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The Cats Pajamas Issue 01
the cat's
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the medium sized zine ....... issue one.
-- contents --------
one ..... editorial (hachi) ...................... line 25
two ..... to be young again (hachi) .............. line 55
three ... the rail-road apartment (unpossible) ... line 112
four .... female abuse (hachi) ................... line 245
five .... progress log (unpossible) .............. line 295
six ..... last words (hachi) ..................... line 728
seven ... closing (unpossible) ................... line 740
>> editorial (hachi)
I'm not going to lie to you and say this is going to be a revolutionary
new zine, because it isn't. As of now, this zine is really being written by
two kids, both with a slight case of "downs" in a basement who have a desire
to write and hit eachother with foam bats.
As for the name, it came about because I love the term "the cat's
pajamas". The "medium sized zine" was born because when Unpossible and I were
real young there were three parks in our neighbourhood. One of the parks was
not the biggest, nor the smallest, it was medium sized. This was a big part
of our youth, and seeing as this zine is not going to be huge, or overly small
it seemed like an approprite name.
Both Unpossible and myself used to write for an underground art based
emag called Doodle, but decided to go our own way. We both wanted more
freedom, and a little more say in what goes on concerning the production.
Well, that's about it. As for the content, you will probably see a lot
of stories, and articles, some funny, some not. Who knows what will happen in
the future. This might be our only release (although I doubt it) or we might
do a dozen more. I have no idea. There is no time that the zine will be
released, just when we get enough stuff done, that we feel is worthy to
share. If anyone wants to write, by all means go ahead, we would appreciate
it. Send all submissions, comments, and whatever else to mteskey@ebtech.net
As of right now, the official page is www2.ebtech.net/~mteskey .. what the
hell is www2 anyways, who are they trying to kid ohhwell. On with the show.
>> To Be Young Again (hachi)
I constantly hear kids my age talking about how they wish they were just
a few years older so they can get into a bar, or live on their own, whatever
it is that they want, that age can give them. I can't stand it, I am only
seventeen and already I miss my youth. I am just striving to be young again.
My life is full of problems, sure not as bad as some, but they are still
there. Just like everyone else I took my childhood for granted, and I am now
longing to have it back.
As a child, I would spend a good part of the summer at a cottage, which
I loved when I was real young. I would spend hours at a time in the water or
playing with the pine cones that I had on a string, that I thought were alive,
and a real family. I loved it there, with my cape on, and the beach near, I
was truly in heaven. As I got older I grew to hate it, not the place, but
just being far from friends. Now I wish I could get away from all my problems
and just enjoy the sounds, smells, and visions of the beach. I really miss
the cottage now, and I find myself longing for a place away from home. I
wish I was back in the carefree days of my youth, when my only fears I had
were if I was going to get in trouble for playing with a hammer. Now, my
life is full of problems, stress, and obligations, that I wish I could just
leave behind.
I find myself at parties now, full of people drinking, and tripping out
on all sorts of wacky shit, and I just wish for the parties when I was young.
I remember as a child, going to parties, and getting a treat bag at the door
filled with all sorts of goodies. I was content, and was glad to be there.
Now I go with intentions of meeting new people, or doing something new and
exciting, and can't except the little things that make a party great. No
matter what I do now, I over-analyze, and make it less enjoyable. I wish I
was still as easily amused as I was when I was ten.
Right now, I am in the middle of college applications, and it is just
way too stressful. I am getting yelled at by my parents to work on the art
for my portfolio, but I haven't been too inspired lately. I remember my
younger years, when school ended at three. There was no homework, there were
no tests to study for, when the bell rang I was free until the next morning.
The weekends were free to do as I pleased, and I loved it. I used to get up
at the crack of dawn, and call on my friends, not call them on the phone, just
going over, as if I was expected. Sure we were all home and in bed by nine,
but the day was complete by then. Now I'm lucky if I get up before one, and
lucky if I even leave during the day.
I don't know what it is, but a few years ago, I always felt closer to my
friends. Sure I have close friends now, but it just isn't the same. We all
have problems, and it is hard to stay as close, especially with girls hanging
around. I grew up watching the movie Stand By Me, and feeling as if that was
the way friends should be. I watched that movie practically everyday after
school, and I wanted to be one of those kids. I still wish I was one of them
even more now then when I was younger. I need the closeness of a friend right
now, but my relationships are more distant than when I was a child. I can't
even depend on, or trust friends as much now.
Well, that was depressing in a way.. ahhwell read on.
>> the rail-road apartment (unpossible)
Another train passed by my rail-road apartment, and it was no
surprise. The big engines rattled my house from the inside out, day in and
day out. This place was a bargain, if you could stand the noise. There
wasn't anything for me here, where I was now, at this point in my life.
I thought a lot these days. I thought about love a lot, and what it would be
like. I used to tell everyone in town I was going out with the hot girl from
the Pop Shoppe. In reality, I had pretty much lucked out on the love
circuit. Was my relationship status going out with my mom to a cheap movie on
Tuesday night? Probably. Sometimes I'd hang out at the Body Shop just to
smell like I had been with girls. It was what I wanted most. I even thought
about being gay, but I couldn't get past the part where you had to like guys.
I couldn't be any less gay, I think. I don't think I can stress enough, how
gay I'm not. Don't ever bring that up again. No one is actually gay.
I really had never finished a thing I'd started. That ten billion
piece puzzle was still sitting by the front door in its wrapping. What
was I thinking with that? I'm not a thousand. I'm only twenty-five
years old. I should be out raising cain on the streets or something.
No, what am I saying? I'll probably just stay inside and eat a lot and
and take a long nap. That's a lot more realistic. I yearned for decent
night's sleep, I would have a great day then, a pleasant day at work
and that the cable would stay on long enough for me to watch Must See TV,
I would have a great day then.
The sad thing is, this is my life. I was kind of a freakish kid
growing up. I used to think I was invisible. I might as well have been.
Later on, I thought I was a rock. My parents pretty much encouraged this
behaviour. As long as I didn't pretend to be anything that made a lot of
noise. All in all it was a disasterous childhood for me. I was too big for
my body at the time. I'd trip over myself anytime I got the least bit
disoriented. The townspeople would throw rocks and vegetables at me
every time I stepped out the front door. My mom said that vegetables are
very nutritious, but I thought the rocks really hurt.
I've lost everything. The town pack-rat just stole my remote and now
I think he's eyeing my pride, but I've tucked that safely somewhere in between
the cushions of the couch. All I have to my name now is this rail-road
apartment and some repulsive salt and pepper shakers. One looks likw the
mayor of Munchkinland, and the other, in contrast, is a dead ringer for Tom
Berenger, but that's not important. I live in a small town of about two
thousand called Red River Valley.
I jumped out of bed and made breakfast, a Pop-tart sandwich, which is
my favourite. I drank my usual three Mountains Dews to wash it all down. I
was trying to lower my sperm count. It was like a hobby of mine. My doctor
says I'm still quite virile. He knows quite a bit about me. It's really
frightening to be in a room alone with him to tell you the truth. I was
milking the OHIP system for all it was worth, though. I was sending off
urine samples left and right and I'm getting x-rays for bones I didn't even
know I had. You should see all the cotton swaps I have in my bathroom. It's
really quite astounding. Guaze? I've got gauze up to here. Don't get me
started. I have plans.
Today I was going to hitch a ride into town with my friend, Pascal,
who really isn't my friend. I didn't know too much about him outside of our
weekly outings, and frankly, I didn't care to know. He dressed in army
fatigues and would bark instructions at me like a drill sergeant. A few
times he threw a grenade in the pasenger seat, but it was really just a
grapefruit. But he didn't know that, and I let on like I didn't know either.
I'd say things like "Whoa, that was a close one." and "Fire in the hole!"
and then I'd put the grapefruit in my pocket and eat it later.
But like all good friends we had a need for each other: he drives
me into town every day as long as I keep his secret; he has a bionic ankle.
This bionic ankle has helped him to win the town sack race five years and
counting, and it's really no joke. I probably blurted that story out to
anyone who looked like they were listening, though. People don't seem to
believe in a bionic ankle. It's a lot easier to keep a secret when no one
listens to you. I believe it, though. I mean, America's Funniest Home
Videos is still on the air, pretty much anything could happen. Man I'd like
to punch Bob Saget right in the face. I think I speak for my entire
generation.
I carried out my morning routine and met Pascal by the side of the
road. We rode our familiar route. Eyes foward, we did not speak, well I
said "ouch" when I accidently got my finger caught in the cassette player,
after it tried to eat my "Fat Boys" tape, but other than that, it was quiet.
There we were, two guys, indifferent to each other, riding into town
with a stench of staunch heterosexuality in the air. To say our good-byes
we looked at each other and twitched the corners of our mouths. That was
our bonding period. Then the moment was over, as quickly as it had came.
Mysteriously, yet somehow deliberately, at the same time, Pascal disappeared
from my sight.
There I was in front of Wal-mart. The buzz of the neon sign almost
seemed to beckon me nearer. Then I pulled it out and clenched it in my hand,
precious buying power -- five dollars. As I walked through the doors I
immediately took cover from the falling prices. After I realized it was just
a clever ad campaign I collected myself and rose to my feet once again. As I
passed through the turnstile, past a Nintendo 64 exhibit, in which Mario was
immersed in some sort of 3-D polygonal world, I saw something that
concecrated the grow upon which I walked. She was the most beautiful
creature I'd ever seen. They call her breed, the Wal-mart greeter. She
seemed to breath forth the essence of life from her breath-hole and she
kindled fires in me that went out with my youth, or fires that were
extinguished with my constant intake of Mountain Dew, I really wasn't
positive. She was a slightly older woman, but she was built like something
out of a Play-Do Fun Factory. I couldn't resist the urge to talk to her.
I was groping for words as though my life was being chronicled by some third
rate English student. All I could manage were clichs in a cliched
situation; love at first sight. Our eyes met. She smiled her crooked smile
and said "Hello." like any good greeter should. I was poised like a cat
right then and there to strike. I was brilliant in my improvisation. I went
right from her name into the bionic ankle story and somehow ended up in a
a sort of free-style rap, which I'm still quite embarrassed about. But for
some reason I couldn't go wrong with this girl, this woman.
We played Nintendo 64 until the morning light. I commented on the
beauty of the tri-linear mip-map interpolation and the use of z-buffering
within the game and she said Mario was cute. She's so endearing. I just
wanted to take her home and mummify her in that position forever. Now that
I think of it, that is a very disturbing thought. Forget I ever said that.
And then I stared deeply into her eyes and I saw the shadow of the awkward
young child I used to be and reflected back was the awkward older child I
had become. For one minute out of my life I had forgotten all my mistakes
and just seized the opportunity of the moment.
And here we sit, recounting that day a million times over. We've
been married for ten years now. She's eighty-four and I'm thirty-five. The
train doesn't pass here anymore. The track has long since been retired.
Changes beget changes. Sooner than you know it, you're sending children off
to school. Well, adopted children that is. Well, she can't have children
anymore. It's about menopause or something. I don't want to go into it
right now. You'll learn about it someday. Maybe I'll never win the town
sack race on some bionic ankle, but I do know one thing, my friends,
sometimes love comes when you least expect it and with who you least expect.
>> female abuse (hachi)
As I get older, it seems that I am exposed to more of the realities of
life. I guess this makes perfect sense, but I miss the days where my picture
perfect family shielded me from the outside world, and I thought every family
was just like my own. The one thing that I keep hearing about more and more,
is the topic of woman abuse. I always knew it was out there, I mean I saw the
episode of Rosanne where Jacky was hit, but it always seemed so distant. It
seems to me now, that a great number of women have been hit, and a lot of them
are only my age. This is a scary thought to think that I only know a few
women my age real close, and they have already experienced violence. I don't
really want to get into it because these things were told to me in privacy,
and are not meant to be shared with the whole world, but I am angered to hear
that this goes on.
I have absolutely no idea how a guy could bring himself to hit a girl. I
mean, I think we have all been in the situation where we want to, I know I
have, but I have yet to do it, and I never will. I would like to think that
there is nothing that could make a guy hit a girl, but I guess some guys don't
think it is a big deal. This is not the thing that troubles me the most, sure
I can't stand men who would do that, but in reality, it can't be stopped. The
thing that really gets to me is that the women go back. Out of the people I
know, they still thought the guys loved them. Sure, after he breaks a rib or
a nose or something, he might say he does, but if he truly did, he wouldn't
have done it in the first place. The girls always seem to blame themselves,
like if they didn't anger their mate, they would have never been hit. So they
wind up thinking that it is okay that they were hit, and that they deserved
it. AHHHHHHH, I can't deal with this. I was chatting with a real close
friend about it, and she said that the guy probably would still love the
person he had just beat. Okay, NO. You don't hit the people you love,
you try and make the people you love happy, safe, and not have them live
their life in fear. Girls seem to accept it, like thinking that how their
boyfriend bruised their back in the shape of a heart is romantic. Well,
not that bad, but close. This is total bullshit. I mean there are
dozens upon dozens of support groups and homes for women who have been abused,
but I see nothing being done for the people who have not been hit, but
may be in the future. Schools, and the media teach us not to drink and
drive before we do it. They are not concerned with the people who have
already been through it. Sure they support the ones who have been hurt, but
they educate the potentail victims. I would love to get called down for an
assembly at school, not to hear how not to get aids, or how we shouldn't
drink and drive, but instead teach women how to recognize someone who is a
potential beater, or how to get out right away, and how the guys don't love
them if they are getting hit. I mean we wear ribbons, and have marches
against female abuse, but we could do so much more. We have to get to the
women before they are abused. I just think that we could indeed stop this
before it happens, and not just help the ones who have been hurt already.
>> progress log [ unpossible ]
Including this is in the zine will probably be a bad hangover in the
morning, but then again I've never really had a good hangover in the morning.
I was just routing through some of my past writings for school and I came
across this log of which I wrote for my Writer's Craft class. In the class
we were supposed to write what we did in class everyday but I decided to do
it all at the last minute before the log was due. If nothing else it will
provide some insight into the process of writing the Rail-road Apartment.
I don't know how I pieced this together. I imagine mostly from acid
flashbacks, but I'm not sure. I'm not gonna lie and say I'm not mad with
power, because I am. I had a teacher once, which I was convinced was a
cyborg. Possibly sent from the future. Powered by liquor. But, I digest...
<Progress Log>
September 4, 1996
First day of school. Wow, this class isn't at all what I expected.
Sept. 5, 1996
You write a whole lot in this class, I'm not sure if that's good...yet.
Sept. 6, 1996
I think I'm developing carpal tunnel syndrome.
Sept. 9, 1996
I should have purchased more paper.
Sept. 10, 1996
I'm really scared of what the independent studies are going to be like.
Sept. 11, 1996
Captain's log, Stardate 091196: I cannot move my hand.
Sept. 12, 1996
Thank god it's Friday. Ah, crap, it's only Thursday.
Sept. 13, 1996
I'm really surprised at how much I can write about nothing now. I had better
tuck that skill away.
Sept. 16, 1996
At least we write for shorter intervals now.
Sept. 17, 1996
I just noticed we don't do a whole lot of work in this class. I like that.
Sept. 18, 1996
This has to be, hands down, my favourite class.
Sept. 19, 1996
Is it a bad sign, if you don't really know *if* you're learning anything?
Sept. 20, 1996
Somehow I still feel enriched. It's like I'm filing the miscellaneous
thoughts floating around in my head.
Sept. 23, 1996
I don't know why I write an entry for my sick days. I just feel obliged
to do so, for some reason.
Sept. 24, 1996
No, I'm still not very fond of reading things in front of the class.
Sept. 25, 1996
I think someone in this class is trying to bring it down from the inside.
I can just smell it.
Sept. 26, 1996
Does it really matter what I write in this log? I sincerely hope not.
Sept. 27, 1996
I should write these in class, really. I forget what goes on. But I always
remember, in some way, that I had fun!
Sept. 30, 1996
Wow, just a month of this class. Already I have wrote more here, then I
have in my entire life.
October 1, 1996
So am I doing good or bad in this class? It's really hard to say.
I get a Check +, Check -, Check...I'm unsure.
Oct. 2, 1996
I like stories.
Oct. 3, 1996
Keeping a log is the bomb.
Oct. 4, 1996
It's Friday and I'm free once again.
Oct. 7, 1996
Ah, it's Monday time to put the shackels back on.
Oct. 8, 1996
I mean the, uh...shackels of fun!
Oct. 9, 1996
I hope this log isn't marked on coherence.
Oct. 10, 1996
Login, logout. Ha ha, nevermind.
Oct. 11, 1996
Look at all the pretty colours of the trees. No, really.
Oct. 14, 1996
This is the worst progress log I've ever seen. But in a way, it's also
the best.
Oct. 15, 1996
I don't think I'm making progress. I think I'm actually getting dumber.
Oct. 16, 1996
Wednesday, you have no feeling.
Oct. 17, 1996
I long to be outside frolicking among the leaves and the wonders of nature.
But instead I'm in class, writing God knows what. But having a great time
of it!
Oct. 18, 1996
I'd like to do a movie for my independent study.
Oct. 21, 1996
The teacher says he's never seen a good movie done for an independent study. Oh well, it was a bad idea anyway.
Oct. 22, 1996
More and more I think the teacher of this class is omniscient. Write 150
sentences, you've got to be kidding.
Oct. 23, 1996
Hand in some stuff today. Oh, who am I kidding, I've got the whole week.
Oct. 24, 1996
I was surprised at what little we did with those sentences.
Oct. 25, 1996
Mental note, hand in work on its due date. I can't stress that enough.
Oct. 28, 1996
I can't wait 'til November and I don't know why.
Oct. 29, 1996
Wow, I sure am developing as a writer as well as a person.
Oct. 30, 1996
This class is restoring my faith in humanity. Now that's progress.
Oct. 31, 1996
The class today is more spooky than normal. But, that's the price of
progress.
Nov. 1, 1996
Ow, my stomach's sore from all that yummy candy. I think I'll just hide out
in the library.
Nov. 4, 1996
I wonder what I'll do for my ISU, maybe I'll just throw all that crap we
wrote during the first month together and hand that in. With all due
respect.
Nov. 5, 1996
Enough essays already, please!
Nov. 6, 1996
Make the hurting stop. My pen is running dry.
Nov. 7, 1996
I have to write about truth and some noun. Doesn't anyone think of all the
trees that will pass away? I didn't think so.
Nov. 8, 1996
There's a restaurant called "TGI Friday's", where it's Friday, every day!
Nov. 11, 1996
I used to think "every time" was one word. But, I guess it's not. Progress.
Nov. 12, 1996
I have to write an essay about Average Man? What a terrible super-hero he
would be.
Nov. 13, 1996
Nothing is simple. I learned that today. Now I've just got to write an
essay about it.
Nov. 14, 1996
I've noticed when I write my log entry in class, it's slightly more coherent.
Nov. 15, 1996
Friday again, how soon it comes. It never hesitates.
Nov. 18, 1996
Now we're learning how to make fun of science fiction. I love this class.
Nov. 19, 1996
Canadian Content? I don't like the sound of that. It sounds like we're
actually going to be doing work. Stupid educational standardization.
Nov. 20, 1996
I learned a really long word today, "antidisestablishmentarianism."
That's the longest word I know.
Nov. 21, 1996
Yeah, it's what I had feared most. We're doing work in this class.
At least it's group work.
Nov. 22, 1996
Read Chapter #6. Meh, I guess that's do-able.
Nov. 25, 1996
This month seems to drag on and on. But it's been filled with progress,
so I don't really mind.
Nov. 26, 1996
I'm sure this class is well preparing me for university in some mysterious
way.
Nov. 27, 1996
I should really read that Canadian Content thingy. Before it's too late!
Nov. 28, 1996
Students are going to be assigning work to me. I don't know if I can handle
that kind of progress.
Nov. 29, 1996
I think this log accurately reflects what I have done all year in this class. Not much. But I'm still diggin' this class a whole bunch.
December 2, 1996
I think I'll just revise my first portfolio piece and use that for the basis
of my ISU.
Dec. 3, 1996
This Canadian Content stuff looks like it will be the subject for the exam.
Dec. 4, 1996
That essay about old age was very disturbing.
Dec. 5, 1996
Oh, well, I'm a teenager. I'm invincible!
Dec. 6, 1996
I wonder what school would be like without Fridays? <shudder>
Dec. 9, 1996
What is humour? I don't think I'm going to be able to write that essay.
But if I do...think of the progress!
Dec. 10, 1996
OK, I have to summarize Altruism and Being A Man. I hope they're nothing
like that old age essay. That thing just went on and on.
Dec. 11, 1996
I really need to bring paper to class.
Dec. 12, 1996
Argh, this is the worst paper I have ever seen! It looks like it has been
recycled 12,000 times!
Dec. 13, 1996
Friday the 13th, that reminds of a precocious little character in a hockey
mask I used to know.
Dec. 16, 1996
Oh my god! Look at what he did to the camp councellors! It's hideous.
Oh yeah, I also handed in portfolio #8 today.
Dec. 17, 1996
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas! It seems like just yesterday
it was September 4th. Now that's progress.
Dec. 18, 1996
I'm glad that Canadian Content thing is over with. I'm really looking
forward to the vacation from school.
Dec. 19, 1996
I looked over my portfolio piece #1 today and it's going to need a lot of
revision before it's an ISU. Maybe I'll use a serious tone instead. But
I'm not all together sure yet.
Dec. 20, 1996
Merry time off school. Sorry, I really don't want to offend anybody. I
wish the teacher would stop trying to feed me donuts.
January 6, 1996
Now I'm back in class again. Time to start thinking about my independent
study again. Well I'm positive I'm using the "The Railroad Apartment"
January 7, 1996
I have to hand in my proposal soon.
January 8, 1996
I handed in my proposal and now it's go-time. What am I saying? I'll
probably just sleep this whole week.
January 9, 1996
I started revising "The Railroad Apartment" today and I decided to keep it
the same story and write it in a light-hearted tone. I'm just going to use
the other 700 words I have to add for more detail in the story and to develop
the character better.
January 10, 1996
I really enjoy listening to other people's independent studies. Even though
it's making me nervous about my own.
January 13, 1996
Some of these are very well done. Actually all of them have been. But I
guess I am in an OAC class.
January 14, 1996
I'm probably not going to do anything special for my presentation. I'll just
get up there and read my story and suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune.
January 15, 1996
I'm just working in detail to "The Railroad Apartment" but I'm still not sure
how the character should come across.
January 16, 1996
I could easily write a serious story. Because I already have one in mind.
But, I don't want to bore the class. I think I'll stick with trying to make it
funny.
January 17, 1996
I'm glad I didn't have to present today. It wouldn't have went over well.
I have to change this whole thing around for Monday.
January 20, 1996
I decided to make the character incoherent and naive as well as lonely
(a little like this log). I think the story sounds reasonably well, now that
I've read it in front of an audience. I added 800 words to it. Now it's
ready to be handed in. That was a close call. I'm glad I came up with a
good idea at the last second.
January 21, 1996
Now I just have to assemble all of my ISU related material and hand it in
for marking. And that's what I'll do. Over, out.
>> last words [ hachi ]
Well, the zine is finally done, and not too shabby I might add. Just
wanted to say that the web page is not fully done, and that I want to hear
comments, mteskey@ebtech.net .. things will probably change before the next
release, the page will be up, and probably a new email address. My stuff
wasn't funny, but I promise next release I will write a lil' bit of humour
for you zany kids. Ummm, we can also be found on the irc in #hax0rs519 if
you have comments, suggestions, or questions. That's about it.
>> in closing [ unpossible ]
This whole zine thing is probably going to be a bad hangover in the
morning so I've decided I just won't go to bed. I'm going to ride the night
out on a cough syrup trip you can only imagine. The zine isn't going to do
anything spectacular, like bring spices and tea back from the Orient, or put
black people onto legitiment baseball teams, because these things have
already been done. I think what I can't stress enough is that this is just
another zine. We all know there's like a bazillion out there already.
Judging on the feedback we get from this release, we'll decide whether
to continue or not. There's quite a bit of talent in our area alone that
Hachi and I have yet to harvest, but this is more or less an outlet for the
zany everyday situations and anecdotes that Hachi and I fail to elaborate on.
By having no set release dates we hope to create a constant hunger
in our readers that can only be satified by another issue of the zine. What
am I saying? We're really two of the laziest kids in the world and right now
Hachi is napping in a substantial amount of his own filth. But, seriously
now, this zine is a pile. See you next time.
°²Û Ûß ÛÛÛ ßßßßßßßßß ÜÜÛÛßÛÛÜÜ ²ÛÛßßÛÛÜÜ ÛÛ² ÛÛ
ÛÛ Û ßÛÛÛßßßßßßßßßßÛÛÛ ÜÜ ÛÛÛÝ ÛÛÛ Ü ÞÛÛÝÞÛÛ ÛÛ
ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÛÛ ÞÛÛ ÜÛÝÞÛÛ² ÛÛÛ ÛÝ ÛÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ
ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÛ ÛÛÝÞÛÛÛÝÛÛÛ ßÛÛ ßßßß ÛÛÛ ÜÛÛß ÜÛÛ ÛÛ
ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÛ ßß ÛÛÛÛ ÞÛÛÛ ßßß ÜÜÜ ÛÛÛ ÞÛÝ ÜÛÛÛÛ Û²
ßß ßß ²ÛÛßßßÛÛÛÛß ßÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ ßß ßßßßß ßß
Üßß ßß ßßßß ÞÛÛÝÞÛ hc
the cat's pajamas ßßß ÛÛ
°²ÛÛ
