In the interests of Kitty (in)sanity, I propose a reaffirmation of the 12 steps:1: Lots and lost of hugs. Particularly the kind that makes the huggled kitty's eyes bulge, and a muffled gasp sound from the hugging kitty's armpit. The sign of a good hug - a general warm and fuzzy but dazed look on the face of the recently hugged kitty. If that dazed look ain't there, then you haven't hugged hard enough.
2: The beaten and bloody corpse of Ned Sherin.
3: Chocolate sauce. Lots and lots of chocolate sauce. Applied liberally.
4: More hugs (just in case the hugged kitty is already getting their breath back).
5: The beaten and bloody corpse of Barry Cryer.
6: Lots of puddings. Of many varieties. With what's left of the chocolate sauce.
7: Our own Willow and Tara to play with. (Okay, so, I've figured this one out: We can't steal Willow/Aly and Tara/Amber from our dimension, 'cause there'd be no more Buffy goodness to watch - let's face it, we'd never EVER give 'em back - so, we need to locate a portal to another dimension, slip through, nab them both, and then haul 'em back here for fun and frolics. So, who do we want? Willow and Tara, or Aly and Amber?)
8: The untimely destruction of the whole of Radio 4 (with the exception of test match special - so the untimely death of Radio 4 FM, then): The Archers: Poof - gone in a puff of greasy, orange smoke. The various, extraordinarily pretentious arts programs - vwap! The pointless and dreadfully dogmatic political debates that never ever tell us anything, except that anyone who wants to become a politician, or a political interviewer, should be tied up, bludgeoned with a blunt instrument, stuffed unceremoniously into a large sack, and thrown into the Mersey - kasplosh! The afternoon play - whoosh - tinkle tinkle! All those smug, self-satisfied so-called panel games, where a bunch of Cambridge egits vomit up amusing plays on words to show each other just how clever they all really are - KABLAM!!!! Desert Island Discs (sorry Sharon, but this has to go, too) - splat! Whoops - although test match special has been spared, I just noticed Blowers hasn't - he's just got run over by the no 10 from Garboldersham - Thud!!
9: Hugs. The kind that, when you stumble away from it, you are amazed that your head didn't just pop, but you are also filled with just the fuzziest and cuddliest sensation, that you just have to return.
10: Deference and much devotion to the Captain. Not to mention hugs (did I mention hugs? They are vital).
11: A new radio station that plays whole albums by Frank Zappa, Fugazi, JJ72 (their bassist is a foxy chick, and their songs are so cute - there's even one called Willow), The God Machine, Jeff Buckley, The Manic's, Jane's Addiction, SRV, and many, many more, in between episodes of The Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy. Presented by Willow and Tara (another Willow and Tara - 'cause Joss ain't gonna give up his, and we won't give up OURS, when we've found them).
12: Fun and much giggling. And things that cause fun and much giggling. Whether that is innocuous, or very, very naughty, because both have their place on this ship, I feel.
Now, when you've completed all of those things, you will find that you've completely forgotten spoilers. Give it a go. I'm off to Radio 4 now, armed with a kill-o-zap ray gun, and some dancing shoes (to help me dance on the smoking ashes of what's left after I've finished with the buggers).
Note: Should hands be allowed to find new places during hugs? Hmmm, well, my thoughts are this: If the huggled kitty allows, and if their butt is the right consistency of squishiness (to your own taste, of course), then okay. General rule of thumb: If the squeezed-out gasp suddenly turns into a surprised squeak, then either you've possibly gone too far, or you should have picked a time when curry wasn't on the menu the previous night
Additional note: I appreciate that some of you have no idea who Ned Sherin is. You lucky, lucky kitties. May your ears never be sullied by insufferable windbags of that sort. If you don't know what Radio 4 is, then let me explain. It was exactly the kind of thing Ripper would have rebelled from, and despised with every fibre of his being. Has the kind of listener to whom modernity is something to smile patronisingly at, and knowing little smirks are just a way of life, rather than something that justifies a good slapping. An example of a Radio 4 listener: My Father. Bizarrely, he also hates Ned Sherin. Work that one out.
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I am the sunlight on the sides of houses.
[This message has been edited by Wolfie (edited February 11, 2002).]