Yogi Berra: Cat Assassin

Think the title and premise of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter was just a tad ridiculous?

Is hunting fictional goth monsters with a dead president and his axe just a little "over the top?"

If you don't know how Hollywood already works, then you should begin the process of shedding your naivety. And you should start getting used to storylines like this, because that's just another sucker punch that creative originality sets itself up for. Film companies treat any great idea that holds water as a figure of profit potential and little else.. except for maybe a whore. And they whore out the idea and its offshoots until the margin of profit becomes coaxial with the margin of cost. After all, they are running a business. But who's to say we can't push forward an idea of our own by merging two previously unrelated ones and using the template already in existence? Isn't that sort of the definition of creativity? So why not try a money grab while the window is still open and you've seemingly got the time?

Anyway, here's my pitch:

Next Summer, prepare to be rendered senseless by:


"When you get to the fork in the road, take it... then you'll find the feline and put a putty knife through its brain stem."

In his later years away from the limelight, Yogi Berra's career has taken an unusual turn. From a Bronx hero, to a media personality, to obscurity. And now we know the reason for the perception of obscurity. An acute case of dementia.

Just kidding. That isn't the entire truth, and this isn't a story about OJ Simpson. So instead of waiting 4 seasons to tell all of the Skylar White's out there, I'll cut to the chase and clue you in on what's actually going on:

Toughness Knows No Solute

He's no Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by any stretch of the imagination. For one, he's still alive, and for two, he actually hunts cats for a tax-free living.

When you want a cat gone, you just need to go through the right channels and find yourself making a pitch to the former Yankees backstop. If he thinks the work is right, he'll contact you. And he'll dispatch that cat.

In one hand he holds catnip, and in the other a switchblade. The ultimate "come here kitty, (and get what's coming to you)."

His business card consists of his face and a collection of obscure phrases. His business method consists of giving a big FU to Bob Barker's pacifism. Using brute force in contrast to his heir-elder's broadcasted input.

Cats be gettin' got, Berra style.

Yogi's Gonna Stuff You In A Pic-a-nic Basket

His round spectacles aid so well in the guise. His round head makes him appear all the more friendly to fauna. But deep inside, he is a pussy hitman. Not a womanizer, but a cat murderer. A polarizing figure to those privy.

When Yogi has your furry paws in his sights, your lights are about to go me-owt.

Just ask Sassy and Whiskers.

Sometimes he wears a clever and slightly prosthetic disguise. When onlookers get a little too nosy, he replies "can I mustache you a question?" That usually gets the gawkers looking elsewhere. If not at least chalking it up to expected senility and leaving him alone. Rendering them to never put the pieces of the puzzle together, unable to deduce the disgusting nature of Yogi's enterprise.

He's killed cats with an array of implements and a foray of methods. The aforementioned putty knife, as well as the pneumatic drill, the plastic grocery bag, a few precisely placed safety pins, large and vicious breeds of dog, and sometimes even a peaceful demise via a guiding hand to an OD on catnip. Thoroughly understanding Felidae psychology, and exploiting each and every individual weakness as prescribed by the situation.

A mad mysterious genius Yogi Berra has become. A former Bronx Bomber now loyal to the underground. A nonfictional piece of fiction, an enigma finally revealed.

All things considered, he's right for the job. Being a kitty hit man takes 9 times the work, but in Yogi's mind, he was giving 140 percent anyway.

*It goes without saying that this story is 100% untrue.

**I hope.

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