Thursday, May 28, 2009

Love is...

crouched in the corner
mumbling while gnawing a fish
This is the Smeagol

So I met my half brother this weekend. Apparently while my dad was stationed overseas he made sweet love to a Kraut and then I am assuming hid her in his duffel bag and snuck her into the United States, which was the immigration policy in the 70s. No, that's not very nice... but he did meet her in Germany, and they divorced soon after when apparently he realized he loved the taste of pure ebony or she realized it was him peeing in those 3 liters and leaving them by the bed, either way...

I showed him the picture of me in the tutu, he seemed disgusted but then his wife informed me he had worn a grass skirt and halter top once, so maybe it runs in the family.

JJ apparently walked in on Toboggan Boy and Mystical making sweet love the other night, that HAS to be traumatizing. That got me to thinking though about one of my fave stories about my oldest son, you listen now!

My oldest boy talks. A lot. He always has. I am assuming he will make a fantastic politician, as he can literally talk any human being or animal that is not fast enough to escape into a coma or acquiescence, whichever comes first. He does NOT get that from me. I am a shy fella!

Anyway, I guess he was about 2 or so, he was the only kid we had so that sounds about right, and it was a commercial break so me and the Mrs. were getting frisky before she made my dinner (I so wish that was the case, the truth is she finally got tired of me jerking it on her when she walked by and I made my own dinner. But this way it sounds manlier). We assumed, wrongly, that Matt was asleep in his playpen/ kennel, securely wrapped in a walmart bag next to an ashtray full of smoldering cigarettes (what?! It was 2002 we didn't know that was wrong!), and were getting into it, much to far into it to notice he had silently gotten out of his bindings and was standing at the edge of the bed looking on in utter bewilderment at what Dad was doing to Mom.

Of course we stopped, and informed him I was trying to help her as she was choking on something, and the mule, midget, Jose Cuervo and sombreros were for CInco de Mayo. He seemed to accept this (for once) and pattered away, probably to color some more on the fucking walls. Dang kid.

Anyway, not a big deal, happens to all parents, right? Well remember a few lines ago when I informed you all that he LOVES to talk? We were at the local Wal-Marts, purchasing numerous items for a junkfood marathon (ah those were the days), and we were standing in a long line, as it was VERY busy. We get to the front, and the cashier is flirting with Matt, sure he's a cute little bugger, when he informs her "I saw my Mom and dad wrestling NAKED and my Dad was winning!" When he said "naked" his little eyebrows went up and he said it an octave higher... my wife went beet red and was about to turn to hush him up, but I figured I would stop that. I informed him "No, you are mistaken sir...", to which he responded "Yeah-huh! I saw your butthole!"

The cashier had stopped bagging our groceries and was laughing so hard she looked like she was going to die, and that was the last time we shopped at the Gladstone Wal-Mart.

No word from Smeagol lately, I wonder why he is avoiding me? As far as I can remember I had not insulted his thong or anything, what gives? Maybe he is waiting for me to forget the movies and games he "borrowed" last time he was here.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009


Matt, Mike, and Danster
those little guys are all mine
DNA proves it

So my neighbor was by the other day, trying to get me to install another first person shooter to play, and the Danster was running around the house with a batman cape on, tackling the cats, which sounds abusive until you remember my cat, Nubbies, weighs more than the Danster and it is his own fault because he lays around like a fat ass teddy bear all the time and can't be bothered to move even when you lay on him, so he is not all that unlike me. 

Anyway, Danster is running around, knocking things over, just being himself, and my neighbor chimes in with "Man I can't believe he turns 3 in less than two weeks..." *sound of record scratching to a halt* Wha?!

I had completely forgotten he was about to turn 3. I leapt into action and bought some more adult dvds from my favorite porn website then made some nachos and played some Halo, but the whole time I couldn't believe I had forgotten about my own child turning 3, and worse than that, that my NEIGHBOR had to remind me. 

For those of you who know me, my natural hatred of children should be proof enough, coupled with the parenting examples my parents displayed during my formative years, should be proof enough that no one should ever entrust me with their child's safety. If I had showed up for school on a regular basis past football season to be in the yearbook, I would have been voted "Most likely to kill and eat his own children". I can't believe that not only do I have 3 kids, but that they have all survived thus far even with my poor attempts at fatherhood!

In case you hadn't seen the Magikal Danlester, here he is at Halloween again:

I am trying to think of a party or something we can have with the little tyke, but I am not sure how those things go: Since he's 3, he can't invite anyone, or because he's 3 and talks more than anyone I have ever met, he might invite everyone: "Hey there, guy-with-handlebar-mustache-driving-a-panel-van, instead of offering me candy if I bounce on your lap, come to my birthday party!" Sadly that's how all of my birthday parties began, at least until I shaved the mustache off.

Anyway, on to other things.

Smeagol apparently has his own house cleaning service, if you are in the market to lose numerous pawnables without the trouble of having to move them yourself, let me know and I will pass it along to him. For a little extra he will sleep and gently fart in your bed, and might leave his thong there, simmering under the blankets... great times.

He cleaned my mom's house recently, and JJ said he is getting better at what disappears, it is getting harder and harder to find out what all is missing... maybe Smeagol has turned over a new condom? He said Smeagol called him later and was all like "...hey niggie, how'd you like your nice clean house? MmmmMMMmmmm...... I'm so tired", which is awesome and disturbing at the same time.

Last thing, the new Bruno movie is coming out in July, I think... I will expect to see you all there in different character outfits! I am going to wear Borat's beach outfit, though I look more like Azamat than Borat!

Last last thing... I like to think I have a pretty awesome fashion sense, I like the color black and blue and think they go well together, much like brown and teal! Why is it when my wife buys me a shirt that I personally think makes me look gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), that I get compliment after compliment from the ladies? I will never understand women: You want a bad boy, but wonder why he is still bad after you get together; you want a real man, but want him to dress in a magenta shirt and khaki's (which is what I am wearing today), which in no way is what a real man would wear. Contradictions hurt my head!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Open Letter

Smeagol is magic
can make bank accounts empty
all without trying

So I have a Smeagol story that I will post tomorrow or sometime soon, but for right now I need to respond to this. Last night my wife worked at the cafe. She is a waitress. Apparently, she gave this guy his ticket, and he scribbled a long diatribe about how the waitresses are all fat and need to lose some weight, as their apparent morbid obesity made it hard to swallow food. He also put down a website and phone number for a weight loss center, then had the fucking audacity to make one of the servers read it out loud. Sadly I wasn't there, or this post would be written from behind the local constabulary accoutrement's, but I would like to post an open letter to this....person:

To the Gentleman who Wrote the letter on his napkin after dining at the Radisson Hotel in Kansas City:

Dear No Talent Butt-fucking Goat-blowing Syphilis-spewing Anal-wart:

If I were you, I would thank the Almighty God that I wasn't up there, and that apparently no other real men were last night to beat the living shit out of you, and then grab the nearest, largest woman I could find and make the loudest, sloppiest, gooiest sexfest I could right in front of you, or on top of you. 

My wife is a beautiful woman, and she said that since there were only 2 servers there last night and the other one (the one you got to read your gay little note out loud) was a size 3, that you were talking to her. I would like to point out a few things to you, Paco who eats Man-taco:

1. I do not know ANY man that wants some skinny ass little skank. There is a name for men who are attracted to models and think Britney or Jessica Simpson were fat, and that name is pedophile. 

2. The saddest part of this whole thing is that some women, my wife included, listen to fucking skidmarks such as yourself, and think they are not good looking or that there is something wrong with them. This makes it harder for studmullets such as myself to get with them, because they are so insecure about their looks they cannot believe anyone would genuinely find them attractive. For this, I sincerely hope you get raped in the most excruciatingly painful, brutal way possible by a large, hairy, sweaty guy with genital warts. I hope that you are in jail, maybe in the drunk tank, sitting on the park bench with a smug little grin on your face after insulting a female officer possibly to tears in order to cover up the fact that you have a 2 inch dick, and some huge hairy guy takes interest in you. I hope you see him coming, undoing his pants, the smell of rancid BO and sweat permeating your tender nostrils, unaccustomed to such scents because of the pampered life you probably lead, and you involuntarily gag a little bit. I hope you fight back, with every ounce of strength your ivy league elitist holier-than-thou perfectly trimmed nail having ass has, struggling with all your might, calling out for help to anyone that will listen, and in the moment when your strength gives out, as Frank (for let's call him that, and why not) finally gets you into position, I hope you look up, with terror at what is about to happen to your unlubed, slightly puckered sphincter, see that the only person who can save you is a woman, slightly overweight, absolutely gorgeous, for all women are beautiful when you think about it, except crackheads, and she smiles at you and turns away. 

I hope at that moment, as you feel Frank's enormous gut being rested on your back as he fucks you in the ass, gently at first, but then thrusting harder and harder as his own sweat and your blood and shit lubes his rock hard man-shaft and makes it a truly pleasurable experience, that you call out to a God that doesn't listen, that your screams, probably intermixed with self-deprecating moans of pleasure, for you in reality know you deserve this, and a small part of you doesn't want this to end, a small part of you wants to feel Frank shove said shit-crusted wiener into your mouth as he rests his stomach on your head so you can pleasure him to climax, and you hate yourself more than you ever had in your life.

3. I hope every woman you ever fall in love with ends up shagging some Ron Jeremy lookalike in your bed, with little to no remorse, breaking your heart over and over and over, you superficial bastard.

Seriously, I hope all 2 ladies that read this blog, if you take nothing else from this post, understand this: You are beautiful. "Even if I gain 50 pounds?" Yes. "Even if I grow a beard?" Yes. "Even if I grow a wiener and it's longer than yours?" I fucking hate you, but yes. Even then. Few things in life piss me off more than people who put others down to make themselves feel better about their own inadequacies. Unless we are putting down Smeagol. Then it's funny. Or Karawte Man. Or me. I actually enjoy insults aimed at me, as long as they are new... 

Anyway, I leave you with a favorite quote from a great comic, Louis C. K.. If you ever have the absolute honor of going to one of his shows. Go. Even if you have to pawn off your own bodily fluids, and blood isn't one of them, go:

" I have a friend who is thinking about getting married, and he says 'I just don't know if I can have sex with one woman for the rest of my life'... and I say 'Don't worry about that shit! You're gonna be having sex with zero women for the rest of your life!' I would be proud to have sex with one woman the rest of my life... a big, fat, dead lady with a beard? Damn right, I'd fuck her every day! and be proud to have her!..."

How true.

On another note, I farted in the elevator lobby, and before I could wave the entire fart away, the elevator came. I tried to run in a little circle to dispel the smelly contrails of flatulent aroma before entering the elevator, but the smell followed much like a loyal puppy. It smelled so bad in that cramped elevator that I jumped off and took another one. Later, as I was going to another floor, the same elevator came by and I got on there, and there was my friend, Mr. Shitdust, gently swirling around like a soft summer breeze. This was all that much funnier because someone got off the elevator as I was getting on and they looked most distressed. Great times.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Gems from TSC

Joan of Ark was hot
Rennaisance Festivals rule
check my codpiece son!

So over my entire IT career, I have been an avid poster on a site called . I suggest you check it out. I would like to post a few of my favorite posts from that site that I emitted like wordical diarrhea over the years... for the uninitiated, SF = starfish = moronic customer, in that like starfish if you kill one another will sprout from the same place, like a hydra or a priest's penis.  Enjoy, and bonus points if you can tell where I worked, and EXTRA bonus points if you can tell who I was talking about:

35. "Drink my asshole!" Said by a customer that was angry because he only bought the 1 year warranty and it broke down 4 years later and I politely told him to not be so cheap next time...the nerve of these fiends! [2004-07-13]  
31. Me: "hold down shift" Her: "OK" 10 minutes later of useless banter about why nothing is working..."Oh do you mean shift on my keyboard?" [2004-08-26]  

27. I think the brain in this thing is malfunctioning... [2004-09-07] 

22. (from level one helpdesk) Customer complaining screen is dirty, bits of food obscuring view. Requests tech come and take care of this problem ASAP. (I don't wanna know, I hope that was a joke) [2005-03-31]  
4. Subject: Problem I am having with my computer


This was the entire body of the email. Any suggestions on what I should send back? I was thinking "?!" [2006-05-26]  
....the friends from Da Firm will remember this one, the semi hot lady who worked on the 27th floor, who famously hummed gospel hymns and once sang to me about Jesus coming down from Heaven on a magical skateboard...

3. Subject: ......what?
On yesterday, you showed me how to delete my Deleted Items, Sent Items, and you created a Junk Box along with my number, et al. Today, after closing my e-mail computer, I was unable to retrieve what you created for me. It has disappeared, especially the Junk box you created. You informed me that I could put e-mail into the JB, as many as I wanted and would be kept. Could you please explain to me what happened. I reopened my e-mail, after returning from lunch and it asked me (computer) did I want to reopen the computer in a safe mode? Answered "yes". That is when I lost the package you installed on yesterday. Please inform me what happened? [2006-11-07] 

...and we should all know this one

1. The Leech
This is the person (who is actually lower than starfish because they should know better) who you accidentally were nice to and gave some help solving a technical issue and now cannot close a ticket without bothering you while you are trying to do your work. This is also the Credit Taker, because they cannot be bothered to let management know they are retarded, giving off the impression the brilliant fixes were their idea. Can also be classified as No Talent Ass Clown... [2007-05-14] 

3. If I am not your manager, for God's sake do not tell me literally EVERYTHING you are doing and are going to do. We have this guy here, I'll call him "No Talent ass clown who Deserves to Die" for short, who will make sure he has my attention before telling me such jaw droppers as "I'm going to the bathroom", or "I am going to get a soda". I want to take a dump on his desk and then kill him. [2007-01-23] 

Like some of my other posts, this one may not become a staple, but I figured it would be nice to share... and like a wise man once said, "If it feels good, do it. You don't like it blame somebody else!"

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Things that make you go "Oh Gawd!"

The Bouree by Bach
can cause the ladies to swoon
'cept when I play it

Alright, so a short recap and then on to yesterday's shenanigans.

Over my illustrious career I have said some rather stupid things. Things that I should really think harder about before I utter them, as they can be construed so many ways. I would like to share these with you, and also tell you about what I said yesterday. There is also a new poll on the right, more for my informational purposes, but a decent one nevertheless. Benson Hunter, if you're still reading this, contact me buddy!

So yesterday I had to set up an audioconference in a room with no jacks with which to hook our phone up to. It is one of those Voicepoints, which takes an analog line and converts it to digital and hooks up to what looks like a throwing star that is actually a pretty schweet speakerphone. Usually what I have to do is hook it up to an analog jack, plug everything in and off I go. But as in everything, friggin nothings ever easy anymore, except maybe Smeagol (zing!)

Anyway, I used the fax line for the copier around the corner, and figured I would inform my boss about what I had done in case he got any calls or anything about people not being able to fax, as even if I sent out a global email and put up cones and a huge sign we would still get calls... the following conversation ensues:

Me: Me
Him: Boss

Me: "OK, so I got the projector set up, logged into the Sametime site and made sure all the active X controls were installed, got all the numbers and stuff, I hooked the Voicepoint up, I just figure I would do like we did last time, remember when we jacked off behind the copier there, so ever.....y....thing..."

Him: "What did you just say?! Close the door! Close the door!"

I heard TYlester stop typing on his computer and realized he was in complete awe that I had somehow topped the Duluth comment, and not to some Dell tech but to my boss. Cue loudest most unstoppable gigglefest ever, like that episode of Beavis and Butthead when they are not allowed to laugh or they will get expelled and it is sex education day. Remember they get outside and this huge outburst of giggling took place? Yes.

So this joins my list of stupid stuff I have said, and now I would like you to vote.

Which saying will take the longest to live Down?

1. "When does she turn 18?" Said about the 14 year old intern while Greyskull was walking by.

2. "Hey, let's go straight, I've never been straight before." Said to my old boss and a coworker on our way to test for our first belt when I took Kempo.

3. Dudes With Tudes Assless Chaps Gay Bar in Duluth - said in a chat with a Dell Technician

4. "I usually use the long black one, it's thicker." Said to a courtroom deputy when talking about video cables.

5. "Remember when we jacked off behind the copier there?" Said in reference to an analog line jack

Please vote, and be honest...

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

More Gays...

I love Hall & Oates
'cause your kiss is on my list
she's a man-eater!

Grumble Grumble I hate being busy, it detracts from the time I usually use playing GTA: CHinatown on my DS here at work. I am a top rated crack and acid seller!

Anyway... we went to see Gary Owen at the Majestic this last weekend, and I must say, if you only go to one comedy show, go see Gary Owen. He was hilarious. What I liked is at the end of what was supposed to be his time, I guess the whole thing with the crowd was going so well he just figured "phuckett", and went another 30 minutes, at one point asking us if we had any questions or anything... great times.

Mother's Day is coming up, have you purchased something expensive for the mother in your life? My mom is relatively easy to buy for, she always asks for the same things: A Furby, Evansblue cd or gay porn.

Speaking of the gays, I figured I would spend a little time today talking about some of the more colorful drug dealers Mystical and Toboggan boy had back in the day.

Dealer #1 - "Paul"
That is his real name, never learned his last name. He lived in a nice neighborhood in Kansas somewhere, and wasn't really a very interesting dealer compared to some of the other gentlemen on here but for one incident. Paul was incredibly gay, which is not a problem, but I think he enjoyed boytoys, which was a problem. Being responsible parents, whenever they went to purchase their weekly ration of delicious marijuana, they would take my and JJ along with them. This was usually fine as they would have us play outside in his yard, which was strange because even though it was RIGHT across the street from a neighborhood elementary school and there were bikes and stuff all around the neighborhood, we NEVER saw anyone outside, ever.

Anyway, on this particular day we were jacking around in the backyard, and I fell and a rock punctured my knee, falling into the hole it made. This fucking hurt, and to this day I am certain the rock is still in there, melding with my body and making me technically half cyborg.

Like any level-headed young lad, I ignored it, and went on playing until it became apparent that the blood wasnt going to stop and my socks were soaked, and the only thing I hate more than sheets that get damp because it's humid is wet socks. I run inside, wade into the cloud of Mary's J. Juana smoke that was filling the "Starship" (no joke, that is what it was called), and inform my mom, who gives me a look of mild disdain. Dad is on the other side of the room, not even paying attention anymore, so Paul jumps up and is all like "Oh no lets get you taken care of big guy!" Except he said it all gay-like, which again is not a problem, but it fucking sounded funny.

So he is pouring hydrogen peroxide on/in my knee hole, and I notice that he is rubbing said knee and looking at me strangely...

Ugh I don't want to talk about that guy anymore, long story short nothing happened but I never asked to go to his house again, it was awkward. And gay. And pedophile-ish. What was it about young Stevester that brought out the pedophile in everyone? I think it was because I flashed my weiner so many times when I was a lad, and yesterday... or maybe.... well I probably shouldnt say this, because it's totally gay too, but I have often been told I run like a girl and my butt jiggles most mesmerizically.... I had been told this by my football coach and numerous gentlemen on the team, and couple this with not only the fact that I have no hair on my legs but the fact that my mom said they thought I was a girl until I came out "with a handle on 'im!", which is my mom's favorite saying, and you have a strange situation.

Not that it matters, but the center, who would later remark "Man I am so horny right now" in the middle of a huddle during a football game, was the one who originally brought that up. Just Sayin'

Monday, May 11, 2009

My ass is killing me

never been so drunk
that I threw up in my pants
while taking a dump

My ass hurts.

No, this isn't like my short, yet explosive jailhouse romance that I never plan on telling anyone about...

Let me start from the beginning. Seriously, what the fuck does that even mean? How many people start a story in the middle or the end? I can feel another annoyance post coming on with all these...

Anyway, while I truly enjoy the current martial art I am taking, and have rank befitting of someone who is awesome, I have always wanted to take Aikido. Partially because it is so cool looking to see someone do almost nothing and see the attacker fly away while they just wave their arms around, and also because this allows me to legally cop a feel while trying to throw someone, which is awesome. Sadly this was a total sausagefest, so no go there.... alright I won't lie I did it anyway.

So I get to this place which is in what I like to call Little Mexico, which is that area around southwest Trafficway and Mission, down 31st street from the Fox building... I mosey in, in my super awesome "Got Mullet" t-shirt, totally not gay capri looking karate pants, and Hello Kitty house slippers (don't judge), fully intent on a nice relaxing day aikidoing it up.

I go inside, take off my slippers, stand there sexilly adjusting my junk for 20 seconds, and walk into the main area. I see what looks like the janitor, you know the kind: old guy, has a pot belly, just kinda wandering aimlessly around... I greet him and wait for the uber sensei to show up.

The janitor hands me a form to fill out and walks out of the room and then comes back out in the sensei outfit, which was kind of strange. I fill the form out and try to pass gas quietly (I'm a morning farter) and failed miserably at it.

Anyway, it's go time. I amble into the main dojo area, which looks like one of the industrial area torture rooms in Saw, walk onto the mats and figure I will wow them with my awesome kata work. No one seems impressed, and I feel like a sad panda.

We start class, and after sitting in the most uncomfortable position known to man *Side note: in a lot of martial arts they want you to sit in what is called seizan, which is when you sit on the heels of your feet while they are folded neatly under yourself, putting all of your weight on your stretched out footsies. Oucheroo guy! The whole time I was trying to do that and not blow ass as everyone was completely silent. Not easy.

We begin with sexy time warm ups, which is rolling onto your back from a standing position and then rolling back up without using your hands, which was the most physical activity I had experienced since my sons were consummated, when I had to run all the way around the house to pull the mailman off my wife because they locked the front door. Then we start with the throwing. In Aikido, you use the attacker's energy and redirect it to get them away from you; it looks totally and completely fake because of how little touching and how little effort is expelled throwing these guys 5 feet away. Let me tell you, not only is it real, but if you do not know how to fall (being a true man/ martial artist, I know neither how to fall down or how to cry), it fucking hurts.

Numerous times all I saw the instructor or the other random homeless people who wandered in do is flap their arms and next thing I know I am kissing either rubber floor or concrete. Ouch. It was a two hour class and I think I literally sweat out enough to quench the thirst of an entire Rwandan refugee camp, with enough salt to season their rice that they would eat along with such a hefty and delicious beverage....

Anyway, this was all totally and completely awesome, but for a few things:

1. If you are going to be getting thisclose to someone else, and getting them in headlocks or you are certain they are going to have to touch your armpit areas, wear deodorant. I mean, seriously... it makes it hard to learn when I am constantly mesmerized by your funk.

2. When we got a 5 minute break between classes, I walked out into the main area and the instructor was out there pushing farts out by rubbing his tummy. The look of complete and total satisfaction on his face was serene yet disturbing.

3. (Nasty) Just like the first time I fingered a girl in my tender years (sadly I was 5 or 6 because it was my babysitter), I could not stop sniffing someone's (more than one person forwent deodorant) incredible funk on my fingers. It completely grossed me out and I hated myself for doing it, but every time I got a waft I would sniff my fingers while frowning profusely. This was very entertaining to the gentlemen standing on the corner at 20th and Southwest Trafficway, and I would just like to go on record and say that it was not my fault. Fuck I sound like a nasty ass when I reread it, and it really and truly grosses me out that I did that, but it's like when you smell a totally rank fart. You know it's gross, you don't want to smell it, but you can't fucking help yourself. Or when you get something nasty on your lip either from rubbing your arm across it to brush sweat away or your nose is snotting up like crazy. No matter how hard you try, you HAVE to ligget at least once...

I have a theory about all of this, which would also explain why when you take a dump, the first thing you do is stand up and look at it, no matter how much you don't want to, and I think it has to do with evolutionary man and all that jazz, but I won't delve into it here.

I already have another post for tomorrow, as I forgot I started one last week but never finished it, man I have almost 400 stories, and I am only 28... fuck my life!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Happy Cinco de Mayo

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

If you are latina and reading this, please flash me in honor of your lovely country's independence. You know what, if you are reading this (I don't care what race/sex/age you are) go ahead and flash me, you'll get the same response.

In honor of such a magical day, I will reprint the beloved Jeremy in full Cinco de Mayo regalia at the bottom of this page.

I haiku it up
words come in your ear-pussies
wear a flak jacket


So today I was in the locker room, doing as all men do after a killer glute workout, flexing naked in the mirror (if your man says he doesn't, he is flexing for another man. Just so you know), and Foxy Lady was playing in my ipod, and that got me to thinking of one of the more humorous manager meetings with Greyskull. I may have told this story already, but I'm to retarded to do research.

Anyway, we had a series of luncheons (forced but we were told they were priveleges) to dunno, something. Fellow techs will remember them as Greyskull, the head of HR and other management boobs gave a series of presentations on complete and utter bullshit. It was retarded, it was a waste of time, it was pure magic for Flanders and Santa.

Anyway, on this magical day, Greyskull was giving a presentation on some convoluted issue that made little to no sense to any of us victims, and she was going over customer perceptions of how we act, I think. She was reading some gay report, and was saying "... so this was totally rad, it was all like foxy-" and I, hoping to break the chains of oppressive boredom, chimed in with "Instead of "Foxy", I like to be called Stevester." To a few giggles and a look of death from Santa's good eye for daring to interrupt his leader/ lover. Greyskull scowled at me but finished her retard presentation, and we all left. I get downstairs and had barely enough time to grunt through my first response to a question from Flanders when I hear those magical words: "Stevester can you come into my office?"

I mosey on in, trying to think of what I had done to warrant such a meeting. Was she tired of me grunting my answers to her questions? Had I finally hurt Flanders' feelings by not talking? Did she find out about the craps games I was engaged in in the elevator?

I was completely stunned and had no witty retort when she informed me that today's meeting featured the letter "R", the number "3", and that my comments during the lunch meeting were wholly inappropriate. WTF?!

I was trying to think back to what I could have said but nothing came to my super smart brane. Greyskull, seeing the smoke coming out of my ears trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about and informed me "Your little comment about "I like to be called Stevester" when I said 'foxy' was inappropriate and offended a bunch of people in that room". Again I say respectfully....What. The. FuuUUuuUUuuck.

I sat there, completely dumbfounded. What are we, 3rd graders? Who the hell would be offend- oh wait, I know, Flanders. You see, any time anything even remotely turned to talk of the completely natural act of sex, Flanders would hurriedly leave the conversation. I erroneously assumed that meant he loved making sweet love to hairy men and the thought of coupling with a woman in the most romantic way possible during a given commercial break made him mad nautious. Turns out he is actually married, so I guess my gaydar does not work so well, but I am getting off track. Greyskull continued:

"Also your comment during the sexual harrassment in the workplace luncheon about 'Are women allowed to sit before the men get their plates?" was completely uncalled for, inappropriate and rude." I can't remember if that is verbatim what I said, feel free to correct me.

Now, let's be honest. If someone making a reference to themselves as being "Foxy" offends you, you are:

A) Gay
B) Retarded
3) A fucking asshole
~) A gay retarded asshole, or Benson Hunter for short.

I mean, seriously. If I had said something like "I like to be called Stevester, bitch" then stood up and stuck my tongue down the throat of whomever was sitting closest to me while gently fingering their asshole through their jeans, maybe that might be inappropriate. Totally hot, maybe a little awkward because I seem to remember Will and Max sitting by me, but a tad inappropriate nevertheless. And the fact that the director of HR thought my little quip was funny should have been a little more solid indicator of whether or not my completely 'G' rated joke was inappropriate or not. 

Anyway, enjoy your Cinco de Mayo, and celebrate it: go to a Home Depot and hug someone. Or go to a Chinese restaurant, find a cook and hug them. They are, as far as I can tell, all from Mexico as well. I do not want to be racist, during black history month you should hug a wino or call in sick an hour after you were supposed to be at work...I insult all races equally.