Think 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?" Well, my friends, you better to get used to storylines like this, because that's just the tip (*CLICHÉ WARNING CLICHÉ WARNING*) of the iceberg. And here comes the 90% that's resting beneath the surface of the water, ready to emerge with the rest of the melting ice caps in July 2013…

Next summer, prepare to be rendered senseless by:

Yogi Berra: Cat Assassin
"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."

When you want a cat gone, you just need to find yourself making a pitch to the former Yankees backstop. 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 four 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: Yogi Berra has become a Cat Assassin. A grunt worker for those who have been wronged by four-legged Tabbies. And he's become the world's finest, even in his advanced age.

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. But 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; in the other, a switchblade. The ultimate "come here kitty [and get what's coming to you]."

Yogi Berra staring down a cat
We all know who's going to have who's coat for dinner.

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.

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, rendering them unable to put the pieces of the puzzle together… to deduce the disgusting nature of Yogi's enterprise.

Yogi Berra Bobblehead
A cat's natural defenses are raised at the mere caricature of Yogi.

He's killed cats with an array of implements and a foray of methods: the aforementioned putty knife, 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 catnip OD. Yogi thoroughly understands Felidae psychology, and exploits each and every individual weakness as prescribed by the situation.

A mad mysterious genius Yogi Berra has become. 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% anyway.


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