iSuck.

Cereally, comrades-- one of the reasons that I've left your sadsack hearts in the lurch these past several weeks is because The Other gave you-know-who a very engaging holiday gift. Engaging for humans, that is. Where I would spend the hours rapt in intelligent thought over a gift of, say, Advanced Weight and Hairball Management or a pen top that I can chew, T.O.C.E. is plum obsessed with a tiny, shiny black box with little white strings shooting out of it. I've shunned cat toys that were bigger than this thing. But, for some reason, said shiny box forces her to sit at the 'puter til her back is sore, scrolling around, entering her credit card number at all hours, and occasionally muttering something like "What was the name of that Tigra and Bunny song they used to play at Dazzles Roller rink?" She then pays a human pittance for said songs, and forces me to listen to it while she dances around, nearly stepping on the precious three legs that I have left.

Alas, the black box and its online acoutrements are much smarter than T.O.C.E. For some reason, they keep trying to force a Willie Nelson song on her that she swears she never paid for. Today, she went online to find all her stupid songs missing. Instead of figuring out the problem, she simply started downloading more to her blank account. She then realized that she'd opened a second iloons account under The Other's log-in name, and now can figure out to get whatever the hell today's throwback asshat hits are over to her "playlist."

I swear, it was less annoying when she just walked around the house humming TV show theme songs to herself.

Wait, no it wasn't.