As if it’s not enough that K DD has trouble working the bottle opener, and her dewclaw gets snagged in the corkscrew– NOW you have to go and make it hard to spark up her morning doobie. I mean, REALLY. You know what happens if she remains lucid for more than a few minutes. Before you know it there’s a “zen garden” on your bedspread made of pee rivulets and cleverly placed piles of litter. It’s because she is “artistic”, or so she keeps telling me. I’m considering a round-the-clock IV drip of box wine just to keep her manageable. You simply have no idea of the daily horrors I endure–being forcibly subjected to endless “pageants” where she attempts to perform adult contemporary hits of the 70s but can never remember anything except for that one ABBA song so she just sings it over and over again until you end up weeping blood.
K DD has been staring in dismay at these “wine eggs” she bought from that guy at the bus station for HOURS but they haven’t hatched yet. She’s starting to lose her buzz, dammit! I told her maybe she should try stomping them but she just got indignant and accused me of trying to have an intervention. Don’t tell her but I’m secretly planning one anyway with my support group, “People Who Love Cats Who Love Booze More Than They Love People”. It’s going to be an absolute bloodbath. The last time we tried an intervention she was so wasted she thought it was a Kitty DrunkDrunk celebrity roast and just kept tenting her fingers and smiling and nodding as if our complaints about her horrible behavior were actually amusing, affectionate anecdotes.
Apparently K DD’s spirit animal is a nice Chardonnay. She went staggering into Sears to get her head shots done because some guy at the TGIFridays at the mall told her she could be an actress and said to meet him behind the Home Depot for a “screen test”. By the time she left, the poor Sears guy was in absolute TEARS. Nothing in his community college photography class prepared him for the ghostly wine glass shaped aura that appears around her in EVERY SINGLE PICTURE. Eerie, oui?
Kitty DrunkDrunk did some hard time in the pokey and her thousand-yard stare recommends you back away from her stash of radiator wine or she will CUT you, man! Seriously, you have NO IDEA how much contraband she can fit up her “cavity”. One time an old Betamax machine came flying out of there while she was flailing around doing some wasted Riverdancing in the kitchen. Followed by DOZENS of switchblades and packs of Newports. It’s like she’s forgotten how to live on the “outside”.
If you’re looking for someone to maul your sandwich in a chardonnay-induced rage and then pass out on it, Kitty DrunkDrunk would like to offer her services. She has years of experience with becoming unconscious atop a variety of foodstuffs and will work for scale. Her contract requires several boxes of wine, a large saucer, and a diaper.