Unto Us A Child Is Born

I am more convinced of the coming Apocalypse everyday. What with fingers being found in Wendy’s chili and sixteen year old grave robbers in New England. But no amount of sensationalism on NBC with the new hit Revelations or rhetoric in any of the 1000 books put out by Jerry Jenkins and Tim LaHaye could prepare me for the evidence that this week has brought to light. Britney Spears is pregnant. Just when you thought things were settling down to just under normal - this happens. At the risk of divulging what ever teen lust issues I still might have with the, (in my opinion), much maligned pop princess, I thought it wise to hide a bit. That’s what us writers do, after all.

Thanks to Mr. Dave Eggers again, I have a place I can run to when I fear the consequences of truly expressing myself: Jason Hill. (Not a new series on the WB, but a black cat with no fear.)

*The opinions and views expressed in the following letter do not reflect the opinions and views of this writer. Although, I do support Jason’s honesty and his unique individuality. I will also continue to encourage him in his glorious revolution of misspent youth. He is a bad and nasty little feline, but he doesn’t give a shit. I can only pray for a portion of his boldness. Anyway…

Dear Mrs. Spears,
Guess you didn’t get my first letter. Or maybe you’re busy or something. Anyway, I didn’t get any response, whatever the reason. So, in case you’re wondering, it still sucks here. My urinary tract infection still hurts like a sonofabitch and nobody seems to care. They are giving me this new food that, frankly, tastes like dog shit. And I would know. I’d rather eat Harrison’s vomit. (In case you forgot, Harrison is the other dumb ass cat I live with.) But seriously, I go in there to try and scope out some of his food when they’re filling his bowl and I get shut out. They wont let me get any breaks and I am practically starving to death. That’s why the whole vomit thing is like a culinary treat at this point. But speaking of vomit, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. How’s it going with that whole pregnancy thing? I heard the first trimester can be a real bitch. Yeah, I heard about it this week. I guess we all did. Let me be the first cat to congratulate you…

WOOOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOOO! WAY TO GO BRITNEY! YOU’RE ONE HOT BABY MAKER! LOVE YA!

How’s Kevin handling the news? Will the child take his name or yours? Can I just say that I think this will only bring you closer together and further assure the confidence that I have, personally, in your relationship. These media people don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. I don’t know what this shit they’re saying is all about…unfit, self-absorbed, idiot, pop-star mom? Come on. They obviously don’t know you Britney. Don’t you let it get to you girl, okay?

Anyway, since I’m writing to express my best wishes over Britney (Or Kevin) Jr., I thought I’d take the time to offer my hospitality once again. I think, despite my confidence I have in you as a mother, that things will get harder once you have the little tot. What I would like you to consider will be beneficial to both of us.

Obviously, you are faithful to Bit Bit, and I am sure that you would like that level of devotion to continue in the future. If you would just invite me to stay with you and Kevin and Bit Bit, I am sure that I could fill the void that will be left once the baby sees the light of day. What with nursing and all, Bit Bit is sure to suffer in the area of attention. But with a friend around, that would not be a issue. You see, not only would I be a wonderfully capable pet for you and Kevin and the future of the Spears dynasty, but I could make Bit Bit’s life complete as well. In a time where she will probably feel like her life is falling apart. I could be there for her. (I know that I often come off as sort of a bad ass, but I can also be very loving.)

You don’t even have to trust me on this Brit. Look at all those Disney movies. Or even Dreamworks. If a dragon and a jack ass with Eddie Murphy’s voice can wind up together, can anything really get in the way of a superstar dog and a lovable cat with a minor urinary tract infection?
I promise you this. If you do take me in, I wont complain anymore. I’ll eat that food that taste like dog shit. And I’ll love it. I have confidence that the joy of my new environment can transform even the bleakest meals into cheesecake. Plus I’ll be away from that bitch Harrison.

Think about it and give me a call. I’ll check back with you soon if I don’t hear from you. Again, congratulations. Even though we only really needed one virgin birth, we’ll take yours with pleasure. I just -
DAMMIT! Stupid cat is trying to eat all my shit food. What a waste of space. I gotta go pounce his ass Brit - later.

WOOOOOOOO! I’M COMING AT YA YOU STUPID! AAAAAAHHHHHH! WOOOOOOOO! HI-YA! (I’ve been watching some old Bruce Lee movies. He’s in for a world of pain) YAAAAAAA! HIIIIIIII-YAAAAAA!

Oh yeah, sorry Brit.

Sincerely,
Jason Hill