**WARNING! This post contains material not suitable for children. Or my family members. Or anyone else of a delicate nature. You have been warned! I feel like I should have you sign a waiver that states I can’t be held responsible for psychological damage incurred as a direct result of reading this post.
My sister-in-law gave us a children’s book when Big G was but a wee babe. It’s called Green Cat. It looks like this:
Kind of cute, I suppose. Big G liked to pull on the yarn and touch the soft nose.
The book talks about Green Cat. She likes to play with her tail and her toys and my goodness, she’s just a silly cat! But you know what? Green Cat likes to play with her friends most of all.
Not mentioned in the book: Green Cat’s psychopathic tendencies. Is it just me, or does that cat look like she’s about to go all Cujo on my kids? (Yes, I know Cujo was a dog. I couldn’t think of any cat references. Give me a break. It’s late and I’m tired.) Every time I turn to the final page, I have this mental flash of Green Cat speaking in a Hannibal Lecteresque voice.
On a completely unrelated note, but kind of similar because it involves children’s media: I can’t watch Yo Gabba Gabba. I know what you’re thinking: “Yeah, that DJ Lance is crazy! I can’t stand him!” But no, that’s not my problem with the show. My problem is the giant dancing dildo:
Don’t believe me? Behold:
I need more sleep, people.