Thursday, May 29, 2008

New Thread: Wii Fit

a trembling douchebag
I told you these aren't capris
feel my foot fury

The above haiku was influenced because I cut the legs on my gi pants to more closely resemble the way they wore them in Japan years ago, and now everyone asks if I am wearing capris. Dammit there is a thin line between highwaters and capris and I thought I had not crossed it yet!

Anyway, I recently got a Wii Fit, and I have to say, it's awesomeness is not to be ignored. I am the master at the hula hoop game, and that in no way makes me gay! If you do not know what a Wii Fit is, it is a wireless balance board that you stand on or sit on and it comes with 40 games to improve strength and other things. It also has some fun games like the ski jump and the table tilt, so it's great at parties.

Anyway, commercial over, one of the things you do when you set it up is your little Mii character goes through a body test to see where you are fitness-wise. I figure while I am not the peak of manliness, I am not as fat and loathsome and disgusting as I was before I did that situp that one day, so I felt pretty confident. I step on, and I swear to you all the little wii fit character that talks you through the entire process winced. Fuck you asshole!

So my BMI is like 32.14%, and it makes my Wii Fit age 32, based on that, my height and my weight, which as of this writing has shrunken to a very respectable 266. So whatever, I start playing the games on it and every like 10 minutes it asks if I am alright or if I need to slow down, or if I trip when I walk... OK, whatever, I assume it does that with everyone. Before I go on, let me note that according to Wii Fit, I am morbidly obese. Whatev, I am grossly obese at best, am I right? Ziiing!

Anyway, JJ comes over for the Memorial Day cookout (which I will post on tomorrow), and gets on there and whaddya know, he is completely normal weight wise based on his height and weight and fuck that little asshole. So he starts playing. 10 minutes pass by, no questions as to whether or not he is tired. 20 minutes, 30 minutes...

FInally a message pops up on the screen. I start feeling better about myself until I read the message:

"You are in great shape, try to slow down."

Anyone want a slightly broken Wii Fit?

No all jokes aside I think this is going to be the key to getting a photo of Smeagol. I will get him playing on it, and once he sees that it is the perfect size for a curled up raptor to sleep on and takes a nap I will snap up close photos of him.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

How To...

Inaugural post
seminifrious butt-noid
buy me a vowel, Jed

How To

I was going to post about Memorial Day weekend, as there was a lot of crap that happened, but I do not want to make this a Smeagol based blog, otherwise I would have to change the name to, and who would read that?

Today's post is a how-to on something I have personally done, something you would think was impossible but I have proven otherwise. It is going to become a series, and when I finally write a book/sitcom/suicide letter about my life, you will all have the honor (or the embarrassment) of having this precious knowledge I am passing down to you. It's all so spiritual...

Anyway, today's How-To:

How to Make a Redneck Cry

I live in Ferrelview, which is apparently the redneck capital of Platte County. You might not believe this, but being a darker toned gentleman I am not a favorite amongst said rednecks, who spend their days driving by and looking at me mean (but not stopping) and whooping around their nightly bonfires while I'm trying to sleep.

They, as well as everyone in my neighborhood, knows I am well versed in the k-rat. This is common knowledge and so probably the reason they do not come any closer, because I could cut through them like the unstoppable rebel forces advance on Alderon. I revel in this knowledge, the feeling that unless and in most cases even if they have a gun I can beat the living crap out of any 5 of them at any given time without dropping my mojito (which tastes like toothpaste, BTW)

So last night, I had a decision to make. The Stevester is tired of drinking all that delicious alcohol, ya'll. Tired of waking up with a hangover, a nasty itch, and a carrot sticking out of my asshole. Well the carrot part is alright but the rest sucks. I bought a case of Bud Light (I know, I know, I lost the vote for the cookout, I will post that all tomorrow) and no one drank any, so I have 26 beers in my fridge that I never intend to drinkify. I decided to have a little fun.

I went to the k-rat, in my capri karawte pants (I will explain later) and had a great time. I get home, get a walmart sack (not recyclable, sorry Derka) and fill it up with beers. I mosey on up the street to where they are all standing around a grill, sipping beers and going "Yuuup.....mmmmhmm..... whoo hooo" over and over, as rednecks are wont to do. It's hilarious, because even though I was outnumbered at least 6 to 1, the guy who saw me first looked like he was going to run. Let me describe his exquisitneness (BTW, he's single, ladies!) for you so you can get the breadth of his inbreeding:

He had a feathered mini mullet, that swayed gently in the breeze. A Poison muscle shirt. Dirty, faded camouflage pants and dusty boots. Pedo-stache and mirrored sunglasses. Dear god his redneck pedigree was in full display ya'll.

Anyway, I walk up to him and I go "Hey listen, I gave up drinking, and I-" Now up to this point he had been looking around to make sure he had backup that would get there to help fast enough to keep me from assaulting him, but when he heard I gave up drinking, ALL of his attention turned to the walmart sack that was bulging with brewskis. I mean ALL. I could have beaten him to a pulp and he would not have remembered anything but the beer. Anyway, "-figured you guys are barbecuing, you might like some beer to go with it, here you go, enjoy on me." And with that I held out the sack.

"You, you gotta be fuckin kiddin' me. You-you gotta be kiddin man..." he stammered, and I am not sure but I think I saw him start to tear up, like the baby Jesus came down and they had the same style mullet. He took the beer, like he was in a dream, and I was instantly afraid he was going to try to hug me. I mean I was frightened. I had never seen someone look on a sack of beer with such loving eyes, and I felt a little uncomfortable.

As I walked away, I thought I heard him say "Yeah, that big sumbitch, lookit what he gave me! I cain't believe it!" Oh by the way, when he said "man", it sounded like he was Tony Montana on Scarface, he called me "main", which is hilarious to me for some reason. I think it was a lot funnier to do that than to give them all the asswhooping they sorely deserve, because if I kick the shit out of them, that would be exactly what they expect and they could go on calling me nigger and porch monkey amongst themselves. Giving them beer, which is not unakin to giving Toboggan Boy free crack rocks when he smoked them or giving Smeagol interest free credit or letting him out of jail on his own recognizance, causes an inner conflict that could do much more damage than my fists or feet ever could: How do you hash 300 years of ingrained, inbred, white supremacy-fueled hatred for some guy who just, for no reason whatsoever, gave you the only reason you wake up in the morning for free?

I would like to also post that when I gave him the beer he finished his a lot faster, meaning it was probably his last one, which is hilarious.

More tomorrow...

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

SMeagol, Why hast thou forsaken Humanity?

soft, tender hugs
brewskis in an old cooler
romantic evening

Memorial Weekend Folly Time!

Damn that Smeagol.

I don't want to embarrass him and have to listen to him grunt angrily for 20 minutes, so I have for the most part ignored his calls. He has called at least twice a day, Mystery has called 3 or 4 times a day, like I would pick up to talk to her if I won't talk to him, and he has been telling family that I turned my back on him, like I laughed in his face when he told me he had cancer instead of telling him I did not intend to let him ruin my credit and get sued along with him.

So he went to JJ's house, I guess to crash there and eat ice cream and talk about all the cute raptors he likes (Ooh that Matt Dillon is so Hawt!), much to the chagrin of Toboggan Boy (I know I spell it differently every time, yes I am too lazy to actually look it up). I gotta give it to my dear old dad, he is a lot more patient than he was in years past: 10 years ago he would have shaken Smeagol's thong down for loose change to purchase crack with and then kicked him out. 20 years ago he would have simply physically assaulted Smeagol until the rigors of unarmed combat forced him to retreat to a safe distance to hurl insults from. This weekend Dad simply tried to ignore the horrendous stench, like the smell of throw up in a pile of shit. It didn't work.

Smeagol came over to the house, and immediately, without a hello or hi I'm a raptor went and clogged JJ's toilet up. Disgusting, you say? It gets worse. Apparently they made bbq chicken, about 10 pieces for everyone to eat on, and Smeagol raptored the biggest piece and gnawed on it for about 5 minutes before wrapping it up and putting it in the fridge and grabbing 3 more pieces. When JJ's daughter said she was full, before he could wrap her plate for later, Smeagol informed him that "I'll take care of that" and slurped her food up into his raptor maw with extreme prejudice. That's 4 out of 10 pieces of chicken, leaving none for my dad who was still outside cooking and did not know at that point.

A fight was going to break out as soon as he came back in, and JJ took his daughter outside to play on her bike so she would not see the raptor engage in mortal combat, as it can ruin even the strongest of constitutions. Smeagol prepared for the fight in the best way he knew how: He stripped down to a baggy SPEEDO (not a thong) and went to sleep on the couch, shit-farting in near constant spurts. JJ's friend Benihana was trying to play a game and explained what it was like thusly:

"Man, I'm tryin not to look at his nasty ass in that speedo, it wasn't even tight like their supposed to be, it was baggy on him, you could see his ass crack and everythang, god damn that shit was nasty. So I'm tryna play a game here, and this nigga is blowing a constant stream of fart into the room, it smelled like burnt hair, hot sauce, kim chi and shit mixed up in a pot and then left out in the sun for a day. I had to leave when it got through my shirt man ugh!"

So let's get the picture my dad saw when he came inside from all that cooking he had done: No chicken, and Smeagol's dirty plate still on the table, an overclogged toilet with raptor pellets in it, and to top it all off, not only was a half gnawed on piece of chicken in the fridge, festering with failure, but Smeagol was laying across where people needed to sit wearing only a speedo and socks, moaning contentedly and farting constantly.

I will be nice and not go into details on what ensued afterward, suffice it to say Smeagol is at his house, sulking, cawing in agony maybe...

On another front, I get home Friday and the wife comes running up to me like I'm the mailman or something and is all like "I love you sooo much, you can't say no!" Which is hilarious because that's how Smeagol begins every call he has ever made to anyone. Apparently she got a dog/rodent hybrid. A Yorkshire Terrier. Dear.....friggin......God. OK before the insults, I have to make a few concessions:

1) This poor little dog was abused, apparently it's previous owners beat it and didn't feed it, as it is still scared literally shitless (I have the stains on my carpet to back up that I am not saying that as a metaphor) every time I walk by, or he was the first 2 days we had him...

2) In a totally gay way he is a cute little bugger, and he can stand on his hind legs and put his paws on his tummy, which living in my house is going to come in handy when in 2 months his stomach drags on the floor like the other quadrupeds in the house. Jesus I have some fat ass lazy animals.

This dog is the epitome of gayness. Not homosexuality gayness, just gayness and you know what I mean. Days 1 and 2 I was extra nice to him so he would 1) learn to trust me and learn that not all humans are bad, and 2) quit pissing himself whenever I look at him. I felt great about myself when he finally let me touch his collar long enough to put a leash on him to walk him. Funny side point, I put one on my other dog and she was ll like "what the hell is this? Walking? I need a cheeseburger..." and she and I spent the entire walk fantasizing about the same cheeseburger and fries at the house.

Anyway, so day 2 is over, and I am trying to get some sleep, and I hear what I assume is Danster crying, or Mystical Retard performing her Spiritual Whoop of Respect, either way it sounds like a retard jerking off wearing a glove made of sandpaper. I walk into the living room, and there is this gay dog, literally jumping straight up into the air over and over again and wagging his gay little tail, elated that he ruined my sleep. Long story short I walk this damn rodent 5 times a day now, bravely warding off the random calls of "Hey is that a dog or a rat? Haww Hawwww!" or "Hey Steve I really want to make love to you tonight Haww Haww!" That guy ain't right...

Anyway, I named the dog Ralph, because that's a funny name and because when I say Ralph he cocks his head like he is listening to me so I guess that's it... he will definitely be a star on this blog in the future, he has very acute "Little dog syndrome", and has already bitten my much, much bigger dog on the ear for not playing with him, and she was of course too busy laying on her side scooping food out of her bowl into her mouth to bother fighting back, I should know I was laying next to her doing the same thing with my dinner...

I mean come on! How lazy does an animal have to be when he/she/Smeagol is too lazy to even bother sitting up to eat, opting to lay on their side and use a paw/hoof/raptor claw to scoop the food into their mouths? That's just laziness, tell you what!

Friday, May 23, 2008


retarded batman
Mystery in a black mask?
well, you be the judge

Smeagol's Anger Management

Have you ever seen the movie "Mystery Men"? In it, Ben Stiller plays a demi-super hero named Mr. Furious. His super power is that he gets angry, but he has no fight to back that anger up. I cannot watch that film without giggling like a schoolgirl when he says stuff like "People who chew with their mouths open....make me furious!" And then with a loud battle cry gets his ass kicked by some generic henchmen.

The year? 1998. I was still living with Smeagol, I had no girlfriend, and was a little down, mostly because even though I had a car, a job, and bathed regularly, JJ could still pull chicks any time he wanted and I could not. Smeagol was working at Burger King with me, which was depressing in itself because people would come in and put money in his shoe as he slept and ask me if he was homeless, and after I told them that I did not think he was homeless and had no idea who he was he would come up and be all like "heyyyyy brother! Look what I found in my shoe! Lunch money!"...anyway this is not the gist of my post, it just still pisses me off that I was such a loser and for no good reason.

Anyhoo, Smeagol was in the process of attempting to get his kids back, which was seriously not cool, I mean that is not funny at all, but the things he had to do were hilarious. One of those things was going to anger management classes.

Just in case you are not sure, anger management classes are as close as you can get to being a complete and total bitch without actually being one. Nothing has ever made me want to randomly start kicking asses as much as listening to these balding, overweight fucking losers talking about how their rage frightens people and how they had to physically stop themselves from assaulting random people from road rage and how they have had to live with their powerful rage and emotions for blah blah blah. It would be so great if one of these losers tailgated me and tried to kick my ass, I would act all gay and then beat the crap out of them because anger management also seems to be code for homophobe as well. I am serious, dudelies (toboggan boy calls us that all the time), for what looked like a room full of homos a lot of their complaints centered on men "trying to undress me with his gay eyes" or some such shit...

Anyway apparently Smeagol brought out the homophobe even more, as during these sessions they would make their little stupid comments and then glance quasimenacingly at Smeagol, who was usually asleep or on his way there, polluting the room with his sleepulence (check lexicon for definition).

I said all this to set the backdrop, but Smeagol's part of the session was the absolute best.

"I hate when people call me Bob, I just get so angry I wanna oooOOoOOOOOh ssssssshit niggie!" He'd say, fidgeting in his seat like a raptor gone wild. The way everyone looked at him was, quite frankly, the same way I was looking at all of them. It would have been hilarious if they had started laughing, slapping his perm around and tossing him from person to person, but it was almost as funny to see them look at him the same way you look at a retarded person as they tell you they read Great Expectations as he told them about howhe wanted to rip random people limb from limb, for calling him "ma'am" at fast food joints to being randomly insulted by homeless people as he raptored by, like you do not believe a word the person is saying but just smile and nod your head anyway. It was completely pathetic:

"Sometimes I get so angry and I feel it bubbling up inside of me (that's called flatulence, Smeagol) and I just have to release the pressure, that's when I go out and mow the lawn with my scythe and my cutoff shorts, looking like a gay reptilian Grim Reaper, and I swipe at the gras but it resists and I get even angrier. I don't know what to do niggie!"

Most of that sentence is fabricated, but he did tell them he mowed the lawn with a scythe when he was angry, and the image of a raptor mowing a lawn with a scythe and a bad perm makes me want to laugh right how...

Anyway, more on his sessions Tuesday, right now he is at JJ's house, and he just informed them he was planning to stay through the weekend, meaning he no longer has gainful employment. No idea where Mystery is. When does someone go from being a houseguest to trying lo live there?

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

More Smeagol, all the time.

Love wily raptors?

How 'bout mystical retards?

You're in the right place

I assumed there would be some sort of blowback from completely ignoring that wily raptor, and there was. No, not to me, to JJ... so I dont care.

Apparently Smeagol called JJ and was all like "I don't know why everyone is avoiding me, I try to call and no one picks up! And Stevester was supposed to pick me up last Saturday and didn't! What did I do niggie...... I'm so tired" or something to that effect. Now this is funny in and of itself, because when he owes us money he ignores our calls and doesn't answer his door, and yet cannot understand why other people would do that to him, given that the only reason he ever calls anyone is to see if he can borrow something or take him somewhere.

He also asked JJ to come pick him up so he could hang out with him, and maybe while they were hanging out JJ could take him to the impound lot to get his car (radical!) and maybe buy him some dinner (totally tubular!) or something... the funny thing is JJ was actually going to go ahead and do it, which means he either plans on beating Smeagol to a pulp and taking his money back, or he was drunk whilst he was talking to me.

I am sure future civilizations, interplanetary alien tribes trolling our planet in search of resources or another pocket of our broken, sniffling, whiny race to eradicate or enslave, will come upon this blog and hopefully see how much of a friggin failure their Lord Raptor is, the only being who can withstand a nuclear holocaust and rules with a near-iron thong of might!

As I sat there, messing around with my palmtop pc and trying to get bangbus working on it, for research purposes.... I pondered a few questions:

Why was JJ all of a sudden being so nice to Smeagol? He must know Smeags had no intentions of ever giving him any money back, and that Smeagol was not going to give him any gas money.

Why do I care what a damn raptor thinks anyway? Who cares if he is annoyed with me? What's he gonna do? Run up and have me knock his teeth back in?

What's gonna happen when Toboggan Boy comes home and sees Smeagol sitting on his couch, his balls taking the breeze, only a scant 6 weeks after he threw him out for what he told me was "the last time?"

How am I supposed to get a video of Smeagol? I need help, how am I going to do that? Let's brainstorm here, people!

Monday, May 19, 2008

*sigh*.... a Confession

Weird Al Yankovic
molestache, geri curl
songs that can inspire


So I get home on Friday night, intent on enjoying a quiet weekend at home, daydreaming about the rib tips (tits?) I bought that are going on the grill and that pint or 6 of Guinness in the fridge. I just paid off the last thing that showed up on my credit report, I want to get a decent house loan as I am planning on trying to move and with all the people losing their houses now is the time to do that (how awesome it would be to buy a house and then point and laugh as the people who had to foreclose move their things out, maybe running up and tasting their hot tears of shame, mmmmm that goes down good) and there were a few things on there that had been there awhile because of my stubbornness and natural hatred of paying people for stupidity...

Anyway my credit is the topic of another post, this one is pure Smea-fuckin-gol, son!

So I am sitting on the couch, wondering if I can watch NBA Basketball on one picture and some hardcore Indian porn on the Picture in Picture, when the phone rings. I do not recognize the number, but I assume it is JJ as it is a Missouri number and looks like it is coming from the ghetto,like "Ashton Court" or "Elm Street Townhouses" or whatever...

Anyway I pick up and am instantly sorry I did it because before I even got the phone to my ear I could smell that wily raptor's breath, a mix of kim chi, old twat, failure and raw fish (which was strangely distinctive from the old twat scent, I can elaborate if need be...) emanating from the phone, and could hear him cawing with raptor happiness because finally someone took his call, apparently the rest of my family was smart enough to know that was him and ignored his calls.

My fucking weekend was ruined, but I didn't know how much yet.

"Heeeyyyyyy niiiigggie!" He chortled, and I could tell he was scratching dingleberries caked into his thong like a farmer harvesting stinky grapes. "Lissen, you CAN'T SAY NO, OK? you can't say noooo!" he moaned, and I could hear Mystery doing her little tsk tsk in the background and imagined that the cat had finally broken free and was attempting to commit suicide like so many had before...

Anyway I can go through the different motivations and factors in another post.

"Listen niggie, I need a huge favor from you , I need you to come pick me up between 8 and 10 tomorrow (Saturday) morning and take me down by Auto Trend, you know the car lot on Truman road by Mom's house?' - alright, at this point I have to cut in. This asshat lives in Liberty, 8 miles East of me. My mother lives on the line between Kansas City and Independence, 23 miles southeast of me. I KNOW for a fact that there are closer automobile dealerships... I will tell you why he chose that one though: Smeagol has such shitty credit with the majority of the used auto dealers in the Kansas City area, there are only like 6 or 7 that will even let his smelly thong into the dealership anymore, with his vast amount of repos and other failure related acts of douchebagginess like getting his car impounded and then calling the dealership and telling them "You need to go get your car niggie, I'm not paying for it anymore since the stupid cops took my car from me, and on your way to get your car I raptored up can you bail me outta jail and take me home? I'm so tired..." I kid about the last part, but hell I wouldn't put it past him...

anyway, back to the story.

"I need to get a car and I need your help. Not with money, I just need you to cosign on the loan, get the car in your name, and then get insurance and tags and stuff for it and then give it to me to make the payments. Can you pick me up tomorrow to go do that?"

I am completely fucking shocked.

This asshat, this fucking.....raptor, has the biggest (albeit saggiest) balls in the world, and that's saying something because I always assumed I had a pretty decent set of nads m'self. I mean the implications are staggering. I was so shocked, dear reader, that all I could think of to say was "uh....ok" after which he hung up on me in order to not give me a chance to think about it...

This can only end in one of 4 ways.

1) I go and pick him up, take him down to get this car (which is a Pontiac Bonneville with a supercharger on it, how fucking dumb can he be (that was rhetorical)), sign all the paperwork, and in 1 month when he has not even bothered to get it legal or paid his first car payment, have yet another car that I don't want and make payments on it while he comes by and asks to borrow it until out of annoyance I give him the car and make the car note on it.

2) I go and pick him up, but inform him I am only going to give him a ride, I am not signing anything as I am not blatantly retarded and know for a fact that he does not intend to make timely payments and I do not want any blemishes on my credit. I could at this point make the argument that of the 11 cars he has purchased over the last 5 years he has paid off 0 and now currently owes 1 individual dealership almost 15000 dollars in trade-in rollovers and back payments. This will lead to him making me look like an asshole to the rest of the family, which I know most of you would say "and?..." but I care about my family and how they think of me... I admit it is a weakness.

3) I completely blow Smeagol off and ignore him, which is what I did, and it backfired on me, because now he called JJ and told him I was a jerk because "he thinks he is so much better than me that he doesn't have to help me" which I think I am, I would never ask someone to do what he is asking... and he called while I was outside grilling to inform my wife that "since he didn't come pick me up this Saturday, he can come pick me up next Saturday and we can do it then" in a snotty tone like he is doing me a favor...

4) and by FAR the worst of the series here: I could offer to let him drive the Escort. I know when Tylester reads this a whoop of pain and emotion might escape, but I thought about it. The Hot Rod is running kind of rough right now, since it essentially sat for 4 or 5 months without moving whatsoever... but the thought of a friggin raptor, and Mystery with her squishy ass and moldy leggings fouling up it's scent of awesome was too much to bear. I also had a little problem with the car being in my name and Smeagol screwing that up as well...though it would be tough to speed in the Escort.

I just like the fact that he had the absolute gall to ask something like this. We all know his track record, and if you are not sure you can ask me, JJ, or Haggard, as with the numerous times both Smeagol and I had to call in to work at Burger King because Smeagol was in jail again on traffic related fines he is an expert in Smeagology at the University of Raptor in Duluth, Minnesota.

I mean, fuck dude! How can you be that much of a piece of shit? To rely on your family, nay, your little brother, for support? I know he is going to blame me when he loses his job and his house because I did not sign my credit over to be his hostage. I know in his mind it is my obligation as one of the 5.9 billion other people on the planet who are doing better than him to offer assistance and any refusal to do so is because I am a jerk. Nevermind that I have 3 boys to feed, 3 cars of my own to keep running and a gasoline bill that is fastly approaching 200 bux a month. It's my job to run him all over creation for the 3 dollars gas money he is going to paw out of his thong to give to me, and make sure he has a nice car to get arrested in and impounded so in 6 months he can ask me to bail him out and get all indignant when I ask where the car is, and then hear him say "It's impounded, and I don't know what to tell you about getting it out, anyway, come bail me out on your way to get the car out niggie, I'll pay you back later", and I will yet again never get paid back.

It's funny, I brought this all down upon myself. I should never have initiated verbal contact with Smeagol, we were just fine not knowing where he lived. Curse me and my conscience!

Friday, May 16, 2008

Gateway calls

Lookit dat booty!
jiggles so deliciously
rumbles in my mouth

So I figured I would take a small reprieve from insulting Smeagol (I know, I know), Toboggan Boy, Mystical Retard, and the rest of the Goof Troop to give you some down home fun calls I took whilst at Gateway.

I began working at Gateway as a young technician, new to the world of idiocy and naive about the workings of the below average computer user. Don't get me wrong, if you know nothing about computers I am the first one to help, but don't be a total douche while I am working on YOUR computer, mmkay Jimmy?

1) the "I am a network Administrator" idiot. This is the caller who usually has 3 or 4 people listening in on the call, they call you and ignore everything you tell them, because "I am the network administrator and I make (insert probably twice what he actually makes) a year, I know when something is broken!" I loved these calls because usually if you have to tell me you are a high paid network admin, you usually aren't, I mean I know a lot of NAs that would rather people think they are janitors (I kid, but you get the point).

My favorite NA call was this lady who was pissing and moaning because she had hooked up her router to her pc and blah blah blah, I looked up the details and for a high dollar network administrator why would she be running all this stuff off of a media PC? Hmmmm.... whatever, I don't get paid enough to care. I ask her if she has done the usual, power cycling the router, powercycling her Cable modem (yes that's what she had by this time I was pretty sure it was her home pc but as I said I don't care), and I get to the first thing that a brain-dead retardotroll wouldn't know to try. I ask her if she had renewed her IP address.

You would have thought I had asked Smeagol how to improve my credit score and be more successful at work. She was all like "I don't know how to do that and don't you get all techie with me I know that is all just babble for 'you don't know what you're doing' (so?), just replace this stupid thing!" Whatev, ho, whatev. I walk her through bringing up a command prompt and running ipconfig /renew, and whaddya know? It works! I give her my contact information, the whole while you can tell she is sulking because she is not getting anything free, which means I won the call (yay!) and I am being as douchey sounding as I possibly can while rambling on...

Me: "Mmkay so if you need to call me for anything else or need more help troubleshooting issues such as this give me a call at 1-800-bla-blah and I will be happy to help. My working hours are 1PM to 10PM Central Standard Time, and-"

Her: "Don't get all technical with me I don't know what Central Standard Time is!"

Me: " you have a clock?"

Her: "Yeah, it says-"

Me: (realizing she is retarded) "OK will it says here that you live in Iowa, mmkay? That is in what is called the CENTRAL STANDARD TIMEZONE... so in essence I am here from 1 until 10PM in the same time zone..."

She hung up after that, but really, what the hell? And that's not the only retard NA, why am I still working in technical support if you can become an NA simply by maintaining a pulse through the interview?

Monday: Maybe some more Smeagol, maybe some more Gateway, depends on how I roll.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

My Customers (That means you)

A dead man walking
The Den of the Raptor Calls
Green thong scent beckons

First, I would like to offer a heartfelt apology for not posting every day. It is not that I don't have stories anymore, it's that this silly job keeps me busy as a dung beetle in Smeagol's thong after chili con carne night!

So yesterday at work I get a call from JJ. Apparently Toboggan Boy had about 10 dollars to feed everyone, as there was no food in the house, and he spent that on beer. Once the beer was consumed, he looks at JJ and asks "so, what's for dinner?"

I would like to point out here that I think it is hilarious that Toby is the dad, and is asking his son where his next meal is going to come from. It may not be funny to anyone else, but dammit it is funny to me!

Anyway, JJ has no money, and I told him to come on up, I will give him some cash and fill his belly, hell if it wasn't for family when I was broke I would have starved long ago, so I know how it is.

So JJ shows up with a cadre of people, no biggie I have plenty of food, and they have a buffet going in seconds. I give him 50 bucks, and let me jump off topic here. I dont mind giving JJ money, even though I know for a fact that I will never see that money again, because I know he is going to spend it on food, or gas, or whatever he borrows it for. Smeagol, not so much. I remember Smeags begging Mystery's mom for cash to buy food or something and then spending it on Hot Wheels or acid to kill some of the banana hammock barnacles his thong sometimes got, and then if there was 10 dollars or so left he would buy himself a value meal and eat it while the rest of us went hungry.

Anyway, JJ calls me this morning to tell me how Toboggan Boy reacted when he got home with money and gas in his car. It's hilarious, but Toby had told him that there was no way I was going to give him any money, because I was stingy. Yeesh, tell someone one time that you do not have the money to loan them and you are a jerk forever!

Here is how the conversation went: JJ came home, and went to talk to Mystical. Toby is known to eavesdrop, so JJ made sure to only say he got 30 dollars from me, as any more would be subject to sanctions. Toby moseyed into the room, and was all like "Well sounds like Steve might have given you a couple of bucks, much was it again?" You see, it's hard to convey in wordical format like this, but this is really annoying because you can see how he is making plans for money that does not even belong to him. Answering him only solidifies his hold on the money, as if you respond you are obviously offering him the cash. It's a dance of words that is precarious and annoying in how often it happens, and Toby is very good at it, like I have told you before he has finagled an entire paycheck from me, nay my first official paycheck ever.

Anyway, back to the conversation. JJ informed him that yes, I had given him 30 dollars, and that he had already put 20 in his tank, and planned on buying dinner with the rest of the money. Toby was blocked, but not out! He moped around in the room as JJ spoke to Mystical, planning, conniving, and finally just went with what he knew.

"Boy, I sure wish I had a beer right now," he said sadly, glancing in JJ's direction, "I sure wish I had the money to buy everyone a beer, man...."

I know, I know, pathetic and stupid, but this time it worked. JJ bought him a beer and he sat on the sofa, happily sipping away at the fruits of his labors, and then pissed and moaned at what JJ bought for dinner because it was not what he wanted.

On the other end of the spectrum, the entire reason JJ had come up was because Smeagol had borrowed his last 20 dollars and had, of course, raptorpeared into the night. He stopped answering JJ's phone calls. He stopped answering his door. When he accidentally picked up and JJ was on the line he told him to come up, a 20 mile trip, and then left so JJ waa wasting gas. It is only a matter or time until JJ catches up with him and beats the thong off of him for this, and I will be there to tell the tale.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Working with People.... part fuckin' 2

I am your brother

you're best damn friend forever

Renaldo Lapuz

So I go to this dumb fucking shit-ass meeting. I know it's a classy place because it is 2 miles downwind from the shit-factory where my wife's mom shovels turds (I gained a lot more respoect and love for her when I realized she thought it was as funny sounding as I still do, dookie shoveler! Say that out loud and try not to smile, it's impossible!) 5 days a week for really good pay, good times.

Anyway, you know when you watch the news and they are in like Russia and there is nothing wrong with the backdrop but you can kind of see that something ominous is going to go on? It was like that, a squat, unassuming building just off of Front street, not the kind of place I had thought of when I was going there.

Anyway, I walk in, and like a lot of the finer hotels I have stayed in noticed the stale smell, kind of damp, and head to where I am going to spend the next 7 hours. The conference room had a bunch of tables much too close together for my comfort, and I was almost assured to have to sit next to some dude who was going to have cabbage farts, that's just the way karma bends the stevester over the barrel, folks.

Anyhoo, this lady who seemed much to jolly to not be high bounced up to me and gave me her name, which I instantly forgot, and shook my hand. Apparently from this one handshake she figured out that I am a type F personality on the SELF scale, which stands for Factual, meaning in essence I am a douche but it's only because I feel like I am smarter than everyone else, which in that room was true. Hell Smeagol could have traded wits with a bunch of the people in that room, you could smell the stupidity baking off of some of these people's foreheads as they asked questions like: "When I am at work and I try to communicate, some people seem angry and it makes my ass leak with sadness..." followed by group crying and another clip of Fried Green Tomatoes or Steel Magnolias and more lip flapping about how our feelings are important. I cannot for the life of me figure out why this class is 400 dollars a person, there's no fucking snacks, no drinks and she is up here telling us if we work real hard we will get a break. Fuck dat Beeyotch I'll break when I friggin aye want to!

So I am not going to bore you with the rest of the day, suffice it to say it sucked goat cock. I go into work the next morning and Greyskull already wants to talk to me, which was also funnily enough the last day I showed up for work 5 minutes early.

I mosey on in, my supreme new diploma in hand, and plop into the chair. She spends at LEAST 20 seconds just sitting there smiling at me, maybe it was because she was smothering a baby river otter in her buttflaps and it's writhing and death throes was exciting her.

"So, what did you learn? I want to know everything about that class Stevester!" She gurgled, not unlike Jabba the Hut except I would eventually try to bone Jabba if we were the only 2 left on Earth...not so with Greyskull.

I have 2 options at this point: option A) I tell her that I did not learn anything and that the class was a waste of time and money much as her hiring process was. The pro would be it would fluster her just long enough for me to get out of the door before her wordical diahrrea smothered me. The con would be I would be fired without the joy of ever seeing the Bealster tunnel-visioned onto Derka's ass, concentration furrowing his brow as his pace quickened, his black bicycle shorts glistening with...

Anyway, I also had Option B) which was to tell her what I thought she wanted to hear, the pro would be I would still be gainfully employed, the con would be I would lose all the respect I had earned and also lose my soul to the same fate kitten's souls go to... so option b was out, there was no way, up to including it being a condition of my continued employment, that I was going to be nice to that taint.

I chose option C), and you will see a pattern here, in which I said everything I could think of to annoy her and get another manager's meeting, which also took me off the phones. Observe, bitches:

"Well Greyskull, lord of the Underworld and Devourer of Kitten's Souls, I learned a lot at the class. I learned to love my fellow man, I learned sanskrit, I learned to divide by 0, I got my ham radio license, I..." I stopped as I could see her face turning red, which either meant a turd was trying to exit sideways or I had gotten to her finally... so I pulled out my ace card: My diploma. Observe it's awesomeness, which is marred a little bit by the Cristo Rey girl, one of the interns who was more awesome than a lot of the adult employees in the building.

I gave this to her, expecting her to break down crying and apologize, and inform her that that 7 hour class had erased 26 years of anger, repression and crack addiction. Her response?





Thursday, May 8, 2008

Working with People

Greyskull annoys me
why can't I talk to my friends?
Her buttball just squeaks

So the time had come when I guess Greyskull had had enough of my bad attitude and lack of brown nosing, and I cannot 100% say I blame her. I have a brown nose, it should be natural! I guess she was annoyed that I did not care to listen to her tales of shooting innocent deer and ripping the heads off of wild boars with her bare hands in order to consume their pitiful souls or defeating a grizzly bear in unarmed combat with nary a scratch to show for it, when Santa and Flanders were sitting on the edges of their seats, hands up in begging mode like little puppies, yearning for her to spray their faces with her retarded meanderings. Santa was the worst. Dear God when you come in to work an hour early, you are a fucking shitfaced loser. When you come in an hour and a half early to kiss up to management so that you do not take any time from the company whilst you are in there nose-nuzzling her taint, you are Santa.

Flanders was bad, but I have to give him props he did not spend a quarter as much time in Greyskull's office as Santa did, preferring to bother me. And since I am in an honest mood, I will say until he started asking stupid questions, which he annoyed me almost all the time, fuck him.

Anyway, this was before I was punished by having to move my desk in front of her office, forced to listen to her orgasm whilst eating all manner of lard-infused food, I have to credit her with me losing like 10 pounds, I mean listening to someone slop and slurp on food 10 feet away kinda removes your appetite, know what I mean Vern?

Anyway I am getting away from today's tale.

Greyskull called me into her office on a bright afternoon, to talk about my communication skills, which I am starting to think meant she had nothing else to do so it was time to fuck with the Stevester time. I went in, sat down in my usual pose (leaned all the way back, arms crossed, eyes almost shur) and she started in with her usual lead-in: "Stevester, you are so technically sound, I mean you know how to fix things all the time' - duh, whore, that's kind of my job -' but you need to work on your communication skills. I know you find it tough to communicate with others, heck I used to have issues communicating without intimidating '- the other bison -' and it took a conscious effort to take a step back and see how the customer sees me, as a big'- you ain't whistlin Dixie sister -' overbearing person who consumed the souls of kittens in order to maintain my power' -Meow-CRACK-sluuuuuurp -'and was also very technically savvy..." she rambled on, talking about how I made certain "unnamed" people feel, while I could hear Flanders and Santa crying in eachother's arms off in the distance, while the cone of productivity that had encircled our tight knit group dwindled further and further into the cauldron of retardedness, tiny fingers of stupid pulling at me from all directions (except the direction I LIKE tiny fingers to pull on me, High Five!) into the deep, dank caverns of Fucking Idiocy.

I snap out of my daydream about Queen Latifah and Alicia Keyes fighting over who gets to narfle my garthok after I won the superbowl and karawte kicked Hitler's head off, and she is telling me she plans on sending me to a class to learn how to deal with people. At this point I am so stoked to not have to come in and deal with idiots like, well Greyskull and Jerk Guy Who Sat Behind Development that I jump at the chance, foolishly walking right into her trap like a spider walks into the lair of the pickled pinata.

She informs me that some of my teammates have already been signed up for this class at different times, which at the time I automatically assumed meant Coog and Lollipop, as Derka has a vagina and therefore was not subject to the same tortures as the rest of us, Max was easygoing, as was Preu, which left either Terrorist Prit or me, and I was the only one who did not have her stink skids on my face out of the two of us from all the ass kissing...but I digress, I am only jealous because all of the aforementioned people could mimic different nationalities while all of mine sounded Australian.

Anyway, I don't believe her but what the hell, I can use some team learnin! She makes a big deal over how much they are spending on the class, like I give a shit. I have to give her an itinerary, and it is then I start to see how fucked up this is going to be: How can you teack communication skills and take up 7 fucking hours doing so? I had planned on going to this class for 2 or 3 hours, jerking off on a homeless guy at McDonalds, slapping Smeagol in the jowls and then going home, not what was in essence a full day at work, Fuck Dat!

Later: How the Class Changed my life, and a real live picture of my mad credentials.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

A Groovy Kind of Love

Have a donkey punch!
Bust a crumpy you damn jerk!
Urban lexicon!

Toboggan boy was in trouble.

He had quit one job because they had tried to get him help, and I know I spoke on this before but let me fuckin' reiterate: Toboggan had a great job. He worked about 4 blocks from the house, making a very decent wage, and with an Aldi's close by we used little to no gas EVER. He got off work at 3, was home by 3:05, and we had food to eat all the time.

When the crack came, his job, where he had worked for 13 years and actually had great repore with (I don't know how to spell repore, but I ain't French either) with all of management, found out about it with a random drug test of the crack smears all over his face. Instead of firing him outright and posting his face in the paper next to the caption: "Sux Dix 4 Crak", they told him they would pay for rehab and as soon as he was better he could come back.

This part still sickens and delights me at the same time. He goes: "I got morals! I can't stop and I won't stop! I quit!" Ensuring he would never qualify for unemployment even. Ah, the love of a crack fiend, it is a fickle mistress. He got a job working at Long John Silver's, which would have been cool if he had shared any of the stolen food with us, but I am sure the reason he did not was because he was worried we may have shellfish allergies and not because his dealer enjoyed crabcakes and hush puppies with his blowjobs for crack. I am not even sure what the hell happened on "the enterprise" as we called it, or the room in which Toboggan Boy and Janet would go smoke crack all the time and lift off of this planet, but I am pretty sure there were numerous blowjobs administered while Toboggan masturbated under a comforter in the corner, darkened by the shadows, sobbing uncontrollably.

Anyhoo, things quickly went from bad to worse. Tobs (toboggan boy, I am too lazy to keep typind his whole name, so for today it is Tobs or Toby, because that is a funny name) would watch Janet eat, sleep and shit (literally) and would constantly brag about how great her pussy tasted, not even stopping whilst we ate our daily ration of week old cinnamon rolls and scrambled eggs (I know that sounds like a decent meal, but we ate that at least 5 times a week, the other two days it was nacho cheese doritos and hamburger with cheese in it) and wondering if that was in fact our last meal.

It was at this point I had had enough. Toboggan Boy was a fucking loser and had no aspirations other than to lick the skids out of Janet's underwear, and her constant sucking of snot through her nasal cavity was fucking grossing me out. I mean it was a real nasty sound, listening to her swallow all that crack vapor and snot...

So before our final confrontation, I decided upon a less violent approach. I had a buddy at school, let's call him Stan because that's his real name, who had a great big house with food and central air and parents who cared. I let him know what was going on and his mom was all like "we have enough cash and love for one more, even if he is a negro!" And with that, I moved in. I must say life there was great for the 2 or 3 days I was there...I ate food, I went to school, I played video games without Fatso resting a tit on my shoulder while he wheezed bacon grease and let me know he was keeping tabs on when his turn would be, and the multitude of mice and shit that would try to infiltrate my dirty sleeping bag at home was all in the past.

Tomorrow: The conclusion!

Monday, May 5, 2008

Happy Cinco de Mayo!!!!!

Things Kids Say

Taste the ambrosia
Sunlight glistens on window PBR

So I know you all only care about Smeagol and his exploits, or Toboggan Boy, but I figured I would share a few of the funnier things my darling children have said, if only as a tiny reprieve from the cloak of failure with it's aura of self-loathing...

"Poop is just farts you can see!" Said by my middle son yesterday while I dropped a deuce after he walked in and started bothering me by talking... Hello?! Do you not see the Dilbert book in my hands?

"Daniel is like a dog that we don't put a leash on" saod by my middle son about my youngest son, Daniel, while he was eating God friggin knows what off of the floor, right next to the dog, who was also lapping that crap up... that night, I didn't let either of them kiss me.

"My name is Matthew and this is Michael and that is Daniel and our mom isn't here and my dad has a big penis." Told by my oldest child a few months ago at the checkout line at Walmart. That got them all free ice cream, who says you can't train kids!

"Hey look Dad, I'm a dog too!" My middle son again, while hunched over in the yard right by my dog, in the same position, doing the same thing. I would have been disgusted to have a kid crap in my yard, but my dog turned around and ate it so it's all good...

"Uncle Smeagol's breath almost made me die!" Middle son again, are you seeing a pattern here?

"I like punching people in the penis, it makes them make funny faces!" Ask Will which one said that...

"Mom's penis is hidden in her butt!" Middle son again, after walking in on her in the shower...

"Daddy me poop!" My youngest son, exitedly over the phone this morning. When I saw him, he said it again, and just in case I was not sure where "poop" comes from he grabbed his ass a few times to help his dear old dad out.

"Hey, when you fart you're supposed to shake hands, you know." My oldest... I love filling their heads with absolute nonsense...

"Fag! Cock!" My oldest son, his first 2 naughty words, great times, he was mimicking me as I insulted Wyatt Earp.

More tomorrow...

Friday, May 2, 2008

Love nuggets
home to mystical retard?
Or wily raptor?

I have a few announcements to make before we begin, enjoy, readers:

My next product review, after much careful thought, will be on Round and Brown, a gentlemen's film on love and pop culture. Full color photos! I will make sure they are work safe with my vast editing prowess in such programs as: Microsoft Paint.

I found my folder o' worthless cerificates I got at Da Firm, and will post those with the corresponding stories, including the infamous "Working With People" diploma, which was easilly ammunition for...what, 5 manager's meetings was it? great times.

Anyhoo, on to today's tale!

Shit has a special place in our family. From my uncle who shit in plastic bags, to the two gentlemen in today's post, it is almost like a real live family member, kept on the outskirts of humanity, gnawing angrilly at the barricade between us and civillized society so we can be laid open like a rotting fish that Smeagol found under the couch, laid bare for all to see. Ah, my poetic tendencies belie my infatuation with the pedantic. Cock!

Anyway, I have an uncle on my dad's side with the same name as the Walmart Bag Shitter, as my mom's brother is now infamously known, a serial shitter known to strike at any moment, sometimes seen running in small circles in his room whilst desperately clutching his ass, trying to find a Walmart sack to unleash the Turds of Hell into. My uncle on my dad's side, let's call him Biff, because I like the name, is the exact opposite of my dad in all ways except physical looks: He is a little bigger in the belly, but still has the handlebar mustache and huge mop of hair on top that my dad does, though his is red and not ash white from all the crack vapors that have infiltrated it's rankd like a Just for Men commercial for dope addicts. He was for some completely unexplainable reason crack to the ladies, who would buy him gifts and pay for his meals and drinks in order to enjoy his company for the evening. It boggles my mind, even my own wife thinks he is suave and devonaire, even with the Buddha belly. I ain't no cockblocker though, all props to him.

On this particular night, a VERY lovely woman got his attention by offering to buy him tickets to a Chief's game, this was when they were decent so it was pretty long ago. He was a sucker for free tickets to sporting events, and so turned the rest of the ladies in the line down. After purchasing his ticket, beer, and dinner, she felt she had done enough to get into his pantaloons. I guess after he blew her mind, she started in with the love talk, to which he drunkenly replied something like "Yeah yeah, whatever your name is, leave a 20 on the counter on your way out" or something, I wasn't there and I don't feel like asking Smeagol, who probably was there in the closet massaging his thong with reckless abandon.

My uncle awoke the next morning, ready to greet the beautiful rays of the sun filtering softly through the open shades, to a strange sight. The lovely lady he was with had straddled his chest and was finishing up an incredibly nasty dukefest on his chest. She finished, probably straining to fart in his face, flipped him off and left.

Another story, we had a cousin, let's call him Billo, who would stick his hand down the back of his knickers, pull a small lump of shit out of his ass, and throw it at people. This is funny if you are 2 or 3 and it's not me you are throwing your mooks at, but this guy was 17. What gets me is he got the ladies all the time, even 1 or 2 who had seen him chuck shittles at various people! He would also at random times wear only a bath towel as a cape, call himself the Nasty Faggot and run around bare assed outside simply to entertain us, launching his shit projectiles at various people simply to get us to laugh, great times. But after I quit wearing the towel....

And the final one in our oddyssey of fecal Euphoria, was Coby. Ah, Coby... not in our family, though he probably should have been. When we lived in North Kansas City, before the crack impugned on our lives like an unstoppable rebel force, we had nice things. A stereo. Color television. Vanilla Ice Greatest hits. And a Sega Genesis. Coby was either young or retarded, we never bothered finding out which, and he would walk up to the window to our bedroom and poke his head in, saying "JAAAAAAY JAAAAAY..... COULDAI comein play Thega?" And we would laugh and laugh and throw things at him and then let him in to play Madden 95, nay the bestest sports game at the time. Coby had a bowel problem. We would get no end of joy taking turns holding him while the other punched him lightly in the stomach numerous times, giggling like schoolgirls (Coby too) as he either farted each time he was hit or shit his pants. Then we would yank his pants off and throw them on the roof of various houses (these were the projects of North Kansas City, 1 story brick bungalows, a small jump would take you up onto the roof) and laugh as he tried to get them back. Coby was also a nasty buzzard, always trying to get our retarded neighbor, Dawn, to give him a handjob, ostensibly while he shat himself.

More Monday.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Dontcha wish your girlfriend was Mis-ter-y!

swallow that jizz, girl
pull out of that donkey, mate!
I love the movies

The title of this post should be sung to that song that goes "Dontcha wish your girlfriend was, hot like me"... then throw up.

So I often get the question (well, from Will and Max anyway) as to why a sexy thing like Mystery is making the lovehumps with a raptor. I am sure they think they have more to offer than a cloak of failure and halitosis, but let me explain.

I dunno if you all know this or not, but even if she was hot, Mystery is a jerk. I am not 100% sure why, you would assume being homely would cause you to try to develop your other traits in a bid to attain friendship or even sexy time, but not the case with her. She is not terribly bright, oftentimes answering the door when random police and bail bondsmen come by, and with Smeagol lounging in his thong in plain sight tell them he is not there, and is constantly trying to put other people down.

What always struck me as hilarious was when Smeagol would have her call her mom to ask for money for various things, not like food or gas or lime to hide the stench emanating from his gnarly jowls as various bacteria and fungi battled in quasi-physical combat for control over the stink-rich fields of funk in his mouth that can ruin your day as they melt through all obstacles you place in front of them like an unstoppable rebel force....wait what the fuck am I talking about?

Oh yeah Mystery. Smeagol would have her call her mom and ask for money for his NWO and WWF football jerseys he bought all the time while watching those coinciding shows on the tv. You would surmise that this is because he planned on buying food or other essentials with his paycheck, and you would be wrong. Smeagol + responsibility = Nuclear winter and eradication of all hope and dreams.

Mystery's mom would always come through, and it was not until I met her and found out by listening to Mystery babble incessantly to her cat that she had in a headlock that the only reason she constantly loaned them money that to this day has not been paid back was because the alternative was much, much worse. When Smeagol assumed he was moving up the social sexytime ladder and threw Mystery out, her mom informed the wily raptor that he owed her over 5000 dollaruskies, a fact that he promptly ignored while being a failure in someone else's life. The reason she did that was because Mystery, with no where else to go, went to live with her mother, and this must have driven her to drink with the perserverance of a leper attempting to jerk off while his fingers fall uselessly to the floor where a monkey picks them up and throws them at children. Not a fun time.

I remember once her mom bought me 3 or 4 playstation games (PS one had just come out) and I was unsure why and who this ugly ho was. Smeagol informed me that she was trying to buy me being nice to her ugly daughter. I sent the games back, after I played the crap out of them, that is. Stupid Tomb Raider.

I always get a small ping of guilt when I insult Smeagol or Toboggan Boy or Mystical Retard, because I genuinely care for them and with the exeption of the raging Smeagol they are doing better. Not so with Mystery. If I could implement smell-o-vision and put the crotch of her leggings on here you would all be in my court, no doubt.

More tomorrow... prolly some more Smeags but I dunno.