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Time Machine Clothes Dryer

Two years ago, around this time, I built a time machine from a Dynamo clothes dryer and sent an orange housecat to the past. To allay any of your concerns, the cat was not seriously harmed; however, my clothes hinted of pee from then on; the time machine was reconverted to a dryer, of course, because cat-transporting time machines pose a threat to the safety of every nation. Imagine if the terrorists got their paws on it. The orange cat was named Higgins after Magnum PI's reluctant lover. On the Day of Interdimensional Feline Travel, informally named "Cat Time Travel Day," I outfitted Higgins with a wee pair of goggles, booties, and a flask of vodka around his neck. The flask was filled with vodka because I was convinced Higgins was Russian...at the very least, Polish.

When the Front Mid-Temperature Heat Exchange Core of the Dynamo Dryer Time Device reached a critical temperature, the cat slipped through the vortex and arrived at the Battle of Antietam. You see, the history books were wrong. Confederate general Robert E. Lee defeated the intrepid Union commander McClellan in the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, and the slaves remained in custody and the South succeeded in seceding. Until, that is, an orange cat named Higgins, from the future, distracted General Lee, allowing a Union sharpshooter opportunity to put a lead ball in the Confederate general's shoulder. Lee then retreated to a rearward triage tent where he couldn't effectively command.

Higgins quite possibly could've had to battle a version of himself through every generation of the vortex until arriving at Antietam because when he was released from the time machine/clothes dryer, his snout showed a thin trickle of blood and his tail was paralyzed. And his vodka was gone, indicating he had to bribe the authorities for safe passage. But from where? I wondered what horrors the heroic cat named after a television character had endured, but he wasn't talking. He's a cat.

If you're skeptical of the story of an orange cat named Higgins being transported back in time to sway crucial events particular to the outcome of the Civil War, then ask yourself these questions: did the Union win? Are all men free? Does Higgins the cat safely reside in a loft apartment in San Francisco? Do my clothes smell faintly of cat urine?

If the answers to those questions are yes, then there's all the proof you need.

Thursday, December 13 Still Standing Fox 11:00 a.m. Since I was dumped a month ago, and since it's the primary duty of a girlfriend to keep my apartment clean, my place looks like a scene from an urban remake of Lord of the Flies . I wash my tighty whities in the toilet and dry them over an open trash fire in the kitchen. Sharpened bicycle spokes and coffee stirrers act as weapons, backscratchers, and cooking utensils. All waste is broken down to fit out the mail slot, and the mail is my only cleaning product. Bleak. My future remains bleak.

Women's College Volleyball ESPN2 6:00 p.m. >If you've got a bad hangover, do what I do. Float pornography into a kiddie pool of Gatorade. Don a snorkel filled with aspirin and play "Where am I hiding page 39?" No, it doesn't alleviate any of the symptoms, but it's distracting enough so that you don't give a damn anymore.

Friday, December 14 Two and a Half Men CW 7:00 p.m. Sure, dwarves prefer the term "little person," but did they ever think about what I prefer? To get along in this great big mixed-up world, we're going to have to consider each other's feelings and you little people are just being rude, I think. Also, I'm tired of giving you piggyback rides. I want my turn, so you better stiffen up your back and get those legs moving.

Saturday, December 15 Cake CBS 8:00 a.m. On my last birthday, I bought a hundred cupcakes, a bag of balloons, and broke out my gargantuan ball of rubber bands. Before blowing the balloons into animals, I put a little piece of cupcake inside so the balloon animals could be happy and have cake on my birthday. The rubber bands were what I shot the animals with -- I was a year older and wanted to pop something with a bit of cupcake in its balloon-y stomach. There were candles, too, but let's not get too graphic. We'll just say it was the best party ever.

Cops Fox 8:00 p.m. You know, in every movie or TV show where a necklace is at stake, it can be pulled from the neck of the wearer with a quick snap. Have you ever tried that? It doesn't work. What you get is whiplash for the wearer and a rosy indentation roughly the width of the necklace and bone-deep around your fingers, but what you do not get is the necklace. The real scenario just doesn't work well for a movie script, except, maybe, a comedy because when yanked about like that, your friend with the necklace gives out a brief, "Gluyah!" Try it next time you're in a bar.

Sunday, December 16 America's Most Smartest Model VH1 8:00 p.m. Nobody else thinks Tyra Banks looks like a transsexual vampire? That's just me? I'm all alone in that one? Fine. But, I'll be the only one laughing when a closet full of emptied corpses and men's shoes dumps out into her dressing room and her makeup artist shrieks, "Eeeaagh! Tyra's a big tranny vampire! Ollie was right!" Damn that's going to feel good. I'm going to giggle my toes off.

Monday, December 17 Frasier Fox 5:00 p.m. If I were a psychologist I'd answer the phone "Doctor Octopus." I'd scratch my beard thoughtfully, and I'd give my diagnosis over the phone until the patient said, "Wait. Did you answer the phone as Doctor Octopus?" and I'd scribble in my pad and say, "Okay. We're also dealing with hallucinations, Lucretia. I know your name is Caitlin. That's what I said. Man, you are one scrambled egg."

Tuesday, December 18 CSI: Crime Scene Investigation Spike 5:30 p.m. There's a mystery stain on my bedspread. The color can only be called "oranurpleen" and it's texture described as "oily yet oddly granular." Which is too bad because today is a meeting of my Household Items Star Wars Fan Club, and I'm supposed to wear it as an Emperor Palpatine costume. Chewbacca will belittle me. Again. Chewbacca, you cruel Wookie. Can't you feel empathy beneath that ragged remnant of shag carpet?

Wednesday, December 19 Sportscenter ESPN 9:00 p.m. This isn't funny, but it's true. Ruth Bader Ginsberg set up an intramural hallway soccer league around the offices of the Supreme Court. Since there are nine judges, Chief Justice John Roberts acts as referee, but he's impartial. Rumor has it during the last game he was witnessed shouting, "SCALIA! SCALIA! SCALIA!" I mean, for the love of sweet molasses, you're not even trying to cover up your partisanship anymore. Damned Chief Justice John Roberts, always screwing things up. Such a jerk!

Thursday, December 19 Al Diablo con Los Guapos Telemundo 8:00 p.m. Evel Knievel died last week, and if there were any justice in this filthy world he'd be strapped to a motorcycle, doused in bourbon, lit on fire, the throttle would be tied wide open, and his flaming hulk would be shot into the Snake River Canyon. And instead of mumbling, "Rest in Peace," everyone at the service would shout, "Rest in radness!" RIR, Evel. RIR!

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One or two puffs for the Population Assessment of Tobacco and Health

And so starts the procession of questions.

Two years ago, around this time, I built a time machine from a Dynamo clothes dryer and sent an orange housecat to the past. To allay any of your concerns, the cat was not seriously harmed; however, my clothes hinted of pee from then on; the time machine was reconverted to a dryer, of course, because cat-transporting time machines pose a threat to the safety of every nation. Imagine if the terrorists got their paws on it. The orange cat was named Higgins after Magnum PI's reluctant lover. On the Day of Interdimensional Feline Travel, informally named "Cat Time Travel Day," I outfitted Higgins with a wee pair of goggles, booties, and a flask of vodka around his neck. The flask was filled with vodka because I was convinced Higgins was Russian...at the very least, Polish.

When the Front Mid-Temperature Heat Exchange Core of the Dynamo Dryer Time Device reached a critical temperature, the cat slipped through the vortex and arrived at the Battle of Antietam. You see, the history books were wrong. Confederate general Robert E. Lee defeated the intrepid Union commander McClellan in the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, and the slaves remained in custody and the South succeeded in seceding. Until, that is, an orange cat named Higgins, from the future, distracted General Lee, allowing a Union sharpshooter opportunity to put a lead ball in the Confederate general's shoulder. Lee then retreated to a rearward triage tent where he couldn't effectively command.

Higgins quite possibly could've had to battle a version of himself through every generation of the vortex until arriving at Antietam because when he was released from the time machine/clothes dryer, his snout showed a thin trickle of blood and his tail was paralyzed. And his vodka was gone, indicating he had to bribe the authorities for safe passage. But from where? I wondered what horrors the heroic cat named after a television character had endured, but he wasn't talking. He's a cat.

If you're skeptical of the story of an orange cat named Higgins being transported back in time to sway crucial events particular to the outcome of the Civil War, then ask yourself these questions: did the Union win? Are all men free? Does Higgins the cat safely reside in a loft apartment in San Francisco? Do my clothes smell faintly of cat urine?

If the answers to those questions are yes, then there's all the proof you need.

Thursday, December 13 Still Standing Fox 11:00 a.m. Since I was dumped a month ago, and since it's the primary duty of a girlfriend to keep my apartment clean, my place looks like a scene from an urban remake of Lord of the Flies . I wash my tighty whities in the toilet and dry them over an open trash fire in the kitchen. Sharpened bicycle spokes and coffee stirrers act as weapons, backscratchers, and cooking utensils. All waste is broken down to fit out the mail slot, and the mail is my only cleaning product. Bleak. My future remains bleak.

Women's College Volleyball ESPN2 6:00 p.m. >If you've got a bad hangover, do what I do. Float pornography into a kiddie pool of Gatorade. Don a snorkel filled with aspirin and play "Where am I hiding page 39?" No, it doesn't alleviate any of the symptoms, but it's distracting enough so that you don't give a damn anymore.

Friday, December 14 Two and a Half Men CW 7:00 p.m. Sure, dwarves prefer the term "little person," but did they ever think about what I prefer? To get along in this great big mixed-up world, we're going to have to consider each other's feelings and you little people are just being rude, I think. Also, I'm tired of giving you piggyback rides. I want my turn, so you better stiffen up your back and get those legs moving.

Saturday, December 15 Cake CBS 8:00 a.m. On my last birthday, I bought a hundred cupcakes, a bag of balloons, and broke out my gargantuan ball of rubber bands. Before blowing the balloons into animals, I put a little piece of cupcake inside so the balloon animals could be happy and have cake on my birthday. The rubber bands were what I shot the animals with -- I was a year older and wanted to pop something with a bit of cupcake in its balloon-y stomach. There were candles, too, but let's not get too graphic. We'll just say it was the best party ever.

Cops Fox 8:00 p.m. You know, in every movie or TV show where a necklace is at stake, it can be pulled from the neck of the wearer with a quick snap. Have you ever tried that? It doesn't work. What you get is whiplash for the wearer and a rosy indentation roughly the width of the necklace and bone-deep around your fingers, but what you do not get is the necklace. The real scenario just doesn't work well for a movie script, except, maybe, a comedy because when yanked about like that, your friend with the necklace gives out a brief, "Gluyah!" Try it next time you're in a bar.

Sunday, December 16 America's Most Smartest Model VH1 8:00 p.m. Nobody else thinks Tyra Banks looks like a transsexual vampire? That's just me? I'm all alone in that one? Fine. But, I'll be the only one laughing when a closet full of emptied corpses and men's shoes dumps out into her dressing room and her makeup artist shrieks, "Eeeaagh! Tyra's a big tranny vampire! Ollie was right!" Damn that's going to feel good. I'm going to giggle my toes off.

Monday, December 17 Frasier Fox 5:00 p.m. If I were a psychologist I'd answer the phone "Doctor Octopus." I'd scratch my beard thoughtfully, and I'd give my diagnosis over the phone until the patient said, "Wait. Did you answer the phone as Doctor Octopus?" and I'd scribble in my pad and say, "Okay. We're also dealing with hallucinations, Lucretia. I know your name is Caitlin. That's what I said. Man, you are one scrambled egg."

Tuesday, December 18 CSI: Crime Scene Investigation Spike 5:30 p.m. There's a mystery stain on my bedspread. The color can only be called "oranurpleen" and it's texture described as "oily yet oddly granular." Which is too bad because today is a meeting of my Household Items Star Wars Fan Club, and I'm supposed to wear it as an Emperor Palpatine costume. Chewbacca will belittle me. Again. Chewbacca, you cruel Wookie. Can't you feel empathy beneath that ragged remnant of shag carpet?

Wednesday, December 19 Sportscenter ESPN 9:00 p.m. This isn't funny, but it's true. Ruth Bader Ginsberg set up an intramural hallway soccer league around the offices of the Supreme Court. Since there are nine judges, Chief Justice John Roberts acts as referee, but he's impartial. Rumor has it during the last game he was witnessed shouting, "SCALIA! SCALIA! SCALIA!" I mean, for the love of sweet molasses, you're not even trying to cover up your partisanship anymore. Damned Chief Justice John Roberts, always screwing things up. Such a jerk!

Thursday, December 19 Al Diablo con Los Guapos Telemundo 8:00 p.m. Evel Knievel died last week, and if there were any justice in this filthy world he'd be strapped to a motorcycle, doused in bourbon, lit on fire, the throttle would be tied wide open, and his flaming hulk would be shot into the Snake River Canyon. And instead of mumbling, "Rest in Peace," everyone at the service would shout, "Rest in radness!" RIR, Evel. RIR!

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