Oy Gevalt!

The Real Stuff Cats Like is blindingly, astoundingly stupid. Lighting-a-smoke-in-a-pool-of-gasoline stupid; stopping-to-ask-a-hooker-for-directions-with-a-police-cruiser-sitting-across-the-street stupid. It takes an IQ measured in popsicle-sticks to look at this blog and not immediately decide they’ve got better things to do, which is why I considered just posting a naked link with the title, 'Why Bother?' (and, perhaps, why it‘s taken me so long to finish this review), but, despite not being on the payroll here at Ask for a while, I am a professional. Of course, all that affords me is the arduous task of whittling through brainless drivel like I was settling an argument between two stringy-haired, slap-fighting harpies down at the laundromat, but whittle I did…

A horror-slash-political-slash-cat-face blog, Stuff Cats Like appears to have been designed by a triage of blind squirrels with but a cursory understanding of photoshop and makes dogshit ground into the bottom of a shoe look like an aesthetic fucking marvel. I’ve seen better designs in the light-patterns exploding behind my eyes after being punched in the face, and more impressed, too, because at least that guy, unlike ol’ Teddy here, put some effort into it.

It’s not just that I’ve heard tighter narrative focus from a trepanned creationist who speaks only in Avril Lavigne lyrics, or that seagulls alighting on land-mines hold together better than this blog’s at-best limited premise (which consists mostly of moronic script-treatments/faux-celebrity reportage featuring Nick Cannon, and is far more interesting in description than it is in practice), or that Insane Clown Posse rocks a slicker shtick despite being legally retarded, no… what really sets this fuckwitted nonsense apart is that, all of a sudden, for no discernable reason, this shitstain of a blogger just decided to start throwing around offensive epithets like they were his mom’s apparently-defective morning-after pills. To wit:

She can handle a whip like Indiana Jones and unless you’re a fag her sexy gams will make your dick as hard as a diamond.

Notice that I didn’t call the guy a Jewboy either, I said J-boy.

Shocking? Hardly - I’ve been more appalled by a fourth-grade production of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and having spent a fair amount of time with the British I’m pretty desensitized to the word 'cunt'. No, the most offensive aspect of this blog isn’t the ham-fisted name-calling or the flailing use of pre-adolescent vernacular but that it’s fucking boring: tepid, insipid, limp and unimaginative, Stuff That Cats Like is an unreadable reminder both that a complete and utter lack of creativity is no impediment to starting a blog, and that the platform of Blogger is evidently idiot-proof. I’ve never seen a more pathetic cry for attention, and I’ve read Madonna’s Sex book.

Some, like Mr. Teddy Puertodipshit, would doubtlessly brag about receiving flaming fingers from us, so I award him this


because I’m confident he hasn’t the cognitive capacity to fill in the blanks, and he was obnoxious enough to submit this dripping sack of horseshit three times. Well, here you are, fuckball, your review’s all done; now you can delete your blog and go back to scratching clever notes into the stall-wall of your favourite public washroom. Oh, and don’t forget that a drawing of a penis needs a huge amount of pubic-hair, because that’s fucking hilarious.