Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Stay away from me, you damn dirty raptor (Conclusion)

mystical retard

tobbogan boy and smeagol

Our favorite things


So Mystery is calling these bail bondsman places, and is getting the same answer:

A) "Smeagol owes me money, where is he at so I can apprehend him when he gets loose?" This is usually followed by Mystery hanging up, ensuring if they have caller id I will now be harrassed on a daily basis.

B) "I need a cosigner who is not you." This always ended with Mystery giving me a hopeful stare and saying something like "Well I don't want to ask you because you might say no but would you cosign on a bail bond to get Smeagol out of jail?" At which point I get a flashing picture of all the debt I would undoubtedly incur once Smeagol raptors bail, I mean come on we all know he has no intention of going to court, there is not a courthouse on the planet that would knowingly allow a raptor to continue infesting it's streets with his cloak of failure, right?

C) >click<

Also note that Smeagol is calling every 6 or 7 minutes, and is raptoring it up about why havent we gotten him out of jail yet. If I cared at all I would feel sorry for them but I hate Mystery and now Smeagol for leaving her at my house so I sit there like a jerk and brood because I am not going to get to make hand party to pornographies. I then notice Mystery is sitting on my pillow, the one I use in my bed to lay my damn head on. An intense wave of nausea comes over me and I look away to resist vomiting all over the laptop I stole from work. I can almost see the bacteria and fungus transferring itself onto my pillow and make a mental note to swap out pillows so my wife ends up sleeping on it.

Finally, after almost an hour of calling, she lights on someone who has bailed Smeagol out before, and he agrees to do it again. For some reason he wants to talk to me, though why or how he even know I was there was beyond me, unless he had the caller id I keeps hearin bout, ahyuck!

This guy's voice sounds like he is talking through a trachea pipe with a half pound of tobacco stuffed in it. I have to get him to repeat himself numerous times because I could not understand him. He wants to meet me in Platte City, as he called the jail in our town and Smeagol had already been moved, probably because the officer came into direct contact with Smeagol's thong and had had to run to the hospital with Influenzitic failureclokius, a fatal disease that can cause nausea, upset stomach, rectal bleeding, smalcock, runny nose and painful ass warts. Contact your doctor if you experience any decrease in sex appeal or energy, as it could be the early signs of raptoritis, a serious side effect of taking Influifail.

I have 3 little boys in bed, and no intention of waking them up to bother with Smeagol. Mystery calls Smeags to inform him of this, and I can hear his thong shaking angrily over the phone. They finaly light on the idea of getting my dad to do it, and get ahold of him and about a half hour later he shows up. He is in full douche mode, which is understandable since he works 12 hours a day and still makes a hair under half of what I do and I am a lazy bastage.

He informs Mystery that he wants all of Smeagols contact information before she even touches his car, as if Smeagol tries to jump bail my dad will hunt him down and take him to jail himself. Whatev, hunting down a North American Smeagol when he knows you are coming is not a task undertaken lightly.

We get to Platte City, go through the rigamarole of bailing him out there, then watch as he gets about 11 seconds of freedom and is rearrested and sent to Kansas City, luckily their NKC branch, the bumblebee building, and bail him out there, for a total of 7 hours that I had to endure either Mystery's idiocy or Smeagol. Why did I go along, you might ask? My asshole dad informed me when he showed up that if I did not go to keep him company he would leave Mystery at my house and I could deal with her. Such a threat shook me to my spine, so I was at his mercy.

We finally get Smeagol all bailed out, and I paid everyone (including Smeagol, which I just realized he does not own a car anymore... heyyyy) gas money, and we get dropped off at my house. Smeagol goes inside, straight to the fridge and drinks the rest of my orange juice and takes my last Smirnoff. I like how he feels comfortable enough to raptor my damn things whenever the fancy strikes him, but damn!

"Listen niggie if you don't feel like driving we can stay here tonight" Smeagol moaned, not at all sounding like a guy, slurping my orange juice throught the side of his mouth so I could only see 1 tooth... I inform him that even if it meant me not gettin to sleep and having to go straight to work I would drive them home. I will post an update when Smeagol jumps bail, but for now this is the end of this tale.

Smeagol's Picture

OK remember when I told you all that I took this photo on the covert? Well it did not turn out so great so bear with me, I will try another one in a brighter environment. It seems that even in a brightly lit kitchen his cloak of failure creates an aura of failure so strong and vast it messes up the camera... enjoy what you can see:

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Stay away from me, you damn dirty Raptor! pt II

Sexy time explode
watch where you sit on my couch
also on my porch


So I start walking the dog, and mosey up to the town cop, who has already encased Smeagol in his rightful home, cuffed in the back of a police cruiser, his face plastered to the window like those cute furry garfield toys that are so popular, only this is a raptor, so I was pretty sure I could hear the reinforced window melting from the stench of kim chee, 30 day old taco bell, and failure.

Mystery is standing in the road, looking at a tree and flopping her arms up and down like, well like Mystery. The cop is searching the car for illegal contraband and receipts for all of the green thongs he is coming across. I walk up with the dog and Mystery retards ove and is all like "Duh, I am so sorry Steven, I guess we need to get some money from you to bail him out. I think it will be like 500 dollars..." THen she does her little snort thing. You know that thing Stan's sister does on South Park? That.

"Uh, no..." I respond, as there is no way I am going to bail him out of jail and then lose 500 dollars in the process. The cop moseys over, and in an almost eerie Mr. Garrison voice, goes "Mmkay unfortunately I can't let you move the car, as the tags on it do not even go to a car to begin with, they go to a 2004 Mercury Mountaineer, and the tags have been expired since early 2006 anyway, so I am not sure where that sticker-" he points out what I at first assume is a piece of multicolored tinfoil, and then realize is actually 3 or 4 stickers put together so it looks like his tags do not expire until the year 089 "actually came from, mmkay? I am going to go ahead and take him to jail, you will need to post bail or I will have to send him on to Platte COunty, they have a warrant for his arrest also."

I walk off, intent on losing Mystery and hopefully stranding her, but she does a surprisingly good job of keeping up, doing that little snort thing every few seconds, and asking me 3, count them 3 fucking times if I will cosign on the bail bond, and all 3 times I inform her that I will not as I do not want a bail bondsman coming to my house/job/nudie bar where I dance on the weekends and embarrassing me because he cannot find that wily raptor even though the scent signature of his thong enhances the senses like the strong musk of unwashed bison balls.

We get to the house, and I grudgingly hide my "Hot and Horny Burkas part 7" which I had planned to indulge once the coast was clear, and she asks for a yellow pages. Ugh, paper? Not me son! I get on or net or whatever the fuck it is and bring up all the bail bondsmen with enough money to post an ad in the phonebook. This moron grabs a sheet of paper and writes each number down, while sitting at the computer desk next to the phone. O-o-okay.

She then starts calling one after the other, and gets denied over and over as soon as she mentions Smeagol's name...

Tomorrow: Is Smeagol's freedom over?!
Was his thong confiscated at the police station?
Do you really want to see another poor picture of a raptor?

Join us tomorrow on.....steveshaikus.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Late post today

I promise it will be worth it, my lovely wife refuses to look upon smeagols picture long enough to send it to me, I think it is because she is mesmerized by his sexy raptor visage and eerily tilted perm.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Stay away from me, you damn dirty Raptor!

I am McLovin'
the man, the myth, the cyborg
the Sherminator

Last Night

So I wanted to wait for my wife to send me the photo of Smeagol, because it goes with this post, but then I wouldn't be posting today because I am pretty sure she has been out spending my hard earned cash all day. No matter, let's begin.

Smeagol called last night to remind me that he would be coming up, and that he would be here around the time I got home. No biggie, I had a bunch of leftover bbq that was unfit for human or dog consumption, and as we all know as budding paleontologists raptors will eat stuff not fit for biodegredation. Smeagol would be helping me as well as helping himself to free food.

The raptor and Mystery showed up as Sami was leaving, and set right in with actually acting kind of like a normal couple, albeit an ugly one: Smeagol was playing with Daniel, fetching the dog's chew toy with his teeth and letting Daniel pull it from his jaws and throw it at him (I did not have the heart to tell him that it was a dog's toy, but the fact that it smelled like a dog's asshole should have tipped him off) and Mystery sat on the couch and stared off into space. I would like to note that she was sitting on my pillow, which my son had taken into the living room to lay on, and that warranted my lovely wife and I trading pillows last night. Do not tell her why, I haven't yet and I don't want her getting mixed messages.

Anyway, I got dinner ready while I had Smeags and Company create Mii characters on my Nintendo Wii. I must say Smeagol managed to find a face that was not far off of his. Mystery's was WAAAAAY off, and she misspelled her name.

Anyway, it always amazes me how Smeagol will go for days without food until someone lets him raptor theirs, and then he gorges, not unlike the camel(toe) about to cross the Gobi Desert. He ate like 2 hamburgers, 3 hot dogs, 2 bratwursts and 2 polish sausages, a plate full of fries and 3 scoops of ice cream. Holy shit! I was happy though, I am still mad at my dog over the Ham Steak Incident, though I should be more annoyed with my wife.

In the kitchen, I divert his raptor sense with a ninja virtual reality helmet I bought for my kid's birthday (friggin schweet!) and perform a spy act worthy of Mission Impossible 4. I take the camera, which is on top of the fridge, and move it to the top of the freezer, facing his direction, under the guise that I thought I had put a ham on top of the fridge. I then turned the camera on by awkwardly tripping over the freezer and hitting the button. Smeagol is still ensconced in the vr helmet, and his thong is bulging rhythmically to his cluelessness. I then go "Haagen-Daas" to mask the sound of the picture being taken, and get a pretty decent photo of him.

I like to point out here that up until he left and the events that transpired after that, I did not even want to post the photo as he seemed to be genuinely trying to change, and I had thought (erroneously) that he was turning over a new leaf.

Anyhoo, we get done, and Smeagol informs me it was a nice visit, but he had to get along, as raptors are not technically allowed after dark, due to their increased cloaks of failure and upgraded physical combat prowess. He begged me for 10 dollars, which I gave, since I had it and could afford to lose it, and they raptor into their car and leave. I go inside to grab the febreze and to urine treat the couch (hey it's the only way to counteract the infection of Mystery's goo filled thong, which she also wears, though I have no idea what color it is she gets no end of pleasure in telling people about how it itches in her asshole) and get a phone call. I have Roadrunner and so see the number for "Raptor, Smeagol E." come up on the television.

Apparently, the village cop had been going around, randomly checking tags for cars he did not know, and had gotten Smeagol's tags. I assume the only reason he did not come in to get Smeagol was because the computer was still printing out the arrest record 40 minutes later as they were leaving. I walk out onto the deck and see him over on the other side of the block, looking with hungry eyes as Law & Order's greatest nemesis raptor bobbed into his POS car that was 7 years older but strangely enough 2000 dollars more expensive than my car.

When Smeagol pulled away from the curb, the village cop swooped on him, and stopped him 2 blocks away. Mystery calls me on the phone and is all like "Duh, you need to start walking this way to come get me and the car, Smeagol is going to jail/"

Monday - Part 2, Wherein I have to go to bail Smeagol out Twice Because he is a Piece of Shit.

Thursday, April 24, 2008


Sengoku jidai!
taco, tostada, and flan
suck shit through a tooth

Sorry for the late post, today is take your kid to work day and it is tough keeping tabs on my cultivated baby gravy and being brilliant.

Anyway, on to the story. I am not sure if you all knew this, but my dad smoked crack. This made holidays and get togethers embarrassing. Today's recollection occured during this time.

My grandmother gave my dad an old '84 cavalier to run around in, and run around in it he did. I will admit in the early days before the crack gestapo infiltrated our ranks and took my dad to the Failure concentration camp, funnily enough ran by Frau Smeagol. Sorry last night was World War II night.

Anyway with a tiny 4 seat car, of course the crack made my dad think we were clowns, and on the day of this tale all 7 of us poured into this tiny car to go register for school. Ah, the lovely early autumn sky was beautiful, able to whisk a young lad's thoughts to conquests more aesthetically pleasing than other seasons offered, or at least I would assume, since I was sitting bitch while my dad's elbow constantly came thisclose to contacting my balls as he shifted the car... nice picture in your mind, huh? (If that is a nice picture, you need my patented Formula 833 Stevester's Magic Man Seed, on sale in stores everywhere). We were all grumbling, as it was hot in that damn car and someone (I can now admit it, it was me) had blown ass and the windows were fogging up. My dad was blabbing about how we all needed to start helping out more, but everyone in the car knew he meant me and my brother, as no one else was listening, still listening to their awesome cd players while JJ and I wore little more than cloaks of failure.

My dad had just informed me that I was going to need to get another job, as he had just been fired from ANOTHER gas station for stealing product, and it might take longer to get a new job, as people knew who he was now. I said something like "Maybe if you laid off those rocks you wouldn't need to go work at another damn dildo factory", and he slammed on the brakes, right in the middle of downtown with cops all around, and levied this threat at me: "You want me to whoop your goat smellin' ass boah?" I was shocked. First, the logistics of getting me out of this sardine can in order to "whoop" my "ass" "boah" seemed mind boggling. Second, with all the cops around, was he really willing to engage in fisticuffs with me with the very real knowledge that he would go to jail for a very long time afterward?

"Look, boah, I've done some foolish things, things I am not proud of. But I know with love and support from my family (here he looked at Janet, who was giving some thug the Panamanian Sex Eye while he massaged his crotch gang style) I can pull through this. Son, I have been a foolish, foolish man, and I promise to do better in the future. But you will respect me or I'll whomp on your butt! (How gay can that sound? Pretty fucking gay) I am the man of this house (unless he has been kidnapped), and you may be bigger, stronger, faster and younger than me, but I'm meaner and I'll kick your goat-smelling ass, ya got me?!"

"Fuuuck youuuu" I rambled, and looked out the window. It would be the first time I had ever defied Toboggan Boy, but not the last.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

today's post

sorry about the formatting, the picture is throwing it all off and I am NOT going to remove the picture.

Fun and assorted shit

dog shit in the field
a running man, hey look out
white short shorts, ruined

For true fun, follow these handy tips:

1. WHen you get those "prescreened" offers from credit card companies in the mail, take their shit out of the envelope, stuff it in their return envelope they send out, and include a picture of Jeremy, I will include so you can copy:

2. While in the store, if the person in front of you is gabbing on a phone about personal stuff too loudly, start rubbing your crotch and moaning softly while looking at him or her. Much funnier if they are the same sex.
3. When stopped at 7th and Quindaro or another area in which crime seems to be the only viable export, play either "It's Not Unusual" or "She's a Lady" and blast it. Then flip them off as you drive away.
4. If you are in a restroom at a mall or movie theater, it is acceptable, nay, imperative, that while you shit you grunt, moan and pray as loudly as you can. This not only lets people coming into the bathroom know that one of the stalls is occupied, but also helps to push the shit out a little faster.
5. If you are going to hang out with friends and a raptor attaches itself to you with it's symbiotic thong, the only way to break free from it's clutches o' failure is to successfully get the phone number from someone of the opposite sex. Tough to do that's why I don't go out much.
6. If you are going to manufacture some New England Man Chowder, no one will notice if you close all the curtains and block all the doors in your living room for 4 minutes and then go outside to hit your punching bag. There will be even less suspicion if this occurs while your significant other is still pulling out of the driveway and your kids, who had just been grounded, are suddenly allowed to go outside. Someone told me about this.
7. If you are plagued by a North American Stinking Mystery, it is perfectly acceptable to spray Febreze directly on her, as most of it evaporates on contact anyway, it's more like "no harm, no foul"
I will add more later, including "Steve's Romance Tips" for those of us that have a little trouble getting the ladies, with such time tested rules as "if you can't blow ass in front of her, she ain't worth taking home when the car is much closer", and "If her neck has a lump, it takes more beer to hump" and my all time favorite: "bending over the toilet to throw up is the same thing as asking for anal", naw I'm kidding on that last one (sorry Will).
Anyhoo, I know last week was a bit of a letdown with Smeagol, the Tylester will vouch for me though I was otherwise engaged... Smeagol will be by tomorrow...and now I have a bit of a dilemma: I have not been to karate for a little over a week. I need to go to start getting ready for tournament, sparring and whatnot. If Smeagol comes over it is highly unlikely that I will be able to unraptor my home in time to go defeat lesser trained denizens in unarmed combat. What do I do, would you:
A) Go to karate, why would you stay home and deal with that piece of crap?
B) Why are you even considering karate, you have a chance to humiliate Smeagol by posting his photo for all of us to see!
C) I am Benson Hunter, I am going to get the CTU on you.
I dunno, it is a tough decision.
More tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Holy Testicle Tuesday!

"guzzle man chowder"
"Take it up the hole, Jenkins"
I love children's shows

Ah, where to begin, where to begin.....

Smeagol did come by Thursday, but I was not there. I had to go to Lawrence Country Club for a judge's meeting. Little side note there. The meeting went well, all of the technology worked fine as I knew it would, and my ideas of how a country club should act were confirmed. All of the following only applies to the employees, the people at the meeting were great.

In keeping with my stereotypes of how country club employees should act, which I must admit is heavilly influenced by Caddyshack and other Rodney Dangerfield movies, no one made eye contact, they gave me the table behind the screen (I moved it so I could see), and one of the judges had to coax them into serving me dinner. Now I know you all must be thinking "it's because that nigger's black, those damn dirty racists!" and I would like to remind you that calling someone "nigger" is kinda racist, unless you are black yourself then it is campy and fun.

I do not think they were shunning me because of skin color, though. I dunno why, I just felt that the reason I was being treated like an outcast was more financial status then penile size and extra bone in the foot that helps my kind run faster. Look it very well could have been racist, but I like to think that this being 2008, if we are all honest with ourselves, if black people have not all gotten on ships and gone back to Africa by now, it should be obvious that we do not plan to. Just to make sure though, I did refrain from hitting on the white women and attempting to steal all of the car stereos, which was tough to do.

Anyway, while I was living out my apparent role as an extra in a 1980's coming of age movie, my wife was trying to discreetly Febreze the couches while Mystery and Smeagol funked them up with extreme predjudice. Apparently Smeagol had been working so much booty ass overtime that he hadn't had time for his fans, and with the rising costs of gas prices and more and more bondsmen's unwillingness to bail him out because he had stiffed them before, life was pretty hard for that poor, poor raptor. He came by, made a visual inventory of my pawnable items, took 10 dollars for gas money and left, promising to return this thursday. My wife smartly made sure he knew he was not expected to pay the 10 dollars back so that we can get a good photo of him, I am not sure why she did not but I will take care of it.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008


Ah, therapy time
No, not jerking it again
that all comes later

Tomorrow is the day! Smeagol is going to come by for the first time in a year, and I have to come up with some kind of list of things I need to do. I already have on the list:

1. Get a picture of him in growl mode
2. try to record his voice
3. make sure I have an adequate supply of Febreze in case Mystery comes over (Smeagol, funnily enough never sits on the furniture, prefering to raptor crawl over the floor, which is not all that unlike My dog dragging her ass across the carpet after a good dump)
4. Get Smeagol drunk, but not so drunk he feels the need to sleep at my house (which means maybe 1/2 a wine cooler)
5. Somehow get Smeagol and Haggard in the same room together (and watch hilarity ensue)

If there is anything I missed, let me know. I told Smeagol I teach jujitsu on the weekends, probably nowhere near as well as a real jujitsu practitioner but we have fun and get all sweaty together, and he informed me that he might like to start going. How funny would it be trying to teach my young apprentices the art of raptor throwing? And does Smeagol have a natural advantage in that he is used to the wind blowing him about, and thus take our class over with his awesome powers of raptor? Things to consider.

Congrats go out to our newest Firm alumni, Thene, who broke the ties that bind and followed the golden breadcrumbs left behind by so many other ex employees of that place out of the Coven. I never really minded working at da Firm until Greyskull ruined it, which makes this all the more sad.

Also I was driving downtown, and as usual there was a homeless guy standing on the corner to broadway and 169. I'd like to know if anyone else puts as much emphasis on etiquette when in these incredibly awkward situations as I do, let me explain:

1. Stop light, I am first car right next to bum: This is the most awkward spot to be in. He looks right at you the entire time, and making eye contact will cause him to walk over and pester you. On the other hand, not making eye contact will cause him to go into a homeless rage, possibly urinating on or in your car.
Solution: Keep windows rolled up, pretend to be looking for something until the light changes, then hold up a dollar as you drive off and laugh)

2. Stop light, I am not the first car: I stare at the homeless man, trying to make eye contact. When he does, and starts bum-walking over, I drive off and flip him the bird. Good times.

3. Stop sign: I don't even slow down, but roll down my window and yell "Bum" at him as I drive by.

4. Stop sign, I am a few back in the line: I wait until my turn, and then of course still run the sign, but while I wait I turn the Air conditioning up and hold myself like it is chilly in my car, which it usually is because my air conditioner works awesome. Bonus points for laughing at said homeless man as he sweats and\or collapses because instead of drinking clean water at any of the numerous places such a need is plentiful and free, he drank Mad Dog and Thunderbird, working on his wine research.

Maybe more later, I also have to finish the Lilian Ray and Aziz Musa scams, if only for posterity's sake.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Smeagol: A Comparison

I heart Steely Dan
Not so much the dildo part
That's my dad's old realm

Smeagol: Sexy time comparison

I spoke to Smeagol last night. You may all ask if I got on his case about the money he owes me or why he was such a douche to my sister (I will get to that all in good time) when she called him a few days ago, but no. You can ask Haggard, I want to see the good in everyone. You may think you are the first one to ask "If your family is such crap, why do you still stay in contact with them?" And to that, dear readers, I have no answer save this: If you have a racehorse that has let you down numerous times, finishing last due to frequent naps, smoking crack, stealing dildos from it's job, running around outside completely naked, shitting in plastic Wal-Mart bags and hanging them from tree branches, or any of the other things crappy horses do, sure, sure, you should stop supporting said horse. But for people like me, that is the only horse you have, the only one you have ever bet on, and though you know you could make money elsewhere, you don't, and you do not know why. Do you all understand? Good, glad that's out of the way.

Man my analogies kick ass.

Anyhoo, my sister called Smeagol on her birthday to talk to him, assuming after 14 years he would have calmed down about the Trans Am hood incident, and they might be more cordial, not unlike the cherry, lathered in a much too sugary cream sauce, covered in brown chocolatey goodn- wait, no that is not a very good metaphor.

So I give her the number, and apparently she called him, he picked up, asked her if she had the money to replace the car, and when she said no hung up on her, probably content to not speak to her for another 14 years.

Back to the entire gist of this post, I spoke to Smeagol, and I asked him if he felt like coming by the house sometime, and offered to let him rifle through my deep freezer for free food. Of course, free food to a practicing North American Raptor cannot be denied, especially since I still had some corned beef and cabbage fermenting in the freezer from St. Patrick's day, I bet he could smell it. I got to thinking, maybe it would be cool to come up with some pros and cons on the subject of Smeagol, and maybe then I would understand why I even bother associating with him. Haggard has said in the past it's because I am a glutton for punishment, see if you feel the same way once you read through these:

1. Pro - Smeagol works booty ass overtime, which would be awesome if the reason wasn't simply because he fell asleep at work and only clocks out once a week.

Con - Every time, and I do mean EVERY time, Smeagol comes by my house he hits on my wife, telling her she needs to leave me and get with a real man. Is it not ironic that a raptor is telling her this? She always answers that if he ever sees a real man, point him out and she will consider it, which sounded funny until I just realized she is insulting me. Dammit!

2. Pro - Smeagol is very adept at building 700 dollar remote control cars.

Con - Smeagol's breath could take the varnish off of a house at 500 paces.

3. Pro -Smeagol....uh...loved cleaning the grease traps and will do the most disgusting jobs with glee.

Con - Smeagol has hit on ladies I have had to work with whilst human shit was plastered all over his shirt, just barely masking his breath.

4. Pro - Shitty car dealers love Smeagol.

Con - His perm.

5. Pro - Smeagol claims to be a devil with the ladies.

Con - His nails.

6. Pro - Uh....shit....

Con - Smeagol likes to go along with me and my brother all the time and sleep in the back seat of the car, no matter who else is in said car, and allow his sphincter to loosem, causing a steady stream of the worst smelling gas imaginable to slowly fill the car, and said gas is impervious to the valiant efforts of the wind to placate it's stench.

7. Pro - ......hmmmm.... Oh I know! Smeagol is apparently great with kids. He is loving, attentive and kind to them.

Con - I am almost certain when I lived at his house and a lady was goodly enough to go to the L.A. Forum Smeagol stood at the bottom of the stairs and rubbed his thong whilst listening for any humping noises.

8. Pro - In Smeagol's thong there could be a strain of bacteria that is the cure for cancer!

Con - In Smeagol's thong there probably is a strain of bacteria that causes cancer!

More later...

Monday, April 14, 2008

The Move (Greyskuuuuullll!)

darkened sunglasses
Not quite pecs, but not quite breasts
summer, I'm ready

The Fuckin' Move

I begin my walk of shame, looking sheepishly at the Derks and at Max, and begin gathering my things. I knew at that moment all of the awesome was being taken from me, and I cried on the inside. Santa was to take my old desk, and JasonP seemed cool too, so it was a sad, sad day when I moved. Will had moved on to the Apps team, due to his ass kissing ability (I ain't kidding, I am completely incapable of kissing ass enough to get a raise, but for some reason I do not fault Will for doing that) and Damon was gone. I thought I heard a gentle whisper of Journey playing as I moved my things, but it was quickly quashed by Flanders dry humping my leg, telling me how excited he was to learn new and exciting things and how we were gonna be bestest buddies in the whole world and how he loves hanging out with Mr. Jesus.

I tell you, all of my creative juices dried up sitting there. I no longer had the iron grip on awesome I had erroneously assumed I would until the end of my days. Flanders was a fucking idiot. He would ask inane questions, like "Hey Steve this guy says he cannot get his printer working, I know you told me the fucking answer a few fucking seconds ago and wrote it down and published a ticket and jammed your finger up your ass and wrote the answer in your own goddamn blood and shit all over the carpet, but I am just not sure if 'turn the printer on, dumbass' or 'make sure the printer is installed, mongoloid' would help in this instance. He says the printer is not powered on and it is brand new and thus not installed.... what do you think?"

These questions would haunt me for days, weeks, months afterward, as they got more and more stupid. He also needed constant attention, and would tell me that it made him and Jesus sad when I did not talk to him. Let me explain something. I have a second degree black belt in the k-rat. I have a recomended brown belt in jujitsu. While arrogance are not implied with such ranks, I no longer feel the need to be nice to someone I do not particularly like, and have begun to live my life like that. I know it sounds shallow and rude, but if you will look nto my eyes you will see that the Care-o-meter is still reading 0.

This chemical imbalance in my brainicle has led to some awkward situations. I no longer feel the need, even if we are making eye contact, to speak to someone I have dubbed an idiot. Working in tech support this makes life kinda tough. I had dubbed Flanders an idiot not long after he started. In all honesty, he was a nice enough guy, but his penchant for turning every conversation towards the Almighty (Me: "Nice weather out" Flanders: "God likes weather...") quickly got on my nerves, though Derka and Max got the far worse alternative, sitting next to Giggles McFatass, who would spend his entire day walking up and down the cube farm, giggling for no reason at all, and fellating Greyskull (yes I know you cannot fellate a girl. I don't know how to make a verb out of cunnilingus. If you can, fuck you) as he told her in great detail everything he had done the night before, completely wasting time yet somehow getting great employee reviews while I managed the damn document system and got a 1.3% raise. What the fuck is 1.3%?! She told me straight up the reason why is because I would not suck the mayonnaise off of her vag lips while she queefed all over my face, and the reason "other employees", which meant Flanders and Santa, got the full 4% was because they were willing "to play ball", or "play ball with management", or "play with my balls" I dunno I wasn't listening.

I know a lot of you are thinking "Hey Stevester, if you had just played ball a little bit life would have been a lot easier!" and those who are thinking that obviously did not know Greyskull or are named Will. Greyskull was not unlike a fat Terminator. She felt no pain, and lived only to bring annoyance and destruction down upon the helpdesk. That's what she does. That's ALL she does!

Friday, April 11, 2008

Crowning, Prairie Dogging...

Not the Tylester!
Hit by the cloak of failure
Smeag's thong protects you

The Tylester got hit by what I like to call a drunken man having a seizure brought on by a concentrated sniff of Smeagol's thong, AKA butt hash (Wikipedia that, it is a real drug)(No I haven't tried it) I made him promise to go to the doctor or face the wrath of Smeagol's cloak of failure for all eternity, I think I scared him into going.

I hated Greyskull. I am not sure if you all knew that or not, and funnily enough I no longer hate her as much since she has no power over me anymore, but in those gentle times I hated her with a passion usually reserved for concocting my coveted baby gravy recipe (only takes 3 minutes to make!), and there was usually a lot of passion in that particular act.

We had a technology retreat, which was apparently code for "experience the most awkward weekend in your entire friggin life", and I know I had spoken about what happened there and how the Coven of Cunt reacted, which was lame in and of itself, but I never spoke on the aftermath. But before I do, check this shit out!

How Many 5 year olds can you Beat up? I can whoop 32!


Alright anyway back to the story. Greyskull came out after they finished crying and watching Steel Magnolias or whatever, and asked me into her office. Now you may wonder if the brave Stevester was afraid, since you have never had 2 manager's meetings in a day. O ye of so little faith. I have had 4 manager's meetings in a single day, and I am proud of every time I was asked in there, from my off color comments, to making Flanders cry because I do not want to fellate Jesus like he does, to grunting out all of my verbal utterings for an entire morning, yes I was proud of those achievements. They are what got me the job I have today.

Anyway, I mosey into Greyskull's lair, and plop down in the chair that was quickly getting an imprint of my butt in it from all the times I had to sit in it, and smile impishly at Santa, who was crying outside the door because he wanted to lap up some of Greyskull's love milk and felt as if she was cheating on him when she had someone else in her office.

I ventured a glance into the face of my mortal enemy, and was a tad taken aback. Man she looked pissed! Her jowls jiggled dangerously as she gripped her pen as if it was a Slim Jim that a hillbilly had tried to take away, and her butt-ball squeaked in protest.

"If you EVER insult Shitface or Scumbucket (her 2 bosses) again, I will fire you." Whatev, ho, whatev. She then went on about how I insulted everyone's intelligence by not talking or ignoring them, I dunno I was thinking about some of the heinies on the 6th floor, gently tickling my prostate and ignoring her. Sadly not all the nicest heinies belonged to the ladies (I'm talking about you, Will).

I was brought out of my daydream by Greyskull informing me that as punishment, I was hereby ordered to move my desk away from Max and Derka, whome I had come to love in a completely platonic way, to sit by Flanders, who I could hear right outside the door informing someone he could not resolve their issue because he was too busy, a common theme in his phone calls. I mean, really, why would you CALL someone to tell the you are too busy to work on their issue? Does that not waste more time and take the ticket from someone with a brain who might be able to work on it?

Monday: the Move, or some other completely random story.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Why Must you Hold Me dOWn?!

You can't steal thunder
the swollen river beckons
wash your ass, Smeagol

I hated Jeff. We all know that. Smeagol hated Jeff, because Jeff always called him Bob and that name always got Smeagol fighting mad (do not call him Bob if you meet him).Was it always like this? Well.....yes, yes it was.

Jeff looked like a damn Indian (bow and arrow, not tech support) hippie. As I said I don't particularaly care who plunges his meatstick into my mother's lovebrew, as long as he is older than me and doesn't tell me about it. Jeff was definitely older than me, that's for sure. But he got a -1 when he informed me that he loved pounding my mother from behind, so he could grab her tits and really thrust hard. Thanks for that, shitface. Having a guitar named "Nigger" was negative number 2. But the worse thing was the stranding.

You see, my aunt had gotten a settlement from somewhere, and bought herself a nice little Mercury Topaz with the cash. I am not sure why, since she does not drive, but magically at right about that time Jeff's car shot craps and he and Mystical needed a car. They asked Smeagol for rides, but he would only take them anywhere for an exorbitant amount of gas money; it was usually cheaper to just get a cab. Smeagol was also known to only show up for the money, in essence stranding the hapless traveler at their destination with no choice but to bus it up to get back.

You would think getting crapped on like this would make it so that if you had someone relying on you, would try a little harder because you know what it's like. You would THINK that. Not so with the Mystical Retard and Jeff the Wonder Douche behind the wheel! First, Mystical would call me from a payphone with some of the most retarded instructions ever. Let's say, for example, that I needed a ride to City Hall from HER FUCKING HOUSE and I needed to be picked up at 1:00 PM. I would get a phone call at 12:45 that went a little like: "OK I need you to go out the back door, walk up 9th street, circle the gas pumps at Pip's Quik Shop 3 times, and wait. We will drive by and say 'Nice day out', to which you reply 'but the kilimanjaro does not attack in April'. You will then run and jump into the back seat as we drive away." I am exaggerating here, but a lot of the time she was so paranoid she would want me to meet her up the street from her own house for some damn reason.

After all of this you would assume she would, you know, fuckin' show up. Nope. At least not on time...

Usually about 20 minutes after I had to be there she would pull up, and get an attitude with me for not "showing me any respect, you need to respeeeeeek yo mooooooommmaaaaa...." and then start in on how spiritual it was that Jeff, who was driving the car, had teabagged her earlier that afternoon. Jeff would also start in with his 'You need to show your mother some re-re-respect, I am the head of this family and you must do as I say!' Which no one did because no one did anything my dad said and technically he WAS the actual head of the family... why would we trade one no talent ass clown for another?

I had been stranded so many times during the summer of 1997 I lost 35 pounds from just walking around the city... rather then call them or Smeagol, who would have charged me something like 5 dollars a mile to get from point A to point B...

Monday, April 7, 2008

I just realized

This probably interests no one, but does anyone notice that I start 95% of my posts with the word "So"? Sadly enough I am so crappy a writer that even though I now know I do that I will not stop it...

By the Power of Greyskull!

Smelly homeless guy,
an Escort backfires and dies
love the big city

So life at da Firm went on, with me hating Greyskull just a little more every day, for a multitude of reasons:

1. She seemed to get this disgusting frothy joy out of calling me into her office to lambaste me on stupid subjects such as my attitude, and constantly got on me for talking to the only other negro on the floor, I guess da Firm had a policy that 1 negro is affirmative action at work; 2 Negros is a conspiracy to rape white women in the making.

2. She hired on that damn skank with her pretty smells and fluffy pillows to sully up the manly vibe I had tried to give my work area, and it seemed to me that putting what we all assumed was a known spy (hence the secretive hiring and the not telling us about it to properly prepare) working for Greyskull and Skeletor, her manager, right next to me meant they were trying to find a way to fire me and that I would easily slip up in the presence of the fairer sex. Bah! Bah, I say!

3. Greyskull spent what were great Thursday meetings that we would spend fine tuning the Hemi that was our help desk to keep it in tip top shape into hourlong bitch fests complete with Skeletor as backup, and Shitface, the CIO, lurking outside the doors, yearning to eat more carpet. I mean, come on, I am black. The food was free. All we would need it a basketball goal and I would be in heaven, right? How shitty of a manager do you have to be when you ruin free food and a chance to not be working the phones!

Let me hash some of these out more. When Greyskull hired the new girl, I automatically transferred some of the residual hate from Greyskull to her, perhaps unfairly, but if you look at me closely you can see that I don't care. Greyskull's squashing of the entire goodwill and productivity simply for the sake of making the help desk a great place to work seemed complete. I now dreaded going to work, because the Coog had told me this new girl, let's call her Derka for absolutely no reason whatsoever, was a snitch and would complain if I did or said anything out of line, which I was at that point sure Max enjoyed because that meant he could come into work and not have to listen to Steely Dan all day anymore (in all honesty, toward the end it was getting old for me, too, but the fact that I could see him consciously or unconsciously cringe every time he heard "Deacon Blues" again made it all worth while)... and that pissed me off.

It seemed Greyskull had won, and I figured I might as well get it over with, as I am not naturally a PC person all the time. I might as well go out in a blaze of glory. My tongue loosened, and I became my old self again, saying such politically correct tidbits as "boy I can't wait until she turns 18" about the 14 year old intern we had working, because she had offered to crawl under the Briton's desk for me once, to "Man I sure would like to eat some mayonnaise out of Greyskull's crevasse", and not only did Derka not do as I expected, which was look on me disapprovingly and then run into Greyskull's office, but she seemed to have her own quips as well. Niiiiicccceeee...... but this could all be a front. I had to test her. More on that later.

On the Thursday meetings. When I started, in what I like to call the Happy Days (I am copyrighting that term, in case they make a movie and someone wants to make a show called Happy Days, it sounds silly but it could happen, trust me), Thursdays meant free food, all of us getting together to work on some tough issues, and our manager gently guiding us along the path to enlightenment, or at least on the path to first call resolution, something that to this day I still don't do so it must not exist. Damn needy users with their "I asked you to stop popups and you just took my monitor away waaaaaaahhhh!" Fuck you, Grandma!

Once Greyskull joined the Coven of Cunt, Thursdays quickly lost their allure, for many reasons:

1. When I started, I was told Thursdays were voluntary, and we got paid an hour of overtime if we felt like going. We were such a tight knit group (with the exception of Patrick, who was a complete douche I'm told) we all went to every Thursday meeting, gently tickle fighting in the elevator, wait no that was something else I did... disregard that last sentence.

Once Greyskull took over, Thursdays became mandatory, to the point that we would get in trouble for showing up late, no matter that we were on the phone with an attorney or a partner working on an issue, the Coven needed it's weekly sacrifice!

2. During the Happy Days, Thursdays was a day we would look at outstanding tickets, making fun of each other if the issue was a simple one, but for the most part an open forum to see if we could resolve eachother's issues while we ate delicious food and gazed out of the window at beautiful downtown Kansas City.

Once the Coven of Cunt took over, that all ended. We spent the first half of Thursdays with them taking turns ramming their collective fists up our unlubed assholes, twisting them in such a way as to make us cry out like tender raptors, left unprotected during a rain of success twisting and writhing in agony in our seats as it was made apparent that with the exception of Derka, we all sucked, and the reason we all sucked with the exception of Derka, who endearingly seemed as uncomfortable as the rest of us, was because we had penises. Is this sounding like the South Park 300 episode yet? It was with one exception: I would pound Mrs. Garrison unmercifully LONG before I would allow The Vaginator to enter Greyskull's mayonnaise and cold gravy infused nether regions, barely held in check with that Monster truck tire she called a leather skirt.

3. This last one will sound like whining, but it should never have been an issue, although it led to not 1 but 2 manager meetings: During the Happy Days, we could sit wherever we wanted, all that was really required was we participate and pay attention at least for the most part. Not so with Greyskull. Sitting in the back with the sun on your shoulders and room to stretch pissed her off and made Flanders cry, and she accused me of being antisocial and making everyone else feel uncomfortable. Now I might be able to understand if I sat back there and waited until people started eating and then walked up behind them and stuck my dick in their Coke, but I only did that once and Max didn't even mind so what was the big deal? And that, my friends, was the biggest issue I had with Greyskull: that she gave me shit over little things, while glossing over the fact that I was in charge of our document management system, and setting up printer scripts for the 50 printers we had in that damn building.

I.....oooooh, I have so much more I want to say, but I will let my anger be, like the monkey in a pinata, hiding amongst the candy, hoping the kids don't break through with the sticks!

Friday, April 4, 2008

I knew you'd vote gay porn, so...

Just so you all know, those who voted gay porn, you would be in the film too...thillies!

Friday Fun Time!

In lieu of a haiku, I would like to post the first romantic poem I wrote my wife. I was a young lad of 18, she was 11, we knew so little of the world, all I knew was that 4th graders were HAWT! Of course I kid, but here is the poem I wrote her that made her heart melt... enjoy

I Can Remember

Now every since I can remember I've been popping my collar
Popping popping my collar
Popping Popping my collar
And every since I can remember I've been working these hoes
Workin' workin' these hoes
and they better put my money in my hand

sigh and those were good times


OK, before I get into today's story, I would like to posit a thing or two:

1. Nerf is not the Tylester. While Nerf was homely, smelly, and borderline retarded (he wasn't, but I like that term so I use it liberally), Tylester is the pinnacle of manliness, with his chiseled abs, creamy strong thighs that could crack a walnut, manly chest and excellent taste in both clothes and beer.

2. I am not gay.

OK on to today's tale!

Fire control was a boring place. we had a little over 100 cameras to watch, and for the most part only 3 of them ever had anything interesting on them, those bein the 2 garage banks and the one on the rotunda of the town pavilion, which was the best camera both for the lunch rush, because that's when the bums would come in to either try to steal coinage from the fountain, bathe in the fountain, masturbate furiously in front of children, or commit any other crimes they felt we needed to see.

Nerf would usually take this opportunity to regale me of the many things he had done with random people, including the very rare homeless woman in that very Fire Control. It is an awkward proposition, to be sure, listening to another man's exploits, but even worse when he points out he committed sexy time with a homeless woman on the very chair you are sitting on, and you must forever from then on think of his naked, pasty ass gyrating in the chair you are sitting in, while some homeless woman's lovemilk leaked out all over the place..... actually that's kinda hot!

We had a lot of weddings in the Town Pavilion. These were both awesome and they sucked, much for the same reasons. We did get free food and got to look at both the hot chicks and the drunken groping that went on at every event, which was awesome. We also had less security and had to deal with keeping Iceman and his troop of loveable homeless banditos out of the catering area, which was near impossible because even though we told every party group not to open the doors, reminding them this is downtown Kansas City, they all inevitably did it anyway, and a clash, not unlike pirates of the caribbean, would ensue.

During one of these weddings, I remember it was an italian one because of all of the Anize or whatever it is called they were guzzling, it tasted like licorice and was awesome (hells yeah I drank on the job, if you had to sit there and think of Nerf naked bucking against some vagrant's anus in the chair you were sitting in you would drink too), I was watching cameras to make sure everything was kosher, and I saw Nerf heading into a back stairway that went to our own private bathroom. There was a rather homely patron of the reception with him, and I immediately turned the camera off as I was getting ED with every passing second thinking about what was about to transpire.

4 minutes later, Nerf moseys into Fire Control, smelling of ass and vag, which gagged me almost uncontrollably, and regaled me with the tale: apparently in exchange for 10 dollars, this young lady had let Nerf plunge her holes for a few minutes, and had accepted his sexy time explosion. I was disgusted, a little envious (no ladies ever wanted to engage in anonymous sexy time with the Stevester, EVER), and I must admit a bit awed at Nerf, who was basking in the afterglow by informing me he was going to go take a dump and create another D&D character.

The next day, Angela, one of the other guards, came into Fire Control and informed us that there was some stains on her shirt and pants that she had hung up in the locker room and that she was not going to put them on as they smelled... Eeeeeeewwwwwwwww.....

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Iceman's Spy

we weave tangled webs
Smeagol gets caught up in them
success, smeag's quagmire

So when I worked as security downtown, we had a multitude of strange characters. We had Iceman, who would only eat out of the trash, we hade the guy who showered either nude or in his little denim miniskirt and high heels, we had the bum who hopped from foot to foot once he saw a cup of change in my car and who tried so hard to get the money I threw towards the gutter while I tried to peel out and shoot snow, ice and gravel all over him. These were all good times, and I enjoyed sharing these stories with my cohort in the Fire Control Room, Nerf. Nerf was a nice enough guy, a bit overwiehgt, like me, a bit homely, like me, but only because he had bright red hair and it was almost always unkept or shaven , save for his Lief Ericcson (I know that's not the correct spelling, but if you read my blog regularly you know I do not care) beard.

I never knew he was a super spy for Iceman, though he gave me clues. Clues like "Hey Steve, I am a secret spy for Iceman", which was how he greeted me... hmmmmm.... no I kid, but he did have some signs.

Nerf had an odor issue. Like I said, I liked the guy, he was awesome! But sometimes he would smell should I put this.... asssssssssss. He remarked a few times that people assumed he was a homeless person because of his homely looks and bad smell. He enjoyed creating D&D characters, which is cool, but he really enjoyed bragging about their attributes and characteristics to me all the time, though I have never played the game and had no fucking clue what a mardric mage's +4 constitution was or why it apparently made him dry hump the back of my chair, which was not cool.

I say Nerf was a spy of Iceman's for a multitude of reasons:

1. They smelled alike.
2. They were never in the same place at the same time. If Iceman was jerking off in the fountain again (he did it so often we had a code for it, "Mr. Freeze") and I dispatched Nerf to take care of it, Iceman would disappear right as Nerf came into view of the camera.
3. Though they did not look alike (Nerf was white, fat, and had red hair; Iceman was black, skinny, and had salt and pepper dooky braids), they had the same mannerisms, the same homeless-guy-drunk pimp walk... I will demonstrate for anyone who would like to see...
4. Women shunned Iceman and Nerf alike, even homely women, which was hilarious to see.

The final reason will be posted sometime in the future, just wanted to introduce you all to a new character in the sitcom that is my life. Speaking of my life, vote, whores!

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

An Open Letter, and a Theory

sweaty overpass
glass tickles sweltering street
Why's it so damn cold?

Open Letter to Mr. Attorney

Dear Mr. Very Strange Attorney Guy,

I would like to take this opportunity to touch on a few issues I had with our very brief encounter in the men's restroom the other day. I know this may come as a shock to you, but Larry Craig is to be incarcerated, not emulated. Let's begin.

Issue #1: If you go into a restroom with numerous urinals in it, and see someone at the one the farthest away from the door, do not walk up and down the line of urinals while digging in your pocket for god knows what. Take a urinal, preferably the one the farthest away from the other occupant. Standing rigtht behind someone playing pocket pool, no matter how many times it works in the young Thai hooker boy porn you watch in your office, will not work here.

Issue #2: If you insist on taking the urinal right next to said man, do not accidentally touch his foot with yours while you are getting into your pissing stance. This is not Kindergarten, you do not have to lift your shirt up and spread your legs like a gay linebacker (no that does not make sense but screw you!) to go wee wee. Touching another man's foot in a public restroom signals that you are not only gay but you are hoping he is too. See my post on touching a man's leg under the bathroom stall for more information.

Issue #3: I can see every one of your furtive glances my way out of the corner of my eye. One glance can be considered normal or your curiosity getting the better of you. 3 or 4 looks is sexual molestation. Let me spell it out for you: yes, it is true what they say. No, that does not mean I will show you my little weiner. And no, just because I saw you glancing at me and did not hit you does not mean I am accepting your gay proposition.

Issue #4: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT zip up quickly and leave the stall the same time I leave mine and walk over to the sink next to mine and try to make small talk after you molested me with your eyes.

And in closing, die.

Thank you,


A THEORUM on The North American Smeagol

So I was sitting on the can, playing Fight Night Round 3 while working on my weight loss plan (I lose almost a pound a day that way!), and I was thinking of how Smeagol came to be. I remembered how reptiles cannot withstand dramatic climate changes, and how my mom needs at least 4 blankets, sometimes even int he summer? Then it hit me: at some point, my mom was brutally molested by a gnarled toothed reptile, hell bent on creating a being of failure so powerful, it could rock the very orbit of the Earth, sending us toward global warmind, natural disasters on an unheard of scale, and George W. Bush. I know my theorum is not completely hashed out, heck I quit thinking about it as soon as I finished crapping, but hear me out, I might have something here:

Smeagol is not unlike the Highlander. If you look at ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, behind Ra, Annubis, Osiris, etc, you can usually see a being gnawing on what looks like an ancient amphibian. If you look at ancient Celtic and Anglo-Saxon lore, you will see Smeagol as Loki, the god of mischief, who was also known in those times as the God of Failure, known to sweep his "Halberd of Failure" amongst those known to be prosperous. So feared was Loki (Smeagol), that every January 11th, the rich would pretend to bee poor and everyone would sleep an entire day off, this was known as Raptor Day.

He was at JJ's the other day, and when JJ remarked that I had been trying to get ahold of him he told him his phone had not been ringing... nice.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Tomorrow, I promise

Hey, all... I will post tomorrow, yesterday was at an all day meeting, and last night Casa de Stevester was not a good place to be... I just don't feel up to posting anything, but wanted to let you all know I will be back so you do not think I had run out of Smeagoly goodness and all...