I don’t nearly hold up to my old three posts a day and two on weekends schedule as much, sorry three readers.

Nowadays, pretty much the Inquisitr gets all my words, and often at the end of the day I have not a word to spare, not even to converse with my family, friends or the man who is ringing up my slurpee, for shame.

One reason I didn’t post for a bit, too, was that my kitten died. Her name was Delilah. She was 7 months old. She escaped out the front door or a window when I was showering and not ten minutes later, we found her dying in the street. We rushed her to the ER vet, on Election Day night, but they were unable to save her. I do like to think that when I picked her up and placed her in the red crate with a little blanket for transport that she could see me when she opened her eyes.

So why am I posting this? Because for some odd reason, Google searches in the Femme Dangereuse household that week skyrocketed around all manner of kitten death, cats getting hit by cars, whether cats should stay inside, and how long it would take to get over the death of a kitten. Getting a new cat didn’t help- she’s not my Delilah and I don’t like her as much. (My kids do.) But anyway, I just wanted my sad little post to come up for someone who may need to know that it’s okay to feel like a person died when your cat died. This is about as bitched up as I get, so cuddle up to this post when you need some love from me ’cause it’s all you’re getting, candy ass.

I always hated internet cat people. What a bunch of losers. I hate looking at pictures of peoples’ cats and I really don’t get the overall cat worship. But my kitten was special, damnit, and I’m not one of those people. All day long when I worked she would sit on my feet. She slept in my bed and brought me things and cried and didn’t eat when we went to Bird-in-Hand for two days. I hate that she was a special, smart and lovely cat and she only got to be here for seven months. She deserved a long life and because my stupid house doesn’t have one functional screen, she died.

I couldn’t break ground with my piddly little square shovel, and marauding dogs next door raised concerns about grave robbery. We buried Delilah at sea in my hometown of Babylon, by the pool:

And below, some of my favorite shots of Delilah, since she deserves a memorial:

How can two things I love combine to create something so horrifying? Via Hack a Day comes this terrifying device that won’t be going anywhere near my Magic Powdered lady garden. Ouch!

[ani niow] built this steam powered vibrator. it has a milled stainless steel shell with a brass motor structure. the motor is a tesla turbine made from a stack of dremel diamond cutoff wheels. this drives an off-center weight to create the vibration. she tested it using a pressure cooker as the steam source. it worked, but became so hot it had to be held using welding gloves. it works just as well with compressed air though.

Last vid, I promise- on Tosh.0, Daniel Tosh attempts like, every internet challenge whilst smoking/having smoked salvia.

Too long to explain, but effing hilarious.

Last week when I checked my mailbox, I found that my new neighbour had left me a note stating that he was having a party and to let him know if the noise was too loud.

The problem I have with the note is not that he was having a party and didn’t invite me, it was that he selected a vibrant background of balloons, effectively stating that his party was going to be vibrant and possibly have balloons and that I couldn’t come.

Read on.