The war just escalated
Normally, Gil's attempts at killing me are limited to subterfuge: lying on the stairs in the middle of the night in an attempt to trip me, flopping down directly in front of me and trying to trip me, the swipe-and-dash...
Then we get the not-so-subtle attempts: pushing a plant off the ledge in the kitchen when I was walking down the stairs in an attempt to brain me, and the constant attacks while I'm sleeping which include, but are not limited to, shoving a paw up my nose and extended his claw slowly, putting his paw over my eye and extending his claw slowly, biting, nipping, scratching, and the ever-so-frightening blocking of my airways.
So why am I bringing this up, you may ask? See, when Lard decides to block my airways, he'll sit on my throat until I wake up sputtering and gasping for breath. Today, he decided to do something a bit different. It went a little something
Gil: *whining*
U.S: *groans* Listen, you little bag of douche; it's four thirty in the morning and you have to wait another hour and a half. I'm sorry but that's just the way it works so fuck the fuck off.
Gil: *thumps around*
U.S: *rolls over and goes back to full sleep*
**Later**
U.S: *can't breathe* What the-
Gil: *sitting calmly with his full weight on U.S's throat, with one paw shoved over U.S's nostrils to prevent him from breathing.
U.S: YOU FUCKBAG!
Gil: *tries to cover his mouth with his free paw*
U.S: YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!
Gil: *chirrups happily*
U.S: GYAAAAAAAH!
I really wish I was lying. And except for my level of coherency (as I cannot form words, let alone full sentences, when I'm not awake; my shrieking at Gil during these times is usually limited to angry grunts and occasionally full fledged screams of pain), I'm not even embellishing this. "But U.S," you say, "if you're so out of it, are you sure you didn't just dream the whole thing?" No, my children, I certainly did not: I was dreaming about getting married as some ploy to con tuition money out of the provincial scholarship fund, and how Brenda talked me into switching one of my classes to glee club that ran halfway through our calculus block. The attempt on my life did, fortunately, end that nonsense and bring the real world into crystal clarity, oxygen deprivation and all.
On an unrelated note, it scares me to think of what I could accomplish if I weren't normally such a lazy asshat: it's ten am and so far I've washed all the floors, cleaned the bathroom, done three loads of laundry, updated Lard's spreadsheet for the last month and a half, made myself a nice breakfast for a change, and prepped the counter for a muffin-making spree. In reality, it gives me a certain sick satisfaction to actually be able to cross things off my to-do list. All that's left for today is to mow the yard (it's been outstanding for the past month, because I am special), carve the pumpkin (waiting on my erstwhile wingman SJW for this, although he doesn't know it; I try to cater to his need to destroy things whenever possible) and balance some no-good financials for work tomorrow morning. Who am I kidding... I'm only speeding through this shit so I can go back on GO, as I've banned myself until it's finished. WHY AM I WRITING THIS?! THE FUCKING MUFFINS AREN'T MAKING THEMSELVES!
Then we get the not-so-subtle attempts: pushing a plant off the ledge in the kitchen when I was walking down the stairs in an attempt to brain me, and the constant attacks while I'm sleeping which include, but are not limited to, shoving a paw up my nose and extended his claw slowly, putting his paw over my eye and extending his claw slowly, biting, nipping, scratching, and the ever-so-frightening blocking of my airways.
So why am I bringing this up, you may ask? See, when Lard decides to block my airways, he'll sit on my throat until I wake up sputtering and gasping for breath. Today, he decided to do something a bit different. It went a little something
Gil: *whining*
U.S: *groans* Listen, you little bag of douche; it's four thirty in the morning and you have to wait another hour and a half. I'm sorry but that's just the way it works so fuck the fuck off.
Gil: *thumps around*
U.S: *rolls over and goes back to full sleep*
**Later**
U.S: *can't breathe* What the-
Gil: *sitting calmly with his full weight on U.S's throat, with one paw shoved over U.S's nostrils to prevent him from breathing.
U.S: YOU FUCKBAG!
Gil: *tries to cover his mouth with his free paw*
U.S: YOU'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!
Gil: *chirrups happily*
U.S: GYAAAAAAAH!
I really wish I was lying. And except for my level of coherency (as I cannot form words, let alone full sentences, when I'm not awake; my shrieking at Gil during these times is usually limited to angry grunts and occasionally full fledged screams of pain), I'm not even embellishing this. "But U.S," you say, "if you're so out of it, are you sure you didn't just dream the whole thing?" No, my children, I certainly did not: I was dreaming about getting married as some ploy to con tuition money out of the provincial scholarship fund, and how Brenda talked me into switching one of my classes to glee club that ran halfway through our calculus block. The attempt on my life did, fortunately, end that nonsense and bring the real world into crystal clarity, oxygen deprivation and all.
On an unrelated note, it scares me to think of what I could accomplish if I weren't normally such a lazy asshat: it's ten am and so far I've washed all the floors, cleaned the bathroom, done three loads of laundry, updated Lard's spreadsheet for the last month and a half, made myself a nice breakfast for a change, and prepped the counter for a muffin-making spree. In reality, it gives me a certain sick satisfaction to actually be able to cross things off my to-do list. All that's left for today is to mow the yard (it's been outstanding for the past month, because I am special), carve the pumpkin (waiting on my erstwhile wingman SJW for this, although he doesn't know it; I try to cater to his need to destroy things whenever possible) and balance some no-good financials for work tomorrow morning. Who am I kidding... I'm only speeding through this shit so I can go back on GO, as I've banned myself until it's finished. WHY AM I WRITING THIS?! THE FUCKING MUFFINS AREN'T MAKING THEMSELVES!