STOMACH PROBLEMS

A few weeks ago I made mention of a five-way conversation in the kitchen in which I was rhetorically trounced, despite my being eighty percent of the speakers, because I am not a morning person, whereas Savage Kitten is just full of beans the moment she gets up.


The explanation is this: Savage Kitten voices for "other entities", in order to either snark me or for rhetorical effect. The other entities for whom she channels are usually the small furry critters - teddy bear, Steif raccoon (a very reactionary type, unfortunately), purple cat, sock sheep, cheerful black spider handpuppet, et autres - or, and this is a disturbing recent development, eccentric portions of my anatomy.

The discussion in the kitchen in which I got bested was between her, me, Fuzzbert, and the Harry twins. Fuzzbert is my stomach, and you really do not need to know who the Harry twins are. Suffice to say that I was the person grumbling monosyllabically (while preparing my first cup of coffee), whereas Savage Kitten had a lovely chat with Fuzzbert and the Harry twins (while making herself a giant plate of fried treif for breakfast). Yes, eighty percent of the "people" in the kitchen were me - but ninety percent of the voices were not. And they are all different and distinct personalities.
Unlike me, they are also all morning people.
They wiped the floor with me.
I am still traumatized.


For your reference, this post:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-stomach-speaks.html


Fuzzbert tends to disagree with everything I say, and he's a chatterbox.

Yesterday I was lying on the bed reading when I heard Fuzzbert's voice.
He was audibly distressed.

"Oh no, I have a nasty growth on my back that looks like a grumpy middle-aged white guy!"

I tried to ignore it. That merely encouraged him.

"Hi there, hot stuff, you got a boyfriend?"

This last was directed at Savage Kitten, who was sitting at the other end of the bed looking sweet and innocent.

"What's a fine filly like you doing in dump like this?"

Oh crap, now Fuzzbert is putting the moves on my girl!
Two things: numbah one, I've got to nip this in the bud, and numbah two, I ain't gonna get a chance to finish the chapter.

"Baby baby baby, oooh yeah! Yowza!"


I threatened to hit Fuzzbert with the book if he didn't shut up. He swore he would call the SPCA on me and have me hauled off in chains. I told him that the SPCA was not concerned with cruelty to hairy abdomens, and he then said he would have his friends the twins kick the crap out of me.
Enlisting the help of Savage Kitten at this point was less than useful - I think that she was rooting for Fuzzbert. She must secretly like him.

Her only contribution to the conversation was to opine that I was just being a big meanie.

Then she returned to her book, and Fuzzbert promptly said something particularly appalling.

Fuzzbert has a surprising talent for ribald gloating and vulgarity.

As was perhaps to be expected, I soon got the worst of the conversation.

I now have a serious rival for the love of Savage Kitten. One who has a nasty growth on his back that looks like a grumpy middle-aged white guy, but is nevertheless more suave and charming than I could possibly ever be.
I have no idea how this happened.