Such incompetence. The humans were rushing out on a Super Bowl party shopping spree without any strategic planning and no concern whatsoever for the bottom line. So, first I had to make them wait while I buried myself in the task of pawing through ads and clipping coupons, then I had to write out their menu and shopping list.
I was explicit: We wanted tuna catsserole on Super Bowl Sunday. But what do they come home with? Wings and weenies! Wings we might tolerate, but soaked in barbecue sauce? And weenies? What kind of perverse carnivores are these people? And what's the point of being The Decider if they ignore your decisions? So what if I'm down in the popularity polls -- I still have Executive Privilege!
Now it's time for my dinner, but nooo, my human is busy baking some kind of Colts cake. What's the point of watching a bunch of colts and bears bat around a ridiculous ball that doesn't even have feathers or bells or crinkles or catnip? Waste of time. All I can say is there'd better be some serious lap time tomorrow or, people, the fur's gonna hit the fan!
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