I have a cat who is sick as a dog right now. I took him to the vet on Saturday, who couldn’t find anything in particular wrong with him, and told me if there wasn’t any improvement, to bring him back in four days for X-rays. The worthless fucker is worse now than he was on Saturday. Before, he was hiding under furniture near me; now he’s made a death nest for himself as far as possible from his universe. I’ll be taking him in tomorrow after three days. Hopefully I’m just being an alarmist, but I’ve owned enough of these things over the years to know that something ain’t right and he isn’t just feeling under the weather. If it’s something terminal, I’ll be putting him down quickly. Worthless is far too stupid to get any enjoyment out of a terminal life.

In happier news, I bought a 25,000 Mother Fucking BTUs, BIATCH, air conditioner this week. That’s 25,000 MFBTUs, BIATCH! My nipples are perked in anticipation for the dog day months. Here’s to hoping Stupid pulls through. One of the main reasons I bought the monster conditioner was so that he wouldn’t be so miserable this summer.

This past weekend, to kill the time between cleaning copious piles of cat bile, I goofed around with Illustrator. At first, I just drafted up a floor plan of my apartment. I had no particular reason to bother doing this, but when I’m anxious, I obsess over insignificant nonsense:

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Of course, this wasn’t enough to make me happy, so I continued to add more and more details. I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t. Next thing I knew, I had a two dimensional dollhouse version of my apartment... again, for absolutely no good reason:

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This just made me feel like a Christopher Lowell loving homo, so I then drafted up a functionality map of my 25,000 Mother Fucking BTU, BIATCH, air conditioner; because, you know, that’s like, sooo much more manly:

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So, to those of you unfortunate enough to bother stopping by this page today; congratulations, you now know more about the square footage, furniture layout and air conditioner functionality of my apartment than you or I ever wanted to know.

That stupid, fat, hairy, worthless little mother fucker better pull through. I don’t need all those BTUs for myself.