adore me.


Kind of sad, since I like the far lighter ones.

When I was down in Florida, every morning I was at my mom's house I would take a 4 mile walk down Jog Road [that's Powerline Road to you Broward County sluts] to the Wakodahatchee wetlands park in Delray Beach.




I would listen to my MP3 player on the way there, and take it off to walk the park's boardwalk listening to the birds, insects, reptiles & amphibians.

I found it very relaxing.




My favorite was a Zen turtle slowly basking in the Florida sun.




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wyf8oK0dPR4

Sorry about the wind.