How Much Do I Suck?

Apparently, whatever a month would be on a one-to-ten scale. Although I did finish the bottle cap table, the pictures are proving to be a surprising pain in the ass to get out of my camera. It's like they enjoy it in there and would prefer not to, thank you very much.
So, being as I was depending on a site gag this post (either of said table or of my pale, recently waxed chest), I guess I'll have to regale you with the first in an series of stories. So without further ado, I present ye ladies and gentlefolk, "The Strange and Wonderful Journey of Giles, an Oddly Proportioned Cat." And yes, as a preface, I do sometimes put a cat on a leash and try to walk it. Got a problem with that?

Today's Episode: Day 1

Giles found himself pretty unhappy today. I strapped him into his harness, which elicited an immediate "MMRRRRORFFF MRRRRRR" of disgust and annoyance. Needless to say I was scared for my life up until the hiccup.
The goal for the day was to get him to follow me off the stoop and out into that terrifying real world and all of its noises, shiny objects and, the deadliest of all menaces, bird (cue musical foreboding.... bom bom baaaaaa).
The moment his foot hit concrete, he froze seemingly overwhelmed by world outside. His eyes were the size of quarters, his heart fluttering. Seriously, it looked as though he just stepped outside to look a 3ft tall rat right in the eyes. And this rat must have been vengeful.
So the bribery began. Like a Congressional lobbyist offering the rotund Senator from the great state of Virginia a free steak dinner for a "moment of his time," I coaxed the brave one out the door (seriously, this cat will never, ever die from curiosity) and down the steps.
This is where things go horribly wrong. A crow lands about 5 feet away from him. Like a greaser from the 1950s or some sort of neighborhood tough, it squawks what I could only assume to be insults about female members of his family. Giles freezes and growls. I tense, anticipating the cat was about to take himself a bit of a trophy.
WHIP.
The leash flies out of my hand and I spin around to see the cat sprinting back into the house, leaving a tiny trail of pee behind him. Pretty sure he slammed the door and locked it behind me. Little bastard.

End part one.


A special story for the wonderful Emma.


Oh, and here's a sight gag for you.