The Golden Globes

My Mom said she was excited 'cause there was this award show coming on called The Golden Globes. Why the hell would I want to watch a show where they congratulate countries and continents and hemispheres and stuff like that? And the globe isn't gold, it's green and blue.

But then my Mom said it was about movies and I sure do like movies, so I said, okay, I'll watch it, but there better not be any lame-o dance routines choreographed, as always, by Claire Huxtable's sister. Or pictures of dead people where the audience claps. Why are you clapping? Are you glad they're dead? Probably, because they always clap more loudly for the more famous people, which means they're really really glad that their competition is gone. Boy, Hollywood sure is cut-throat.

So J-Lo pops out (literally and figuratively) to tell everybody to shut up and pay attention to her 'cause she thinks she's still relevant (yeah, that Skeletor dude really helped your career, didn't he?). She certainly has lived up to her last good movie role: Out of Sight.

Then they gave Rose from Titanic an award for crying in a movie. If you cry a lot, or play a retard, you usually win an award. Look at Mickey Rourke: he fried his brains stupid and, sure enough, he won an award. Tracey Morgan looks and talks like a retard, and 30-Rock wins, too. There are exceptions to this rule: Meryl Streep had to be mentally unbalanced to star in Mamma Mia, but no award for her. No, they gave it to Rose, again, for crying a lot. I cried when my Mom threatened to take me to see Mamma Mia, but I didn't even get a nomination.

And I stopped caring about the TV awards when Dr House didn't win. Cripple always trumps emotional train-wrecks. But I knew it was all crap when Monk didn't even win. If OCD and Crippled-Drug-Addict can't beat Retro-Chain-Smoker, then something's not right. But then again, these awards are given out by foreigners. Have you ever met a foreigner that didn't smoke? FIXED! FIXED, I tell you!

Consider this: Which movie took the most awards? That's right: Slumdog Millioniare. Made by a foreigner, set in foreigner-land, and starring foreigners. And they won awards from....the Hollywood FOREIGN Press. Oh, yeah, let's see...who won Best Actor in a Comedy? Colin Farell, an IRISHMAN in a movie set in BELGIUM. Where the hell is Oliver Stone when you need him!?

Need another example? Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Tom Wilkinson. A BRIT nominated for playing two famous...Americans. A BRIT won an award for playing a FOUNDING FATHER. That's treason!

Speaking of aliens, they gave the lifetime achievement award to Stephen Spielberg, a man who's last couple of movies have been made and are about Europe: Saving Private Ryan (Europe), Schindler's List (Europe), Munich (Europe). Even his older movies are all about non-Americans: E.T. (alien), A.I. (again, aliens), Close Encounters (aliens). Heck, even Dr, Jones taught in England and never went exploring for treasure in the good old US of A (instead, we get stuck with Nick Cage....). And so the Hollywood FOREIGN Press gives it's lifetime achievement to a man who films all things not-American.

Now, the one thing they got right, in this humble cat's opinion, was giving Heath Ledger the award for Best Supporting Actor. But then again, Heath was an Aussie.So I guess I'm looking forward to the Oscars in hopes that the US brings home some gold. I'm rooting for The Dark Knight. Oh, wait. Damnit! Even something as American as BATMAN has been taken over by foreigners! The director's a Brit, the butler's a Brit, even BATMAN HIMSELF is a Brit.

I guess I'll just wait for the Kid's Choice Awards on Nickelodeon: I'm pretty sure Miley Cyrus will win something.....

Christmas Greetings!!

Yessireebob, Chistmas is coming! And I sure have been a good boy this year (depending, of course on your perspective). How have I been good? I haven't exacted revenge on a certain rat-bastard meerkat from Down Under (although I sure would like to light his yule log on fire), so I'm thinking that keeps me in the "good" category. Chasing my sisters is not being bad (again, perspective). I'm keeping them excersising and making making sure they don't get fat. It's charity work, and this season is all about charity.

And presents.

And baby Jesus, who, by the way, happens to have a birthday on Christmas (how cool is that?). My birthday is Tax Day. Bummer.

Yes, this is the time of year that we commemorate the birth of the Christian savior by lining up at a Wal-Mart at four in the morning to trample people to death for a 10% discount on Isotoner slippers that will never be worn after December 26th. (I wonder, did the people who trampled that poor fellow thank him for dying for their sins?).

Jesus did not get Isotoner slippers for his birthday, I'm pretty sure (he lived in the desert, after all). But like Isotoner slippers, Jesus, too, got some pretty crappy and useless presents for Christmas/Birthday. What is a newborn baby gonna do with Myrrh? What the hell is Myrrh? It sounds like the noise my Dad makes when he snores. And Frankenscence. Was that to cover up the smell of baby Jesus' smelly diapers? Or the smell of a manger in general? Oh, but he did get Gold, setting up the trend of blinging out your baby (Jesus is my homeboy!).

Did you notice that in the Bible story of this "birthday party" there was no mention of cake and ice cream, or streamers, or pin the tale on the donkey? And they had real donkeys! This was a total lame-o get-together. Something tells me that, if the Son of God is born, and the supposed Wise Men are repsonsible for the gifts, they'd really try and jazz it up, like one of those Super Sweet 16 paties you see on M-TV. If little priss-ass McKenzie in Dallas, Texas can get a Lexus convertable, the Son of God should at least get his own donkey, for Christ's sake!

Birthday parties in Bethlehem blow.

Did any of those Wise Men bring Joseph a flask? If any one should have gotten on Santa's good list, it was Joseph. He put up with a lot. That, or he was a total wuss push-over. Then again, he really wouldn't stand a chance against God in a fist fight or duel. Poor guy. Pass him a mug of Peppermint Schnapps.

Did you know horses like peppermint candies? It's true. I saw it on "Girls Next Door" when they went to the Kentucky Derby.

History has shown us what a crappy Christmas can do to a fella. Jesus didn't get any cool toys to play with, not even a dradle. So to make up for it, we over-compensate and buy lots and lots of useless crap and make lots of treats, and kill trees. Not sure about that last thing, though it is a German tradition, and those Germans sure are weird. I wonder if Christmas trees in Germany are wrapped in leather whips and chains?

But more important than what's on the tree (usually a cat climbing it) is what's under it. And this year, I'm hoping for a boat-load of loot from the fat man himself.

I totally deserve presents. I'm doing well in school (I haven't been to the principal's office all year), I bring Dad his flip flops every morning, and I don't order pay-per-view porn. I think I should get everything on my list, but just in case, I've got a list below for anyone who wants to get me a little something. Just don't get me Myrrh, please.

Or fruitcake.

Or Isotoner slippers. Have you ever seen a cat in slippers? There's a reason why you haven't.

Cats don't need slippers 'cause we're quiet and stealthy and that sure is gonna come in handy when I sneak up on Santa Claus coming down the chimney to leave me my loot. I sneak really good. Not like my brother, Elvis, who has a club foot, or paw, I guess you could call it. He sounds like Long John Silver when he walks, except for the parrot and saying "Argh!" all the time.

Everyday is like Christmas for pirates.

I'm gonna wait and wait and this year I'll stay up all night so I can see Kris Kringle in person (that's his secret identity, like Clark Kent)(maybe Santa should get a red cape 'cause he's awfully super), and when I see him, I'm gonna share milk and cookies with him. White milk, of course. Dad says we should leave him a beer, 'cause Santa's got to get sick of milk at every house, but I say, how the hell can anyone get tired of white milk? It does a body good, and since Santa is fat, he needs something to do his body good. Maybe I should chase him for a while, like I do to my sisters. He can have the cookies. Sugar makes my hyperactive.

But I've got a question: if we're celebrating a birthday with this Christmas thing, then why doesn't Santa wear a birthday party hat and dress like Jesus? That would totally make more sense.

Anyway, here is my list and I look forward to receiving your magananmous donations to the Chicken Christmas Joyful Day fund.

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday Jesus!

Chicken's Christmas List:

High School Musical Boxed Set DVD

Life-sized poster of Hannah Montana (or that totally sexy sultry strangely creepy photo from Vanity Fair blown up to poster size, minus the Billy Ray)

A Red Rider Carbine Action BB Gun with a compas in the stock

A copy of "Crime and Punishment" by Fyodor Dostoevsky, in the original Russian (first edition is not necessary, but thanks)

A membership in the Alan Alda Fan Club

WD-40

Singing lessons from Neil Patrick Harris

A cow

Peace, love, and understanding

Natural calamaty to befall Australia

A dolphin Mold-a-rama from the Zoo

Cracker Jack (there's a prize inside!)

A silly straw

Welding goggles

Seven shares of Purina stock

X-ray vision

"Heroes" to not suck so much anymore

A hacky-sack

Flying lessons

Chilly Willy cartoons to come back on TV

An i-paw

Real Estate

The Cubs to win the World Series

Caulk

Silly String, lots and lots of Silly String

Nitro-glycerine

A subscription to Playboy (for the articles)

One of those cool Life Saver books that lok like a book, but when you open it up, it's actually rolls of Life Savers. I don't want the candy, I just think it's cool.

A martini, shaken, not stirred

Tickets to La Traviata

Shrinky Dinks

A new girl in class to go gaga for

A new girl in class to go gaga for me

Zips, blue with four white stripes, not three, but four (the more stripes you have, the faster you can run...)

Carmex

Turtle Wax

Tickets to the Obama Inauguration

The Darth Vader Toaster (it makes burns the face of Darth Vader onto your toast!!!)

Afro-sheen

A saddle

A subscription to Sky Mall magazine

Spidey-sense

"Tyra" to be cancelled

A pink flamingo (plastic, please)

Cash (when all else fails, it's great to give cash $$$$$$$$$)

Sorry, it's been a while....

Oh, heck,I’m real sorry...

It sure has been a long time since I've written anything, and I know there sure are a lot of people out there who are wonderning, what the heck happened to Chicken? Did he finally get eaten by a giraffe? Did he get locked up for erasing a certain Australian meerkat off the face of the earth? Did he get abducted by aliens and is now enjoying a tasty Reese's Pieces existence?

No, I'm okay. I've just been busy. Takin' care of my Dad.

See, my Dad went back to school, and it's been, like, a hundred years or so since he went, so he's gotta get re-acclimated, and that's where I come in. I've been tutoring Dad in the ways of the schoolroom. I don't want him to get laughed at (at least if I'm not there to see it). So I've been helping him with his homework (no TV 'till it's done), packin' his lunches (only one Little Debbie snack cake per day or you'll have no dessert by the end of the week!), making sure he gets up on time (which is why I tell my Mom not to clip my claws).

It sure is time-consuming being a Mom to my Dad. And since my Dad is old and forgets things, I have to quiz him on what he's read or learned in class.

He's learning some weird-ass stuff, let me tell ya. There's this guy named Neat Chi and he believes that everyone can be Superman but he went crazy after saving a horse from dying and never got to fly. And then there's this guy named Playdoh and he lived in a cave and he said we all live in caves, but I'm guessing this guy lived a long time ago, or is Batman, 'cause I don't live in no cave. I did live under an underpass, though, when I was a baby...

Dad sure is learning stupid stuff. But he's got this other class where he gets to take pictures all day long, but he's screwing that one up, too, 'cause I haven't seen one pasty nude model come lay on our sofa yet. Dad's such a loser....

Oh, and he's takin' this class on the government, so I'm hoping he'll get to bring home some of that government cheese one day. I sure do love cheese. It's made from milk, and milk does a body good.

So sorry if I haven't had time to write any reviews or tell you about my awesome trip to New Orleans, but I will soon, I promise. Meanwhile, who the hell is gonna help me with MY homework? Geesh.....

The coolest person in the universe

Sorry it's taken me so long to write, but I've been pondering something that has left me with no good answer:

Is there anyone in the universe more cool than Han Solo?

I mean, really?

Sure, there are a lot of bad-ass mo-fos out there, but no one matches the utter coolness of the bad boy of the galaxy. Lando Calrissian may be the pimp of the galaxy, but not the coolest guy in the galaxy. No sir, not by a long shot.

Tell me, are any of these peeps even close?:

James Bond (cool gadgets, but he doesn't end up with a princess, does he?)

Captain Kirk (I don't think the Enterprise made the Kessel Run in less than five parsecs...)

Cap'n Mal (Han flies his own ship, he don't need no stinkin' crew)

Barack Obama (that's HAN Solo, not Hussein Solo)

Cool Hand Luke (Newman never got frozen and thawed out of carbonite, did he?)

Dirty Harry (Han carries a 350 Magnum LASER pistol)

Frank Sinatra (Han Solo is NOT from New Jersey)

Jello Pudding Pops (would melt on Tatooine)

Colt 45 (the gun AND the beverage)

The Spanish Inquisition (If Han doesn't believe in the Force, he sure as hell don't believe in God)

President John Tyler (Han isn't a creepy pedophile that marries a girl half his age and then has 11 kids with her and gets ex-communicated from his political party)

Hugh Hefner (Han would have been able to give Holly Madison a baby)

Gene Simmons (although they both love money, Han Solo has great hair)

Richard Simmons (Han Solo does NOT sweat to the oldies)

Sharks With Freakin' Laser Beams (Chewbacca would eat them right up)

Sawyer from Lost (Han Solo is a con man with a bounty on his head)

Captain Crunch (Han Solo does not get soggy in milk)

Kirk Cammeron (Han Solo does not get growing pains)

Elvis Presley (Han Solo would not die on the shitter)

Stephen Colbert (Han Solo's pistol was exhibited at the Smithsonian long before Colbert's portrait)

Sam Elliot (Han Solo would never drink Coor's Light)

Harrison Ford (Han Solo would never partner with Josh Hartnett for anything)

So if you think you know someone or something cooler than Han Solo, let me know. But remember, I'm only gonna live for another ten years or so.....

I'm really really really really really really sick

I've got a really bad head cold. My eyes are squirtin' out eye boogers, my nose is sneezing out kitten boogers, and I don't wanna eat anything 'cause it all tastes like boogers.

You know you're sick if you got this many boogers.

But my Mom and Dad wipe all my boogers away, making room for the new boogers.

I sneeze so much and so hard I knock myself over.

All I wanna do is sleep. I don't even have the energy to think about school, or Millie, or smackin' around Bob the purple jingle ball.

My Dad is takin' me to the doctor tomorrow. He said if I'm good I could have a lollipop, although, cats and sticky things don't mix well. I just hope I get to see Dr. Huxtable. He's funny, and I sure could use a laugh. But not a big laugh, 'cause I'll probably cough up a lung if I laugh too hard. Or spew lots of boogers all over the place. And that just isn't very nice.

I just hope I get well soon. Being sick is pretty craptastic.

Oh crap, I gotta go. Too many eye boogers to see to type anymore. Stupid boogers.

Second Grade At Last

This is what Moms are for: gettin' a cat to school.

The right school.

Steve Irwin Elementary, I'm home!

That's right, I walked my fluffy little butt right into those hallowed halls and straight to the Principal's office. I figured I'd be sent there for missing the first week and I had no idea of which classroom to go to. Thanks, Dad.

Mrs. Secretary walked me down to my new classroom, 'cause second-graders don't go to baby first-grader classrooms. We get to use brushes when we paint instead of our fingers, although I still have to use my paw. I can't hold sticks in my paws. That's why I don't eat Chinese food. Then again, that's probably why you never see Chinese cats: Eat or be eaten. If you can't hold a chopstick, then a chopstick will hold you. I sure hope my teacher isn't Chinese.

We walked in and I had a Mrs. Teacher. Not the same Mrs. Teacher from kindergarten, but a different Mrs. Teacher. This Mrs. Teacher is black, like my brother Tupac and my sister Stella. So I'm totally in with her. Tyler Perry rules!

Mrs. Teacher gave me a desk and I looked around to see if I saw Millie.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!

Millie's not in my class this year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shit.

Take a deep breath, Chicken. Maybe you can see her at recess or at lunch.

Okay, well, Jimmy the Monkey is here, which is cool. No sign of Gary the Gorilla, which is super cool. Wonda the Wombat is here, too. Mackenzie, the Poodle, check. Ollie the Octopus, good.
But who the hell are all these other kids and where were they last year?

So now I gotta get to know a whole new group of peeps.

Damn it.

Damn it all to hell!

Second grade is suckin' the big one right now, let me tell ya.

So anyway, Mrs. Black teacher said we were gonna learn about George Washington Carver. So she asked us if anyone knew who he was. I raised my paw.

"George Washington Carver is the president who chopped down the peanut tree, had false teeth, and ran our economy into the ground during the OPEC oil crisis of the Seventies."

I have never been stared at for so long in my life.

Mrs. Black Teacher sure does put her hands on her hips and roll her eyes a lot.

If I knew the real answer, I wouldn't need you to teach me, now would I?

Stupid public school system.

As soon as lunch time came, I sprinted like a fluffy bunny down to the cafeteria to see if I could find Millie. I looked around frantically. Then a light from heaven and a chorus of angels pointed the way to my beloved Meerkat.

Who was giggling and talking to some stupid boy Meerkat.

WTF?

So I went over and I said Hi, Millie. And she looked at me like she didn't know me for a second and then she said, Oh, this is my friend from Australia, Martin the Meerkat. We met when I went home for the summer to see relatives. He's going to be going to our school now, Chicken, isn't that great?

Son of a bitch.

Well, let me tell ya. This second grade thing is not workin' out so well for yours truly.
I have no idea what we learned the second half of the day. The only thing I learned was that I was going to win my woman back, no matter what it takes. Martin is going down, back down under, that stupid arrogant Aussie piece of Veggemite crap.

She will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine.

After I do my homework....

Second Grade, again, maybe?

Well, it's official: Dad is on my list.

After my Mom yanked me out of Catholic school (maybe 'cause they serve wine instead of white milk), I was all ready to get back to Steve Irwin Elementary.

Of course, Dad had to screw it up again.

I think 'cause my Dad is hooked on the new version of "90210" (even though it doesn't have Tori Spelling, which is okay, 'cause Dad watches her on the Oxygen Channel's "Tori and Dean.") he must have gotten confused between reality and the super sexy world of teen TV.

Although I'm only four years old, my Dad dropped me off at Sunnydale High.

Do I look like a slayer?

Well, I figured, if most American teenagers think that the Gettysburg Address is where Lincoln lived, then I should be able to handle it.

My first class is called Home Room, but it didn't look like my home. There weren't any kibble dishes on the floor, potty boxes in the corner, or Dad passed out on a couch. When they called attendance, the teacher asked if I preferred to be called Chicken or did I go by something else? So I told her that my Mom and Dad called me Chick-Chick, Chicken Pot Pie, Pot Pie, Chicken Little, Chicken Orville (but only when I'm in trouble), but if I could be called anything, I want to be called Buck Rogers. He was cool, drove a cool spaceship, and got to be with the chick from "Silver Spoons" so he probably got to ride that cool train that went through the living room. On the downside, he probably had to share with Ricky Schroeder. Or Rick. Or whatever the hell he goes by today.

Then one mean kid said, "sure, we'll call you Buck. Buck Naked! Look everybody, he's not wearin' any pants!" And they all laughed at me, but I just turned the other cheek, like Mr. Brady said you should with bullies.

And then I peed on his backpack.

I had a math class next. Did you know they don't use flashcards in high school? They should 'cause they were gettin' their numbers and their letters all mixed up. Since when is "X" a number? Was I gonna learn anything here?

So off I went to social studies. Only studies I saw were kids checkin' out other kids. The teacher said we were gonna learn about elections, and I said I didn't like that movie 'cause even though Tracey Flick made cupcakes, she was really mean. And what happened to Ferris Beuller? He was soooo cool. The teacher said we had to do a pretend vote but "American Idol" isn't on right now, so I was confused. And we had to do it with paper and pencil. How do you vote without a phone or texting? Geesh, this was weird.

Next, I had English. I decided to skip that class since that's what I speak and I didn't have to learn it. Instead, I took a nap in the teacher's lounge. It has a sofa that my Dad isn't passed out on.

Then it was time for lunch.

White milk! Score!!!!!!!

When I was eatin' my lunch all these cute girls came over and asked if they could pet me and they were real nice so I let them and then I got all tingly like when you climb the rope in gym class.

Ooh, gym class is next. But I didn't get to climb the rope, which I'm really good at 'cause I'm a cat. Instead, we played badminton, which didn't go so well. I was told to sit out after I ate the birdie.

So then it was time for science class. My teacher said we were going to talk about torque. I think I might have misunderstood 'cause when the teacher asked for volunteers to help with an experiment, I raised my paw, went to the front of the class, and horked.

I was sent to the nurse's office where they called my Mom to come get me.

So the next day, my Mom made it clear that Dad was NOT to take me to school but I was to have my brother, Po take me.

Po said that the American Public School System was in tatters and I would be better off in a more progressive learning environment. So he took me to this school called Monty Sorry. We had a teacher who had granola stuck in his beard and wore socks with sandals (like my Dad does when he drives his Volvo). His name was Mr. Teacher, but he said we should call him Buddy. He said we were gonna learn whatever I wanted to learn about, so I told him I wanted to learn about the inner-psyche conflict posed by Freud concerning the Id, Super Id and the Ego through careful analysis of Western Philosophical writing during the Enlightenment.

And where kibble comes from.

We got to take recess breaks whenever we wanted and we didn't need permission to go potty. We got white milk (score, again!) and we got to pick out a story for story time. I chose "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" 'cause caterpillars are the Transformers of the insect world, and that sure makes them cool. Moth than meets the eye!

I sure liked this school but I miss my friends and I want to go back to Steve Irwin Elementary and the Fighting Zookeepers. Those are my homies, and I need to be rollin' with them real soon. So tomorrow I'm gonna walk if I have to, but I'm gonna make it back to Millie.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with one paw. But my school is only a few blocks away, so I should be able to get there no problem.

Millie, I'm coming! Look out second grade, the Chicken is back!