I’m sorry, but how the fuck am I supposed to go on, knowing that Cathy is no longer going to be on the goddamn funny pages? I mean, come on – somebody please tell me this is a hoax. They’re just screwing with us, right? There’s NO WAY they’re letting my Cathy off the bathroom scale of our hearts and putting her (and her enormous ass – tee hee!) out to pasture.
For 34 years she has been there for me, for you, trying on swimsuits in a cruel world, engorging on chocolate bon-bons force-fed to her by an angry patriarchy… oh Cathy, will you ever measure up? If you’re not there to shed light on a woman’s inability to resist blowing hundreds of dollars on dog sweaters, who will be?
The problem was Irving. What a pusillanimous twat. When you two got married in 2005 (friends kept asking: where were you when you found out?????) a little piece in all of us died – I mean, come ON, Cathy! He was clearly from Mars and had NO APPRECIATION for your Venus!
Sure, there were haters. Some said you did nothing but further stereotypes about women and their credit card debt, their complete inability to balance a checkbook, their freakish attachment to diet fads, their moronic pampering of pets, and their complete failure to behave rationally about men. You know what? They were right! But nobody’s perfect, especially not a cartoon character (just ask Ziggy!)
I know we’ll always have syndication, and like everyone else, a copy of Shoes: Chocolate for the Feet. But a day not spent in your chocolate shoes can only mean one thing: the universe has just let out a collective AAAAACK!
click above for the 1995 Pink House Halloween party invitation