Cats Quickly Approaching Victory in War on Humans

The data is in, and I can say without hesitation that house cats by far enjoy the most fantastic lives of any animal with any number of feet or legs which draw breath upon the planet. Their ability to fray the edges of the fabric of your sanity can only be rivaled by an angry bird relentlessly squawking outside your bedroom window as you try to enjoy your fist nap in 10 years after participating in a sleep deprivation study. It will be cats, not nuclear war, not terrorism, not Justin Beiber, not The Rachael Ray Show, not advertisements for Viagra that will be the eventual ruin of our society, but cats. Felis catus.

Archeological evidence suggests we can likely blame the pharaohs for this veritable biblical plague of cats. Cats were frequently discovered embalmed in the burial chambers of the pharaohs. If I had to wager, I'd put my money on the pharaohs leaving instructions for the cats to be dispatched and embalmed prior to their insertion into the pyramids because they feared otherwise the cats would find some agitating way to disturb them in the afterlife if they were allowed into the burial chamber alive. In fact, we probably owe the invention of the sarcophagus to cats. They were no doubt meant to serve as an insurance policy preventing cats from being able to interrupt the eternal rest of the Egyptian Kings.

At some point, the Pharaohs evidently got wise to the idea that cats were effective covert weapons and they fiendishly tricked the Greeks into distributing them by pretending they didn't want to part with a single cat. They probably supposed the introduction of cats to other cultures would impede them to such an extent that they could maintain their own technological superiority. So they rounded up as many cats as they could and delivered them to unsuspecting foreigners, gave them as gifts, smuggled them onto ships bound for foreign ports as stowaways, whatever they had to do to get as many cats as they could out of the Nile Valley before the plague consumed them like locusts. My guess is this is what finally pissed the Romans off enough to conquer Egypt and try to put an end to the export of cats for good. Alas, it was too late for both the Egyptians and the Romans. They had underestimated the cats to their own peril.

By the Middle Ages, people were largely wise to the insidious threat posed by the feline. Cats were seen as evil creatures, and were largely eradicated from Europe. Possession of a cat was adequate for an accusation of witchcraft. Aiding an injured cat was grounds for torture or death. For roughly 400 years, Europeans did battle with the cat, eventually accepting their defeat and making the abuse of a cat illegal in 1835 in a misguided attempt to appease the legions of cats from continuing with their plot for world domination. But you can't negotiate with cats. The cats were empowered by this decree, and resumed their war on human sanity and serenity.

My earliest memory of a cat is of trying to rescue one from a pack of wild dogs. As I approached the cat, encircled by the angry dogs which clearly had better instincts about cats than I did, the cat used his fish hook sized claws to climb up my leg, over my back, and perch on top of my head like an angry live turban attached with staples, leaving a trail of bloody claw holes from my ankle to my forehead. The dogs likely had a legitimate grievance. I should not have attempted to intervene. After all, no one in their right mind would refer to the cat as "man's best friend."

You'd think that would have been an adequate lesson on the dangers of cat/human interaction. But alas, cats can be fiendish and seductive like the snake in the Tree of Knowledge. As kittens, they are so tiny and adorable. They use this evolutionary prank to convince you to allow them into your home.

Three cats live in my house. Notice I didn't say I own three cats. You don't own cats, you serve them. You become indentured to them. You foolishly try to match wits with them. But no one owns a cat.

How did this happen? They infiltrated one at a time. They crept into my palace like CIA agents here to bring about a regime change. They conspired to foment revolution. They mindlessly selected me at random as just another target of opportunity in much the same way a germ instinctively invades a human body only to ensure their own survival. And they have conquered. They know we are powerless to control or suppress them. They refuse to recognize my right to establish rules and regulations governing acceptable household behavior. They are independent operators. They offer no allegiance, no quarter. Cat's are like vampires. Once you open the door to them, your fate is sealed.

Cats will do whatever they can to erode your sanity. They'll attack the same motionless spot on the wall for hours. They'll stand at the door and meow relentlessly until you succumb to the annoyance and operate it for them. Once you open the door, they will stand there motionless forcing you to wait for them to make up their minds about whether or not to actually pass through the threshold. This rule applies equally regardless of whether you are offering entry or exit. Once you open the door, you are subject to their whims. It makes no difference how long you resist the inevitable before getting up to let the cat out, they will take as long as they please to proceed. They'll feign disinterest at the very thing they incessantly demanded only moments before. Soon enough, you'll be the equivalent of an amateur doorman, opening and closing the door for the cats that list your address as their primary residence, never again allowed to concentrate on anything.

And cats are largely nocturnal, which means they will conspire to rob you of sanity restoring sleep whenever possible. They aren't nocturnal by nature, but by choice, because they know this is when we are most vulnerable to psychological warfare. They'll wait for you to get cozy in bed, then screech like banshees to be let inside. Then they'll come inside, grab a mouthful of food, use the cat box, and then return to the door and make sounds reminiscent of the air raid sirens that alerted the citizens of London that German bombs were about to destroy the city just as you are about to fade off to dreamland. You have no choice but to leave your bed and once again operate the door for them.

If by chance they do elect to stay inside, it will only be to torment you as you are trying to sleep. They'll curl up by your feet and commence licking themselves producing sounds like amplified metronomes. They'll attack your feet. I've lost track of the number of times I've awoken in pain to find my pinky toe encapsulated by the mouth of a cat and at risk of being torn from my foot whole by deceptively tiny, needle like cat teeth. Pound for pound, a cat is far more disruptive to a healthy sleep regimen than a human infant because the cat has made keeping you awake a centerpiece of a plot to drive humanity insane one night at a time. You cannot appease them.

Ladies and gentlemen, the cat's are winning. Major combat operations have concluded and they are merely toying with us for their own twisted entertainment. We have replaced the ball of yarn as their most prized source of amusement. Your only hope is to guard against allowing them squatters rights within your domiciles. The consequences of allowing them in are dire.

Consider the lonely, elderly spinster with a limp in your own neighborhood living with 10 or more cats and frightening children. Do you suppose this is the life she secretly wanted? Certainly not. She simply allowed too many cats into her home, and before she knew it she was so busy tending to them she had no time to date. And she limps because years ago, a cat darted out from under an end table in her living room at her feet, causing her to topple over and break a hip, which never healed properly because she had to get back to sustaining her cats. Cats use the homes of old maids as cells where they can breed armies and plot against us.

If you must allow a cat into your home, have it spayed or neutered at the earliest possible opportunity. Perhaps twice, just to be certain they can't reproduce. According to sources tracking the invasion, a male and a female cat can conspire to produce 420,000 cats in a 7 year period. That's an epidemic. Soon, cats will have taken over control of the government and we will all find ourselves as marginalized bipeds, relics of a bygone era. Future generations will rightly look back at us with contempt for allowing mankind to lose control of the planet as they forage for sustenance outside the homes of cats.

I'd like to go on, but alas, I cannot. There is a cat going off like a tornado siren at the back door, one licking butter from the dish on the kitchen counter, and still another loudly announcing that it is time for me to fill the food bowl.

I beseech you not to let this happen to you. The future of humanity depends on it. It's up to you.

Then again, I could be wrong.

Charlie Sheen: Sex, Cameras, and Money

The big entertainment story the past couple of weeks has been Charlie Sheen relapsing once again into wacko mode. Sheen, mostly famous for being the son of talented actor Martin Sheen, has created a firestorm with his antics, appearing on television, radio, and twitter to give us a glimpse into his tiger blood lifestyle.

Let us look back at the life of this MaSheen and try to determine if there is any larger truth we can distill from his tale of woe.

Charlie got his first break alongside Patrick Swayze in Red Dawn, but he didn't really become a household name until he got the starring role in the Oliver Stone Vietnam War epic Platoon. Stone, who is rumored to travel everywhere with hookers and cocaine, also gave Sheen the starring role in the box office smash Wall Street. I like to think Ollie introduced Charlie to the world of the money for sex transaction, but this is probably an embellishment. Emilio and Lawrence Fishburne were regularly going to whorehouses in the Philippines during the shooting of Apocalypse Now, so chances are that was his first exposure to what is incorrectly labeled "the oldest profession." We all know that landscaping is the oldest profession.

From that point on, from the standpoint of box office success, Charlie began to drop like an antique wedding sausage. He was all but forgotten by the time Heidi Fleiss revealed in court that he had spent $53,000 on 11 hookers connected to her Hollywood escort service in 1995, which was taken down for failure to pay taxes to the government.

After a short marriage to Donna Peele in 1995, Sheen finally hit upon the answer: prostitutes are illegal outside of Las Vegas (where Bunny Ranch owner Dennis Hof has amassed a net worth or $20 million running his brothel), but adult entertainers (aka porn stars) are not. Sheen evidently tried to get in touch with porn queen Jenna Jameson, who has a net worth of around $20 million for having sex on camera, which is totally legal. Since the number of times Jameson has had sex for money can be established by checking her paychecks, and therefore the amount of money she earned is a matter of record, she has never had any tax trouble with the IRS.

Keen to investigate the whole adult entertainer angle, Sheen then got involved in an tumultuous relationship with adult film star Tanya Rivers. It ended badly, with allegations that Sheen assaulted Rivers, and Attorney Gloria Allred got Rivers a hefty cash settlement. And a commission for herself. Rivers continued to get paid to have sex with strangers for money on camera for some time.

From there, in 2002, Sheen married Denise Richards, mostly famous for having a totally legal three way sex scene on camera with Neve Campbell and Matt Dillon in "Wild Things," and for legally posing nude in Playboy for money, although not having sex with anyone. The couple split in 2006 and Sheen, who has an estimated net worth of $85 million, paid Richards around $17 million dollars, plus 25% of his syndication royalties from his series Two and a Half Men for services rendered.

In 2008, Sheen married real estate investor Brooke Mueller, most famous for having sex with Charlie Sheen. Predictably, the marriage ended in 2010, with Sheen paying Mueller essentially what he paid Richards for a divorce.

Which pretty much brings us to his current situation, living with Bree Olson, (net worth $5 million) adult entertainer, who had earned her legal living by since 2006 by having sex in over 160 adult films, and by posing nude and having sex in magazines like Penthouse, and model Natalie Kenly, who seems to have never been paid in any way for sex until now. I'll go out on a limb and say this arrangement won't last forever, and that when it ends, Charlie will have yet another bill to pay. And that Sheen won't be guilty of a crime, at least where sex is concerned.

How do we know Charlie has paid porn stars for sex? Charlie paid one of his porn partners, Kacey Jordan, $30,000. With a personal check! Has anyone been arrested? No. Because Jordan is a porn star, not a hooker. It's legal to pay porn stars to have sex as long as they pay taxes on the income.

Now, I'm not much of a Charlie Sheen fan, so you may wonder why I am rambling on about his situation. The whole thing makes me wonder about the distinctions we make about exchanging money for sex. Sheen paid hookers, wives, and porn stars for sex. The only transactions that were illegal were the ones he made with the hookers, though all three (hookers, wives, and adult film stars) were essentially paid for the same service: sex. And it is OK that actresses have graphic sex scenes on film with men and women and get paid for it. OK that porn stars get paid for sex. Legal, anyway.

Jenna Jameson...net worth $20 million.
Brothel Operator Dennis Hof...net worth $20 million.
Bree Olson... net worth $5 million.
11 hookers...$53,000.
Kacey Jordan...$30,000 for one night.

Average American Algebra teacher...less than $35,000 a year.

So, the Charlie Sheen story tells us that you can have legal sex with professionals for money if the professionals got their experience in front of a camera. And that if you choose a career of sex on camera, you can make much more than many traditional careers. When your marriage ends, a judge will present you with a bill, payable to your ex, which will feel eerily similar to the money you pay hookers at the end of the line. Only far more expensive because your wife had to put up with you in more places than the bedroom.

But if you go to an inexpensive amateur, you'll end up in a courtroom. And rather than paying the escort a huge sum of money, you'll pay lawyers and the government. And the hooker will go to jail or pay a fine.

Getting paid to have sex on camera: legal. Paying someone who has had sex on camera for sex: legal. Paying your wife when the marriage is over: divorce. Paying someone who has never had sex on camera for sex in private: prostitution.

So my advice to all you amateur prostitutes out there is to take a camera along with you. Then you can tell the judge you aren't a hooker, you are an adult film star.

Then again, I could be wrong.

"What fresh hell is this?"

After years of being told I should start a blog, I have finally decided to give it a shot. What's the worst thing that could happen? Well, I don't know about the worst thing, but bad things could happen.

It's dangerous to tell people too much about what you think. Most people are perfectly willing to accept you as long as your viewpoints don't come into conflict with their own. It's all well and good to make witty comments and be entertaining, but start expressing opinions, and people can get downright hostile. I can be opinionated. I can be caustic. I am given to bouts of sarcasm. I can be too direct when a bit of beating about the bush might be more constructive.

And, deep down, I wonder if my viewpoints are any more compelling than the millions already floating aimlessly around the internet. I wonder if I am equipped for the challenge. Is my rhetoric sufficient to hold the attention of an audience already presented with so much drivel to choose from?

I'm not certain.

But it has often been said that we should not allow the perfect to be the enemy of the good. For too long I have threatened to write. Or written and not shared. Or written and deleted. Having never rhetorically satisfied myself, I've kept my thoughts, for better or worse, locked away. But these muscles need exercise lest they begin to atrophy. A wise person once told me "It isn't all going to be Shakespeare." At some point, you have to be brave enough to present yourself to an audience and let the chips fall where they may, or admit you aren't up to the challenge. I'm finished taking that position.

So tonight, I begin my journey. Hopefully, we begin it together. Traveling companions always make the trip more fulfilling.

For those of you who follow me on facebook, you can expect much of the same you have come to expect when my name pops up on your news feed. Only longer. Strange observations, social commentary, politics, and twisted humor. The man said "Write what you know." Well, I'm not sure what I know, but I know I want to write. So write I shall.

I suppose that's as good as any other place to get started.

Then again, it might be an unmitigated disaster. Which will, at the very least, be entertaining. Everyone loves a good train wreck or a perp walk.

Carry on.

JFF