Warning: This is the first installment of the Adventures of Ratty McBastard. He swears a lot. What did you expect? He is, after all, a rat.
Track down Ratty McBastard (finally located amongst the artificial greenery that is a piss-poor substitute for real plants, but causes me no guilt when the black thumb of my plant killing tendencies rears its ugly head).
Decorate rat. Feathers and plaid, anyone?
Acknowledge massive fugliness of the feathers and plaid combination. DH can pull it off, but he's a rare one. Ratty McB just doesn't have the panache.
Try again. Ooooh, feathers and leather. Yup, that works.
Just when Ratty is settling in to enjoy the cushiness of the feathers and leather, yank him out of his comfort zone. Apply punk version of feathery goodness, complete with safety pin through nose. Ratty says "Shit, that hurt! And look what that did to the hair on the back of my neck!" Aaah, the porcupine-y goodness.
Punked out Ratty McBastard has himself a rip roarin' party out back, including listening to hard rock...
gettin' down with the bush...
and mocking the sad state of the patio's paint job.
He then moves the party inside, out of the rain (plays havoc with the do, dude). His choice for the evening? A little Wolf Blass Cab Merlot to sooth the rodent soul. Oh, and a Pirate Cookie. Don't let it be said that he isn't well fed. It's a well known fact that rats love the peanut butter. Rats also attempt to match the do with the drink - note the classy removal of the porcupine job, and its reincarnation as nest-o-the-rat. Feathery softness so good for nestling in.
Exhausted after consumption of wine and Pirate Cookie, the McBastard relocates the nest-in-a-bowl (nice bowl, dude) to a sunny spot on the rug, and curls up his tail for nap time. The walnuts? Hey, every good McBastard has to keep an eye on his nuts, man. It's in the rules.
Oh shit! What the fuck?
I'm outta here, cat-dude!
Finally, back in the artificial jungle, but this time much, much higher up (and reasonably camouflaged, yah think?). Oy, whatta day. Next time that bitch offers to dress me up and show me a good time, I will NOT fall for it. Gonna stay here in the plastic flower-y ugliness. Yup. Even though all the bright fake cheeriness is playing havoc with my hangover, my nose still aches from the piercing, and THAT BITCH STUCK FEATHERS UP MY ASS!
Note from That Logan Chick: Cat toy my arse.