Falcons stomp Vikings, I vow to stomp Ralphie

Today, Dad and I watched the Falcons open a can of whoopass on the Vikings. The game was fantastic, as was the performance of nearly every player on the team. I got really excited and puked on dad while celebrating. He was cool with it, though. Not like the dude dresses to impress. Hell, I made him look better with my hurl on him.

Meanwhile, in the background, our #1 cat Ralphie managed to find and destroy yet another of my pacifiers. That little puss has been systematically destroying my pacifiers like the insurgency in Iraq destroys convoys. He is a sneaky little cat, lurking in the shadows and waiting for us to let down our guard, then he strikes, and is off before you know it. I've lost no fewer than eight paci's to that bastard. Mom recently found a cache of them under the couch.

We've tried locking down the supply of pacifiers, but it's tough to keep up security 24-7. We've thought about wiping out his base of support, but it is shared by innocent civilians (read our I-live-in-the-garage-cause-I'm-emotionally-unstable-and-if-I-was-a-human-I'd-be-a-bag-lady cat Dirty).

I hope that little *&^# realizes that he'll get his comeuppance when I reach about 12 mos or so. At that point I'll be mobile, in control of my motor functions, and able to yank the hell out of his tail.

You just wait, furball. Your time is gonna come. Led Zeppelin wrote a song about it.

That is all...