The Trials and Tribulations of Mr. Fancy Pants

Once upon a time I lived in Fairfax. I lived in a tiny house with 3 other girls and their various animals. The only animal of consequence in regard to this particular story is one Mr. Fancy Pants.
Mr. Fancy Pants was a cat of overwhelming personality, and we became fast friends. Despite my severe allergy to cats, I often drunkenly snuggled him and insisted he sleep in the nook my body created when I slept in the fetal position.
Mr. Fancy Pants was an outdoor cat, and as I was often the only one home at odd hours of the night, I usually let him into the house. He was also quite the curious little monster. He would regularly find himself stuck on the roof, lacking the ability to get himself down. On many occasions I would build a rudimentary ladder of chairs and coolers to retrieve his silly ass.
I soon grew tired of this.
I began to scold Mr. Fancy Pants quite loudly when I would exit my domicile to hear him meowing from atop the roof.
On one particular afternoon after class, I comfortably positioned myself in my bed and surround myself with all of my favorite things.
Huge glass of water. Check.
Bong. Check.
Pot. Check.
Cigarettes. Check.
Ashtray. Check.
Cell phone. Check.
Remote. Check.
Lighter. Che----SHIT
I threw my bedspread off in disgust, slipped on my house shoes and made for the door. DAMMIT. So close to total bliss and now THIS. A venture into the cold after being so tightly tucked in bed.
I swung open the front door and stepped onto our front stoop.
“MEOOOOOOOW.”
I turned in every direction, searching for the source.
Again I heard, “MEOOOOOOOW.”
I stepped into the yard, and there he was. Mr. Fancy Pants standing on the edge of the roof staring at me as if I had the answers to all that ails the world.
He let out one more loud “MEOOOOOOOW.”
I had finally had enough.
“FUCK YOU FANCY PANTS!” I yelled as I stomped off to my car to retrieve the aforementioned lighter.
After acquiring said lighter I turned to return to my house when I saw him.
There he was, sitting on his porch bench, glaring at me. My 65-year-old neighbor.
Then it occurred to me, “Fuck you Fancy Pants” it’s not something one usually hears.
Shit.Oh well. Like THAT’S the strangest thing I’ve ever done. Please.

Becky

It occurs to me that I never posted this here, although it's very popular on facebook...

by popular demand...here it is.
but first: a brief disclaimer: This is one of the stupidest stories EVER told, seriously. If you don't think I'm funny, or don't get my humor, don't read anymore. It will only serve to enfuriate you further.

When I was younger I swam on the River Road Country Club, in which my grandparents and parents are members. At 12 years old, I had taken the past few years off from swimming to attend summer camp. This was my triumphant return. Only...no one remembered me...at all. My first day back, a young blonde girl came bounding up to me and introduced herself. Over the whistles of the coaches and the splashes made from bodies hitting the water I shouted "Maggie!" "Becky?" she said back. Before I could correct her she grabbed my arm and led me to the edge of the pool and faced me to a gaggle of giggling girls half heartedly doing their water excercises. "Everybody!! This is BECKY! She's awesome!"
Well, whoever this Becky person is, she got quite the introduction. I hadn't the heart to let her down in front of this impressive crowd, and thought it best to clear up the misunderstanding later. Later, however, never came. The legend of Awesome Becky grew to proportions beyond my control. After victorious mario brothers matches in the game room, successful relay races, and the demonstration of the ability eat 4 saltine crackers in a minute, Becky had become quite popular. She moved from public displays of ridiculous talent to all out mischief. The flags marking holes on the golf course were shuffled to the confusement of the senior members. Quarters were super glued to the game room floor. Cans of soda in the snack shack were shaken within a modicum of bursting. To the dismay of the on duty lifeguards, there was ample running in the pool area. Becky was on fire.
My then 65 year old Grandmother, whom also served as one of the elders of the country club, came to me one day after practice. "Whoever this Becky girl is, you stay away from her. I'll not have Cameron women associating with that lot."
Uh-oh. The day of reckoning was coming. I managed to eek through to the last day of swim practice. Always watching my back, keeping a steady eye fixated on the parking lot waiting area, engaging in shenanigans under the most controlled of circumstances. I was going to make it! As I strutted to my grandmothers car, confident in my anonymity, I looked over my shoulder to give one last ever-so-cool wave to my new cohorts when...
"BECKY!! See you next year!!"
The blonde had foiled my attempts at a hasty escape.As I shut the door to Gram Cameron's minivan she paused before pulling away. "Becky?" She gave me a look of utter disapproval, which immediately wiped from her face to reveal what can only be described as a smirk. "Well....figures."

Nothing more was said of Becky, and I never swam at River Road Country Club again.

the end.