Liberal Oil Slicks

Susan Sarandon and I met for high tea in Cape Town this Monday. I was early, she was late. That's how it is with these pot smoking liberals. "Whenever' or "whatever" suits them. The strength of the wind guides their wills - and when the wind is 'nigh they are immobile. I don't believe I have ever orally said, "Whatever." It's such an unpoetic word. Although, I may have said it, orally, at some point in my early days as a hustler in downtown Belfast.

Susan brought her lovely daughter Eva Amurri wth her. She blamed her tardiness on Eva stubbing her toe in the hotel. Stubbed Toe? I was shot three times on my way to meet Truman Capote, and I still made it with five minutes to spare. Oscar winners always blame their daughters - even if they don't have any. Renee Zellweger once was late to the set of Cold Mountain and blamed her tardiness on her Raggedy Ann Doll. In her defense, I did steal away from the set during a brief break in shooting and snuck into her Star Wagon. I was shocked to find no Raggedy Ann Doll, but there was some red stringy hair in the toilet. I had it analyzed by my friend, Murray, who does consulting for the CSI Franchise, and he confirmed that it was from the head of a Raggedy Ann Doll. But where did that Raggedy Ann Doll go?

Susan ordered Sashimi. I had Bread Pudding, and a cut of Lentil Meatloaf. I always eat Pudding first. Eva had BBQ Corn nuts and Tortilla Soup. The waiter's name was Joseph. I paid the bill. Susan left the tip. I waved the valet. We posed for the South African media flash bulbs. The Valet's name was Stephann. My birthday is July 15th. Susan and I hugged. Eva and I waved. I ate four breathmints throughout the night.

My Lamborgini roared to the curb and as the car door swung upwards. I turned to Susan, and in my loudest baritone voice I whispered, "Why didn't we say anything at Lunch." She couldn't hear what I was saying because I need a new muffler, so she smiled and waved just like you imagine Susan Sarandon would. She waddled her Susan Sarandon hips to her "rented" energy conscience Toyota Prius, and snapped Eva into a safety conscience 'adult' baby car seat. Yes, I swear, an 'adult' safety seat, and it did not match the upholstery in the car.

They putt-putted off at 35 mph and I zoomed out the driveway at 210 mph in 20 seconds. I felt bad because I left a giant oil slick behind me, and Susan and Eva crashed because of it. I was speeding through North Africa by the time I got the call. Susan had been hospitalized, but Eva was safe. (Thanks, in part, to the 'adult' safety seat and her giant forehead)

By the time I reached Cairo Susan had received a basket of Parsimmons Roses and Daffodils. My initials drying from my alabaster plume pen underneath a small brief haiku. It read:

friends forget regrets
oil can streets tempestous
dawn at velcro camp

bb, esq.

Cairo was fantastic. I bought a tuxedo factory for me, and a snail farm for Dakota Fanning. It was wonderful to see the Pyramids of Egypt again knowing that my species designed them before they shrunk us and our voices were stolen by the Egyptian God Morphoos. We like to keep it hush-hush in the history books, but once Cats ruled the Earth. Cattus Catervatin was our Latin ruling name. Now we just let the humans do the work while we sit back and play. Its quite a life. I call it 'passive-agressive caucasian slavery'.

Off to Holland to judge the Chiffon Festival...

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

www.myspace.com/beckettbooesquire
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My Quinceanera

Take it from me. You don't ever want to make me cross.

You should see what I do when I'm mad at myself then multiply it by 200 and that is what will be left of your face.

My anger stems from my recent altercation with my Aunt. Mind you, it's very difficult to argue with a woman with a peach mustache named Sonny. Aunt Sonny recently took me out of her will because she thinks I've disowned my "nationality". I told her I didn't need to inherit her $20 bucks and tampon receptacle. I have my own - 20 bucks. What makes it so upsetting is that she was so supportive while I was taking Spanish lessons at the local YMCA. She introduced me to her girlfriends Rosarita and Tiajuana who showed me how normal tri-sexuals can be. Rosarita and Tiajuana are a really interesting couple. They have webbed hands and feet. Lovely people.

The argument began when Aunt Sonny expressed how she felt uncomfortable going to my Quinceanera because I wasn't Mexican or Catholic. I said, "There is no fucking precedence for this!! I'm a cat with a blog, and I spent months knitting my Quinceanera dress!"

Then her lawyer slid through a crack in the wall, and showed me the updated will. I asked about the poor tailoring of his suit and he grimaced. He opened his briefcase and handed her a pen. I didn't flinch because I didn't care. I was worried about not having her seat filled at my Quinceanera. I guess I'l have to hire seat fillers - especially since my Quincenera will air LIVE on Fox at 8 p.m. Eastern 5 p.m. Western. Tuesday Night September 27th. So, Aunt Sonny signed the paperwork and I was absolved from her will - for being Mexican for a day. Thus, with the stroke of her pen we were over with a 15 year friendship.

Weeks later, I wept while touring an Onion Factory in Tokyo, but the thought of my Aunt Sonny never crossed my mind. I was just reminded of it while watching the video of my Quincerera Rehearsal. As they panned across the empty seats I thought of how exciting it would be to see all thoses friendly faces supporting me on my day as a Catholic Girl, and suddenly I grew sad knowing that one seat in the audience would contain a seat filler. I choked on my breath mint, and a real tear grew in the left corner of my pupil. I moistened it into a loose tissue, threw it into the tide and made a single wish - and you know what I wished for?

That my Quinceanera would be better than Gloria Estefan's.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire!
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com

WD-40 Pompeii

Today I did 8000 push-ups with Justin Timberlake and Nas. It was a contest. I won by 7850. Kelis was cleaning their "grilles" in WD-40 and sipping on a wheatgrass. I exfoliated and shed twenty ounces in thoses 3 minutes. It was fun - to sweat. We dined at Sushi Samba and got mobbed by the 'people'. Justin apparently dropped some wasabi near his gonads and all the girls and gays went ga-ga over who was going to sell the soiled napkin on Ebay.

I detest Ebay. Two of my Golden Globes are now 'missing' because of that trade site. The Globe for my Guest Starring role in the TV Movie "Within the Doubt" starring Danny Glover and Timothy Busfield and my Globe for, of course, for my comic turn in Seinfield Episode 17.18.

But, I can only blame myself, for after a night of diabolical revelry I auctioneed the Globes away myself. Also, I was double-dared by Michael J. Fox, and you cant say no to anyone who (saving the MJFox jokes for a more appropraite time) worked with Justine Bateman. I got some pocket change ($$$$$$) from the Ebay auction, but was fined by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. It's my Golden Globe anyway. The ESPN Awards didn't mind that I sold my Golden Parachute Award. My "fine" included 40 hours of community service cleaning heroin needles of Screen Actors Guild Actors; like Natasha Lyonne and The Culkins. It was nice catching up and learning the "street lingo" for things. Other than that I did what I had to, got out and landed a Lancome Commercial Campaign.

Then I went to the premiere of Katie Couric boooring newscast. She looked great, although her lavish highlights did "bring me down". I enjoyed the 'Free Speech' forum, the Cherrios commercial I Tivo'd past and my Suchenn Mojoito. We partied after Katie premiere briefly, but I had to be in Rome by noon so I left early.

Now I'm in Rome on my piazza o'erlooking Pompeii. Roman and Gorash will be here soon. I'm just sitting here waiting for my facial moisturizer to soak in. I think I'll work on a postcard next. Maybe a haiku.

Fooosh! There's a knock at the door. Dammnit, I put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on.
I'll peak through the peephole to tell you who it is. Hold on.

[ Endless Pause.]