Dear Google CEO Eric Schmidt: You Owe Me An Apology

Hello, meow.

Every so often, I Google myself to assess my growing popularity. Whilst performing today's search, I came upon a startling fact: I'm not the first result that appears when you search for "Geoffrey Chocolate". Instead, it's some kind of cheap tuxedo sold at Jim's Formal Wear of Illinois.

Its name? The Chocolate Parisian, by Stephen Geoffrey.

Go ahead, see it for yourself

Besides being a terrible, terrible name for a piece of formal wear, it's simply unacceptable that this appears before me, the world's most beloved kitten.

So, I decided to do something about it. This afternoon, I contacted Google's PR department, demanding that Google CEO Eric Schmidt come before me and apologize. They suggested that if I want Mr. Schmidt to appear at an event, I should fill out Google's Speaker Request Form.

Well, I did. Here is the email I sent:

From: Geoffrey Chocolate [EMAIL OMITTED]
Date: Jan 10, 2007 2:31 PM
To: Google Public Relations [EMAIL OMITTED]
Subject: Request For Public Appearance


Name of event
The First Annual Chocolate Mittens Apology Ball


Location
Somerville, MA


Theme of the event
Heartfelt Admission of Guilt, Reconciliation (at the discretion of the host)


Date of the event
March 3, 2007


Is this the first time this event is taking place?
Yes


Information about your organization
If you do not know what Chocolate Mittens is, please take a moment to locate your nearest poison dispensary, purchase the first bottle you see. Then swallow the contents. Meow.

Otherwise, hello!


Date you wish a Google representative to speak
March 3


Time slot of the talk in the overall agenda
9am until the moment I, Geoffrey Chocolate, accept Mr. Schmidt's apology.


In your opinion, why is this a good opportunity for Google?

Attendance will allow me to apply my kitty intellect toward pursuits other than destroying Google.

You see, my name is listed #2 in a search for "Geoffrey Chocolate". Do you know what is listed #1? An ad for a type of tuxedo, sold at Jim's Formal Wear. Unacceptable! And you know it! This is your one and only chance to apologize!

Ignore this opportunity, and you risk my continued ire, and guaranteed disparagement on the virtual pages of Chocolate Mittens.


Requested Google representative
Eric Schmidt, CEO


Conference agenda

8:00a - 9:00a
Continental Breakfast

9:00a - 12:00p
Mr. Schmidt stands before the readers of Chocolate Mittens, and reviews the numerous oversights and miscommunications that led to him being here today.

12:00p - 1:00p
Fancy Feast

1:00p - The Host's Satisfaction
Mr. Schmidt continues to apologize until I determine that he has understood the gravity of his error. He then is free to exit the Conference Center on his Donkey Of Shame (provided by host)


Number of expected attendees
12+1


Description of audience
Me, 11 Readers, and the Vengeful Ghost Of Ethan Snugglepants


Are press invited?
Sure, why not?


Format of the talk (keynote, panel, etc.)
Royal Pardon


Name of Moderator
None, as only I can adequately determine correctness.


What materials are required for this opportunity? (powerpoint presentation, etc.)
Guilt


Deadline for a confirmation
(01/31/2007)

Thank you in advance for your time, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

Geoffrey Chocolate

In the next few days, I shall be contacting major media outlets, including CNN, The New York Times, and Cat Fancy, to apprise them of the situation. Stay tuned!
Meow.

11 Shows That Would Be Better Than Anything On TV

1. The Amazing Geriatric Treadmill Race

2. My Two Emotionally Distant Dads

3. So You Think You Can Dance With A Sniper Shooting At You?

4. When Animals Attack! Celebrity Edition

5. People With Tourettes Say The Darndest Things!

6. Survivor: Detroit

7. Saved By The Bell: The Prison Years

8. Maya Angelou Will Eat Anything For Money

9. The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson's Corpse

10. How Much Acid Is Too Much?

11. World's Strongest Baby

We Need To Talk

Please, have a seat.

My mittens, a few months ago I realized something horrifying: my lil' kitty liver had expended all of its bile. I had nary a drop of magical brown hatred nectar left.

Where had it gone? What had happened to me? I felt as if I was chasing that infernal red dot around the living room. Endlessly clapping my paws over it, trapping it on the floor. Only to have my scarlet tormentor slip away and dance, laser-like, just out of reach.

Yawning, I looked in my inbox. Another letter from Tatarstan:

From: Yuliya [EMAIL OMITTED]
Date: Sep 21, 2006 8:31 AM
To: Geoffrey Chocolate [EMAIL OMITTED]
Subject: Hi

Hello my dear. I very for a long time did not receive from you the
letter. Lovely I very strongly miss on you. Lovely you can will tell
to me where you were gone. Why you write nothing to me? I very
strongly miss on you. Under your letters. I ask you to write to me. I
love you. I wait from you the letter. bay.

I yawned again. I was bored with my Tatarstani faux-wife. I didn't feel like explaining the historical significance of the Little Belt Incident to you. And I didn't have the energy to scour the globe for further arch-nemesi.

This morose feeling consumed me, and I embraced it. I closed my kitty browser, and retired to my woven kitty basket. And there I stayed. Lying prostrate. Gorging myself on catnip. Lamenting my own crapulence. Hating my exhaustion.

Over the next few months, my fur became unkempt. My claws became dull. And still, my bile ducts were arid. I had hit rock bottom, and I felt lost.

It was then, in my darkest kitty hour, that it hit me.

It's all YOUR fault.

That's right. You.

My bile was gone because I had wasted it all on this blog! Explaining things that you should already understand! Expending my energy on people that will never stroke my purrfect fur! You, my mittens, are worse than the scarlet tormentor, because you're not even really here. At least that red bastard has the testicular fortitude to show up in my living room!

My greatest enemy was not Lorenzo Lamas, or Thomas Kinkade, or even lowly Delaware. No!

It was you.

You, who force me to elucidate the inner workings of modern life. You who beg, Oliver Twist-like, for belly laughs at the expense of cretinous people and/or states. You who probably would move to Delaware at the drop of a hat, fill your walls with cheesy paintings of lighthouses, and curl up on the couch to watch Lorenzo Lamas movies.

It's all your fault.

Therefore, I declare you, the loyal readers, my arch nemesis!

Your punishment?

More Chocolate Mittens.

A Love Letter To Tatarstan

Well my mittens, in the time since my last post, (3 hours or so) I have received two messages from Yuliya. I'm thinking that reprinting every word would be boring, so I shall compile some of the greatest hits into a semi-frequent Yuliya blog. Unless you really want to read every retarded word. Then just say so.

In the meantime, I have fashioned a reply. Toodles!

From: Geoffrey Chocolate
Date: Tue, 18 Jul 2006 16:42:12 -0400
To: Yuliya
Subject: Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

My lovely Yuliya,

Good heavens, you are a beautiful woman!

I had always imagined you would be missing a limb. Or an eye. Or perhaps you would spend your days atop some sort of pack animal like a yak. Isn't that silly?

At any rate, it is wonderful to hear about your job, the Tatarstani children, and their enchanting solar laughter. I do not have any children, at least I don't any more.

You see, I was once married to a woman named Sheena Easton. She and I had a wonderful life together and shared two children, Bobby and Whitney. But then I found out the terrible truth. While I was working at my father's investment office, Sheena was using Bobby and Whitney to smuggle drugs across the border from Canada. She would force them to swallow balloons full of Heroin, and then poop them out once they reached America.

I can stand many things, Yuliya. But interfering with my children's digestive health is not one of them. So I kicked that bitch to the curb.

So, what's new with you?

Yours,

Geoffrey

P.S.: I love poetry more than anything. Do you think you could write me a poem? It would make me so happy.

A Picture!

In all my kitty excitement, I forgot to post the picture Yuliya sent me. I do hope you enjoy her sultry coat grab, her "I know how to party" thumb ring, and her carefully measured come hither look.

My Russian Mail Order Bride Replies!

Hello, my mittens. I shan't write much, as I am currently concocting my reply to the letter you are about to read. At any rate, I received this in my inbox yesterday. I think you'll enjoy its flowing, heart-rending prose, including my personal favorite passage: "I work in children's improving camp near to our city. I very much like to look at their smiles and to listen to their solar laughter!"

From: Yuliya [EMAIL OMITTED]
Date: Jul 11, 2006 6:01 AM
To: Geoffrey Chocolate [EMAIL OMITTED]
Subject: Hi

hello my new friend!!! I am very glad to that you have agreed to begin acquaintance to me!If it is fair, I thought, that you will not answer me! I never got acquainted through the Internet and on this to me is not trusted, that thus I can find to myself the new friend. But my girlfriend of me has convinced me that it even is very interesting.


For the beginning my name Yuliya my full name Tihonova Yuliya. I have been given birth on August, 13 1982. I was is given birth in Kazan city and where did not leave! Studied at municipal school during 10 years. My mum worked as the seller in the state shop, the daddy drove the lorry. he worked on construction. We lived well. In 17 years I have acted in architecture - building university where has received formation the designer.

In my city at me not so it is a lot of friends. Three girlfriends all this, that are at me now! At me a lot of familiar, but familiar remain familiar. I have senior sister. her of 35 years. she already has child! he such lovely! him 12 years. At us very amicable family. Excuse for that that I do not write in detail about the family. I have on it reasons! If we shall not cease to communicate I to you I shall write it in the following letters.

Now I work in the building company. Pay not so much, but for a life suffices... Even to descend from the girlfriend at cinema or on dances suffices. We very much like to descend where be in cafe, to buy coffee and to talk. I have no habit to smoke, I drink only wine only on holidays in small quantities! In new year and per day a birth we buy cognac. From that he road we drink him only during the special moments of our life!

Favourite color red, yellow, pink. I love Russian kitchen (still to me like a land). I very much love children! And practically each holiday I work in children's improving camp near to our city. I very much like to look at their smiles and to listen to their solar laughter!

I orthodox the Christian. You believe in the god? Our family always was the believer! Each target and orthodox holiday I go to church, 8 years I on a regular basis go to church. But about it I shall write to you in the following letters!

What to you still can be interesting??? My growth 171, weight 52, eyes brown colors, Hair brightly brown colors. I shall scan the photos and I shall send them to you. Tell please about itself! As whom you work, than you like to be engaged at leisure, What your favourite color where you live also all that you will consider necessary!

If to you that that interestingly that ask any questions. I shall be glad to you to answer. I hope you to me still you will write! I shall wait for your prompt reply!

Your new friend from Russia,

Yuliya

Where could this possibly lead? There's only one way to find out. Stay tuned!

Behold! My Russian Mail Order Bride

"Oh my god! Where have you been, Geoffrey. We thought you were dead!"

Yes, yes, yes. Now be quiet and listen. As you all know, nothing fills my litterbox of hatred quite like dirty, lying harlots from the Republic of Tatarstan. I'm sure you can relate.

In fact, just the other day, I received an email from one in my Kitty-Inbox. It read thusly:

From: Yuliya [EMAIL OMITTED]
Date: Fri, 7 Jul 2006 18:49:34 +0200
To: Geoffrey Chocolate [EMAIL OMITTED]
Subject: Hello From Yuliya!!!

Hello my new friend! I get acquainted through the Internet for the
first time. So I do not know as to begin my letter to you. I shall
tell directly about myself. My name is Yuliya. I live in the city of
Kazan. I was born on August, 13 1982.

I very lovely, sociable and good-natured person. I am very romantic.
I have finished the Kazan state university. I work in branch of the
building company. I show people of an apartment and a house that
they could live. To have it is a lot of to speak with people. To like me it.
For the years could not find real love. And I had to address for
the help in the Internet. I have been never married.

I want to create real family.

I very much love children and I want them to have. If you are
interested in correspondence with me and at you the same
interests that write to me: sudarushka@eastlinecorp.org.

I shall wait your messages.

Bye!

Well, clearly this is a load of total bullshit. Everyone knows that the real estate market in Kazan is far softer than Yuliya asserts. Busy or not, I'm sure "To have it is a lot of to speak with people" is pretty goddamn far from the truth.

So meow, the sizable wheels in my kitty brain started turning. What caused this Tatarstan Tart to email all willy-nilly? What does she want, anyway? So I decided to find out.

Clearly, I couldn't write back as the super-intelligent cat behind Chocolate Mittens. So I created a new persona. Shocking, I know. As far as Yuliya knows, I am Geoffrey Chocolate. A fabulously wealthy son of a Pork Belly Futures Tycoon. Here was my reply:

From: Geoffrey Chocolate [EMAIL OMITTED]
Date: Fri, 7 Jul 2006 20:49:34 +0200
To: Yuliya [EMAIL OMITTED]
Subject: Re: Hello From Yuliya!!!

Dearest Yuliya,

My name is Geoffrey Chocolate. It is a pleasure to meet you.

I must admit, I never thought that I would reply to an email like this, but your story touched me. You see, I've been looking for love in all the wrong places. I've tried to date women from my own country, but there's always been something missing.

Perhaps I should explain. My father was a wealthy investor in the 1940s, and made millions investing in Pork Belly Futures. When he passed away, he left a substantial estate to me, his only son. Sadly, the money has proven to be a curse.

You see, when you have financial success, it's all anyone sees. They don't see the real you. Just money. Money. Money. I need a woman that will hold me as I weep. A woman who doesn't love me for my success, but for the man that I really am. You sound like you could be that woman.

First, I would like to get to know you a little better. Can you tell me a story about your homeland? I am very interested.

I have a good feeling about this. Please write back soon, Yuliya.

Yours,

Geoffrey Chocolate

Now, my mittens, we wait. Will she write back? Will the lure of a totally loaded, lonely man awake her curiosity? We shall see....

Nemesis Finalist #3: The State Of Delaware

First, let me take a moment to welcome myself back to Chocolate Mittens.

"Welcome back, Geoffrey."
"Thank you, Geoffrey."
"I've missed you, old friend."
"And I you."
"Indeed."
"Shall we finally learn more about the Little Belt Incident?"
"Not today, Geoffrey. But may I say, your fur has a sheen and body unmatched in the animal kingdom."
"You are far too kind, sir."
"It's far too easy to compliment you, Geoffrey."
"Indeed. I couldn't agree more."
"What ever shall we talk about today?"
"The topic that's on the tip of everyone's tongue, Geoffrey."
"Of course you must be referring to Delaware."
"You are such a clever kitty, Geoffrey."
"And you, Geoffrey."

Yes, our next candidate is the State Of Delaware. An odorless, tasteless and essentially undetectable substance mixed into America’s Drink.



“But Geoffrey”, you say. “Isn’t focusing ire upon Delaware like meowing atop the grave of Ethan Snugglepants? An initially invigorating, but ultimately unsatisfying endeavor?” I am here to tell you that you are wrong, as usual.

You see Delaware is a place founded and maintained by cowards. And thus, it must be stopped before the Canadians sense weakness and invade. In short:


The Official Seal Of Delaware Should Be The Wedgie

In 1631, the Dutch settled in Delaware, establishing a shiny new trading post. Within a year every settler was dead, killed in a dispute with the natives. The argument went something like this:

“We call it corn!”
“It’s called maize!”
“Corn!”
“Maize!”
“Corn!”
“Maize!”
“Want a tulip?”
“KILL THEM!!!!!”

After that, no European went back for seven years, presumably because no one wanted to get killed over friggin’ Delaware.

Then, a bunch of Swedish folks decided to give it a go. I imagine they were probably bored or something. Anyway, they set up a fort in 1638, and became the soon-to-be state’s newest residents.

A decade went by, and the settlers soon realized the unique danger of living in Delaware. They found themselves growing complacent. Wishy-washy. And kinda sorta non-committal. In short, they became Delawarians.

So when the Dutch came back in 1651, it was no surprise that the Swedes just GAVE back Delaware without a fight.

Now the Dutch are there again. Round two in Delaware. They’re going to beat Delaware at its own game, and defend their new prize with their lives, right? Hardly. For nine years, the Dutch watched their determination and integrity slowly seep away into the soil. After a while, it was like they were waiting to get their asses handed to them.

Oh did they. In 1664 the British came, bitchslapped the Dutch, and sent them crying home to the Netherlands likity-split. You know the drill by now. The British settle. Get all wimpy. The colonists come in. Slap them around. Call them names. And take over Delaware for America. The rest is history.

Yes, Delaware residents are a bunch of frightened babies. Then, and now. Want more proof? Look at the way they act after becoming a state:



The Story Of How Delaware Lets Credit Card Companies Do Anything They Want, In The Hope That The Companies Will Be Friends With Them

I’ll make this short, because I find the discussion of finance to be coarse, distasteful, and aggressively uninteresting.

In the early eighties, Delaware enacted wide sweeping laws that must have seemed like wispy dream to evil credit card companies. It seems Delaware really wants these companies to like them. And they’d do anything to turn their dreams into reality. Including making life miserable for millions of people with credit cards.

You see, the laws give banks that incorporate in Delaware crazy powers unavailable in other states. Here are but a few of the charming provisions:

• The ability to charge interest rates that are not subject to any legal ceiling
• The power to raise the interest rates RETROACTIVELY
• The power to levy unlimited fees for credit card usage
• The power to foreclose on homes for payment when customers can’t deal with all the bullshit that the previous three bullets create

Best of all, the law was not drafted by anyone in the Delaware State legislature, but by two lawyers from — you guessed it — Chase Manhattan Bank and J.P. Morgan & Company, without any written analysis by any Delaware official!

“Yeah guys, anything you say! Wanna go to the movies? No? OK, wanna come over to my house and beat me up? No? How about I treat you to Ice Cream? Please?”

So next time your credit card company forcefully grabs you in the nether-regions and twists, think of Delaware, America’s desperate middle school kid.

But that’s not the best part. Behold, Delaware’s pinnacle of lameness:



This One Time, Their State Government Bent To The Will Of Five Year Olds.

Children are feeble minded. They teeter around unfashionable haircuts their mommy gave them, slavishly living for nothing more than the pursuit of candy. In short, they are worthless and should be locked away until such time as they can be of use to our great society.

Every sane person knows this. But evidently sanity, like courage, is in short supply in Delaware.

You see, in 2002 a bunch of first graders from Mount Pleasant Elementary School managed to strong-arm the State Government into giving Delaware an official Nickname.

It seems these tots began their apple-juice-fueled insurrection in the classroom of Mrs. Anabelle O’Malley. The kids saw a nation filled with Granite, Empire, and Garden States, but their home state had wandered around dazed and nicknameless for TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN years.

It’s was as if no one cared enough about Delaware to put in the effort.

All hopped up on Graham Crackers and fresh from their mid-morning nap, the students demanded a Nickname. Double quick.

Here is a list of their suggestions:

The Yummy Yummy Boogers Yummy State
The Will You Marry Me? Check Yes Or No State
The I Ated Seven Lincoln Logs State
The I Saw Mrs. O’Malley’s Underpants During Naptime State
The My Doggy Didn’t Look Both Ways So Now He’s In Heaven State
The Hey! Michael Winterbottom Cut Me! State

Backed into a corner by a bunch of goddamn children, the State Legislature had no choice. They had to give these terrifying tots whatever they wanted, or risk getting beat up next to the slide during recess.

So they compromised, like the cowardly Delawarians that they were.

They declared that the state would forever be know by it’s new official Nickname

“The We Are Such Bitches That We Got Kicked In The Shins By A Bunch Of First Graders Who Probably Still Believe In Unicorns State”

Or “The First State” for short.

So there you go. Delaware. A bunch of cowards who deserve every wet willie they get. But do they have what it takes to be my arch nemesis? That’s up to you.

A Life Sans Mittens

For a fortnight you waited.

And in the cockles of your heart, the warm glow of Mittens had retreated, leaving only the dying embers of a once great fire. Lamas. Kinkade. Ethan Snugglepants. It had been great while it lasted.

"What could Geoffrey possibly be doing?" you said. "Perhaps he's tired of Chocolate Mittens. Perhaps the fickle hand of inspiration has taken flight elsewhere."

You grasped at straws. Looking for an answer. Any answer. "Perhaps he’s turned his litterbox into a zen rock garden. Perhaps he’s curled up on the duvet, writing witty Haikus about naughty Squirrels.”

Well you may burn in hell. I did nothing of the sort, meow.

You see, I’ve been toiling feverishly behind the scenes here at Chocolate Mittens, laying the groundwork for the grand future of this fine establishment. And I assure you, Geoffrey Chocolate does not trifle away the day with small ideas.

In the meantime, you will have to trust in me. I’m not quite ready to share my master plan, but I can say that it will be worth the small inconvenience of two weeks without another arch-nemesis candidate.

Because after all, I have a dream. And my dreams are more interesting and cat-tastic than anyone else’s.