If the neighbors cats eat $5.00 per week of your “Fluffy’s Food” that is a cost of over $260.00 per year. You could talk to your neighbors about this problem and tell them to mind their own cat. But everyone knows cats do not listen, they basically own the place and think they are entitled to follow suit like the New Orleans Looters after the Hurricane Katrina? If you had a cat TV, well they would probably walk off with that too. To prevent neighborhood looting cats from your house, you need RoboCat with the AttackCat Sun Gun option, not enough to kill the neighbors cat, as it is born of DARPA non-lethal technology for Department of Homeland Security violent protestor crowd control and police use. But this technology will let the thieving neighborhood cat know whose yard they are in and believe you me, they will not be wondering back in anytime soon.

This is just one way that robotics can help your budget and allow you more freedom, a higher standard of living and a greater quality of life. Think about it.

“Lance Winslow” – Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/

But just what will Rock ‘n’ Roll be like in Heaven? Perfect, of course. To begin with I will have a perfect partner who loves to dance with me only and gets it right 100 percent of the time. She will dress to perfection at all times, be great to look at, great to talk to and she will never get tired, never have a headache, never get sore feet, never be late and certainly never fail to show up. She will give me judicious breaks from dancing while she chats with her girlfriends, during which time I can try out some possible replacements for the future and she won’t mind a bit.

The lighting will be romantic and the air will be clear since all the smokers will have gone to the other place. The temperature in the moderate-sized room will judiciously adjust itself to my body temperature at any given moment.

The dance-floor will be large but not too large because the place will have atmosphere. Lets say around 150 square metres. It will always be in perfect condition, automatically polishing itself every twenty-four hours (if they have such a thing as hours in Heaven). You might think that I would want the dance floor to myself and my perfect partner (as we all do) but actually, no! I would like to share it with four or five other couples who all keep at least three metres away from me at all times and whose dancing all looks positively amateurish compared to my partner and I. This is to make us look good in the eyes of the gawking crowd who sit watching mesmerised as we dance, wishing to God they could dance like we can. But since this is my Heaven God won’t be granting them their wish.

For music there will be a live band (if you can call it that since we’ll be no longer of this Earth) who do requests upon demand (mine, of course!). They will consist of a four-piece backing combo who continually rotate unfaltering lead vocalists (Elvis, Bill Halley, Buddy Holly, etc). They will play long sets and take short breaks – just long enough for me to have a quick refreshment, sit and chat for a while with my horde of admirers and visit the boys’ room if required. During the band breaks a DJ will also play requests just for me and me alone.

Drinks will be free, delivered immediately by my own private, very cute and very friendly barmaid. Needless to say, no-one will take drinks anywhere near the dance-floor because in this place everyone is totally conscientious.

Yes, I can just see it all now. Its Rock ‘n’ Roll Dance Heaven in every way …..

Suddenly I feel three prongs of burning pain in my back as the temperature increases by 1000 degrees centigrade. I turn to face a slobbering apparition with horns, cloven hoof and a pointy tail prodding me with a trident. I enquire if this not-so-gentleman hasn’t lost his way, since this is Heaven. He replies with a harrowing, fiendish laugh that he’s the owner of this particular place and isn’t Heaven at all. I ask where we are and he advises that the venue is called Club Super-Selfish. He explains that this is an entry examination to you-know-where for dancers and I’ve just passed with flying colours! My perfect Heaven vanishes and its getting hotter and hotter. It appears that Hell is where Rock ‘n’ Roll dancers who want it all to themselves get sent. Selfish people don’t go to Heaven.

I am awoken from my reverie by a solid thump in my back as another dancing couple crashes into me on the postage-stamp-sized dance-floor. More bruises. The temperature increases by 1000 degrees centigrade, or so it feels. The air-conditioning in the crowded, noisy, smoke-filled pub isn’t coping with the mid-summer heat. My partner, who arrived late after a hard day has sore feet and a head-ache. She wants to sit down. The singer misses another note, the band is soon going to break after playing barely half a bracket and there’s no music in the break to dance to. No matter, the couple in the glittering, flashy clothes are making me look silly anyway. I can’t get a drink because they’re six-deep at the bar but if I slurp up a fraction of what gets slopped on the dance-floor I’ll be well inebriated.

Back to the real Rock ‘n’ Roll Hell!

But if this is Hell, why am I here? The answer is simple. Because I love Rock ‘n’ Roll dancing. Its a community activity and unfortunately people weren’t all born to suit my personal satisfaction. Everyone is here to enjoy themselves however they can doing whatever that amounts to. A bit more common sense at times certainly wouldn’t go astray and a few dancers ought to be told where to go. For me, however, this really is Rock ‘n’ Roll Dance Heaven even if it feels a bit like Hell at times. I love the music, the dancing, the venues and the people even with their faults. I could happily spend a million years right here doing what I enjoy the most.

Gareth Eastwood is a Rock ‘n Roll dance instructor and enthusiast in Adelaide, South Australia. He maintains a recently created website, http://www.rocknrolldance.com/ in which he repeatedly stresses the need for dancers to be gentle with each other rather than dancing roughly. When fully developed the site will feature articles by numerous authors detailing dance styles and reporting on events.

He also created and manages Going Places With Gareth, a gigantic singles social network revolving around a long-established website http://www.garethevents.info/ The network has been operating since May, 2000. Since then over three and a half thousand people have become involved in it to some degree.

When I decided to add milk goats to my backyard farm I envisioned pitchers of milk cooling in the fridge while cheddar rounds age in my cellar. Spirit, my first nanny, had other ideas. There is an old saying I just made up: “Don’t expect instant gratification from your very first dairy goat lactation.” Like dating, expecting nothing is the first step toward not being let down. Perseverance is the next step toward surviving goats with your sanity moderately intact.

Spirit proved mutinous in milking. Even with twins at her side, she had ample milk to share. Generosity was simply not her forte. However, like falling off a bike or getting thrown from your horse, when you find a goat leg lodged in your right ear, you must climb right back on.

To help other potential farmers deal with inevitable frustration, I have provided the following journal. It documents my first full month of milking Spirit. From this draw hope. There is light at the end of the nipple.

Day 1: Leashed goat runs around tie post kicking and bucking. Never got near the teat.

Day 2: Build “EZ One Hour Goat Milking Stand” from online instructions. Define five hours in hell.

Day 3: Adjust Goat Milking Stand so goat’s big fat head will fit through the stocks into the feed box.

Day 4: Adjust Goat Milking Stand so goat’s skinny little head will not retreat from feed box out through the stocks.

Day 5: Collect 3.5 tsp. milk from flailing goat on milking stand.

Day 6: Dido.

Day 7: Tether goat’s leg. Goat kicks loose in .3 seconds.

Day 8: Tether goat’s leg better. Goat kicks loose dumping over 3.5 tsp. of milk.

Day 9: Try new tethering technique. Collect entire ounce of milk. Goat’s effort to kick loose succeeds only after she sheds 3.5 tsp. of hair into the shot glass of milk.

Day 10: Go to store. Buy milk.

Day 11 – 14: Discouraged. Just squirt some milk straight onto the milking stand so that the apparently dwindling right teat stays active.

Day 15: Goat now standing still while I collect three ounces of milk. Then the cantankerous witch sticks her foot in it.

Day 16 – 18: Dido, dido and dido.

Day 19: Right teat has all but vanished.

Day 20: Right teat empty.

Day 21: Spirit’s legal team serves me with papers declaring her functional left teat off limits and for her babies only.

Day 22 – 23: Practice milking technique while coaxing droplets from withered right teat.

Day 24: Have mastered milking with right hand while my left hand holds the receptacle up, dodging the maniacal wenches attempts put her foot in the milk. Net bounty from flat tit approx 1.4 oz. Note: Goat still shedding.

Day 25-26: Milk rations slightly increasing. Goat and cottonwood trees now both shedding into the milk receptacle.

Day 27: Babies distract me by biting my shirt while I am milking. Spirit’s foot returns to the milk receptacle.

Day 28: Babies adamant about eating my clothes while I milk. I steal milk from their precious left teat.

Day 29: Babies try to distract me by eating my hair. I try to ignore them. Goat flinches. My foot avoider reflex overcompensates, hurling the milk directly inside my protective LASIK goggles. Startled by my French, both babies run off in opposite directions with my hair still in their mouths.

Day 30: And the beat goes on.

Day 31: Average daily yield now totals around 10 oz. Source: two milkings per day from 1.2 tits.

Remember, when the day comes, and it will, where you just walk up to your nanny and quickly squirt a little milk straight into your morning coffee then wander off sobbing, bear in mind with a little patience, all this can be yours.

The preceding was an excerpt from the scathingly wicked satire Bitch Unleashed: The Harsh Realities of Goin’ Country. A free e-book copy of Bitch Unleashed is available on Nola Kelsey’s web site at www.NolaKelsey.com.