Aug 15


December 2, 1999 – August 26, 2015

Born in a homeless shelter to a single mother of no fixed address, Nelson Cullen Robertson had an inauspicious start to life. He was taken in by a foster family until he could walk, eat on his own and, of course, use a toilet properly, and was then put up for adoption. On January 13, 2000 Bob Robertson and Linda Cullen were looking for a baby, and he appeared to be perfect, even if he was the only baby available. Like many babies, Nelson was rambunctious. He spent countless hours racing around in circles, and then jumping into Linda’s arms and collapsing into deep sleeps. Linda remembers with fondness and not an insubstantial amount of pain, the time he jumped up and latched himself with his Ginsu nails to her backside while she was doing the dishes, and the time he jumped up and bit her in the chin when she looked into his eyes just a little too long, and the time he bit her thumb when she was combing his hair. He felt certain that he was being penalized for these infractions when they had his reproductive parts removed, however after many discussions seemed somewhat convinced that his sterilization was out of love and not punishment. He loved a lot of things; sitting with his Dad reading the paper; long pieces of string attached to his Mom who made them go; Mitzie, who came to live with him for a few years; cheese; pooping outside the box; but most especially lying on top of whoever had plunked themselves on the couch for a nap, or being draped over the LEFT shoulder. He hated being scratched anywhere other than his head, the vacuum cleaner, the sound of a newspaper being snapped open, the sound of a plastic bag being snapped open, just about anything being snapped open, and his adopted brother Winston, who he regarded as a lesser intellect and referred to him mostly as ‘The Bonehead’. He survived numerous battles; a sliced tendon; blocked penis, which he did NOT like talking about; plus several mystery infections and trips to emergency. He grew up to be an intelligent, serious sort, but despite his cleverness just couldn’t seem to get a job, due to a serious and ever increasing lazy streak. He was trained as a sock delivery specialist, and was paid in treats upon the dropping of the sock, but thanks to technology, there just isn’t much call for sock delivery guys any more. And in all his years he never did anything that was YouTube worthy, to the great disappointment of his Mother. He ruined furniture, wrecked travel plans, prevented the purchase of fresh flowers and drained the bank account. And because of all of that and so much more, is missed desperately by his Mom and Dad, who were with him right to the end. Nelson leaves behind his Mom, Linda Cullen, Dad, Bob Robertson, Gramma Ruth Cullen and ‘The Bonehead’. Nelson’s family would like to thank his personal physician Dr. Karen Zutrauen and her staff at CatCare Clinic in Richmond, BC for helping his Mom and Dad not lose their s!#t completely. No service by request. In lieu of flowers, because Winston also eats them, Nelson’s last wish was for everyone to make a donation to their favourite pet charity so that ‘nobody gets left sad and alone’. And as he also told Linda, ‘Why shouldn’t other people’s houses be as destroyed as yours?’ A celebration of life will be held by the litter boxes, where Winston will deliver a 21 Furball Salute.

Well, it’s been a long time since I have written to you. I have a good reason, which is that, unlike you, I have been incredibly busy with other things.  For example, licking. I have to put at least 8 hours of licking in a day to maintain the undeniable handsomeness you see here…

…and, let me also add, you can’t possibly know or comprehend the limitless enjoyment one experiences when licking the back passage.  Sometimes I’ll lose a whole afternoon just adequately dealing with that one glorious spot.  I have also been quite occupied with staring…sleeping…more licking…sleeping…some staring…additional staring…sleeping…oh yes, eating…sleeping…sleeping…woops, almost forgot, barfing and pooping outside the box…and sleeping.  So, as you can see, Linda, I have been hard pressed to find time to write you a note.  And may I also point out, that a giant and greatly begrudged portion of my day is spent dealing with ‘THE BONEHEAD.’  I can’t understand how eleven years have passed and you still refuse to get rid of that NOBHEAD.  I don’t know how you can even stand looking at his face!!

My life has deteriorated in a stunning fashion since the TWAT arrived.  He is loud.  He interrupts me all the time.  His jokes are terrible. He has no idea what’s happening in current affairs.  And he has abominable bathroom manners, and by that I mean he continues to use the same litter box as ME, which is…really… unacceptable.  I have tried to make it clear to you that this guy has got to go using the only sign recognized by the CCCA, the Canadian Cat Complaints Association, which is; to mount and then dry hump him.  Your response, inexplicably, is to NOT get rid of DICKHEAD, but to give ME a tongue-lashing!  What kind of democracy is this?  Well, I will tell you, Linda, I finally had had enough.  So, I felt the best way to exact some revenge, was to pull a prank on you.  Now, despite the fact that you think I’m such a serious so and so, I have a fairly sophisticated sense of humour.  Why you can’t grasp the deeper humourous metaphore that is inherent in a hairball, I have to say, doesn’t speak well of your comedy chops, but there you go.  Of course, when pulling a complex prank on someone, timing is key.  I had to wait until all the elements were in place, and one happened in mid-December when you stopped at a bank machine to get cash to get your highlights done.  I heard you telling Bob how you believed that North Korea had been stealing money from your bank account, because they want to destroy ALL people in comedy from Vancouver, how else could that horrible balance be explained.  And then you were completely pre-occupied by PINHEAD and his gastro-intestinal-quite-obvious-cry-for-attention…that’s when I knew this was my moment.  So, I stopped eating.  Which, you have to admit, is pretty hilarious in and of itself.  But I thought, let’s crank it up a notch, so I got myself into some full blown really serious inflammatory bowel disease!  Ha Ha Ha…oh my god, laugh, I could hardly start the car!!  You, as usual, seem incapable of understanding humour!  How you’ve made a living at this, I’ll never know.  And I timed it to all reach a gut-busting head right before your birthday, which was a week away from Christmas.  Come ON!!  This is funny stuff!  You were walking around the house with a face that looked like someone had stolen your favourite steel-belted-tummy-taming-body-slimmer.  And I heard you say Jesus Christ a LOT…although it was the season.  Jimminy, I have to say it was all pretty entertaining, and I laughed like a son-of-a-gun right up until they shoved that thermometer up my butt.  No matter how you try, you can never truly prepare yourself for that indignity.  And then it was blood tests, and ultra-sound and biopsy and days in the hospital.  What a riot!!  And now I’m back home and you keep calling me the 6 Million Dollar Cat!

That look on my face is slight embarrassment, because my nipples were showing.

Linda said I looked like I'd fought in the U.S. Civil War. A lame attempt at best, at a joke.

Yeh, I think you’re exaggerating just a tad, although I take your very loudly made point that thanks to the North Koreans and now ME, there will be no trip south to escape the winter blahs this year.  I must say though, that as amusing as all this was and as thrilled as I am to know that you are not going away to sun and sand and will be here for me to sleep on top of indefinitely, the joke appears to be on me,…because the BONEHEAD is still in this house!  Oh well, there’s hope yet.  Wait ‘til you hear about your mom’s practical joke. See, DICKHEAD keeps eating her jigsaw pieces, so she get’s herself a lung infection and congestive heart failure right before Christmas.  Now that’s what I call pure comic genius!

Moments from now I'll be dry-humping you.

It was the first Sunday after Christmas and the service at Our Lady of Holy Miracles was about to begin. The priest stood in front of the altar and gestured with his arms for the congregation to be quiet. He cleared his throat and said, “Dear friends, it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that God has died. I received an urgent phone call from the bishop just minutes ago informing me that our Beloved Father passed away in the night surrounded by family and close friends. His last words were and I quote, ‘this past holiday, looking at the human race, well, I’ve never seen it this bad. Nobody pays attention to me anymore so what’s the point? Time to give up the ghost.’ God is survived by his two sons, Jesus, the oldest, and his younger brother, Mohammed. The will was read and is straightforward; Jesus and Mohammed will equally split the Kingdom of Heaven, Jesus being in charge on odd days, Mohammed, the even days of the month. The Holy Spirit gets God’s favourite pair of slippers. There will, no doubt be a few who will contest the will, such as the Jews, the Buddhists, the Sikhs, the Hindus and atheists. To that end, God’s estate has engaged a well-known law firm to defend the will. The law firm has an earthly practice as there were no lawyers in Heaven. And so, to repeat, dear friends, God has passed away. The cause of death has yet to be determined. He had reportedly been suffering from a long-term illness; He was sick of people. Also, after being alive for 180 trillion years, old age may have played a part in His death. I would now ask all members of the congregation to bow their heads in a moment of silence to remember God and all His fine work. (After a moment of silence) I realize a question will have popped into many of your heads; if God really has died and He already lived in Heaven, where did He go after his death? Interestingly, the bishop has informed me that, in fact, He has returned to the physical realm to live out His life as a human for reasons known only to Him. The good news for us is that, because He is now human, we no longer have to keep capitalizing the H when we write he or his, which, even I will admit, is a bit of a pain when you’re writing a sermon because the Spell Check in Word is not programmed to capitalize those words and then you have to back over it and change it and…anyway, yes, God is now a fully-fledged human just like us and, even more interesting, the bishop informs me that he is a part of this congregation. (A murmur ripples through the congregation as members scan their neighbours) It is, alas, not clear yet whose body God has inhabited, so I would ask each of you think very hard about how you felt when you woke up this morning or did you wake up in the middle of the night feeling, I don’t know, like you could telepathically move the alarm clock across the room, things like that. I suspect that, at the end of the service when we all shake hands and say ‘Peace be With You’, one person might be a little more enthusiastic than we normally are doing this. In the meantime, today’s service is cancelled because none of the words in the hymns or the mass make any sense now that there is no God in Heaven.
On a more cheery note, the bishop informs me that once God reincarnate has been identified in our congregation, the Ladies Auxiliary will be putting on a ‘Welcome God Tea’ in the church basement at 4:30 this afternoon. Everyone is welcome to come and shake hands with God, share some tea and biscuits and get to know him or her better. Please keep in mind; of course, with his or her diminished powers as a human, he or she cannot take the kind of requests you would normally include in your daily prayers such as a new dishwasher, a reversal of balding or a better playoff run for the home team. I look forward to seeing all of you at 4:30. Also, before you leave the church this morning, don’t forget to leave cash in the offering plates. I may no longer be God’s servant on earth but I do still have bills to pay. God bless…er, have a nice day.”

The comedy team that brought you Double Exposure wants to create another news parody series that mixes satire with animation called, Breaking Weekly

You can read all about it when you click on the link at the bottom. Before creating the series, we need to raise money to produce a short pilot/demo to show potential broadcasters exactly what it will look like. To do that we have created a campaign with a crowd funding website called Indiegogo. We’re asking for your help financially and otherwise to make this pilot happen.
If Breaking Weekly was on the air now, you’d be enjoying jokes like this;
“Russian President Vladimir Putin says his decision on whether to run for a fourth term in 2018 will depend on the situation in the country and his “own mood.” Now, you must understand that in Russia, the definition of the word ‘run’ means, “If you disagree with me becoming president again…you’d better run.”

Our campaign has 46 days left to raise the money. How much do we need? Find out that and everything else you need to know about our project by clicking this link;