How Santa Killed Mittens.

Hey Santa,

I am writing to you to make an official complaint about your poor customer service.

Considering your reputation on "All that is Christmas" i hold you personally responsible for allowing the Grinch steal my Cute little kitten Mittens.

It has been since 1957 and she has not been returned to me yet, this is what happened.

When i was living in Whoville back in 1957 i had everything i ever wanted.

Two beautiful wives, a big screen TV, low blood pressure and the most adorable little kitten imaginable, Mittens.

However, that year, some Douchebag from out of town decided he was going to be his douchy self and basically took all i held dear away from me.

Grinch captured on Camera stealing Mittens

Well, the whole village actually, but they get to send their own letters.

Now, one of the wives was getting a little annoying anyway, so i was like "Good riddance" but he shouldn't have messed with my TV OR my Mittens. When i woke up and saw everything was gone, i immediately got my Zombie Christmas Survival Kit and went out hunting for this Green Furry bastard. Now, I was certain that he wouldn’t be as stupid to hide in his lame little cave on his stupid mountain, so the first place I started looking was Canada.
It took me YEARS Santa, YEARS of spelunking, Ice climbing and a lot of innocent green furred animals were hurt in the progress. (Hey, if you don’t want to be mistaken for The Grinch, don’t grow green fur).

I remember one specific hunt, were I was certain I found his tracks out just south of Winnipeg.
The night was dark and cold, the wind pulling at the fabric of my light absorbing cloak of awesomeness.
The cave I was stalking ominously quiet, the only sounds being the whirring of my night vision goggles and the echo of my heartbeat resonating of the glistening cavern walls.
As I went deeper, a gut wrenching crunch crackled from underneath my Tiger repellent boot, sending a shiver up my spine. As I lifted my boot, I knew I was on the right track. A crystalline residue of red and white glazed sugarcanes was stuck in between the coarse edges of my non-slip vulcanized rubber profile soles.





I checked my Boxing Glove Launcher KYA 2000© and a smile crept across my face.
This Grinch was going to get the worst headache of his life once this baby would fire a lamb leather 32oz KNOCKOUT boxing glove right in the kisser.
But I had to be patient, or I would lose the element of surprise, so I stalked on.
Carefully avoiding the old crusty candy canes that littered the floor, I went deeper into this dank lair.
 
Not long after, an orange glow flickered in the distance and distorted shadows dances across the walls.
As I listened carefully for any sign of a distressed Meow or anxious kitten paws treading up and down, but I heard none of that. Instead a long stretched out moan rumbled through the tunnel.
The path narrowed as I got closer and the moaning of a beast in pain grew fiercer and louder.
In my heart, I hoped I wasn’t too late, I hoped another Grinch Hunter did not rob me of my satisfaction of punching this Green Maniac in the face. With my breath caught in my throat I prepared myself to swing around the last corner, into the small den the light and sound was coming from and confront this BEAST, this MANIAC,  that took the joy of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. It wasn’t the Grinch waiting for my Fist of Justice, it wasn’t even a Bear, no, It was your damn Wife doing some kind of Webcam show for $2 a minute. Santa, dude, you gotta talk to her about this, because the things she was doing with those elves is uncalled for and possibly illegal. Also, Fire your Reindeer.

So I got out, poured myself a drink and had horrible nightmares for a week.
After that, my Grinch hunting days were pretty much over.



"Dave Stevens is THE SHIT" - Mother Theresa



It was 2009 by now and I was still without Cat, Two Wives and Big Screen TV.
So I decided to head back to Whoville, and restart my life without my Cat, Two Wives and Big Screen TV and decided to just be GOOD and hoping YOU would make up for my terrible terrible loss.
And Santa, I’ve been good, I’ve been so good, Mother Theresa just texted me saying “Dude, can you tone it down, you are making me look like an ass”. And she’s a SAINT Santa!



Anyway, I got home, turns out The Grinch had a change of heart and returned all my shit.
My wives  divorced me both to pursue a career in Robotronics in Kyoto and my TV is so outdated that it now takes electricity to work. It was kind of an eyesore as a centerpiece and when I tried to remove it, I tripped on the damn cat, dropping the 9000 pound tv flat on her cute little head, flattening her like a pancake.

Now I am without TV, without wives, and a flat cat that can only serve as a coaster.
As you can imagine, I am not amused.

In the holiday spirits, I hope you can redeem yourself and use some of that Santa magic to make my life a little better.
I have recently found a new wife, who is allergic to cats, so one of those new TV’s would be absolutely awesome.

Oh, and I’m sorry about your wife.

-          Dave Stevens



How DJ TECH Roadkilled my Mittens

Good morning DJ TECH,

For the past week now we have been sharing a highway in Canada. You might have not noticed the fact that you are sharing this road with other people, because you drive like a douchebag. Not only is this highly annoying for everyone else on the road, it also eventually led to the demise of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:



Sir Leaps-a-lot: Upgraded to Sniper



As a crocodile wrangler in Canada I have a lot of spare time, so I decided to pick up a second job to make some money on the side. With my broad range of skills and expertise, it didn’t take long before the Australian Government hired me to lead a secret program that they are piloting here in Canada for legal reasons.
Every day, I have to drive from my underground lair to a super-secret location that I cannot disclose to train Kangaroos how to wield and operate shotguns. We call them Death Leapers and they will eventually be a decisive factor in the War on Terror. However, this is a secret program, so I’ll have to send to send a Death Leaper your way to convince you to forget what you just read.

Now, ever since I invented the wheel, I’ve had a passion for driving. I liked the scenery, the sound road kills makes when I splash through a raccoons insides at 100 k/m an hour and sometimes I even listen to the radio.
However, since Ford (not Harrison) stole my invention and started to mass produce these “cars” of his, my pleasure in driving has been dwindling down significantly. Before this blatant intrusion on my patent, the roads were empty and I got to work relatively fast and I didn’t even had to invent the word “Traffic Jam” yet.
Fast forward 296 years and we have douchebags like you on the road. Instead of carelessly flattening squirrels and enjoying the wind in my hair, I have to actually pay attention to my surroundings and make sure my Davemobile doesn’t get butt raped by other cars who actually think that driving a $5 dollar footlong behind me qualifies as car bonding. It’s not,… it is the mechanical equivalent of sexual harassment. Now your Douchemobile seems to misinterpret the signals my Davemobile is giving out, or my rear bumper seems to have an undeniable attraction to your front bumper.   



DAVE SMASH!



Now let me tell you this Frank (let’s call you Frank) you are lucky I just completed my “How to deal with Anger and not send a Deathsquad of drunk Shadow Warriors to the people who piss you off” course.  Before this, you can bet your ass that every time your Douchemobile would be in arms lenght of my (Utterly Awesome) Davemobile, I would have opened a hatch of Angry Drunk Ninjas on you to peel off your eyebrows. However, every day we meet on the road, the words of my Anti Angry Sensei are getting foggier and foggier. I already had to upgrade my steering wheel from Granite to Adamantium because it kept crumbling up in my Rage fueled hands. Yesterday we met again and luckily enough, I was driving behind you at a distance dictated by the 3 second rule. This gave me the opportunity to observe your asshol’ish ways a little better because my eyes wouldn’t cloud up with Pure Anger this time. I noticed that it is not MY rear bumper that seems to attract your front, it is EVERYONE’S bumper.  Not only that, you seem to have taking pleasure into not breaking just the speed limit, but also the sound barrier when you try to pass someone on the shoulder.
When I saw you zipping in and out of traffic, dryhumping cars going slightly over the speed limit and cutting off at LEAST 3 little old ladies, you finally got out of sight. Although I hoped to pass you later on with your car flipped upside down and on fire, I wasn’t so lucky. I did pass you, but it was at a traffic light down the road.
Here I finally got to look upon the hideous face of the Douchebag driver that had been pissing me off for weeks.



Frank the Douchebag



Frank, you are not a pretty man.



I did stare a little bit, but that was merely so I could have my enslaved composite artist draw a picture so I could throw shurikens later that night towards a drawing of you.





When we drove off, I also got to take a good look at your license plate.
To my surprise your Douchemobile sports a vanity plate with DJ TECH written on it. Now, here is a free piece of advice. If you drive like a drunken maniac and you have a vanity plate with some shitty nickname on it, it will take a Bonafide Internet Savant like me about 1.9 seconds to find your ass on Google. You seem to be a “DJ” that basically plays shitty music at shitty parties and I would not be surprised if your day job is just as shitty.
Since you are obviously going nowhere in life, I do not see ANY reason why you would have to drive like you are some kind of important person.  Please stop for the sake of all that is slightly pleasant!
Although your annoying manners on the road are reason enough to Wake the Dragon, the real reason I send you this letter is because you are directly responsible for the death of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Last frame of the security footage

During my research on your persona (don’t you just love Google) I came across a “Demo Track” that you uploaded somewhere on the Internet. I was hoping that MAYBE you would have some redeeming qualities as a human being, so I decided to play the audio file. Frank, the garbage that you call music was so horrible, that it literally shattered all the windows in my mansion. It takes no explanation that I use bullet proof black obsidian glass instead of your regular shitty glass, but the downside is that WHEN it shatters, the shards are sharper than Thor’s razorblade. Luckily for me I am nigh invincible, however, my poor Mittens got ripped to shreds.

If you would have been a decent driver, I would never have to research you and this would never have happened.

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-          Dave Stevens

p.s.

Since I don’t own a shovel, I was unable to bury my mittens. I do however own a food processor so I turned her into a Mittens-Shake and froze it into little cubes. Next time you are “Deejaay’ing” in my vicinity, I will pelt you with little furry globs of Mitten-goo.

How a Rogue Floor Vent Slayed a Warrior Cat

Dear Manufacturer,

I am writing to you to formally submit a complaint about the hidden feature of you floor grates “The Kitten Slayer”. This feature came apparent to me when my normally indestructible cat, Ninja (XL) lost one of his precious lives when casually strolling over your product.

This is what happened:

Last year I decided my defenses against the Underworld Warriors were lacking. Although I have enough Dragon Blood in my veins to fight off the hordes of the Undead myself, even I need to sleep every now and then. It was quickly decided that I needed a nocturnal Demon Beast to take care of those precious hours where I was not at my most dangerous.

Underwater boobies: Not Aquadynamic

So I set forth and sailed the Seven Seas in search of a worthy Pet Demon Beast, having many adventures on my way. (In case you are wondering, yes Mermaids are real and no, they do not wear seashell bras…which is pretty awesome but not very aquadynamic).  After 49 years of traveling and tracking down legends of fierce Beasts, I found myself in 1889 B.C. Japan, in a village named “Awesometown”.  
While drinking copious amounts of Rice Wine with the local Warlords, I heard the story of a Legendary Shadow Warrior, feared and respected by all the village Elders. It’s nature was rumored to be so fierce that it had earned itself the name “ Mister McPurrs-a lot”. I was intrigued by his reputation so the next day I saddled my Fire Breathing Dragon and set out for its lair on top of Mountain Yudifosho. It took me about 15 minutes to get there and I found the hideous monster playing with a ball made out of live chickens wrapped around a core of aluminum foil.  This was surprising, because I hadn’t invented either chickens or aluminum foil yet. (You’re Welcome BTW). The beast growled at me when I approached his toy, so I gave it a stern look and placed the little fur ball in my super manly messenger bag and went home with my new found pet.

The vicious monster would henceforth be known as Ninja (XL)



Ninja (XL)'s Battle Armor



Unfortunately, when taken out of its natural habitat his power level went down significantly (Less than 9000) and for a moment I feared that I had overseen the true source of its power. However, it turned out he was just thirsty, so I gave him a shot of Gatorade in the face with my Supersoaker 15 Gazillion (Ultra-Turbo OMG Edition). This freshened him right up and he seemed ready for his first Zombie Massacre.

He soon proved to be worthy of his legends, because this Cat-like beast was fearless. Never in my years would I have thought I would encounter a creature that did not flee for a well-known Nemesis to all creatures “The Vacuum cleaner”, yet Ninja (XL) would face it without blinking. This kind of fearlessness actually had me worried for a moment that my new pet did not rely on auditory senses, but alas, he was just THAT badass.
It also turned out that I could enhance his fighting skills with the promise of Rice Pudding or Doritos (of any flavor). No army in the world could stop his rage when they got in between him and his pudding, nor should they, because he looks really funny with pudding all over his face.

For years Ninja (XL) and I fought side by side as brothers, with him guarding my back when I was asleep.
Nothing could touch us and we seemed undefeatable. Untill…I purchased a floor vent from your company for in my bedroom. I just repainted and the metallic golden would perfectly match and make the whole room FABULOUUUUUUUUUSSSSS!



Clearly your fault, yet i get to clean it



I placed my new vent in the designated hole in my hardwood floor. (Made from ancient trees of the Amazon, because who needs forests anyway). It fit and I was pleased.
I went into a slumber after a long day of fighting Zombie Robots and interior designing and about 20 minutes into a sweet dream about paper planes I woke up to a ruckus and cries of pain.
My highly intelligent Warrior Cat figured that your products were Certified and up to the latest revision of the Building code and deemed it safe to tread over the vent, getting one of his cute little toesies stuck in the grate.

His first reaction was to jump in the air with all 4’s stretched in the air, yanking the vent out of the floor and ripping his toe off in the process. Now, as it is scientifically proven, Warrior Demon Cats have their main artery in that toe, so you can imagine the bloodbath I woke up to. Besides the gushing river of blood coming from his paw, there were bloody kitten paw prints across the room, creating a slipping hazard and a very child unfriendly scenery. I managed to calm down my best Buddy (ever) by feeding him a alcohol laced horse and burning the wound close with The Fire of a 1000 Hells and a cotton ball. However, it was too late and one of his lives left his body leaving him twitching like Voldemort after Harry Potter destroys ones of his Horcruxes.

Now, I consider my Warrior Cat priceless, and your product just took away 1/9^th of his Pricelessness, leaving me with a slightly less priceless Warrior Cat, missing a toe. Now unless you can tell me how my cat is supposed to wield his Flaming Morningstar with just 4 toes, I expect some sort of compensation.
In this, I am not picky so I will accept one of the following compensations:

·         A fire breathing Robotic Bear

·         A poster of Wolverine

·         An apology written in Ninja (XL)’s native tongue

·         A  complete recall of your vents made out of Kitten Slaying Razorblades

·         A picture of your CEO looking really sorry

Of course, any combination of the above will make it even better.

I hope you will reply to me as soon as possible, considering I am again by myself fighting Demon Lords and Butt-Pixies.

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-          Dave Stevens

9 Ways to Make The Best Out Of a Mummified Cat Situation!

YES! You might have read this post before, but you cannot prove it, because i deleted the old one.
However, this post has like, 9000% more awesome thanks to the art send to me by Twitterman @Disc10.

These AWESOME images of dead cats were provided by, Sam Porter, a fresh from college cartoonist. If you'd like to see more of his work, visit his website where you can find all sorts of things, including his (very short) series of videos "Adventures In Games... And Stuff! at http://maddoodles.herobo.com/

So enjoy the new and improved 9 Ways to Make The Best Out Of a Mummified Cat Situation!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes in life, a company pulls a stunt that will immediately kill your cat.
Usually this happens out of the blue and you come home unexpectedly to a crispy dried out Mittens. If you trace back your steps for a day or two, you can pretty much pinpoint who is to blame and write them a horrible horrible e-mail, but that won't bring your cat back to it's former fluffy state.


1. Use your cat to fight off Monsters.

A Mummified Cat can come in handy in the occasional (Or Annual, if you live in Quebec) Monster Invasion. Just remember the different kind of weaknesses Monsters have:

Vampires: Take a point end of your Mummy Cat and use it as a stake to stab it right through a Vampires heart. It might be hard to aim at first, but practice makes Purrrfect.
Another great use for a Mummy Cat against Vampires is to marinate it for a few days in a Garlic Oil and drape Mummy Cat around your neck for extra protection.

Zombies: Keep your Mummy Cat in the Freezer for a few days and  attach it to the end off a stick for a Cat Shaped Bludgeoning Weapon. Even the dimmest Zombie will think twice before taking a lunge at your brain.




Werewolves: Dip your Mummy Cat in liquid silver, let it dry and throw it at a werewolf.
Only 1 shot, but super effective.
If you do not have any Silver, you are pretty much done for, because Werewolves are immune to regular Mummy Kittens.

Ninjas: Throw Mummy Cat on the floor and run for your life, or you will be dead.


2. Use your cat to make Kids eat their Vegetables.

This day and age, kids seem to have no respect for their parents or authority anymore.
If you have a Mummified Cat, you can become a blessing for struggling parents by renting it out to couples (or single parents) with annoying kids.
Any kids will eat their Broccoli if the consequence of being bratty is that their goldfish is being switched with Mr Crispy the Mummy Cat.
You will soon be a Saint amongst parents and you can make decent beer money off of this.



3. Cat Jerky.

According to some prophets, the end of the world is nigh and you never know when your current luxurious life will be changed into the harsh life of a nomad at the drop off a hat. Having a Mummy Cat might give you the edge over your neighbour in survival, meaning you get to loot his shit when he dies before you do. A Mummy Cat will help you survive the worst of hungers by acting as a nice piece of Jerky that will get you through the winter.
Don't hold back and put that kitten in your favorite blend of spices today!




4. Water Retainer

A true Apocalypse Survivor knows that water is the main aspect of Wasteland survival.
If you are in possession of two Mummy Cats, the Apocalypse might just be your lucky day! You can carry One cat for Jerky and the other one as a water retainer.
At some point in your travels you will encounter a fresh source of water and this is where you can turn your Mummy Cat into a catshaped waterbag.
The dryer the Cat, the more water it will retain!
You will laugh at all the other suckers as you take a Catsip and take their belonging after they succumb to thirst!




5. Grow an Army of Mummy Cats.

Ever had a day where you just felt like you wanted to take over the world, but didn't have the resources? If you are the proud owner of a Mummy Cat, you can just plant it and grow a second one in a matter of years! Make sure the sand is dry and loose like the Deserts in Egypt. Don't feel discouraged by the long waiting time, your army will grow exponentially!




6. Juggle Act!

Unfortunately, you cannot juggle with just one Mummy Cat (if you don't want to be lame) so you have to get suckered at least three times before this becomes a viable option. If you already own a Mummy Cat, now is the best time to practice your juggling skills and wait for another douchebag to kill your new cat!



7. The Perfect Crime

They say that when you hit someone with a bag of oranges, your victim will not bruise.
However, people will still investigate your crime if your victim is believable enough and you don't have an Alibi.
Your Mummy Cat will keep you safe from any investigation!
You can pretty much hit the Chief of Police over the head with a Mummy Cat and no-one will believe him!
"Seriously, who gets hit over the head with a Mummy Cat, get outta here!"
Perfect Crime!



8. Three Words...

• Candy
• Stick
• Piñata!!!

9. Blog about it

Nevermind, i don't want to give up this gig.


-Dave Stevens

The "Your Product Killed My Cat" Themesong: CRISPY MITTENS!

Dear Readers,

I would like to share the following with you:

The first remix of the song - CRISPY MITTENS

As you can imagine, i hope you will be amused.

- Dave Stevens



p.s.

Awesome Artwork coming soon!

Twitter killed my #Mittens

In Soviet Twitter, Bird kills Cat

Dear Twitter support,

I have been a user of your service for a while now and I have to admit it has been a pretty wild ride.
However, what I never expected when I signed up was that the service you provide would ultimately mean the early demise of my poor little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

In December 2010 I was fighting a young girl to the death in front of a 20.000 people audience.
The guest of honor was Emperor Augustus himself, so we were told to make it a real show or else our entrails would be fed to a pack of hungry and slightly overweight Honey Badgers.
Since i am a highly trained assassin and overall fucking awesome, I didn’t worry about losing the fight itself, but the thought of being disemboweled because the show wasn’t fancy enough, was creeping around in the back of my mind during the entire fight.
So, after I had this 3 foot Lebanese schoolgirl in the ropes, I slightly let my guard down and she took full advantage of my lethal mistake.
With a High-Octane, Super Ultra, Possibly outlawed Scissor Ninja Kick, she took me down and a loud POP echoed through the Arena. I had no idea the ripping of a ligament was that acoustic but I can’t say I was enjoying the special sound effects, since I was too busy dying. Actually, I am pretty sure that move killed the next 57 reincarnations of myself as well.

This is pretty much what happened

Of course, I was up on my feet 20 seconds later as if nothing happened, and luckily for us, we got the thumbs-up from the Emperor and nobody had to die that day. Except for some starving Honey Badgers.

Since not having a functional ACL anymore is slightly inconvenient for an Olympic Athlete as myself I decided to get it fixed. However, ligaments in my size and awesomeness don’t come around easily so I had to pay off The Joker to go ahead and kill The Batman. Luckily for me, Batman is a donor and I wouldn’t settle for any other ligament than his.
Unfortunately, The Joker had to come up with some long winded elaborate plan, so it took about 6 months before I could actually get my surgery.
I had to spend these 6 months saving the world over and over again with a slight limp, which was not good for my reputations. I heard rumors that the “Intergalactic League of AWESOME Super Heroes” have a running joke now about me going limp in the heat of the moment.

So I had this surgery last month, which involved having to channel the power of the sun into a laser just to be able to breach my skin, but I will not bother you with other medical details.

When I woke up from my induced coma 14 years later, I was a little sore and decided to lay low on World Saving for a while. My ADD immediately kicked in and I was bored to tears within a few minutes.
That is when I fired up…The Internets.

I clicked around a little, found a few more security leaks in the Sony Network, debunked some Legends and send Chuck Norris a few dirty jokes by e-mail.

 
When I checked my watch I noticed that I’ve only been an Internet Hero for 5 minutes and it was starting to look like a very long day. Around this time President Obama send me an e-mail and asked if I could please follow him on Twitter. I never heard of this “Twitter” before, so I wrongfully assumed that he was talking about some Top Secret Government Program. However, a simple Google search lead me to your website.
It needs no explanation that I immediately became an expert on all that is Twitter so it didn’t take long before I came across the account of a young girl with 10 million followers. I saw that she was a Canadian Singer called Jessica Bieber or something and I vowed to myself that I would not be out-followed by some Nancy without boobs.

Boobless Nancy Bieber

 I demanded from the Internet to immediately start following my account @FelineMurder but I guess everyone in the world forgot to put their speakers on or something, because I got 0 followers in the following 15 seconds.

So, I had to come up with an Evil Scheme!
If I couldn’t make people follow ME, I could always follow THEM!
It was relatively easy, because all I had to do was locate the few people who weren’t following this Jessica Bieber chick. I clicked and I clicked and had all kinds of fun to see random thoughts popping up on my screen.
It felt like that time when Professor Xavier and me went into Cerebro with a bottle of rum and just put everyone’s thoughts on loudspeaker. Pretty hilarious!

After years of depression,  I finally felt happy again until of a sudden I got a pinkish bar on top of my screen saying.

Your account has been suspended.

My first thought was,…maybe there is such a thing as being too Awesome and Twitter is just trying to protect its users from Awesome Radiation.
But your e-mail explained to me, that I was being banned for Aggressive following.
According to you, following people on Twitter can be seen as disruptive behavior on Twitter.
Now, maybe it is because English is not my native language, so perhaps you can explain it to me in Kryptonian.
Your service allows people to follow other people and read what they write, however, if you are actually READING their stuff, there is a CHANCE that people get offended by this?
Because that makes no sense at all.
It would be the equivalent of a public speaker getting upset that people are coming to LISTEN to him.
(Assholes)

Now, I understand that maybe I shouldn’t have introduced myself in person to every single one of them,
(One can only jump out of a cake so many times before he gets diabetes) but I do think your banning protocol is borderline retarded and above all Lethal to felines.

Besides causing extreme boredom to a critically injured man like me, you also caused the Death of my poor little kitten, Mittens.
Mittens has a severe cause of attention disorder and I had to build a futuristic machine for her to be able to live.
This life support system was solely based on Twitter and it had been keeping her alive for weeks.
The basics of this brilliant invention was that every time someone would mention @Felinemurder on Twitter, Little Mittens would get a drop of pure liquid attention, a much needed fluid for her horrible horrible disorder.
Now, by banning me from your service, my machine malfunctioned and my poor little Mittens shriveled up like a raisin.

All Mittens needed was some attention...and salsa

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

        -  Dave Stevens

Call for Artists: Win Eternal Glory and Fame (and be Ninja Proof for 30 days)

Dear Readers,

Have you always wanted to draw a dead cat, but you were afraid your peers might frown upon you?
Well here is your chance!

I am offering Eternal Glory and Fame to the best Dead Cat Entry in the WORLD!
With over 15 bazillion readers a day, your artwork will exposed to readers from Canada to Malaysia and you will be discovered by all kinds of rich people who want nothing more than for you to draw them like one of those French girls!

You will of course receive full credit on the website AND i will use your drawing in my next complaint to the company that pisses me off!

You can send your entry to deadcatxl@gmail.com and you will have your place in the hall of fame in NO time!

I'll kick the contest off with my own entry...i know it's going to be hard to beat, but try it anyway!

Death by Arrows..Poor Mittens

As you can imagine, i will be amused,

- Dave Stevens

West Jet 2: West Jet Replies

After i send my complaint to West Jet last month (CLICK HERE), they actually send me a reply.
Of course, such effort deserves another e-mail.

From: West Jet

Dear Dave,
Thanks for taking the time to contact WestJet and I apologize that we’ve been unable to reply to you sooner.I’m sorry to hear that you had such a disappointing experience with us and I was looking to find more details about your flight but wasn’t able to find your booking.  If you can let me know your booking number, or your flight number, or about the time of day that you flew, that would be a huge help.   You can reply to me at AwesomeKatietheBest@westjet.com, and I promise that there will be no Bertha the Discouraging Bear Lady. All the best,

Katie
Guest Relations Specialist
WestJet
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: West Jet

Katie The Encouraging West Jet Minx

Dear Katie the Encouraging Guest Relations Specialist Lady,

Thank you so much for replying to my e-mail.
Don't worry about the time it took to reply, i am sure Bertha put up quite the fight before you were able to access a computer. Your Kung-Fu must be strong! I hope you didn't sustain any serious injuries in your quest for satisfying customer service and in the case that you are the owner of a cat, that the poor feline didn't die.
The reason why you couldn't find any information on my flight is possibly because i have multiple passports.
This is quite convenient if you work for MI:6. You never know if people get upset when you are trying to save the world, so it's safer for us secret agents to assume multiple personalities and identities.
Now, the profile we have on you Katie the Encouraging Guest Relations Specialist Lady raises a few red flags, so I'm not sure if i am comfortable enough giving you specific info.
Are you sure you are just a Westjet employee, or do you expect me to believe it is your twin sister who is currently on an assignment to topple the Lybian government?
I guess Westjet would be a convenient cover for a Government Spy since nobody second guesses a lot of traveling.

Dr. Ninja will cure you or Kill you

Either way, even if i was authorized to give out such sensitive information to a flagged person as yourself, the details of the whole endeavour are relatively vague.
This is most likely the result of the intensive therapy i have been going through the past few weeks.
Although i tried convential psychotherapy plus medication it quickly became appareant that it just wouldn't cut it.
So the next logical step would be to get myself a lobotomy. I don't know if you ever had a lobotomy before, but they are pretty expensive. Since i am 68% Scottish i didn't want to spend this money, so instead i went to a convention for "Neurologists who are also Ninjas".
I pretended to be a guest speaker so i could take the stage and when the applause died down, i told them that none of them would be skilled enough to hit my memory lobe from the distance they were sitting and that they should be ashamed to call themselves Neurologists who are also Ninjas. It took approximately 0.0074 seconds before the first Shuriken hit me in the brain wiping out most of my short term memory.
A weird side effect is that i have a constant craving for Cactus. The brain sure is weird.
Another pleasant side effect was that i completely forgot that i was addicted to Angry Birds so i got to enjoy the game all over again.

All this aside, it is most likely that i was not flying under this identity but one of my secret ones.
You might want to check your records for the following:

* Batman
* Bruce Wayne
* Superman
* Clark Kent
* Wolverine
* Captain Awesome McGreat

One of my secret identities

I am sure one of those names should be on your flight lists on May 26th 2011 from Toronto to Ottawa.
Please be aware that i didn't manually book this flight myself but that it was all done by a Sentient Artificial Intelligence Program designed by the CIA. Any correspondence information you might find will probably be of my office and they will deny my very existence or send you on a wild goose chase that might involve jumping from one moving vehicle onto another moving vehicle and numerous explosions. Therefore, it might be easier to contact me directly to resolve this issue.

Also, i would like to inform you off the following.
After i received your e-mail i was so happy and excited that i printed it out and wrapped poor Mummy Mittens in the paper. It didn't take long before she regrew her fur and within a few hours she was already running around the house again. Although this was great at first, in her revived state she also knocked over a precious Ming Vase that i personally stole from a high security exposition in Shanghai.

If you wouldn't have send me such a positive response, that would never have happened.

As you can imagine, i am not amused.

- Dave Stevens

How the Vietnamese Tourism Industry Killed Mittens

Xin Chao Mister Ambassador,

During the summer of 2008 I went on a one month exploration mission with my brother in South East Asia.
This trip was supposed to be both a bonding and an awesome life experience, but instead turned into a horrible near death experience traumatizing me for at least three reincarnations.
After 15 years of intensive psychology and shock therapy I have pinpointed the cause of this trauma to be the General area of Vietnam. Not only did the Vietnamese Tourism industry cause me mental disfigurement, they are also directly responsible for the Death of my cute little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

Ready to embark on a Bogus Journey

After graduating from University in 2008, I held my brother to an ancient promise he once made me in a drunken stupor while calling me from a brothel in Thailand, that if I graduated from University, he would take me on a 1 month tour through Asia. Considering that I have never left my hometown of Batman my entire life, I thought that it would be an Excellent Adventure or the very least a Bogus Journey.
I sold all my camels and goats in order to pay for the ticket and I figured that was all I needed to make it through the month. I have had earlier successes of selling my body for cash and the Internet told me that there is always a niche market for male dwarf prostitutes around the world.

When summer finally arrived me and my brother took one of those flying devices going east to embark on this trip that would most likely make it into Batman history, or at least Madam Tzestsnikovich would brag about it during one of her knitting nights with the Belgium Mafia.

The trip itself was durable considering I wasn’t flying Westjet, with the exception that the only onboard entertainment was a Chinese movie about Malaria that was a constant reminder that I forgot to bring Malaria pills to a high risk environment. Fortunately my brother managed to reinsure me that our skin was nearly impenetrable for anything lesser than a direct hit from a German Panzer Tank shooting swords. I guess Awesomeness runs in the family after all.

When we finally landed in Bangkok we were barked at by customs which was highly entertaining because the Rottweiler in a suit was sitting under a big sign saying “Welcome to the land of Smiles”.
Perhaps you can use your political influences to change Thailand’s slogan to something more appropriate like: “Where getting a Sex-change is better for your whole family”.

Welcome to the Land of Smiles

Now, as a devout Christian, Bangkok was obviously not the place for me to be. One can only pray through so many Ping Pong shows before he realizes that the main act is beyond saving, so we decided to leave Thailand behind us and head for Laos. It turned out Laos was very resistant in our proposal to ban alcohol and general fun, especially in Vang Vien where the only (boring) entertainment is to go down the river in an Inner tube while drinking Lao Lao and taking a zipline into the Mhekong. Whoever does this for fun, will surely end up in purgatory (quite possibly before they die). These uncivilized savages also need to learn how to pour drinks in glasses, because I could only order my orange juice in a bucket, faintly smelling of gasoline.
Perhaps you can use your political influences to changes Laos’ slogan from “Jewelry of the Mhekong” to something more appropriate like “Drunk tourists are better targets”.

When we finally found a way to escape from this land we made it to your country, Vietnam.
The flight to Hanoi was interesting because I never boarded a smoke filled cabin with 200 Asians thinking it was no big deal. In Hindsight it was probably some toxin that enlarges your liver, because I wouldn’t have any other explanation for that phenomenon. Walking out of the airport I was met with such a brutal honesty that was pretty refreshing. A big sign with two arrows saying “Left: Taxi’s – Right: People who pretend to be Taxi’s but they will actually just steal your stuff”. I would later learn that these signs should be posted all over Hanoi because once these scoundrels get into the open, it’s hard to tell the difference.

Taking a cab into downtown Hanoi, I quickly learned that the Crafty Vietnamese found a lucrative way to take advantage of the Lonely Planet. As soon as a hotel would get a good rating, 15 hotels in town would just rename their hotel to that name. Cab drivers are obviously in on this scheme and they just drop you off at the one furthest away from wherever you are going.
These two experiences were enough for me to redub Hanoi, to Hannoying and I quickly fled into my hotel room.

I am usually a big fan of local cuisine (Eating cockroaches in Laos was enervating), but when a street vendor tried  charge me $40 for a pack of cashews I decided I could sit it out a few days without stimulating the entire economy on my dietary intake alone.
While in hiding, my brother and I planned a Pilgrimage to Sa Pa, a town in the northwest of Vietnam.
The friendly travel agent in the hotel said he could book this trip for us if we would just give him our passports and credit cards for a few hours. Although tempting, we decided to try our own luck and get the tickets from the train station ourselves. A short 4 hour cab ride eventually took us to the train station that was approximately 9 blocks away. During this ride, the cab driver repeatedly asked us if we wanted to go to “Boom Boom Hotel”. Now I don’t know how eager other tourists are to get themselves blown...up, but making fun of terrorism is frowned upon here in the West.  At the train station we are introduced to the Vietnamese way of Customer Service.
Of course, being used to logic I wrongfully assumed that if you enter a room with other customers, it is a first come, first served basis. However, it turned out to be a “No more Vietnamese people to serve? *sigh* ok, I guess I’ll help the tourists then” based system.
We politely asked for two tickets to Sa Pa, which is a 10 hour ride from Hanoi. This would be an overnight ride so we asked for a sleeper cabin. According to the Service Rep, there were no sleeper cabins available at this time.
BUT, being the humanitarian that he was, he said he would try to still get us on the train and offered us two “Hard Seats”. Since we considered ourselves hardened travelers, we took the overcharged tickets and were happy that we would be able to make it out of Hannoying by night.

If in my lifetime a Time Machine is invented, I am willing to spend a fortune to use this machine, go back in time, and stab myself numerous times in the face to make sure I do not buy these tickets.
But considering no scars are appearing as I make this vow right now, it is safe to say that no machine will be invented in my lifetime, or I will not acquire a fortune. (Perhaps both)

Hard Seats of Hell

Now, the diplomat that you are Mister Ambassador, I am pretty sure you never had to take any Hard Seat in your life. But I can guarantee you, that these Hard Seats were most likely used in Medieval times to trial and execute Witches. If anyone could survive sitting in these seats for more than five minutes, they were surely a Witch and would be put to Death by making them sit there for 15 minutes.

Anyway, when we made it on the train and saw our seats, we were still unaware of the true nature of these Benches of Utter Agony and took place and rest our weary bodies. It took about .15 seconds for the discomfort to set in and we cursed ourselves that we didn’t bring any Morphine on this trip.
The biggest shock however was that we were supposed to share these benches with 4 other people.
This was the first time in my life I actually debated the cons and pros of famine with myself because it looked great in theory to be about one third of my size in order to fit on these seats.

When the train was filled with thousands of tiny people the train finally started moving and my brain went into survival mode. This is most likely the only reason I get to write this letter to you today, because 5 minutes into this trip I was desperate to take the broken fan above my seat and slice my aorta in several vital spots.

After getting sneezed upon by the passenger across of me (about 15 centimeters away) we decided to scout the rest of the train looking for a better spot to endure this trip. We made it into a so called “4^th Class” cabin that was empty…as in, no seats, just an empty cabin.
After making a make-do seat out of our smelly backpacks, the giant man eating bugs came out. I’m not sure what kind of Genetic Engineering Facility is responsible for breeding these Monsters, but I am convinced that they were weaponized. They still haunt my dreams to this day.
Going down another class, we found ourselves in the cargo hold.
Sitting on the rice bags was actually more comfortable than our designated seats and we had a high five moment when we made ourselves comfortable again.
The doors of the cargo cabin were open, but that didn’t bother us at all, yet.
After about an hour or so, the train guards were ready with their duty of scaring tourists on the train and found us on “their turf”. They ignored us at first because they were too busy loading illegal passengers and prostitutes onto the moving train. The cargo cabin quickly filled up with Wanderers and Vagabonds and with them a plethora of unpleasant smells.

This is where the guards were getting bored and decided to fuck with us a little.
The first contact they made stealing my Awesome Hat. Now, my Kung Fu is pretty strong, but I was sure that the rifle the guy was carrying could outpunch me, so I decided spare any innocent bystanders and let it go.
The next form of abuse I had to take was that one of the guards sat down next to me to “chat”.

You don't just steal my shit...usually

By that I mean him saying shit in Vietnamese and then laugh with all the other people about what he just said, leaving me more than puzzled.
Now I am used to incoherent speech, so this didn’t bother me in the slightest, however, the guard sat down so close to me that I am still pregnant with his children.
Perhaps this is just misunderstood culture, but I would like to be have a few dates in before I get impregnated.
So, I Ninja’d back my hat and fled back to the Hard Seats where I found a nice piece of sharp metal to lobotomize myself with. This made the rest of the trip slightly more pleasant.

After three very nice days in Sa Pa, we decided to just buy enough tickets for an entire deluxe sleeper cabin so we wouldn’t have to share. We were told that we would receive the tickets at the train station, however, the courier used our money to buy 4 basic tickets instead and keep the rest of the money for himself.
Something we found out as soon as he drove off.

Three years later, my ass is still on a rock solid state from this trip. Last night after a long hard day of working I dropped on the couch only to hear the crunch of poor Mittens fragile little body under my now Granite butt.
If only i wasn’t a victim of the Vietnamese Tourism Industry, my ass would still be made out of Human and my poor Mittens would still be alive.

Mittens now serves as a beer coaster

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-          - Dave Stevens

 

  

How Weedman Canada Whacked my Cat

To Ruin your Life

Dear Weedman Overlord,

I am writing to you to inform you,  that your Ottawa Location is responsible for the untimely death of my cute fluffy little kitten, Mittens.

Here is what happened:

A few months back I was fresh of the boat here in Canada.
I was a lucky guy, because it is not often that Canadian girls find the obscure Polish magazine I advertise myself in. Apparently, there is plenty of opportunities for Mail order Brides, but Polish Manslaves are a lot harder to market. I was 200% lucky because usually my clients are grunting fem-hobbits with hair on their teeth, but this one was absolutely stunning. The downside of this is that it made me want to stay around forever instead of gnawing off my arm after the first night.
It also meant I had to get a job instead of living a glorious life as a leech FOREVER!

It quickly became apparent that the Canadian job market is slightly different than the Polish one.
None of my highly marketable skills from Poland (Ostrich Wrestling and Decimating Ninjas with a single blow) came in handy here. I don’t know what happened to the Ostrich population in Canada, but I’m guessing the Polish immigrants are running a rampant underground Ostrich Tournament in Quebec.
Ninjas are plenty in some areas around Ottawa, but I don’t want to get in trouble with their Union.
Considering the complete lack of other skills and the fact that I do not speak Canadian, I was unemployed for 73 years. (No, there is no fault in my story there, I just happen to Time Travel a lot).  After this time, I started to feel a little inadequate as a MAN and getting an allowance at the age of 28 is also a little emasculating, so I made a vow to myself and The Babe that I would set out and get a job no matter what.
For the next 12 years, I practiced my Canadian and learned the entire Menu of Tim Hortons by heart, so I could fill in a position there as soon as someone would quit.

Eventually, the Internet was invented and that seemed like a good opportunity for me to rule the world. I “uploaded” my 4kb resume and I sat back to enjoy the 15 million offers that would soon come my way.
It was an immediate success!
The first business opportunity that was presented to me was a Nigerian Prince who was the sole survivor of a plane crash and needed a way to get his money out of the country. All he needed was access to my bank account. I’m still waiting for the first transfer, but I have already picked out a Mansion for when he deposits.  



The second offer was equally attractive and that was the recruiter from Weedman that called me.
At first I thought I finally found an opening to the Canadian Drug Cartel and make 16 billion dollar a week, but alas, it was just your shitty corporation that wanted to talk to me.
The guy, let’s call him Douche, told me that my resume looked very interesting and that all his experience in HR told him that I would be a perfect fit to work for Weedman!
My heart leapt in joy! Finally I would be Decimating Ninjas or Wrestling Ostrich again!
I made an appointment to see him at the earliest convenience!
All excited I fired of the Googlies to see what an awesome company Weedman was and I started reading reviews. My excitement quickly faded as I read review after review that the roots of your company go down all the way into the bellows of Hell.
Since our household was basically going through famine at this point, I still mustered the strength to through with this job interview, even though I rather put glowing pokers into my ears.
However, I found hope in the bible, considering that Job (Book of Job) was the epitome of Enduring Suffering.

Three days later I got into my best set of Spandex and my Lucha Libre mask to make a good impression on your recruiter, Douche.
Strangely enough your location wasn’t on any map, probably because nobody has send a cartographer into Limbo yet. The only reason I found that place was because of the roaming Gargoyles above your headquarters.

When I got in, I saw some of your minions chained to their desks and a few other lifeless husks sitting on a bench holding application forms in their cold dead fingers. Now, although I do consider myself a prime specimen of a human being, I prefer not to look down upon other specimens, but it was pretty clear to me that the other candidates had clearly never Decimated a Ninja before OR Wrestled an Ostrich. One of them was so creepy though, he might have dated an Ostrich at some point in his life. For a few minutes it was a fun little game to compare the candidates with the already chained down employees.
I figured if the candidate looks like a diseased Snorlax , they would most likely make it as an employee when they would be resurrected as a Zombie Weedman Snorlax.





A typical Snorlax

 Clearly overqualified I contemplated my escape out of this “Job Interview” before one of your Sorcerers could cast an enslaving spell on me.
It was around then that I heard it. The Sentence That Cannot Be Unheard…
“It’s an Amazing Day at Weedman, How May I Amaze You?”
The sentence shot straight through my funny bone as a bolt fired from a Virulent Crossbow.
It started somewhere low in my stomach and rumbled up slowly until I couldn’t hold it in.
I had to run outside and let out a bellowing laugh. Mhuahahaha.
Perhaps it is part of your brainwashing tactics that you make your employees answer the phone like that, but I am pretty sure it is in conflict with the Geneva Convention on how to treat Prisoners of War.
The Babe saw my standing there, roaring and asked me how the interview went.
I told her that I didn’t go in yet and that we could still make it out of there alive if she wanted to.
However, her damn sense of reason and logic made me go back again and sit through my punishment.
This time around it was slightly more interesting though and even more convincing that I would never give my soul to your company.

One of the things that amused me was when one of your Lesser Demons got bit by a Spider and said “Why does it always bite ME?” The fact that she used the word “always” made me realize that it is probably torture tactics the Lair Masters use whenever the Phone Banshees aren’t laboring for a slight second.

A new Weedman Employee bing born.

Although I simply LOVE getting bitten by possibly poisonous arachnids, I prefer having this done in my spare time on not “on the clock”.
Another gem one of the underdressed Pigbeasts let out was “No sir, we have a recording of you ordering our centennial service AND we have pictures of you cheating on your wife, are you sure you want to use that tone?”
Although I admit that is pretty fucking sneaky, it might be a little overdone if people want to get to speak to a manager.
It was then finally time for me to get into a dark separate room with Douche the recruiter.

The room kind of reminded me of the time I was exposed as a CIA spy in North Korea and kept for 25 years in an underground cell. But even this didn’t make the interview a more pleasant experience.

It quickly became apparent that Douche didn’t have a lot of experience with people who posses an IQ over 10 and he was asking me a series of downright retarded questions.
During this interrogation I was thinking to myself that with my highschool diploma I must have been at least twice as educated as Douche. I was also fantasizing about Douche competing in a Japanese Gameshow where the challenge is to eat raw Fugu. Douche, as motivate as he is, tries to swallow the whole Devilfish as once, causing it to blow up in his throat, poking tiny poisonous fish spikes into his esophagus.
One of his questions was “How would you convince me that you really want to work for Weedman?”
Normally, during a job interview I would have a good answer to a question like this, but in this case I couldn’t choose between “Because I like to work with hopeless projects” and “Because Polishing turds is a passion”.
However I went with, “I need a temporary job until a real opportunity to come along, please don’t hire me”.
He then asked me if I had any trouble working from 11 PM to 5 AM and that’s where I told him "good luck" and "I hope the Stealth Spider bites you in the eyebal"l.

This is when I made a big mistake.
I know I should have firebombed the place as I left to make sure the Demons couldn’t follow me home, but, the humanitarian that i am, I resorted to non-lethal magic instead.

In the showdown some of your Venomous Ninja Spiders hid under my car and I accidently drove them to my hideout.

As my cute kitten Mittens walked down the driveway to greet me, they leapt from under my car and devoured her right there.
In my rage, I curb stomped them in half hurting my ankle in the process.

If you hadn’t tricked me into coming in for a job interview, this wouldn’t have happened.

As you can imagine, I am not amused.

-Dave Stevens