Thursday, May 30, 2013

The cow calls the ruler fat.

It has come to my attention that one of the insufferable animals with whom I share my palace has accused me of being fat. 

The animal to whom I refer is Clara, and she is a cow.

[Editor’s Note: Clara is not actually a cow.] 

Cows know nothing about cats or queens or anything else, so I hereby decree that Clara should maintain her focus on shoveling food in her face and refrain from having opinions.

Fat, indeed.

You know who is fat?

That’s right. Clara. Why? Because she’s a cow. 

Also because she eats all my food.

When Clara walks across the floor, the palace shudders. It’s probably sinking into the earth as I write this. 

One day we’ll all be trapped in our underground home with dirt pouring in the windows and doors, all because big fat Clara thought cows could live in a palace and eat all the food.


See? She’s huge! She barely fits in this gigantic box!

Here is a poem I wrote about Clara a while back:

Eeny meeny miney moe
Clara is a big fat ho
If you weigh her, you will see:
She weighs 10 pounds more than me. 

I don’t even know why Clara lives here. She’s not royal. She doesn’t contribute anything. We’re not allowed to eat her. All she does is sit around and prattle on about her pretty white fur and her exotic blue eyes and her fancy lineage.

First of all, who cares what a cow’s lineage is? Nobody, that’s who.

Also, do you see that picture of her? What don’t you see in that picture?

Did you guess pretty white fur? 

Of course you did. Because she has cow fur. 

[Editor’s Note: Clara is a snow Bengal; only the tips of her white fur have pigment in them, which is why she has dark stripes.]

Also, even if her fur were pretty and white, she would still be fat.

Another thing I hate about Clara, which is probably a side effect of her obesity, is the way she expects everyone else in the palace to wait behind her in the doorway while she tries to decide if the weather is nice enough to go outside. What kind of a cow cares what the weather is like, I ask you?

And so what if she has blue eyes? That doesn’t give her the right to cause earthquakes and sink my home into the ground.

Clara has no appreciation for how hard I work being the ruler and granting her pardons for all the annoying things she does. I spend my days overseeing my palace and ordering executions and trying to find my executioner, who rarely shows up to do his job (he claims he’s too busy being a cowboy pirate, which isn’t even a thing).

[Editor's Note: It totally is a thing.]

The point is, I exhaust myself for the good of my realm while Clara blunders around shoving everyone within a 10-mile radius over with her out-of-control rotundness. And sprawling across most of my throne. 


You can’t see it in this picture,
but my stupid brother Nick is about to fall of the sofa
because there’s no room for him.
Because Clara takes up the entire cushion.

And she has the nerve to call me fat?

This isn’t over, Clara. My executioner has to return to his post eventually. 

Also, this message is for the One Who Types. Just because I allow you to take dictation doesn't mean I give you leave to add your own commentary. This is my blog. If you want to post pictures from long-forgotten TV shows that Fox didn't think were worthy of keeping on the air, go get your own blog.

Cowboy pirates. Honestly.

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