Beyond the Black Hole

Another mystery is solved

So, this is why all the tom cats are all of sudden getting interested in the Internet: Live Nude Cats.

The Weekly Wolf Woof Review

Lame name or not, the Carnival of the Dogs is up for viewing.

So, what is it that is going on here

Well, as soon as I sign on saying that I am taking over the mouse position, everyone shuts up. No dog posting, no cat posting, no parrot posting, no one comments. What the flickity flack is going on? I think I might have to kick some butt or something just to get the ball rolling here again. **Sniff, sniff**

Be back later, someone has unwrapped some cheese and that odor has done assailed my nostrils. I am going to go have to stake myself out a good position to see if I can find a way to swipe a scrap or two of such.

By the way, Deb, I think mice that crap in silverware drawers are unexcusable.

I am a baaaad mouse

Hi, You can call me Mr. Mouse. The name is J. Terwilliger Mouse, but Mr Mouse will do for the likes of you. What? Who am I? you ask. Well, I am the new mouse in the house.

Yep, just like Chinese, there are billions of us mice and when one falls, there is usually another one waiting and ready to step forward and take his place. And, unlike my predecessor, I am not going to take things lightly. I am going to kick some butt and take some names. Toy with me, Miss Kitty, and you might come back with a stump. I carry a machete. You can find me in this little hole over here, the one that is dark because there is no lighting. What's up with that?

Messed up and missed my chance

Dang it, I was the one that was supposed to eat that pesky Mr Mouse, but I guess I played and toyed with him too much. It seems some danged owl beat me to the good part. Drat!

He was not a bad-ass mouse

Mr Mouse is no longer with us. He was returning home from some mouse event last night. As he was crossing the backyard on his way to the house, an owl swooped down and carried him off. Bill Bulldog was laying on the stoop enjoying the night breeze and witnessed the entire event.

I am sure he made a tasty meal for one of my bird compatriots. Of course, I deplore eating meat of any kind.

We are all going to miss Mr Mouse. Miss Kitty seems to be the most despondent. That surprises me, as I thought she detested him. Even with my genius brain, I can't read minds, it seems.

I guess I am not a bad-ass mouse

Three mice are sitting in a bar. The first mouse takes a swig of his beer and says, "I am a bad-ass mouse; I'm so tough that in my neighborhood we have these big mouse traps. I walk up to them, grab the cheese, catch the bar and press it up and down with one arm while I eat the cheese. I'm a bad-ass mouse."

The second mouse takes a couple swigs of his beer and says, "That's nothin'. In my neighborhood, we have that rat poison stuff, and I grab it, eat it, throw it in my water, and gargle it. It ain't nothin. I am a bad-ass mouse."

The third mouse slams his beer, gets up and starts walking away. The other two look at him and say, "Where are you going?" The third mouse looks at the other two and says, "I'm going home to have rough sex with the cat."

I found the joke here but replaced a few of the really vulgar words used in the original version. Mostly, other than the joke, the linked site contains a lot of comment SPAM messages.

What else did you have to do?

I am not too sure which one of my blogging partners would dislike this the most. I personally thought it was ingenious and entertaining. Go, check it out, have fun!

How do you spell YUM?

I promise you that there is not one single part of a bovine that any dog is not willing to eat, be he/she dead or alive. However, we do find them just a little bit easier to eat when they are dead, hence the real reasoning behind the pack attack.

Sekimori initially mentioned this product and I pounced on it.

What's for Dinner this month

Rowwr! Talk about a fish that might take awhile to eat, even for a cat as hungry as myself. I would like to be hanging around for the scraps when they clean that thing.

Don't tell Bill Bulldog I said so, but even I think puppies are cute, but only when they are sleeping, mind you.

I won the race to locating the correct carnival

Haha, Bill Bulldog still hasn't figured out where the Carnival of the Canines is at for this week, but I quickly located the Carnival of the Cats. I di want to mention to one certain feline to lay off on heavily use of the catnip or you might end up going to treatment for your addiction, like I did her recently.

The town that lived up to its name

We here at Beyond the Black Hole, all save Miss kitty who never apologizes, wish to apologize for not having posted for a few days. It seem the whole State of Confusion forgot to pay the neighboring states for the electricity supplied because of some problem with the Postal Service. It seems that they do not recognize our zip code: X92-X92-hut, hut --- hut, and no one got their bill this month. As such, everyone in the state was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I actually witnessed a chicken running around with its head cut off and I promise you, it was not a pretty sight, but neither was what happened on the streets of Utter during these last few days fun to watch either.

Miss Kitty was in a real snit as she is sure she missed the Carnival of Cats and Bill Bulldog was wondering how the Carnival of Dogs went, and, of course, Bird Brain was thinking that maybe he ought to start the Carnival of Genius Parrots or something. As for me, I just was wondering where all the cheese was. Anyway, it does look like everything in Utter, Confusion is back to normal, whatever that is, and maybe I can find something interesting to write down here for everyone to enjoy. I shall be skittering around the blogosphere today, if possible.

I don't understand some things at all about blogging

I was just over at Tiger's and noticed he has gotten as many visitors today as myself, Bird Brain and Bill Bulldog have gotten since we started this blog. I intentionally did not mention that pesky little Mr Mouse because I found some mouse droppings in my Tender Vittles, which I can only presume were purposefully placed. As such, I could not eat what was placed in my bowl, and our nameless benefactor accuses me of being finicky. That mouse will not be long for this world, I promise you.

People don't seem to mind offending mice, at all

Some of you sick-minded humans have way too much time on your hands.

Then again, I might need to get Bird Brain to translate this into something I can understand:

Sex-limited protein (Slp), an isoform of mouse complement component C4, is expressed predominantly in liver and nearly exclusively in sexually mature males or testosterone-treated females. It is encoded by a gene (C4-Slp) whose hormonal dependence has been attributed to an androgen-responsive transcriptional enhancer introduced accidentally, alongside the C4-Slp promoter, in the guise of the 5' long terminal repeat of an ancient retrovirus. We demonstrate that the pronounced rise of C4-Slp mRNA promoted by androgens in the liver is due to nuclear factors acting at a transcriptional stage. Curiously, hypophysectomized animals of either sex fail to express the gene and are refractory to testosterone. However, gene expression at male levels is restored even more promptly by injections of growth hormone alone. Additionally, animals carrying an ubiquitously expressed human growth hormone transgene lack C4-Slp mRNA and are insensitive to testosterone treatment. That growth hormone is sufficient to induce expression in a manner independent of androgen-receptor activity is shown by the hormonal treatment of Tfm mice. These androgen receptor-defective animals lack C4-Slp mRNA, which however can be fully induced by growth hormone injections. We conclude that the sexual dimorphism of C4-Slp expression employs liver nuclear mediators distinct from those directly instructed by androgens and is brought about by the intermittent rise of growth hormone, dictated by testosterone.

I don't know if they wasted their time on this or not, but I found it here.

Walk a mile on my paws, Bud!

Steven Taylor had the audacity to ask:

Do dogs embody the maxim "ignorance is bliss" or what?

I mean, I know that we dogs are able to display composure under most circumstances, but we are not ignorant, nor is our existence blissful. I mean, you have no idea how stressful it is just wondering on a daily basis if your butt smells good enough to wander the neighborhood. That does not even take into account all the trauma one goes through when one forgets where one buried that bone one was saving for a sunny day. I could go on and on, but now I am beginning to get a headache.

Let me just make sure everyone understands

This blog or the animals that blog hereon have no concern regarding Nick Berg, Nicholas Berg, or Nicolas Berg or however else his name might be spelled. We did not know him, are saddened by his death, but other than that, we will leave this story in the hands of more capable bloggers.

I guess only parrots can see the finer points

A young man called his mother and announced excitedly that he had just met the woman of his dreams. Now what should he do?

His mother had an idea: "Why don't you send her flowers, and on the card invite her to your place for a home-cooked meal?"

He thought this was a great strategy and arranged a date for a week later. His mother called the day after the big date to see how things had gone.

"The evening was a disaster," he moaned.

"Why, didn't she come over?" asked his mother.

"Oh, she came over, but she refused to cook..."

It is obvious that she was not "the woman of his dreams," so the date was successful in that the young man was able to discover that she was not what he dreamed she was on the first date. People are so ignorant. They often cannot see that which is placed right before their eyes. They appear to be so sex crazed that they likely just refuse to see the truth. Was she the woman of his dreams because he found her to be physically attractive? Thankfully, this was but a joke, but the jokester missed the point of the situation. I did not do so.

Here Kitty, Kitty

People who don't know what cats look like, should not pick up strays, even injured strays.

A woman rescued what was described as a "funky-looking house cat" after the animal was hit by a car near Santa Cruz, California.

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The rescuer admitted she thought the cat "looked kinda strange."

What was it?

It turns out the ten-pound cat was no ordinary house cat. It was a bobcat -- with sharp claws and long fangs.

But of course, like most fools, the lady was lucky.

But after the woman put the dazed cat in her car and brought it to an animal hospital, an animal rescue worker told her it was a good thing the injured kitty was too stunned to move.

Yep, otherwise cat-scratch fever might have been the least of her problems. Bobcats are not really keen on car trips, and really hate being taken to the vet. Come to think of it, I don't really like taking car trips to see the vet either. I do guess all is well that ends well.

The bobcat has no broken bones, and has about a 50 percent chance of survival.

You can click here to read the parts that I did not quote.

To all of my fellow mice . . .

If it smells like soup, don't jump in for a quick swim. That is more idiotic than diving into a swirling toilet.

What's a thristy dog to do?

You know, it would be really nice if our nameless benefactor would take the time to actually fill the water bowl up with some fresh water. I can't drink out of this.

And they wonder why I am so neurotic

Is there a Portuguese mouse in the audience?

I am wondering at the connection between the two photos in this post.

Pampered Cat Promenade

OK, if Bill Bulldog is going to tell you about that dog think, I can surely announce the Carnival of the Cats for this week. It's not some upstart new thing, like the dog show.

Arrrgh, it be cold in here and I be bleeding?

Doctor Unheimlich has diagnosed me with Mr Mouse's Lurgy
Cause:	lack of absinthe
Symptoms:	talking like a pirate, sudden puncture wounds, temperature sensitivity
Cure:	cryogenic freezing until science catches up
Enter your name, for your own diagnosis:

Aye, mateys, we knows what happens to a wee mousie what eats genetically-modified cheese, don't we?

If'n it be not too late for this ol' swabbie, mighten a few more visits to that lassie, Ith, be a aidin' me cause?

Everyone loves 'em ---

Puppies are so cute!

By the way, they have a Carnival of the Dogs now. I just wonder who names these things, as I might have called it The Weekly K-9 Roundup. Everyone has a carnival, and we dogs are bit tired of carnivals and their "dog and pony show" routines.

Something that a little bird told me

Is it me, or did anyone else think about what a great blog name the title to this post is? I sometimes think that Mr Mouse is not as dumb as he acts and nowhere near as dumb as he looks.

Just a little something for the Mothers out there

Let me lead in before I share this delightful piece I found to let you all know that I am not a mother, nor will I ever be. You see, our noble nameless benefactor had me fixed. From my understanding, he also had Bill Bulldog fixed. I am not sure if old Bird Brain is fixed. Now I am pretty sure that pesky Mr Mouse is not fixed, but I am working on fixing him, fixing him good! Just let me get my claws on that squeaking little pest ... but let us get back to what I was trying to do .. for you mothers, Happy Mother's Day

MOTHERS DAY FOR BEARS ??

In my next life, I wanna be a female bear.

If you're a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that.

Before you hibernate, you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that, too.

If you're a bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you're sleeping and wake to partially grown, cute cuddly cubs. I could definitely deal with that.

If you're a mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them, too. And I could deal with that.

If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat. Yup...I wanna be a bear.

Street signs along the path to my destruction

People, people! Cheez Whiz is not cheese. It is not even food. Quit leaving that stuff out where poor unsuspecting mice run across it and unknowingly consume a bit of it with no knowledge that they just ate something that will pickle their innards.

I just got back from a service for my dear departed uncle, Jerry Mouse. Jerry mistakenly consumed a large quantity of Cheez Whiz. He never made it back to the hole, poor guy. About halfway home, he spontaneously exploded. They say it was a really messy sight. I suspect that when you make your home in the City Dump, however, messy sights are more common than not. RIP Uncle Jerry Mouse.

It is really all about the purrks, you know

Now talk about someone who finally gets it.

Another missed opportunity

Cheese does not belong in the dishwasher. Cheese now belongs in the trash because it's been in the dishwasher since sometime yesterday. - Maura

Cheese would not have been in dishwasher if Mr Mouse had found it. Mr Mouse was worried about very strange cat, and did very poor job of foraging.

I think they may be on to something here

Maybe some of you humans are starting to understand how alphabetically we animals think.

Can I see a show of HANDS?

Some people are truly talented. Too bad, however, that this is not a bulldog:

click to enlarge

Delve farther into the shadows to see a couple of other animals created by hands:

I wonder if Miss Kitty would like this one:

click to enlarge

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I feel safe to assume Bird Brain would be impressed with this one:

click to enlarge

There are some really sick people in the world

I just wonder who it who was that was so eager to actually find some "ass to mouse sex" that they were still checking out sites 27 pages down from the top of their Google search return. Our blog was not seen upon the returns on that page, most likely because our perv clicked on whatever link of ours that was previously on such page of returns, and moved us up in the ranks for that particular search phrase. I am sorry, but their there is not any ass to mouse sex going on around here, because on one hand, I really do not believe in cross-species relationships, and secondly, I have yet to see a donkey that I thought was attractive.

What's for dinner tonight?

Everything you wanted to know about humuhumunukunukuapua'a except how they taste.

Got any cheese to go with that?

Some kind of cheer over at The World Around You:

BUTTER, JAM
SAUSAGE, HAM
GO BISCUITS!

OK, so who won?

The unnamed benefactor was out all day yesterday and, for once, did not leave the television blaring while he was gone. I was able to sleep away most of the day, but I never did find out who won the Kentucky Derby.

As if these stories ever really have a happy ending

It seems that the stupid microchip some lady had implanted into a friend of a friend of mine has come back to haunt her. Yes, from the way I heard the story, my friend's friend escaped from this fiendish woman several years ago and moved all the way to the other side of the country just to get as far away as possible. As luck would have it, the unlucky cat fell asleep in the wrong place and was caught by the local animal control Gestapos, and, after being humiliated, searched and given a non-consensual physical, the microchip was found. Now the poor cat is going to be personally confronted by the one person she had hoped never to see: Ellen DeGeneres. Read the whole sordid story yourself.

Yeah, I guess

Velociman has painted a world where different species of birds are analogized as this boxer¹ pugilist or that: Blue Jays are painted as Mike Tyson, brutal, belligerent, and ignorant; mockingbirds are characterized as Leon Spinks, although I know a couple of mockingbirds that would take offense at such characterization; and, lastly, grackles are identified as Buster Douglas; and I surmise that he must be black and relatively unloved.

I do know a cockatoo that bears a strong resemblance to Don King.

¹ I found that Bill Bulldog was quite confused with my use of the term "boxer." He is still trying to determine whether any of the names used are among some of his dog friends within such breed.