This morning I’m at the gym, dominating per usual. Finishing out on the Stair Climber, when I see a BOMBSHELL of a news story blow up on the screen, via Rob Elgas. Apparently in Oregon there is a massively obese cat which has been taken in by the Humane Society. He needs a fucking new workout partner!!! This pussy needs to lose some weight, stat. The cat needs help. Why this story wasn’t the lead for today’s morning news is beyond me. We’ve got a morbidly obese cat trying to pave the way for CBS’s newest hit, “Biggest Loser: Feline Edition”, and you are burying this golden shit behind some Nancy-pants shooting on the west side and 9 car crash on the Eden’s Expressway. I wish someone would make me CEO of NBC5 News right now. I’d call everyone in the main conference room, from the CIO right down to Holga the night janitor, and tell them they have 30 minutes to pack their fucking shit before I release the hounds. “Oh, just a story about a goddamned sumo cat right here in our own country, not some place where freaky shit happens every 30 seconds like India and China. Let’s put in on minute 57 of a 60 minute telecast, sound good?” “Sure Larry, works for us. We don’t even have to work it in at all if you think people won’t be interested in a story about an obese cat who has made up his mind to get fit before it is too late?” Did I mention…..no, I’m quite certain I’ve not yet mentioned….that the cat’s name is Walter??? Fuckin’-A right man, dude’s name is Walter for Christ’s sake. Not some lame ass name like Mittens or Pawsy or Patches or anything. Completely awesome name: Walter. Who the fuck is in charge of putting together a show over there, the heroine addict who hangs out next to the dumpsters in the alley behind the studio?
And this isn’t even close to the worst part of this abomination of a telecast. Are you fucking ready for this shit…….Rob Elgas explains the story, in full, and then with a totally straight handsome face looks into the camera and says, “We don’t actually have a picture of Walter.” What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About. Ass. Hole! You don’t have the picture of the most obese cat on the planet who is trying to Jared his way into stardom? SWEET FUCKING STORY BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Seriously, everyone there is sacked, with prejudice. What is the point of even bringing this up without the picture? Actually, don’t waste both our time trying to think of an answer, because there is no fucking point. Look above. I found the picture. It took me 7 seconds. My resources were a shitty (and I mean shitty) PC and Google. Rob, you goin’ into battle with this type of support team? You’re rollin’ in there naked pal. If these fuckers can’t even get you a photo of Walter, then let me explain how you can do it: Go over to your computer, the one you use to email pictures of your boner to summer interns. Double click on the blue, lower case ”e” with a gold ring around it. In the white box at the top which probably has the NBC5 News address, erase it and type in http://www.google.com/. Then click on the “Images” link. Now in the search box type in “obese cat oregon” and depress your Enter key. The first one is Walter. Hold your cursor over the picture, and double-click your mouse. With Walter on your screen, go to the top and click the icon that looks like a printer. Then in the pop-up, click “OK”. Now walk to the printer. No, not the one you made Emma the intern copy her beaver on by telling her she had to in order to “get anywhere in this business”. That is the copy machine. Look around, it will be making noise and an image of Walter will be sliding out of it. Take the picture, put it on your anchor desk. When you talk about Walter, hold it up next to your face. You have to turn it around so the image is facing the camera. Good job, now we can see what the fuck you are talking about. I get it, you are handsome. You are the money on the show, not the fucking immigrant laborer. But this time you should have taken the bull by the balls and done a little ground work yourself. No Pulitzer for you, bandejo.
You can’t make an impact with a fat story unless you can back it up with photo documentation. Here is how you handle your business properly:
1999. My roommate goes to Hilton Head for spring break. When he returns, he has a story, as do others on the trip, regarding this epic whale he harpooned. To protect him, I won’t use his real name. It rhymes with Will Pagoda, so we’ll call him that. Will Pagoda was no Captain Ahab chasing down whales obsessively–this one was purely for sport. Everyone told me, ”You can’t believe how huge this walrus was that Pagoda banged!”. You are right, I can’t believe it, because all I have are reminiscences from drunk dudes already a week old. One crafty fellow says, “Just wait”, all cryptic-like. Well he delivered. For all the young readers out there, around the turn of the millennium, you took pictures, then went to a business such as Walgreen’s and had people “develop” them. I know, this is some old-timey shit we’re about here. So this fine fellow presents the photos, and we have our Zapruder: Another colleague of ours slipped into the crime scene early the next morning, while both the hunter and Shamoo were still snoring. He took a photo holding her jeans. Well, they were jeans in the purely academic sense. There were two legs, a button closure, a zipper, made of denim, of a blueish hue, etc. However, they looked more like the curtain on Broadway. And this savvy young lad had the wherewithal to not only hold them up, but he put them on. One leg, that is. As in he is holding up the jeans and standing in them; his entire lower body in just one of the legs. You read that right, ONE FUCKING LEG. There are many who can confirm this story and I do pray the photo still exists for posterity’s sake. We wouldn’t want this lost to history or stolen by Nazis. I am not talking about some elf or spright either. The guy standing in the jeans is probably 5’10″ or 5’11″, with a stout, athletic build. Yet he could fit entirely in one appendage of this basking shark’s cellulite retainer. Now I ask you this, Rob Elgas. If a group of some of the drunkest frat guys in the state of Ohio (and if you know many people from Ohio, you realize that this puts them fairly high in the running for drunkest frat guys nationally), using 13 year old technology, can nail a “You aren’t going to believe how fucking fat this ______ is!” story to the wall AND paint it…..then why can’t you? You make me sick.