Between me and the greatest American novel

Between me and the greatest American novel is Candide, a 15-pound Blue Russian cat who sits on my chest every morning.

Candide doesn't believe in the greatest anything. Happiness to my fat cat is a good neck scratch & a bowl of caviar. Candide is the why I didn't pay rent & with my novel languishin

g in that strange world of being totally finished but all I have to do is write it. So, I put my novel off again to be amusingly annoyed by people at Starbucks.

Little know fact: Starbucks coffee is the most calorific in the world! While I chortled at the clientele's antics my backside broadened, deepened and spread over the banquettes

up against a neighboring Starbucks customer. *Blurrb, smack!* My sugar-laden behind expanded further to smother the hipster sipping a caramel macchiato in the corner booth.

"Glarrgghhh," complained the hipster as he suffocated. "Sorry," I offered. My rear end continued growing, much to my embarassment, chasing the patrons from the Starbucks. Soon, it

Forced me to wear a caftan and I was mistaken for a varicene lady who was being shredded like cheddze cheese. I was splattered on top of my own spaghetti. It was the luckiest momen

t of my life. I love spaghetti! Soon the carb-rich meal made me strong, and I was able to leap off the plate before it went into the dishwasher. With suparhuman strength, I

became THE Flying Spaghetti Monster. The real one. I wasn't the monster people thought I was, though. If they only knew my heart. I had the soul of a mild custard. Still, when I

go to Macy's everybody is like 'Oh! it's a monster!' and 'Oh! This shade of magenta is perfect for your coloring!' So, I stay inside. It's a lot less crowded here.