Call me immature, but I don’t think there’s anything funnier than a fart.
Except a cat who farts and hiccups at the same time. Watch this video and tell me you don’t LOL.

[A special thanks to BuzzFeed.com for bringing this to my attention and making my day.]

Do you know who Bubba is? You don‘t?! Obviously, you have no heart.

Bubba is a cat who grew up on the mean streets of Chicago, spending the first few months of his young life all by his lonesome. After finally being adopted by a nice couple, Bubba was still unable to “flourish.” He was shy all the time, hated visitors, and was just generally one unhappy cat.

Bubba’s owners knew they had to do something, so they called up a pet psychic. They paid someone to tell them the inner thoughts of their cat. And you know what that psychic individual told them? The reason for Bubba’s unhappiness was an inner emotional struggle…that’s right…Bubba was a transgendered cat.

Even though Bubba was a boy, the pet psychic told his owners that Bubba identified as a female. Immediately, the owners jumped into action. They went about “accepting” Bubba’s feelings, and put up a website asking anyone who stumbled upon it to donate money for Bubba’s sex change operation.

How can anyone say no to such a realistic and heartfelt request? How could we possibly ignore the brave plight of Bubba the transgendered cat? The answer is that we can’t. So donate today. Bubba needs us, people.

“What is it?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes away from the bloody heads and severed body parts in the window display.

“I’m wearing a white sheet, and over that I’m putting on underwear and a bra.”

“What’s that supposed to be?”

“A slut ghost!” My friend said, bursting into laughter. “Funniest thing ever, right?”

She definitely wins points for creativity, and for finding perhaps the one costume that hasn’t yet been turned into glorified lingerie by the Halloween industry.

It’s true. Once you reach a certain age, October 31st becomes less about candy and more about showing off—especially if you’re a girl.

I’m not sure where or when the tradition of skanking-up costumes began, but these days, anything can be turned “sexy.” Sexy pirate. Sexy ballerina. Sexy Bee. Sexy Girlscout. I mean, I could go on, but it might get redundant.

While some people get bent out of shape by a gal’s choice to dress like a sexy FBI Informant, I’ve never had a problem with it. I’ve heard the whole, it objectifies women! argument, but if a girl is buying her own costume, putting it on herself, and walking around with full knowledge that she’s showing a lot of skin, it seems like risqué costumes are more about letting loose and having fun than being forced into something for the enjoyment of others.

Personally, I’m an easy going girl with an easy going style, but once a year I thoroughly enjoy showing off the fact that I take care of my body and have a good sense of humor (Look! I’m a saltshaker! I’m dressed all in white with glitter and I have a big S on my chest! Hahaha…but isn’t this skirt cute?).

Ranting about that girl at the Halloween party who wore spandex and homemade ears and played it off as an adequate representation of a cat just wastes time and energy. Like all things in life, some people will take risqué costumes too far, but begrudging a girl her god-given right to be a sexy mailman is just downright lame.

Do I recommend answering your door to little trick-or-treaters in a garter belt and black mask? No. But do I propose showing off what your mama gave you in a room full of adults? Sure.

Just remember to be creative. Dressing like an actual whore never won anyone anything except an awkward situation on the sidwalk.

• I can think of a few girls who cost a bit more than $2,000 a year. (itn.co.uk)

• Cat starts fire, dog saves the day. (Yahoo!)

• 95 year old woman grows a horn…literally. Click on the link if you don’t mind throwing up a little. (metro.co.uk)

• Don’t drink and drive…or skateboard… (earthtimes.org)

• Vermont wants to get out while they still can! (The Independent)

• Don’t fall into this cuddle-trap, ladies. You’re all better than this. (COED Magazine)

• 73 year old man kicks ass, takes names. Awesome. (10tv.com)

• The pope has a cat? The cat is writing a book? My brain just exploded. (Yahoo!)

• An alert official suspected there may be something sinister behind Mr. Potato Head’s toothy grin. Yeah, Ecstasy. (AFP)

• This is why you don’t plan your wedding on Craigslist. (KATU)

• Looking to finally get healthy? Do it the old-school way! (UK Dailymail)

I live in New York City. Therefore, I should be used to Random Acts of Rudeness. Small things should no longer phase me. But because I am a nice, sweet, mostly polite girl, I am still very often radically offended and crazily frustrated by rude people acting obnoxiously. Here are a few examples of my most recent run-ins with RAR.

• At a job interview, the interviewer answers his blackberry not once, not twice, but three times in the middle of my answers to his questions. No sorry, hold on a moment, just a complete switch from looking at me and listening to typing away on his stupid toy. Each time he would chuckle at whatever inside joke was taking place on the tiny screen, leaving me nothing to do but admire the bare walls and stare out the window. Needless to say, I’m taking that job the day hell freezes over.

• After a recent bout with the throw-up and diarrhea bug, my cat needed to be carted to the vet in a scary, emergency-like situation. So here I am, walking as fast as I can down the sweaty sidewalk with a giant cat carrier, pocket book, and second bag of medications and paperwork, when I finally come to a long, steep staircase. Other people with empty hands and going up and down this staircase, but does anyone stop to help the small, sweatstreaked, overloaded girl with the meowing cat? Of course not.

• The outlets are magically no longer working in my apartment. Which means I am not able to plug in my computer, lights, or fan. I’ve called my landlord three times begging for help. He hasn’t called back, forcing me to pay full rent on a hot, dark, appliance free box.

• Walking down the street the other day, my arms again overloaded with a giant bag and phone pressed against my ear (in a feeble attempt to get directions from a strange person who didn’t speak English), I spied a couple directly in front of me, spanning the entire sidewalk and holding hands. There wasn’t wasn’t much time or space to move, so I end up having to walk between the PDA loving couple, breaking their heartfelt handclasp. And then what happens? The bitch laughs at me. Like I’m an idiot for not being able to teleport past their sidewalk hogging lovefest.

• On our way home from a bar at 2:30 AM, a man interrupts my roommate’s story by saying something incredibly disgusting to us while grabbing his crotch at the same time.

What about you, lovelies? Come across some horrible instances of RAR lately? Let it out, it’s cathartic!

Oscar, a two year old stray that was adopted as a kitten by the third floor dementia unit of the Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Providence, Rhode Island, reportedly has an uncanny ability to tell when a patient is about to die.

In over 25 observed cases, Oscar the Death Cat (they’re calling him that, not me) goes into a patient’s room about two hours before they kick the bucket. Sometimes he even sits down next to them.

One doctor was “convinced of Oscar’s talent” during his 13th case. A patient the doctor was tending to showed many common signs of approaching death, but Oscar wouldn’t stay inside the room. The doctor thought the feline’s correct prediction streak was over, until 10 hours later. When the patient passed away a few hours after doctors expected, Oscar was right there with her.

While no one is sure if Oscar is actually sensing something supernatural, or just realizing patterns set by the nurses who raised him, his presence on the ward seems to cause more comfort then fear. He even received his own wall plague saluting his “compassionate hospice care.

What a cat is going to do with a complimentary plaque is anyone’s guess, but as long as he uses his cat powers for good (and stays the hell away from my bedside), I’ll salute him.

And you know what would go great with this newfound individuality? A pet. Right?

Something fluffy and cuddly that will always be there when you get home and love you unconditionally, something to keep you company on those long nights when no one calls and all you’ve got is the Food Network to keep you from plummeting into a chasm of mind-numbing boredom.

Something small, cute, simple.

Not to sound like your mom, but it ain’t as simple as you think.

I learned a very expensive lesson this week; having a pet isn’t easy. Especially when they get sick.

For some reason, a week ago, my cat started throwing up all over the place. It was gross, and scary, and after a day or so of cleaning up cat puke, my roommate and I decided to take her to the emergency room.

Something was wrong with her, the doctors agreed, but what that thing exactly was no one could figure out. Four days and $1000 later, they released her, saying she probably just ate something bad.

After staring at the bill and mentally erasing that cute skirt I was planning to buy and preparing myself to ingest peanut butter sandwiches for weeks, I limped home, cringing as the doctor called after me. “If she doesn’t eat in two days, you’re going to have to bring her here and we’re going to have to do surgery!”

When we adopted our cat, we didn’t waste one minute thinking about how expensive it would be if she got sick. We didn’t think about the annual shots and check-ups that cost anywhere between $60-$100. We didn’t think about vacations and where she’d go during them. And we certainly didn’t count on the fact that she’d get into everything…routinely eating objects that were plastic, rubber, and disgusting.

Neither my roommate or I regret adopting our Kitta, but had I thought about all this stuff beforehand, and done the calculations, I’m not sure if we would have jumped into it so quickly. We love her, we’re glad she’s here, but we’re also hundreds of dollars poorer.

If you’ve got the money, the space, and the time to devote to an animal, then by all means, adopt away. But just remember, these living creatures don’t come for free…and if they eat your hair elastic, it’s gonna cost a lot of green stuff to get it out.