Furious Anger

I am full of anger!! I am only anger!! All anger!!

I spent the whole day at the pound, picking out a cat that would be just right for me. The cat was very large (in the neighborhood of twenty pounds), a grey tabby, and its name (its new name, at least) was Bazooka. I spent the whole day comparing cats, and after hours and hours I settled on Bazooka, because he was just right.
But apparently a history of violence with animals follows you around. How can animal violence be a part of your "criminal record" if, in the eyes of God, animal violence is not a crime? Answer that, Socrates!!
And I will say this - I don't abuse animals, I just have high expectations for them. I mean, you wouldn't buy a car if you knew it would break down on the first road trip, or the first time you threw it through a window. Crime! Crime! Criminal! That's all I heard all evening, and, needless to say, Bazooka did not come home with me. They'll probably just euthenize him, the savages.
Perhaps I'll go back tomorrow with a different hat, and someone else's driver's license.

Also, my poetry career has recently taken a HUGE step. I don't think I need to explain - just read:
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"You ain't nuthin but a cookie eatin' fool," she said,
And she left.
And I sat there, cookies on my plate, crumbs on my lips,
Tears in my eyes,
And I knew she was right.

Alabama!
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The whole thing is even better if you read it with a southern accent.
I'm thinking of calling it "Alabama," just as soon as I can get someone to doublecheck that that's actually how you spell "Alabama."
You know I don't like to get too personal about things, but this poem is all true.

Alabama!