Boozecats

You might be surprised to learn that I have some pretty weird friends.  I’ll just pretend you all responded correctly.  In case you’d like to play along at home, any of these responses will work: Gasp!  What?!  Not you!!

For example, I have a friend that we affectionately call Creamed Corn.  You need not know the reason why, Interwebz.  You need only know that it is his nickname, and it suits him perfectly.

Creamed Corn has a thing for vinyl.  Not my kind of vinyl – shiny grooved discs that are my far the best medium for recorded music.  No Creamed Corn likes the kind of vinyl that covers the chairs in doctors’ offices or the kind Lady Gaga uses for elaborate masks/head-dresses.  THAT kind of vinyl is his thing.

I remember chilling in the living room with Gwen one afternoon, when Creamed Corn popped around the corner and asked if it was possible to iron vinyl.  It seemed he’d snagged a roll of white vinyl from a fashion show and had set about making sheets for his bed.  I mean, what would YOU do with an extra roll of white vinyl?  I thought so.

This is the guy who once said, “There is no such thing as too much vinyl.”  When he realized that the moisture factor made vinyl sheets somewhat unpleasant in early August, he decided to repurpose the sheets into a sheik lining for his bedroom closet.  His apartment is filled with random dead rat and dead cat vinyl sculptures.  At Christmas, he decorates his tree with home made vinyl garlands depicting reindeer in compromising positions.  There is no limit to what the man can do with his favorite medium.

While somewhat eccentric, Creamed Corn is also a giving man.  Not only did he make Pegger the Kegger a pair of vinyl crotchless panties for Christmas, the following year he made vinyl bras and panties for my entire family (in-laws included – lucky bitches) so no one would feel left out.  I can’t imagine how many hours he spent at his little Hello Kitty sewing machine that year.

He does commissions, too.  When we found out Mom was going to get to keep her nipple after her biopsy, Creamed Corn eagerly whipped up a pair of vinyl shamrock pasties at my request.  He even pointed out he had lined them “for maximum comfort.”  Initially he asked for photos of the pasties in use, but later changed his mind when Mom offered to model the panties as well.

The moral of the story is Creamed Corn is creative, generous, and maybe a tidge of his rocker – just the way I like ’em!  When he sends me links, I’m always just the teensiest bit hesitant to click.  (I mean, he did go through a phase where you’d end up with a giant rubber fist in your bag if you left it unattended in his presence.)  You just never know what to expect.  That link could be a video of a Barbary Ape slow dancing to an Air Supply ballad, or it could just as easily be four clown midgets doing interpretive dance with spray cheese.

Yesterday I was in a gambling mood, so I went right ahead and clicked.  It was magical, I tell you.  I have a new guilty pleasure!  I might even stop counting down to the next showing of New Moon with this new joy to distract me.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Boozecats.

Here’s the basic premise: apparently this dude (I’m assuming it’s a dude) and his friends realized they didn’t have a single photo of themselves where they were not holding some form of alcoholic drink.  These are my PEOPLE!  What happens when you combine the need for a non-drink holding photo, mad photoshop skillz, and a couple bottles of Boone’s Farm’s finest?  Yup, it’s called Boozecats.

Where else can you find your two favorite things combined?  (I’m just going to assume that you share my penchant for kitties and alcohol, Dear Reader.  Try to tell me I’m wrong.)  This one makes me miss Simone even more than usual.  Granted, I never stuck THAT end of a cat in my mouth, but the sentiment is the same.

I’ve just lost twenty minutes of my life giggling at people drinking kitties.  Perhaps I need to get out more.

Does life get better than a frat boy drinking a kitten in a pint glass?  No, I state unequivocally.  It.  Does.  Not.