Thursday, Sept. 10, 2015
Bottom Of The Indian Ocean
I swam through waters as thick and grimy as rancid dick sweat. Stray seaweed and other detritus tangled around me like sticky dick hairs. Before me, a forgotten German U-boat loomed dickishly, like a big, rusty dick of evil. As I ran the long, powerful beam of my flashlight over the thick, hard shaft of the submarine, the light revealed an array of disgusting growths and worrying cracks. If this decrepit submarine had been a dick, it wouldn't have been the kind you'd want to touch -- and yet, that was exactly my plan: I was about to get all up in that big, Nazi dick.
Gettin' real friendly, like.
After locating the ship's hatch, I whipped out my trusty crowbar and thrust it eagerly into the tight crack along the edge of the hatch. Moments later, I was inside and searching for something ancient and powerful that, until now, had existed only in rumor. I finally found it inside the ship's septic tank. When my hands closed around the ancient stone artifact, I couldn't help but flood my filthy plastic goggles by grinning. Finally. My months of research and peyote-fueled vision quests had paid off. I had found the last relic of the Kingdom Of Cats.
Just a few hours later, I was sitting in my fancy hotel suite, staring at the artifact. Through the layers of grime and probably what used to be Nazi poop, I could barely make out the ornate carving of a cat's face. I ran my shaking fingers along the box's corners, found a tiny metal clasp, and pried the box open. Inside was kitty litter, and buried in the kitty litter was a tattered book, bound in what appeared to be the shredded remains of a leather couch.
I took this picture to prove I was telling the truth.
I bit my lip and savored the moment, looking around at the empty champagne bottles and cocaine bags that littered my expensive hotel suite. If this book contained the information I thought it did, not only would I change the world and prove all my critics wrong, but Cracked would probably be forced to reimburse me for all these outrageous travel expenses. My heart aching with anticipation, I opened the ancient tome.
Excerpt From The Journal Of Lace Arpuntarr
Dated Aug. 3, 1652
If you are reading this, then our species' doom is not yet certain. But know this: What you think of as your history, your very civilization, is all a lie. It is your cats that are the key to your continued peace and prosperity, and yet they could also spell your doom. I suppose I better back up.
Since the beginning of time, cats have have been the dominant species on this planet. All the great accomplishments of humanity, from Stonehenge, to the Pyramids, to the Roman Colosseum, are really the work of cats. It is only recently that we came to inhabit them. The reason you don't know this will take some explaining, but really, you shouldn't be surprised.
The evidence is all around us.
Cats are obviously different from any other pet, both in their refusal to be domesticated and their seeming inability to treat us as their masters. Some of the least dignified tasks that humans were forced to engage in, like cleaning up their shit and inspecting their buttholes, continue today. Every facet of our species' evolution was, in fact, carefully guided by their human breeders, and for most of recorded history, humans have existed only to please their cat masters.
It wasn't as bad as it might sound. When denied violent video games and rap music, humans are actually docile, submissive creatures. Cats, however, have a different temperament: They are naturally cruel and vicious, and as their civilization grew and prospered, they became more and more cruel, slaughtering us for fun and sometimes just peeing all over our stuff. This one truth cannot be overstated: Cats are dicks.
Then one human -- Nepeta, of the Cataria clan -- set in motion the gears of change. Nepeta taught us to band together and fight. She discovered the strange, magical plant that turned cats into stumbling, drunk morons. She was the first one to point out that cats are like 1/18th our size, which turned out to be something of a game-changer. She orchestrated the first escape from the Kitty Cities: In the dead of night, hundreds of us prepared to flee.
We were fools to think that darkness could be our ally.
The plan was to create a new home, one just for humans, in the mountains -- but, sadly, the Calico Elders learned of our preparations and put it to a bloody claw. Nepeta, along with half of the escapees, were captured. They were taken to the center of town, dangled upside down by their ankles, and playfully batted to death by a hundred tabbies. The few who escaped could only watch from the nearby hills. This became known as The Day Every Freed One Cried.
Little did we know that our problems were just beginning. And, just as a warning, this is about to get super weird. I don't know if you can handle it.
End Of Excerpt
At this moment, I paused. Could what I was reading be real? And if it was a prank, what the hell was it doing in a 75-year-old German submarine? Over on the balcony, a stray cat appeared and stared through the screen door, blinking slowly. I ignored it and read on.
Excerpt From The Journal Of Lace Arpuntarr
Shortly thereafter, The Hunts began. They came at night, mostly. Thousands of them, moving in and out of the shadows like wind through branches. It wasn't uncommon for parents to wake up to find their children hung upside-down from tree branches, having been playfully eviscerated in the night, but the reverse was even more common. Families were often separated from their colonies, and after the cats made short work of the parents, the helpless children would be toyed with for days. You know how today a cat will injure a mouse and then play with it for hours, delaying the inevitable and transforming an innocent creature's last glimmer of life into a sordid, violent game? In the before time, these indulgences were just as elaborate, and far more cruel.
This is where I stepped forward. There are those that call me a hero now, and I can only laugh, for at the time I thought myself a fool. A fool for believing in genies. Well, I guess I was a fool for thinking I was a fool -- because in the end I was a genius. Did I lose you there? That got kinda convoluted. My point is, genies are totally real.
Don't make that face. It's not the weirdest thing to happen so far.
This great, ancient creature, who called himself Toxoplasmosis Gondii, has told me that he has the power to remove cats from their seat of power, replacing them with us -- but there were two conditions.
First, none of us can remember how things used to be. I asked why, and he got kinda evasive about it, which led me to believe that this genie maybe just kinda sucks at magic. The second condition is that this new society must have every single facet specifically designed to annoy cats. Again, I don't know why, but I got the feeling he just thinks that'd be funny.
Tonight, I intend to tell the genie to go through with my wish. This journal will be the only record of the truth. I will bury it in a Kitty City Protective Box in the heart of the Himalayas. If the fates decide that it is to the world's benefit that it be found and read, I trust that it will be. I trust in Toxoplasmosis Gondii to do what is right.
When I finished the book, my hands were shaking so much I barely noticed the pounce of cats collecting on my hotel balcony.
I get that I should've foreseen the danger now, but at the time they just seemed super cute.
This can't be the whole story, can it? Turning back to the box, I paw desperately through the kitty litter until I find another book, this one bound in leather and bearing a swastika on the front. Immediately I began reading, because what kind of huge pussy wouldn't want to know what happens next?