Thursday, June 18, 2009

Like a Thief in the Night

Like a Thief in the Night

I love chocolate cake
boiled steamed fried or even baked!
good for goodness sake!

So it's been a while since we have heard of Smeagol's adventures, and I was at once happy and disheartened. I was happy because it appeared he might be turning over a new leaf, becoming a pillar of a society that once shunned him, tossing him aside into the murky depths of his own dark psyche, meant to sit smoldering in the wretched meanderings of his darker alter ego...

But that's not the case, so...

I called JJ the other day, well actually I called Mystical to thank her for coming by and not flashing the security guards downstairs...but you can't call JJ's house without talking to him! After exchanging pleasantries I asked about a certain wiley raptor, and got a most entertaining update.

Apparently Smeagol stole a bunch of JJ's shirts. As far as I could understand, Smeagol came by one day recently and was most distressed to find that no one was there to receive him. Angry that JJ had the adulation, adoration and nay, sexytime elation of numerous ladies, while as a raptor Smeagol is relegated to society's fodder, the ladies who no longer have standards or various female animals, Smeagol cleaned JJ's closet of some of his finer shirts. He did return them, after another threat of violence, but seriously, consider that JJ has a child to care for, works 30 miles away from his home, and is in constant threat of detection and assault by the local gendarme. Smeagol has "borrowed" clothings from me as well, and I am in no better of a situation. Yet Smeagol works 2 jobs, has no kids, no pets, pays less than half of what I do for rent, and the sustenance he attains from his daily beggings is more than enough to sate his needs. I just don't get it.

Anyway, JJ was trying to find a babysitter for his kid, and being a good person I nominated my wife without telling her, because I am a classy guy. JJ informed me the reason for the request was because Mystical couldn't do it, she had to work a double, and though Smeagol and Karla usually- wait, what?

I asked for more information, and apparently Smeagol has been living with Karla and her boyfriend for several weeks now, which would explain why no one answers the phone when I call his raptor house anymore. JJ said he called and Mystery was all like "he went to work about 6 weeks ago and hasn't been home since, I think he is still at work"... which is sad on so many levels. WHat is she eating? She has no job, and from past experience I know Smeagol does not have a stash of taco bell that would last 6 weeks... I mean come on. As ugly and annoying as she is, Mystery deserves better than that raptor. Haggard, take one for the team, man... she needs you.

All jokes aside, Smeagol has apparently been trying to get ahold of me for awhile, and now I am pretty sure I know why, and will refrain from answering his raptor calls.

More later.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

The Road Not Taken

The Road Not Taken

As two roads diverged
the conundrum became clear
clothed or commando?

So it looks like for my "vacation" I will be working harderer than I actually do at work, which is the shit time...

Firstly, there is a karate tournament that I must attend in the lovely town of Dalton, Georgia, about an hour Northeast of Atlanta. As no one wants to fly and I am still reeling from the body cavity search I received the last time I went to the wrong grocery store (those security guards CAN search you anywhere, anytime), we (meaning the wife and kids) decided fun would be had driving down there. The implications of this should be obvious, but just in case they are not, this means as the man I am required to drive all the way down there and back, as well as entertain them and hand service myself when everyone falls asleep on the way.

As if this didn't suck enough mancock, my wife just set up a date with our neighbors to go to Omaha my first Monday out of the box to go to the zoo. I have wanted to go to the Omaha Zoo every since I found out they have a huge aquarium (I don't know about you, but when I think Nebraska I think "beautiful sea creatures), and thusly I could not say no or "Eat my fuck", which is my current favorite retort to...well everything.

SO I know what you're thinking: "A pink tutu, then a bumblebee costume, what is next, you fat asshole?" Well first of all, you shouldn't call me fat, that makes me sad (no it doesn't, and pass me the mayo for my tater tots).

Apparently after the bumblebee, everyone now just assumes when someone turns 50 I will dress up in whatever anyone can think of and dance around at work all day like a moron. This is a completely accurate and true assumption, because I will. I have nothing to prove to anyone, I have no dignity and I had a boner the entire time I was wearing those pantyhose, which was awkward but still hot (in a totally manly way). (Editor's note: I am kidding about the boner part. I had to tuck my man-junk down one of the leggings, and it was itchy all day long. I have a newfound respect for drag queens, that was the most uncomfortable experience I have ever been through). The next person to turn 50 is the lady that made the bumblebee and tutu costumes, so a couple of us nerds walked over to see what she wanted for her birthday.

I am not sure if I told you guys or not, and you should know by now that I do little to no research, ever, but a while ago as a joke I informed the ladies in the clerk's office that the IT department was going to create a "Men of IT" swimsuit calendar, complete with sequined banana hammocks, lederhosen and tasteful chocolate starfish shots, featuring mostly myself and Tylester, who is going to be Mr. March and Mr. Oktoberfest due to his penchant for fine alcoholic beverages, such as PBR, Miller High Life and Boone's Farm box wine (it's the freshest!). None of said women let either me or Tylester forget about that, and in recent months it seems the jabs are getting less joking and more serious.

So we ask the seamstress, let's call her Carla, what she wants, and she informs me that she would be insulted if she did not get said thongs or some kind of Jackass Party Boy outfit/ Chippendale's thing. What I am wondering, is since she was not smiling, was she serious? Just in case I am going to start on a very stringent ab/ core conditioning workout to go along with my already impressive strength training, which currently is laying beneath the weight bench, crying softly while masturbating and hoping I don't get caught (don't knock it til you try it)... I am now kind of considering at least creating a calendar, tasteful yet sexy, masculine yet ready for a tender caress of feminism... great times.

Such a calendar would of course be a timeless addition to any reader's wall, both at home and at work, and a great conversation starter. Consider this:

Boss: Jenkins, do you have the- Good God, what the fuck is that on your wall?

You (Jenkins): It's the Men of IT 2010 wall calendar, chock full of hot, sweaty bods and grown men wearing diapers and snuggling with Jeremy..."

Boss: Hot damn I am so turned on right now, you are being promoted Jenkins, to Vice President!

I am assuming this is how all conversations would go...regardless of race, sex, age or religious preference, "Hot Gawd!" means the same thing to Muslims as it does Hindus and Christians...

On my way to my weekly pilgrimage to Vintage Stock this week, I also plan on stopping at a certain McDonald's for some delicious... well fuck I guess a drink Lord knows I am not eating there, though I know Smeagol stands for quality I cannot get over the idea that I might be eating some beef he had handled...

I guess that's it for now, I will get back to the Smeagol-y goodness when I can, though I really want to get some more into Greyskull and work adventures, there was a surprising amount of nudity, wrongness, and broken elevators in my professional career as a semi-retarded IT specialist, so there's that.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Busy Bee

Busy Bee

Have you dignity?
dressing like a hooligan!
It's fisticuffs, sir!

So as you know, or if this is your first time reading my site as you are about to find out, I am an idiot. No this is not self deprecating or putting myself down or low self esteem, as I personally think I am awesome and tell myself that every morning while dropping mad deuceage instead of working...

But anyway, that is water under the leprechaun, old tricks die hard, got all my stones in a row and going to hit 2 birds with a duck, or something like that...

So the last time we talked, I informed you all that I had been requested to wear a bumblebee costume, and since I am a morally bankrupt, broken man, I said yes (actually it's because I wrongly assumed which side a bee's stinger goes on, and was looking forward to... well, nevermind, but for those who don't know, it goes in BACK.)

So without further ado, here are the photos that are safe for work, and there will be a vote on the right hand side. If you never saw the tutu shot, please search through my previous postings for it. I could easily provide a link, but I won't for reasons that can only be described as mean spirited.

Back to more Smeagol's Adventures later.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Fees, Fees and fat honeybees

Fees, Fees and fat honeybees

swollen monkey balls
if they were yours, you'd scratch too
and friggin love it!


So about a week ago one of the lovely ladies from the clerks office moseys in and asks if Stevester (Stevester only speaks in the third person!) if I can do her a really big favor. The huge smile on her face hints that it is not work related, which means the answer is yes.

"Great! This time is it Aggie's birthday (name changed in case she reads this), and I need you to dress up like a bumblebee and read a poem!"

I had already stopped listening, once I realized that being married meant I no longer had any personal dignity and was already 40% gay, I can handle almost any situation with ease.

So all I need to supply is a pair of black tights or panty hose to wear, and she suggested I purchase "Queen" size, as my man thighs are quite robust from all the running I do (which is none).

I get on the phone with the wifey and the following short conversation ensues:

ME: "Hey hon can you buy me a pair of black pantyhose to wear at work?"

HER: (NO HESITATION) "Sure what size do you think you are? I am guessing queen?"

ME: "Yeah that's what the ladies here said."

HER: "OK I'll get them tonight!"


There are two things wrong with this conversation. One, that the fact that I am asking her to purchase black pantyhose for me to wear to work doesn't shock her, that she is completely nonchalant about the whole thing, and two, the fact that she had thought about it before and naturally knew I wore a queen size pair of stockings.

What the heck is wrong with me?! Read on to find out.

So I had to try them on last night to make sure they would fit. I think the act of putting pantyhose on, unless they are being put on your face to obscure your looks, is the hottest thing in the world, if you are a woman. On a tall fat balding black guy, not so much.

I get these gay things on, amazingly without ripping them, and my wife comes around the corner and snaps off 2 pictures before I can run and hide. I would share these with you but I am only wearing the tight over some very revealing boxers and I would rather this post not be about my man-junk, because when you think steveshaikus, I want you to think "kid-friendly", but not in the weird way like I drive a Cadillac and try to hand out lollipops.

She also gave me some uber gay black thigh highs, which sadly I might also have to wear, as the pantyhose are a little.....revealing. The saddest part is my wife said if I had hairy legs it would have been uber hard to get these damn things on, but since I naturally have no hair on my legs it was a snap. Fuck my life...

I will post pix if any of you want to see them, Seriously though I am sure after the tutu no one will be shocked to see me in a huge bumblebee costume, so...

On to other things!

Last night I decided "Hey Stevester, Lord of all you survey, it's the 21st century, you're a man's man, sitting on the couch eating bon bons wearing pantyhose, you should pay your bills online like all the hip kids do, what with their Englebert Humperdink records, 8 track tapes and Pac-Man videogames!"

The I took a dump.

Then I went online to pay my light bill, and as I went to pay, I noticed there was a fucking fee. There is a 5.00 "convenience fee" to pay my bill online. What the fuck is that all about?!

Let's look at the logic here: If I have to get in my car and drive to the store or whatever they sell their electricity out of (I am assuming they wear overalls and use a rubber pitchfork to fish electricity out of a bucket that they then bag up and send to your house via glass tube? I dunno), they have to pay rent to maintain the building, pay a cashier to take my money, pay for a printer, paper and ink to print my receipt, and a computer to accept the payment into the system, a janitor to clean up, etc. etc. ad nauseum.

On the other claw, if I pay online they can automate a system to accept my payment, the money goes right to their bank, it is all for the most part instant as it all has to do with the internets, and they can get one retarded guy to hit Enter every 90 seconds to prevent a screen saver. Who is this really convenient for, since I also have to fill out a 4u38294yu832957291305 page shit-fuck form to pay my damn bill!

>pant< >pant<>pant<>

On another front, I recently went to rent a car so I could drive down to beautiful Atlanta and maraud over the other karate contestants like an unstoppable rebel force. One of the fees is a "clean car" fee, which I have to pay even if I DON'T Jack off in the back seat like I usually do, a "gas surcharge" that I have to pay even if I bring the car back with a full tank, a "tire maintenance convenience" fee, which is a fee for the honor of having goddamned tires on the shit-eating car, amongst other buttfuckery that I won't even delve into here. Wha?!

Last one, and the one that really gets my sphincter on the puck (puck? ER! LOL I kill me), is the bank. Motherfucker, I am good enough to put my money in your building, who the fuck are you to charge me for the honor of holding and badly investing my money?! And don't get me started on the whole overdraft and other charges. What sense does that shit make? "Hey Roger, this guy has no money in the bank, what should we do?"

"Charge that fucker for not having money, that'll show him!"

I wonder if the same choad who came up with the overdraft system has kids and raises them in that fashion. Sally got caught getting a dirty Sanchez/rimjob in the family Beemer? Make her fuck 3 guys at once in a all-for-one bukkake gangbang every time you catch her, that'll show her!

Same thing goes for credit cards. Can't afford to pay your bill? Let's triple your interest rate, so what was once just enough to pay your minimum balance and then a few dollars toward principle now all goes toward interest! Holy fuck how did we let ourselves get so fucking stupid?!

I am not advocating politics or anything like that, to our 2 conservative readers. It's just that if you don't like Obama you are in the Klan there I said it.

More later.