As a peer, at our STS support groups I often hear, “Big pharm doesn’t care about us. They only care about money.”

I sometimes ask, “Why is caring and profit considered mutually exclusive?”

I hate when I itch inside my belly button and my finger comes out smelling like the diseased crotch of a Shanghai rickshaw driver in August.

Climate Change Denier. Corporate Exploitation. Hatespeech. Forced Treatment. Just a few loaded and misleading phrasings to shame people who don’t agree with you into shutting up.

Quote from President Jimmy Carter this past week. It’s the FIRST examination of lawful U.S. of A immigration I’ve read.

“We need a comprehensive bill that has bipartisan support. Immigrants need to have a clear picture of what will happen to them when they come here. Clarification of US law is most important.”

Why do so many French paintings feature dead pheasants on ornately dressed tables?

It is shameful that anyone would want to harm a cat. Ever. Now, if you want to slap a cat owner, that’s perfectly kosher.

Traffic for cat videos on YouTube has surpassed that of all porn sites combined this week. The end is f**king nigh.

Geologists make your Subaru hatchback – with optional moonroof, labradoodle, and unearned gluten-free moral superiority – a reality.

I question Waldo’s desire to be found.

Helpful hint: It’s never a good idea to hold a hot dog eating contest to choose a new wife.

The Constitution wasn’t written to be interpreted by career lawyers. We The People. Champion common sense. Let’s take our document back.

People complain a lot on Facebook.

I stubbed my toe, but it’s one of the middle toes, not the side toes like the Big Toe or Pinky Toe. How the hell do you stub what should be protected toes? It’s like Lichtenstein being hit by a tsunami.

I am suspect of any country whose manned space program is a dude wearing a snorkel mask squatting on a launchpad with his pants around his ankles and a lit stick of dynamite up his bum.

Please stop using that filter that makes you look like a kitty cat. You’re making me want to accidentally run over you with my car.

What is the governing board for “scientific concensus”? And the accrediting body to become a “leading scientist”?

I don’t feel if you kill someone with a spork you should be prosecuted on the grounds that it’s just so freaking hilarious.

Our behavior is simply a collection of our unique neuroses, coloring how we express ourselves to the world and how we interpret the world. The bloke with schizophrenia is no different than the well-adjusted Joe Citizen by this definition, and it’s a definition with which I’m more than comfortable. Everyone’s got something to offer.

It’s a sad truth, but the world doesn’t go away just because I want it to. Or cats.

I will crush you beneath the heel of my carbon footprint.

My friend truly believes America is in better shape than it was… well, before. He’s such a hopeless (and deluded) romantic. I think I’ll invite him over tonight where we’ll crack open a bottle of chardonnay, watch old movies, and cry.

Same friend with multiple delusion syndrome. This Obamacare thing? It’s going to fix all problems and everyone will be oodles healthier. Personally, the only way I was going to get behind Obamacare was if there was a provision for opening a national chain of orphanages for puppies on the autism spectrum.

If you’ve never enjoyed burning a Wiccan at the stake, it means you’re a Wiccan and you need to be burned at the stake immediately if not sooner. Blessed be.

A cat walks into a bar and orders a bowl of milk. The bartender, realizing that cats do not have the higher brain function in order to talk, naturally deduces the cat is an evil freak of an evil cat plot to populate the world with evil cats and wisely unburdens the mortal coil of the cat.

Girls with cats say, “Even people who don’t like cats just love my cat!”. Do you know who these “people” are? Horny guys who don’t like cats but are forced to bluff feline-fandom because, let’s face it, girls with cats just can’t get in the groove unless you love their cat. These are the same guys who “love” Renee Zellweger films and “love” white zinfandel and “love” anything that gets them through the front door to the bedroom… where invariably they lock the cat in the bathroom for the night.

I’m suspect of girls who post a picture of their cat as their Facebook profile picture. There are two possibilities for this oddness that take favor over all others: 1.) The girl is hideous to behold and is polite enough to spare others on the interweb her Quasimodoness. 2.) She quite overtly wants to be a cat. So either she has no confidence in herself or she has desires to crap in a box under the sink. Either way, ’tis a girl too weird for my liking.

Studies show one out of every five people on the internet is in Mensa, as researched on innumerable public forums and blog comments where two or more people are flaming each other.

Woo hoo! I’ve officially lost 25 “friends” since I first started my faux-feline-fondness campaign! It’s possible cat people lack a sense of humor, much like a cat forced to wear roller skates in a room full of pit bulls and crocodiles. Meow! Hilarious!

Follow this cat-lovers cliched logic: Someone doesn’t enjoy cats. They must want to kill cats. People who kill cats at an early age become serial killers. Therefore, if you don’t enjoy cats, you are destined to become a serial killer. Right. Well, I’m not fond of people, either.

I dated a girl with a cat once, and I just couldn’t help envisioning her as one of those crazy old muffin-top ladies that stands out front of her house throwing her cats at the neighborhood children. Right idea, wrong target. I’d throw them at moving trains, personally. Oh, and I stopped dating her.

Every time you masturbate, Al Gore kicks a baby polar bear in the neck. If not for yourself, if not for Jesus, abstain from tugging one out for the sake of the environment.

People are never as interesting as they think they are.

Odd exchange at Smith’s this week. Unknown Girl (UG): “Hi Steve!” Me: “Uh, hi?” UG: “You don’t remember who I am, do you?” Me: “I’m sorry, no, I don’t.” UG: “It figures. You couldn’t be bothered to remember me in college, either.” Me (what I wish I said): “Well, no wonder I didn’t recognize you. You got way wide and way old.” Me (what I did say): “Uh, yeah. Bye now.” Lame.

I’ve had Pizza 9. There is a Pizza 9 close enough to Duckee’s home and Duckee’s work we can have it delivered in the span of a hummingbird’s heartbeat. Unfortunately, I’m at my abode tonight, and there is no Pizza 9 that will deliver here. I had to get Domino’s. I’m so bent by this turn of events I’m typing this whole thing with only my face.

If I had one super power it would be the crippling ability to make fun of people until they pee their pants a little. I would be called Commander Awesome and my sidekick would be a small spasmic boy with a pocketful of Dinty Moore beef stew. I would drive a sensible Volvo to disguise my awesomeness.