Tuesday, March 31, 2009

A blurb, a rant

running from the cops

twisted anus, fuck that hurts!

cold, dark death awaits


I'm in a bad mood. Fuck it.




So JJ calls me the other day wondering if I wouldn't mind loaning him some gas money so he could get to and from work until he can defeat enough crackheads in unarmed physical combat to attain enough money to sustain he vehicular lifestyle, and being in the same spot myself once or twice, I acquiesce. It is a little strange that he would ask me though, as I have to drive 30 miles each way to give him said monies, and I ask him why he did not ask any of the people who are closer to his geographical region. Apparently, Toboggan Boy is being stingy with his cash, understandable in this economic clime, Mystical can't get money out of the bank before Monday (?) as apparently her atm card does not work on weekends? Might have to do with that Mercury in Retrograde and her thinking the Trolls of Behegglenoth are going to attack her if she tries to use the ATM, whatever.


I ask if he had queried Smeagol for the money, since Smeagol owes him money for other things, and we laughed and laughed, and when he finally caught his breath he informed me that not only did Smeagol decline his request for funds, in the same sentence asked JJ if he would purchase his television, as he needed the money to make a payment on his new one from Rent a Center... great times.


So I go down to give him the cash, and everyone's there. I exchange pleasantries, and then go in my pocket to get the money, to which JJ frantically signals not to. Puzzled, I leave it alone until we are alone, and ask why.


"Don't ever give me money in front of Dad" he scolded me, "every time you give me money in front of him, as soon as you leave he follows me around the house asking how much you gave me, even if he SAW how much it was, then starts in with his 'boy I sure wish he would loan me some money, he's rich' shit, and then he won't leave me alone until I buy him a soda or a sandwich or something, it really pisses me off".... WTF?!


On to my rant for the day... I wasn't going to bring it up because it isn't that big of a deal, but shit this crap pisses me off something fierce.


Yesterday someone brought a personal item in for me to work on. Even though it is not my job and there is no way in hell I should have to do it much less be liable for anything that happens, I have to take the item and work on it, and I do. Short backstory: I have known about this for a week or so, and worked out a time with this person to work on this item a fucking week ago, and not only do they not bother coming by in the time I blocked out for them, they throw the item on my desk on my busiest day of the week. Whatever, I work on it and take it back.


Long story short, I screwed something up. While I still feel it's not my fault, I apologise profusely and try to see if there is a solution I can come up with to help out. I am told not to worry about it, it is not a huge deal, numerous times. Should be the end of the story, right? Wrong. Even though I prostrate myself for this person, apparently as soon as I walk away they email my boss telling him I screwed their shit up. WTF?! I get downstairs and get chewed out, which felt strangely good after such a long drought since my manager meetings, but the whole time I am sitting there nodding my head and not paying attention all I can think of is "how fucking old is this douchebag?" NOt my boss, the doucher upstairs. I mean, how is tattling on me behind my back going to get your 10 contacts back? What could you possibly hope to accomplish with calling my manager? Nothing, that's what. The sad thing is all this person reminded me of is the doucher attorneys at Da Firm: petty, childish, and morally bankrupt. It's so sad that apparently in order to make lots of money or hold high position the vast majority of people have to be complete douchers, and I am not saying everyone is but the majority of people who make leaps and bounds more than I do seem to be infected with douchebagitis, and that gives me a sad, sad feeling.


Anyway, one last thing, I am noticing that this "cardio" thing is having a drastic effect on my manbody, and me likey! While right now my man-tits sag like moldy ziploc bags filled with 3 week old mayonnaise, I can very clearly see what looks like muscle trying to come out from hiding behind said layer, like a hermit venturing into the sunlight after being walled up in a cave for a decade only to find himself in the middle of a vast city, full of robotic automatons hell bent on annihilation of the human race as nomadic tribes of planetary conquistadors pillage and rape their way across the barren landscape, charred by the onslaught of nuclear war and thermo-nuclear breakdown of all planetary defenses, both natural and man-made. Planetary economic systems crash as the rich get richer and the poor get fucked over and out as we face the very real possibility of a total nuclear holocaust with no way to escape the impending hurricane of radioactive death dust being blown across the arid oceanbeds, long evaporated due to global warming. Or something like that.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Mystical Retard Chronicles

it's hot, then it's cold
thong in the morn, coat at night
KC weather sucks

Before I get into this post, I would like to again posit that I love Mystical Retard, I wouldn't trade her for anyone in the world, unless it was for another delicious Z-man sandwich at Oklahoma Joe's, but then again I would trade my youngest child for one of those...

Anyway, Mystical Retard called the other night wanting to know the dates that Mercury was going to be in retrograde for the next few years. I had no idea why she wanted this information, maybe because "Plaaanets spinning backwards are so SpIIIIIIIIrituaaal", or because whatever insano-deity she was worshiping this week only had magickal powers when Mercury spun in retrograde, I dunno.

I give her the dates, and she explains. And in doing so sounds even more insane than usual. But I have to respect her, so I am thus forced to play along. Apparently, when Mercury goes into retrograde, bad things start happening. "You'll lose your keys, you'll fight more, the moon will come crashing down and crush all kittens in a blaze of glory, homeless men, frothing at the mouth, will begin mounting stray dogs and morphing into powerful centaurs hell-bent on total domination of the human species! German Panzer tanks will come over the horizon, assaulting up with cannon-fire and wet noodles in a Blitzkrieg never seen before, the 4 Horsemen spoke of in the prophecies will rise up from the Liberty Memorial, and gallop around the streets, filling unlucky victims with their hot demon gel, Mr. Pibb will no longer be certified and bacon will always be limp! BYYYAAAWWWW!" OK I made that up, but she did say that during the retrograde session, everyone experiences bad luck, so "You make sure you and your wife don't get into any fights, and you get along with the woooooorld, don't disrespect no one."

This is annoying.

Also annoying, her penchant for planning in advance. It's not AS bad now, but in her full on crack days, she would call at like 3 in the morning to ask "What are you doing March 12, 2013?", and expect an answer. I have no idea what I will be doing an hour from now, much less the spring 4 years from now. I soon learned that I could simply make things up, which I did, telling her I would be playing with my kids on a rocky beach in Alderon, which is in the Nebulous Quadrant or some other crap I made up that sounded ridiculous (this was before I had kids, so it is pretty profound that though I didn't want kids back then I assumed I would have some), and she would seem satisfied, and then ask if I could make time to take her to some concert or come over for dinner.

Why do I bring this up? She asked me what I was doing 4 months from now on a random Saturday, saying we should get together and eat lunch together. WTF?!

Interesting tidbit that sent a chill down my spine and a negative balance to my credit cards: Mercury went into retrograde the day Smeagol was born. Could there be more to it than meets the eye?

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Show

end of innocence
like leaves that fall so gently
just to get shit on

The Show

As I have bragged numerous times, I live right by a small fishing pond. It is truly beautiful to see the sun come up over the unbroken trees just on the other side, as if I was the first to experience it's glory and as if it was putting on it's best show just for me...the fog rolling in over the murky water, slight ripples only disturbed by the idle wind or hungry fish nipping at it's faux-placid surface, all serene and quiet....except for the rednecks.

You see, apparently this pond is very highly sought after by some of Smithville's and other Northern Missouri territorial less tooth-laden of residents, who seem to flock there by the dozens as soon as the water thaws for fishin' and drinkin'. Now, it's not that bad, my neighbor told me there is an unwritten rule that if they disturb any of us "lakefront" residents they will be forcibly banned from the premises, so they were all in fact very quiet and seemed to make sure they were not looking through all of our very open windows, which is where my story of the day comes in.

It was after dark, and subconsciously I knew there were still fishermen out there as you could see lanterns and the like all around the water, wayward lonely souls unlucky enough to not be able to catch any of the THOUSANDS of fish literally dumped into this 10 acre lake on a regular basis, but I made a small mistake. My lovely wife has taken to reading these uber-gay romance novels all the time, and was sitting in the living room reading one, fully ensconced in it's pages upon pages trying to make a man out of a woman (seriously, the male character in her book, in the part she read to me during her nightly diatribe entitled "Why can't you be as romantic as...", said something like "every time I think of you it takes my breath away" and apparently called out during sex; totally not manlike. She was also less than pleased when I kept coughing out "homo!" while she was reading...) and not doing what she usually does when it turns dark, which is pull the shades across out floor to ceiling windows shut. So I come out of the bathroom, having showered and powdered the junk, and just to be a little romantic I walked completely naked into the living room and started trying to hump the book out of her hand.

SHe kept going "Stevester!" and looking behind her as I danced around like Party boy from Jackass, trying to rub myself all in her hair as any loving husband would, when I noticed. The windows were not only open, I could see in the dusk at least 4 lumberjack shirts, thankfully with their backs to me. Whoopsy!

Also, I knew it might lead to a stigma, but why is it whenever I see someone who is not part of the group I am forced to support daily at work, their first question is "Where's your tutu? You're so cute!" Sure, it might be construed as hot, but come on! I might have to wear something more drastic to remove my image as the tutu guy. But I am not sure what. That's where you all come in. I am thinking about wearing another costume to the courthouse BBQ this summer, and need something more shocking than a huge fat black guy in a tutu, but not so shocking that I get fired (which means the assless chaps and cowboy hat are out, at least unless I am doing a personal party or hand party)... any ideas? You don't have to post them here, you can email them to me, I want it to be original yet sassy; manly yet fun; like a pair of underwear that when you wear them for three days and turn them inside out look like a fresh pair!

Monday, March 16, 2009


Don't fear the reaper
he's just friggin bones and cloak
just kick his damn ass!

Young Whippersnappers

So with the weather being so beauticious, the wife and I decided to take the kids to the park, which was cool because our old neighbors, who live on the other side of the park (meaning the other side of town, so about a mile from our house) were taking their rugrats down to the same place. I figured "Hey Stevester, you don't play with your kids, they might enjoy some fun time with their dad", which would help to contrast my normal image as a total balls out emo rocker who is black so I don't even need eye shadow...

Anyway, so we are all at the park, watching the kids run around, tossing around a football, painting eachother's toenails while talking about the newest issue of TeenBeat (Joey Lawrence is so eyuugh, I mean like totally!), and we decide to kick the soccer ball around. We round up the kids, which is not totally fair because while both sets of parents have 3 kids, their's are 8, 8 and 6 and mine are 8, 6 and 2, meaning we only have 4 and Daniel is just going to continue massaging his junk on the sidelines like I taught him. Way to keep at it, son!

So whatevs, we start kicking the ball around, running back and forth, maybe 3 times, before the whining starts. Now I just don't understand this. I hate to go there, because it officially makes me old, but when I was their age, you could not keep me at home. I would get on my bike, listen to Mystical Retard and Toboggan Boy's rules, and then summarily ignore and disobey them (usually by throwing our bikes onto slow moving train cars and riding the rails and throwing stuff at dead animals). 3 minutes into soccer their kids start in with the "I'm tired I wanna drink I need to rest the sun is hurting me I wanna-blah blah blah" - and as I look upon them wondering what has happened to our generation, I hear my own kids with their "Why do we even have to go outside I wanna play xbox this sucks we are wasting our weekend on this when I could be playing the Wii I'm thirsty I'm hungry Dad shit on a blanket once-" and on and on and on they went...

What the hell happened? I can't understand how a beautiful day could be spent indoors. And you can't use video games or cable as an excuse, I had a Nintendo and a Sega Genesis soon after they came out and you STILL wouldn't see me until 11 seconds before absolute dark.


So this scam involved a Mr. Kelvin Sanduru, an Abdoul Kader, and my characters, Phil McKraken, Semore Butts, to a lesser extent Hot Karl and as an extra Candi Bubbles. I was looking through the emails and just realized I had them running for more than a month. Awesome.

From: Mr Kelvin Sanduru
From: kelvin sanduru (kevsbf07@msn.com)
Sent: Sun 2/08/09 11:23 AM
From: Mr Kelvin Sanduru
African Development Bank
Burkina Faso (ADB)Ouagadougou - Burkina Faso .

Dear friend, I am writting to seek your coperation over this business, Please due welcome this letter....

His email is the normal scam shit, blah blah blah some tourist died in 2003 and left 10.5 million dollars in a bank in Burkina Faso. What's funny is if you do a quick Wikipedia search of Burkina Faso, it is one of the most corrupt countries in the world and the average wage is less than 1200 dollars per year, yet they accidentally overlook 10.5 million dollaruskies laying in an account and when they find it they decide to be upstanding citizens.
I also find this hilarious -

Since I work in this bank that is why you should be confident in the success of this transaction because you will be updated with information as at when desired.

I will wish you to keep this transaction secret and confidential as I am hoping to retire with my share of this money at the end of transaction which will be when this money is safety in your account. I will then come over to your country for sharing according to the previously agreed percentages. You might even have to advise me on possibilities of investment in your country or elsewhere of our choice. May God help you to help me to a restive retirement, Amen.

Is this asshat a scammer or a preacher? And why would I want some smelly asshole riding his goat to my house to share in investments here? Seriously, if I offered you a million dollars, but informed you that in order to get said million dollars, you had to let me move in with you, would you do it? Please?

Anyway, I decided finally to not go all gay right away, so I respond in a normal fashion, well normal for a guy named Phil McKraken, that is...

RE: From: Mr Kelvin Sanduru
From: Philip McKraken (philip_mckraken@hotmail.com)
Sent: Mon 2/09/09 12:51 PM To: kevinsanduru100@voila.fr

Kevin, This sounds like a thrilling venture. I am a ready and willing participant, and would like to know both what I need to do and a little more about you. Let me know if it is alright to ask a few questions to get to know you a little better and then I will be a more than willing partner in this upcoming endeavor.

Phil McKraken.

I think I will do this in the same vein as Stephen Colbert does his Better Know a District, i.e. sparingly, some of the early email exchanges are a little boring, though it gets to hot man-on-man frottage relatively quickly.

PS - I think, unfortunately, that I am on a blacklist or something, as I am running DANGEROUSLY low on scammers to mess with. If you all have the time and are thinking about it, can you forward all scam email to either philip_mckraken@hotmail.com, or hot_karl@live.com ? I would appreciate it.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Oooh that Smeags! (Oooh that Smell by Lynyrd Skynyrd)

oh don't be so coy
you know you want some of this
Smeagol's pick up lines

Alright, you've been tortured long enough, let us delve into the cesspool that is this wily raptor's jail career (because if you do it for more than a 1/3 of your life, it is a career)

First, a few corrections: Smeagol is already out of jail, this happened a few weeks ago. Also he only enjoyed 4 days of sweet sweet freedom. Sometimes my sources talk like something just happened and it happened a while ago, and if there's one thing I want you to think about when you think of steveshaikus, it's journalistic integrity.

Anyway, on to the story:

Apparently, Smeagol was being watched. A few of our boys in blue had noticed he was driving his new car with expired tags that didn't even go to his car, and that - and I have no proof of this but I will check - didn't even match each other (meaning they were both Missouri plates, but not the same Missouri plates). Being more than a little curious and perhaps worrying that with the current recession nipping at their heels that anything to pad their arrest stats would be preferential, they stopped said wily raptor, who had RECENTLY HAD HIS HARD-FUCKING-SHIP license taken away, and found more than they bargained for.

Apparently Smeagol had recently gotten some insulin from an unnamed source (I am assuming he stole it but said someone else got it for him) from a nursing home. I guess when someone dies they throw out their medications as they cannot use them on someone else, and somehow some wily raptor got ahold of it. Like I said, at this point this is all conjecture, so take this with a grain of salt. Smeagol, being a hardened and street smart criminal, didn't bother taking the label off of said bottle of medication, so when the police asked who Rosa was, I am sure he attempted to pass himself off as a female, and had they been drive thru operators they may have fallen for it, but since they were not, I could only assume he gave a little grunt of annoyance as they happily placed him in a squad car for a few evenings with Nasty Nate, with his naughty jungle of love and penchant for both spooning and gently licking earlobes.

The unnamed source apparently asked Smeagol why he could not bring himself to take the label off of the bottle, at which point it would appear to be his, or why he had it laying out on the seat when the police showed up, and I guess Smeagol informed them that that was "their problem" and that if they didn't like it they could "paddle up shit creek niggie"... He did recently get out, as I guess jails are overflowing and letting Smeagol go gives another police officer a chance to pad his stats which is really the name of the game at this point...

Anyhoo, things going on with me: I am going to try out for the KC Shockers next year, as I missed them this year, and while I would be able to probably walk on with my penchant for hitting people and bad attitude it would be nice to be a little bigger and buffer for such an endeavor... I was thinking about setting up a secondary blog posting my long and arduous journey from looking like this:

To looking like this:

I am gonna buckle down and do it, I am tired of taking off my shirt and getting my fingers caught in my bra, my delicious mayonnaise infused man-boobs sagging in the afternoon sun, my shorts and small children getting stuck in my crack as I wheeze and huff along at a bewildering saunter toward the next concession stand...

Alright maybe it's not that bad but I need to drop some poundage, and though I thought upping my toilet shopping was going to help, apparently it is not.

With my basement carpeted and now looking like somewhere fit for human habitation, I am turning my attentions to the back yard. I am thinking some tasteful tables for fish fries and bbq parties, or maybe a wading pool that we can throw Prit into and laugh as he curses in his strange but beautiful native language of the Queen's English...

Anyhoo... Apparently JJ hangs with some rather nefarious characters (who knew?) whose last name is President or sounds like Presidents or something...who were under surveillance by the local constabulary corps... now JJ is no longer in the crime game, preferring the quiet life living in the most crime ridden district in the City has to offer, but these are old friends who stopped by for a bit of noshing, maybe a hot toddy or a Hot Karl or maybe a Cleveland Steamer?

Anyway, long after they had left, the police apparently kicked their door in, and with guns drawn asked my mom if she knew the Presidents. I think you all know where it went from there, suffice it to say she is pretty cool sometimes. Apparently she started naming US presidents until they put their guns away and walked out, possibly to catch Smeagol and beat his thong until he talked.

Monday, March 9, 2009

2 Weeks of Freedom

I will post details tomorrow, but suffice it to say I found out why Smeagol is not talking to anyone. Also why did the police kick in the door at one of my family member's houses? Find out these shocking stories tomorrow!

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The One to Rule Them All

and when shall the spring
grace our humble, chilled visage
with it's warm embrace?

The One to Rule Them All

Man I hate capitalizing multiple words. Anyway, I know it's been a while since I have postified, we have been busy at work and truth be told I can't be bothered to log into my computer at home, I have too much other stuff to do (toilet shop, watch bad kung fu movies, etc...) that requires my attentions.

For those of you who hate my scams, you will be annoyed. This one, though, is a magical one. I sat down on the toilet to think about why none of my scams ever go anywhere, and came up with this short list:

1. I go gay almost immediately, and not only do I foray into the warm sticky waters of Gay Lake, I take a pink-hulled submarine through the brown murky waters of the Gay Sea. This would probably scare anyone off, not just a scam artist.

2. My reasonings and random meanderings are very over the top, so it is almost impossible to believe anything I say. This is also probably why I have never gotten a decent photo, like one with someone holding a sign, which, truth be told, pains me greatly.

3. I've found I insult them too quickly, the first time they say they do not want to deal with me because I am "not a serious", they are testing the waters. When I reply that I fucked their mother, I muffle the flame rather than coax it into a raging fire of happiness.

It is with all this in mind that I give you the following scambait summary:

Kevin Sanduru is a bank official in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. He recently found a long-lost sum of 14 million dollars, which is strange that a sum like that would go unnoticed in a country whose median income is just under 1200 dollars a year. He needs to get a foreign national to accept the money into their account and blah blah blah... you all know the drill. Here is what I am gonna do to cut down on post length... I am going to truncate all of the scammer bullshit. I will still let you know important/ funny things they say, but a lot of it is just worthless filler, and it bores me as much as it does you. Here is the plot:

Phil McKraken is the first person contacted by this asshat. Phil is a wealthy businessman who has one weakness: brothels. Phil spends a lot of his time/ money in brothels, and is constantly accosted for lack of payment of his "local brothel bill" (I have no idea what that is either, but it sounded good) by the large, bald, hairy Russian wrestler

Hot Karl, who is also a lawyer by day. Hot Karl kidnaps Phil halfway into the scam and threatens to molest Phil if the scammer does not cut him in on both the Phil Mcraken deal and the deal with

Semore Butts, who Kevin Sanduru is ALSO talking to, who is a corporate contortionist (not sure what that is either), who is Hot Karl's client and is also soon going to be married to

Candi Bubbles, who is an adult film actress working on Apache Violators 4: the Mojave Connection somewhere in the Sierra-Nevada desert, and needs to feel the touch of a large black man before her upcoming nuptials, and also needs protection from one of her brothel clients Phil McKraken.

I know, I know this is a long and drawn out plot that would rival some motion pictures, and all I can say is "your welcome". I worked long and hard for almost 20 minutes working this all up before I started, and it seems to be coming along nicely. No photo yet, but Kevin Sanduru is beginning to wonder why all these people promise him money and yet no one is paying him...
Anyway, I have something else I would like to share as well.

Why is it the first question nurses ask when they look at my diabetic charts is whether or not I can get it up? Is that supposed to be a challenge? I want to get on the insulin pump as it offers more control of the disease that rampages through my pancreas like an unstoppable rebel force, and in order to get said pump I have to go through a series of sweet-n-sassy classes on carb counting. I show up and the first one I talk to is a dietitian, who is strangely pretty hawt (I mean, a lot of dietitians I have seen look like if they swallowed a Dorito you would see it in their stomach, which is fucking disgusting. I have no use for a woman unless she can fight back and/or outwrassle me), and we walk into her office, sit down, I am trying to relax when she hits me with the bomb: "How's your penis? Are you able to sustain an erection?" Uuuuhhhhh....... what?! While it would be awesome to stand up and show her that I have no problem in that area, I notice as she asks that lil' Stevester is shriveling like one of those stupid snake fireworks in reverse. NooOoooOo! I inform her that not only do I NOT have trouble, that I never have, and we go on with the rest of the session like normal.

I then have to go to the diabetes educator, who is a MUCH older woman with short hair who looks like she escaped from a Brady Bunch movie (I mean no insult, this lady was so friggin cool I woulda mounted her at the end of the interview because she was not ashamed to bring ANYTHING up, and that is awesome!). I walk in and sit down, and the first thing out of her mouth is "So are you having any trouble with sexual activity? Are you able to sustain an erection during intercourse?" I wonder secretly with one eyebrow raised quizzically if maybe my wife had talked to them (I was drunk and the window was open! It as COLD outside!) and asked them to see if I was having some issues. I inform her that I am able to do both, which she seems to think is the greatest thing since sliced bread, and informs me a lot of people who have had diabetes as long as I have have problems getting it up because they have no control over said disease. I have OK control, so I am not sure why they both mention it to me, but I will say this, I am gonna pretend I am having trouble so I can get some viagra or something, how awesome would it be to walk around work all day with a raging boner?! Well I do that anyway but this time without having to stroke it every few minutes, which gets awkward and tiring on the handicles, I must say.

Sorry to bring that up, I feel I can share anything with you all...
More tomorrow-ish.