Morty New Year

Morty at the Movies with Morty the CatMorty offers a sneak peek at what's in store for his Welcome 2009 Meow Mixer.

Cats do know how to party, as seen in these instructional motion pictures from Japan.

via YouTube

via YouTube


Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Time for Toast Clock

I yearn to tell folks, "I overslept because my crust didn't go off."

"Sorry, I'm late. I'm on Daylight Raisins Time."

"I had to put new batteries in my butter."


Christmas Cartoon Carnival

Tweety and Sylvester in "Gift Wrapped" (Friz Freleng, 1952)
via YouTube

Grampy in "Christmas Comes but Once Each Year" (Dave Fleischer, 1936)
via YouTube.

Donald Duck with Chip and Dale in "Toy Tinkers" (Jack Hannah, 1949) via DailyMotion



Cat photos: Where's Morty?

Morty's recuperating from the swirling excitement of Santa Cat's annual Christmas visit.

Let us prey.

It was a glorious celebration for the very good boy who received not one, but two catnip meeces!

Morty stalks the new, mysterious blinking ball!

Best friends forever.


Christmas Memory 1958

100 Things About Me #164
It was 50 years ago this Christmas week when my family moved into a new home in the faraway land called Atlanta, GA.

I was six and quite emotionally apprehensive Santa Claus might not know where to find me. As a budding humanitarian, I didn't want to cause him grave concerns with any undeliverable gift packages, of course.

Last year, when we were clearing out the very same house to finalize our mother's estate, intuition told me to peruse a huge pile of aged papers headed for the trash heap. I'm so gratified I did because I uncovered a document I had not recollected in decades.

My eyes welled as I recognized and reunited with something that means more to me now than any words can ever capture.

He continues to "fine" me, too. He's the finest.

I love you, Santa Claus.

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For All Your Last-Minute Mikey Shopping Needs!

There has never been a more perfect gift for me, combining my deep love for animals, Cheetos, and dust-catching knickknack eyesore clutter!

And thanks in advance!

Cheetos Pet via YouTube


Christmas Cartoon Carnival

Mickey Mouse, Pluto, Chip and Dale in "Pluto's Christmas Tree" (Jack Hannah, 1952)
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"The Pups' Christmas" (Hugh Harman, Rudolph Ising, 1936)
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Tom and Jerry in "The Night Before Christmas" (William Hannah, Joseph Barbera, 1941)
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And I had so looked forward to begging snapshots.


A Camel'd Walk a Mile for I

I had never heard of commercial camel rides in America. I knew of pony rides and big horsie rides. Did those, even mule rides.

I've flown Dumbo at Disney, too. My official airline, by the way.

So, when word filtered down camel rides were coming to my tiny community, I was raring to go. We don't get much excitement in the mountains. (Chiquita stickers on Walmart bananas is recurring spectacular.)

Wild Thing. That would be me.

But the high hump strut was not meant to happen. I was forced to decline.

My dromedary had a pink safety railing.

It was a girl's camel!



My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

I pride myself as The Prince of the Procrastinators -- or I will just as soon as I get around to it.

Item: "Baseball-logo caskets hit the market." Going to Heaven? Get buried at home plate. Hell? Plopped out foul. Purgatory? On-deck circle.

News item: "Shopper stops carjacker with frozen turkey." Stuffed the kicking out of him.

I was going to get one of those Batman suits & call it a Mikeman suit 'til a tailor referred to my inseam measurement as "The Stark Blight."

Prepping for the new 007 movie, I've rewatched "Casino Royale," punched out thugs, doomed megalomaniac kingpins & bedded princesses. Showtime!

News item: "The average person passes gas about 14 times per day." I've always known I was meant for greatness.

Follow Mike on Twitter


My Own Private Elves

As much as it grieves the Mikey, I got my clones seasonal jobs alongside me.

I said, "Look, the government is not going to give you a bailout. You're clones, not giant American automakers. Besides, you were given life in 1996. You're 12. You have no votes. They don't need you. You can't even get driver's licenses, yet."

Dumbass clones.

So, not only do I have to steward these freeloaders, I have to chauffeur them around. That's Lester prancing on my left. Connie's the one mugging for the camera.

(Elf Yourself via About.com)


Oh No I Di'n't!

I romance under the name Nate the Hapless Grifter.

I saw Mommy validating Santa's parking.

I lived "Marley and Me." He slurred reggae. I dreaded his locks. He was stoned, munchied my Crispix.

I was a celebrity endorsement / product placement agent. I represented Checker Cab Calloway and Britney Vlasic Pickle Spears.

My cat's older. He's losing his hairballs. I remedy the situation, feeding him tiny wigs.

The reason I have no children: double-sided tape.

Not only can I snap my fingers, but I can also snap my toes, however neither summons me a garçon.



Actual Letters to Mike Durrett
My California buddy, Rich, sent me a clipping from the "Pasadena Star News," detailing a new movie theatre in his area.

PASADENA - At a time of general belt-tightening, Australia-based Gold Class Cinemas is betting that movie audiences in Old Pasadena will shell out $22 to $32 apiece to enjoy what they call "the ultimate luxury cinema experience...."

Patrons can meet in the lounge or bar, [businessman Rob] Goldberg said, then eat dinner cooked by an executive chef - Kobe beef and lobster, perhaps - while watching movies from a reclining armchair in a 40-seat theater....

And no, he said, it's not like sitting in your recliner at home, eating dinner on a tray in front of the big-screen television.

"Number one, people probably don't have butlers, and a 30-foot screen ... and they probably don't have Dolby 5.1 digital sound," Goldberg said. "If you get cold, you can press a call button and they'll bring you a blanket. Seriously!"

"...It's like a movie and a spa at the same time," he said. "You can truly relax and be good to yourself."

I hate to snap a wet towel at the spa spin, but I would be avoiding this theatre with a passion.

I don't want to hear or smell people masticating while "Bolt" gets sidetracked by their doggie bag fixin's.

I also do not desire melted butter splattered onto my 3-D glasses in a lobster claw munch gone horribly wrong.

I do like the $32 admission price, as that amount gives me permission to use the ticket money to buy the Blu-ray instead. I'll watch at the house with my own damn blankie, thank you.

And the wife gets in free! Seriously!

Movies are definitely a better overall viewer experience in home high-def. It's not the size of a screen that is most important. It's the quality of the image -- and the quiet far away from strange, annoying social climbers talking with their mouths full of London Broil and Twizzlers Au Jus.

The movie should be the focus of going out to a movie. At a so-called luxury cinema, it is not. The motion picture would be a disraction. You'll be looking at your gravy puddle more than Matthew McConaughey--

Wait a minute. I just broke my argument.


Free Trick-or-Treat Waffle

As I bounced from house-to-house in my Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, wearing a Joe "Stinky" Besser mask, I became disoriented and must have appeared less than cocksure. I had ventured into unknown territory on this decidedly dark Halloween night.

I knocked on another door and held up a hollow plastic jack-o'-lantern, manufactured with a machine-tooled grimace to scare suburbanites into filling it with my candies.

"Trick-or-treat," I squealed at the gentleman of the welcoming abode.

He produced a bowl of giveaway delights, teeming with miniature toy dinosaurs and snack packs of ramen noodles. "Pick one," he said.

"Uh," I adlibbed with a fresh air of uncertainty, "I can't eat dinosaurs past their shelf date, and I don't know what a ramen is, so I certainly won't suck its noodles. Do you have anything else, mister?"

"I have this," and with that phrase I heard a fife pipe and a wind chime tinkle. My exposed knees knocked, all goose pimply, in the late October breeze. The man held out a business-sized card and motioned for me to take it.

"Aw," I read from a prepared statement, then adlibbed, "did I win another beauty contest, get out of jail, or take a ride on the Reading?"

"No, sonny, you have been gifted a rare and glorious treasure, the otherwise elusive Free Waffle!"

It was true. A Free Waffle with my butter on it was waiting at one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of convenient Waffle House locations near me, sorta near me, or out there beyond me. Good Food Fast.

"Thank you, oh, thank you, kind sir. I shall cherish my Free Waffle until the day I squeeze it down the gullet and move on to Quiznos coupons. Consider this a treat. I won't h-h-harm you."

And I was off.

Several weeks went by, while I had visions of Free Waffle dancing in my head. I believe it was doing the Frug. Maple syrup flung everywhere. I'd heard of sweet dreams, but never sticky ones.

I wanted to revel in the anticipation, so I waited until the Free Waffle availability was about to expire. I made my move. I selected a lucky Waffle House, entered, and plopped myself down at the counter. I was among them, the society of waffles, free.

"What'll you have?" asked the waitress.

"I would like a Free Trick-or-Treat Waffle!" I smiled wide, showing off my incisors, the very teeth I would be crispy, indented lattice design, promotional item-gnashing shortly.

"My card, madam," I added, presenting madam my gratis battercake credential. "I understand the kitchen will prepare to order?"

"Sure. How would you like it?"

"Free Waffle."

She looked at me, put the pencil behind her ear, and barked my exacting instructions to the fry chef.

"Would you like anything else?"

"Yes, what kind of coffee, double cream and sugar, and hash browns smothered in onions go with Free Waffle? Oh, surprise me."

I hear you salivating, reader, and envying, so I'll cut to the chase. Free Waffle wins!

Dinner was served. I craved a keepsake of the festivities, so I snapped this photograph of my Free Waffle.


Mmmmm, delicious, gridlike goodness, too. I had learned a lesson well. Waffles taste better free and accompanied by hand modeling.

The hash browns, coffee, and sales tax set me back $3.42, plus a one-dollar tip -- a small price to pay for Free Waffle.

I slipped outside and kept moving. Those rubes forgot to charge me. Ha! Free Water!


I Got Nuthin': Morty Edition

I got nuthin'. I got no consolation video neither, but Morty, he's got nuthin' and a video. I call it "Cat Taking a Leash."

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'Cat Flushing a Toilet'

Morty at the Movies with Morty the CatMorty and I, a couple of guys sitting around, one white, one tabby, talking about movies.

Morty bristled and howled when I told him the early Oscar buzz is growing on "Slumdog Millionaire" to win Best Picture of the year.

He said, "No way!" or gutteral mewlings to that effect.

"Pads down, the winner is," he pawed a moment for emphasis, "'Cat Flushing a Toilet.'"

Let's take a look, shan't we? I hope it's a musical....

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The Imp Possible Dream

I have engaged holiday employment.

With my curly toes, I was a shoe-in.

(Elf Yourself via About.com)


And One Dalmatian

I love to romp in the snow, but I'm thinking this Colorado gal may have me beat.

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Thanks to Stan Malone.


Living Color

After inhabiting a monochrome world for an afternoon, thanks to a snow shower, it's amazing to note, only a blink ago, we were surrounded by sumptuous color viewing.

These pictures were snapped near evening on Nov. 2 at Amicalola Falls State Park, just down the forest from Dahlonega, GA.

The colorful foliage was savory, a nice topper for Fresh Haircut Day* festivities. Rinse. Repeat.

(Bring Your Own Bangs)


Duck Season! Goose Season! Fish Season! Bear Season!

Alert eyes may have noticed the large bird lounging next to our creek in the previous photograph. That's our goose, commonly known around here as, of course, The Duck. I've written about him before, as you may recall.

The Duck weathered the snowstorm calm and cool. He's a decoy, which floated on the current from up north about five years ago and washed onto our shore. He's not much maintenance, although once a year I have to trudge down to the water bank to right him. I suspect he gets knocked over by a bear gone fishin'.

Hmmm. Anyone seen our greeter?


Up the Creek Without a Snowman

Continued From: "100 Things About Me #162: White Out"

We didn't receive ample accumulation to make a snowman, but I did manage enough to roll a snowtot and several snowembryos, so that was nice.


100 Things About Me #162

White Out

I still get excited whenever there's snowfall -- and I don't have to go to school!

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