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.