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?
Excerpt From The Journal Of Hans Hanselansles
Dated Nov. 9, 1940
I am writing now what I know to be my final words. The Nazi high command has discovered my actions, and I fear there is no escaping my execution. I am guilty of treason and murder, but I face my end with a clean conscience, for I did what I knew was right in my heart, for all of humanity.
And, yes, I know that's probably going to sound weird coming from a Nazi, since I'm pretty sure things are going to turn out pretty hard for us, but rest assured I had no idea about the whole mass-murder thing until, like, yesterday. Totally my bad, but let's not make a big thing of it unless you've never skim-read a memo that later turned out to be really important, Mr. Frickin' Perfect.
Erik Snyder/DigitalVision/Getty Images
You didn't vote that time they asked if we should replace Sour Patch Kids
with candy corn, so, ya know. Glass houses.
I bear much responsibility for what transpired, for it was my excavation of the Himalayas that first uncovered the artifact of the ancient Kitty Cities. Lace Arpuntarr's journal seemed like some kind of strange prank, but the more I read, the more I believed. I brought my evidence before the Nazi High Command, and they rebuffed it as lunacy, but I fought for it. I know this sounds crazy, but I was more predisposed to believing this story than others. In my heart, I had always known something like this was true. Cats are vicious little shits. They should all be rounded up and destroyed. Oh, jeez, that probably sounds terrible coming from me.
Regardless, I felt that this could be used as a weapon against the Allied scum. I believed that they could give us superiority on the battlefield. After convincing my superiors, I was given a remote facility and a thousand SS soldiers to conduct my experiments. I gathered more than a hundred stray cats in Germany and began to study their behavior.
Day 1: Everything smells awful, and I have an irresistible urge to take up knitting.
Quickly, I extrapolated from their behavior a terrible truth: When left to their own devices, cats will form civilizations and develop technological advancements at a rate that dwarfs anything humans could hope to achieve. They are a thousand times smarter than we are. We are genetically, intellectually, and morally inferior to them in every way. In fact, our disgusting existence is the only thing that holds them back: My studies found that most cats reproduce without human intervention -- but the tiny minority that do live with humans and do reproduce at our command infect the entire species with a weakness and dependency that keeps them from rising up. I have proven, conclusively, that the cat owner is the single most important member of human society. Without them, everything we've built would collapse in a matter of days.
The greatest heroes of our people.
I conducted similar experiments with dogs, looking for a parallel pattern, but found nothing. They're an adorable novelty, but neither a threat nor particularly useful. Fuck dogs. They're seriously the worst.
Hoping to uncover more, I invoked the ancient ritual to conjure the genie Toxoplasmosis Gondii, and this is when I found out about the, ya know, that whole "thing" that Nazis will surely be famous for, forever. Toxoplasmosis informed me that he was furious with what my people had done, and that he would never, under any circumstances, do my bidding. Which seemed like an overreaction, but whatever. In a show of disapproval, he restored the memory of the cats that I had gathered, informing them of what life had been like in what Lace Arpuntarr called "the before time." Enraged, they escaped their containment hold in a matter of minutes and fell upon my soldiers. Only five of us escaped with our lives. Five humans, I should say. I know not how many cats -- fully armed with knowledge and brimming with an unholy rage -- escaped into the night .
I don't know what this means. I don't know if these cats will be able to teach other cats the truth. I don't know if Toxoplasmosis will decided to restore things to the way they were. But I knew I had to do everything I could to undo my work. I destroyed my research, and I will add this note to the artifact I uncovered in the Himalayas. Since I will surely be dead in a matter of days, I am entrusting this to my nephew, Josef Hanselansles. He is shipping out in a U-boat tomorrow, but he promises to deliver this research to the Americans and keep careful track of it until then.
Here's his picture to show how trustworthy and pure he is.
The only option left to me is suicide. It is the only way I can pay for the terrible plague I have unleashed on the world. And, again, super sorry about my role in the Holocaust.
When I finished reading, I was so nervous that I started hiccuping, which is a thing I do when I get really nervous. I realized that I have to share this story with the world, get the story out there before it's too late. But as I opened my laptop, I heard the tinkling of broken glass.
The balcony door had shattered. Suddenly there were thousands of cats all around me. I had no choice but to run, leaving all the evidence of my discovery behind in that insanely expensive hotel room. The only proof I can offer is this hastily typed-up Google Doc. But even if that isn't enough to convince you, surely -- surely -- we can agree that it's enough to warrant some reimbursement for my travel expenses.
Now that you know the real origin story of cats (and damn was that an elaborate adventure the history books left out) maybe you can stop telling cat owners that cats aren't useful when compared to dogs. Learn to appreciate the cat overlords in 6 Things You Can Stop Telling Cat Owners. Still, even though you now know the truth, the battle between dog lovers and cat lovers will rage forever. See why in 5 Reasons The War Between Dog People And Cat People Needs To Stop.
Also follow us on Facebook because, if you're feeling lonely, its a lot cheaper than buying a second cat.
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.