steveshaikus

The Ninja

2011-08-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

Thong entanglement
claims the lives of thousands daily
get yourself checked out

So.... wow... it's been a while. Whats happened? Smeagol is in and out of the hospital and the nursing home, my sister said he is doing better but I haven't been to see him, and by "doing better" she means he tries to feel the ladies up while calling them names, and if that's the case I can only assume he will be released soon, which should kick assholes.

I also got my 4th degree blackbelt, which is cool, I guess, kinda made me wonder though: What more do I need to learn in order to defend myself? I always tell people "If all you want to do is defend yourself in your typical bathroom brawl (where all the fights I have ever been in have occured, the line to be first at the glory hole brings out the ugliest in all of us) you really only need to get to yellow or green belt. Anything past that is A) overkill, B) indication that you wish to become Chuck Norris, or C) a sign that you have an unhealthy addiction. To punching people. In the taint.

I'm still being asked to dress up in all manner of more and more inappropriate outfits, if you have seen my Elvis costume (or the honeybee, or the tutu, or the sugar plum fairy, or the Richard Simmons, or that time I showed up nude after eating 3 viagras) then you know the I no longer have any dignity, self respect, or spine. I wonder if anyone is still surprised since I dress up for all occasions, be they retirements, bar mitzvahs, interventions, or episodes of hoarding (by the way, does that show put your cluttered house into perspective or what???)

My mom's still crazy as all shitfuck, which is OK because we all love her, but her fascination/ stalking of all things Evan's Blue is getting a little out of hand. I mean REALLY out of hand...

My mom loves Evan's Blue. She loves them in the ass. This has led to a lot of consternation in her house, as because SHE loves them, then everyone else must. That includes, but is not limited to:

Concerts: My dad has come home from work to see her sitting on the front steps with a packed bag, and learned she bought tickets to a concert in Rockford that starts in 5 hours. This has happened more than once.

CDs: This has been my greatest annoyance. Mystical asked me to burn some Evans CDs. I did so, and gave them to her. She then called me 3 FUCKIN DAYS later to inform me she had listened to the CDs so much they melted, and could I burn a couple copies of the CDs now? I made 5 a piece. What the hell. What....the.....FUUUUUUCK. I love my mom, but seriously, how fucking annoying is it to be at home, excited because you're alone so you decide to jack one while watching Teen Wolf (don't judge), and then you get a phone call because Mercury is in Retrograde and Andromidus-Persei VIII is orbiting .666 million parsecs from Ganymede and so all of the cds she was listening to spontaneously combusted and turned into little butterflies, VAMPIRE butterflies with an unquenchable bloodlust and a natural exoskeleton that did 1D4 hit dice of mana damage whenever they cast Shocking Ray due to their Charisma modifiers, and could I burn 48390284 more so she could have them last 2 days?

Goofy Videos: I thought these were great, but JJ and Toboggan had these looks.... I know I am going to take flak for this, because I have never said anything inappropriate before, but they looked like 2 poor, starving, beaten down Jewish people in a concentration camp, just without the hope. I was asked to come down and film a short video of her that she is on a "very strict deadline" to make for them. I get there, and it's hilarious, she knows all the words, there's takes, she has to take a moment to get into character, the works. JJ is standing there with this most godawful look on his face, which only makes it funnier. In the video she wants at random times for a little doll to be thrust into the foreground of the camera, and this job was given to JJ. The fact that he was genuinely and demonstrably annoyed, coupled with the fact that he had apparently done it so many times he knew EXACTLY when to do it, and did so with so little gusto I assumed he was atrophied, meant this was not his first rodeo. I still have the video if you're interested.

Facebook: O....M.....F.....S.....G... (Oh My Fucking Shitfuck Gonads)... Mystical loves her some Facebook. First thing's first: A status is just that... a one sentence fucking STATUS. Her statuses (statii? Statutory rape?) are epic diatribes written in the 5th person by the acclaimed Viking berzerker Kraag the Unfettered, high ruler of Valeria in the Upper Danish Norsk region of the 3rd century, beater of all manner of Beast, killer of Beowulf, and hi ruler of Zamunda. I mean seriously, some of these statuses are 4 paragraphs long, and by "paragraph" I mean a huge 300 word fucking block of text that no one can possibly read or comprehend. I am now positive she is using code like those Windtalkers in WWII to send nuclear secrets to Krsyphillistan. She also has friended random people at my job, which lead to the inevitable "Hey dude your mom friended me, now I'm gonna pound her in the browniehole" remarks. OK maybe he didn't make those remarks but I would if I was him and that's just weird. Haven't I been through enough? I worked with someone who had seen and possibly stuffed money into her unobstructed smelly hairhole at one point, I assumed it could not get any worse but it could. If Tylester befriends her, I must then kill myself.

Anyway, don't hold your breath for updates, I am not going to post too regularly, or when I do I might post 3 times in one day, though I haven't done anything 3 times in one day since my wife took the kids to the ozarks and I found out the playboy channel had free previews. Zing!

The DMV. Fuck you.

2011-03-11T08:55:00.000-08:00

The DMV. Fuck you.

people in line, pissed

wond'ring why it takes so long

to get turned away.

Fuck the DMV. Fuck it in the ass. Do not use lube. Do not give it a reacharound. It is the skidmark of all society. It is the reason state workers are hated. It is the Mordor of all beauracracy. It is shit.

That's what I wanted to use as my haiku but could not find a way to limit it to the correct format.

So last year my license expired. I didn't realize it. Before it had expired I got a couple of tickets for doing 70 in a 40 and for failure to provide insurance (I have insurance, the paperwork was a week expired and I had not printed up my new cards yet). Please keep these 2 seemingly unrelated facts in mind as you read my lamentations.

I finally realize my license is expired and mosey on down to the Gladstone Drivers License Bureau to renew it, thinking I will simply have to pay a fine. By the way do you know what they call Gladstone? "Happy Rock". In all my dealings with the police there I think I know why it was named that. In 1847 It was the town of Inbred McRacistville, completely indistinguishable from any other town in Norther Missouri. Otis Jenkins III, a young black man, was caught making eye contact with the wagon wheel of the local sheriff, Adolf "Niggerhater" McNazi (no relation), and as was common practice back then, was fired upon with all manner of shotgun, rifle, and slingshot loaded wooden dildos. Being black, Otis easily jive danced his way Matrix-style around all of the projectiles, adding to the consternation of the townspeople, until one young man, Silas Gibson, picked up a random rock and threw it, hitting young Jackson right in his fuckin' eye and taking him down. At the fair trial/ hanging later on that morning, The judge praised young Silas, calling him a Lethal Weapon, keeping young Jackson from holding the town Ransom, and how he had such a Braveheart (do you see the picture I am painting here???) and officially renaming the town to Gladstone to commemorate such a happy occasion. The police there hold that brave tradition to this day, in ways I will be happy to elaborate on, though they oppress anyone who is poor just as much.

Anyway, I go get in line, sit down and look at some porn on my Android tablet, showing some sweet split hairy beaver pics to the 6 year old young man sitting next to me (hey, he's gonna see it soon anyway), until my number is called. Before I get into the raging shitstorm that is the DMV, let me ask a few rhetorical questions:

1. What the FUCK takes so goddamn long?! I give you a paper with a number on it. You stick it up your ass and then type my name in your computer. The computer says pay, and I do. DONE.

2. Why do they have 5 booths for DMV, 3 for drivers license and alt vehicle shit, and the DMV ones have 1 fuckin person working while the others have 2 people per station? Is it THAT complicated to give me a tag for my boat?

3. Why do they go on break 3 times per hour?

4. Canada...please explain.

Anyway, I head on up, politely throw my paperwork at the lady and scowl at her for wasting my time. 11 minutes of random typing and looking at the sheaf of docucrap I had to bring and she asks what my name is. WTF?! You can't tell who I am from my old drivers license, my registration, title, stool sample and VD card? (Hepatitis free since 2008!) I answer her stupid questions, and she informs me after wasting 20 minutes of my time after having me wait 45 minutes to talk to her by telling me I need my birth certificate. Why. Why do you fucking need that. There's no reason I can think of that my birth certificate would be needed. Also why can I not get that there? Why do I have to drive ACROSS town to get that, then to fucking shithole ass Liberty to pay property tax, but oh shit I lived in Platte County for 11 minutes so now I have to go to Platte City, it's no wonder people drive unlicensed or while suspended: they aren't criminals, they have NO idea how to maneuver through the shithole of a system we have in order to get their licenses so must spend their lives in a kind of purgatory for all eternity, being constantly harrassed and annoyed by all manner of douchebaggery both real and imagined, crying softly into their pillows as the Man gently thrusts his police baton into their....whoa. Sorry about that.

Anyway, long story slightly shorter, I go get my damn birth certificate, which now proves I was born in 'Murrica. Wait another 30 minutes, get the SAME FUCKING LADY who takes my shit, and starts going through it like she has never seen it before. Get all that done and....no license. I have warrants. I must pay compliance.

OK, I am going to take a little blame here. I got the tickets, the police officer informed me while sprinkling crack in my car that I could mail the money for the ticket in, and I would get a court date in the mail for the insurance. Fine. I will readily admit I threw the ticket on the counter when I got home and promptly forgot about it. I will say I NEVER got a court date for the other, and I told the lady this. She looked at my license and it had my old address. I TOLD the cop my new one. How do police ever catch criminals? This is mind boggling. I got the ticket in August of last year, and it's February. No one bothered to contact me or look for me or arrest me for 5 months?! She says maybe the ticket was sent to my old address but it's still my fault for not showing up to court. Not sure what kind of sense that makes. I head to the police station to pay "compliance", which turns out to be "All my fucking money I got back from taxes". THis takes the rest of the day as apparently while it is easy to book someone IN, getting them back OUT of jail is a lot more time consuming.

THe next day (this is day 3 of the saga, day 2 was spent running around getting documents) I head to the DMV again, wait in line, and give the lady the compliance. She takes my picture and I wait for 20 minutes to get my license. SHe calls me up and guess what? I have to go to court on one of those now. Awesome. I head down to the KC municipal court, wait in ANOTHER line for a little over an hour, listening to the people there talk proudly about how many times they have waited in that same line and telling me tips and interesting facts about the tellers ("Tracy there is faster but she just broke up with her boyfriend T-Dawg so she is not thinkin' real clear, Olga is slow as shit and she's on her period"...), all of which I ignore because I don't like black people. I get to the front of the line, the FUCKING network goes down. AS I am walking up. For all but ONE computer. In a line I am not in. I shit you not.

Wait in the other line for another hour, get to the front and they stamp "Compliance" on my paid tickets, I head up to court which is thankfully quick and then head back to the DMV. This is where the story SHOULD end. It does not.

I get there, there is a skinny black guy there now. Being black myself, I assume he will quickly process my paperwork because we have something in common. This does not happen. After the requisite Jive Handshake we all know he prints up my license after looking all my paperwork over, and then quickly picks up the phone and whispers into it for 4 minutes. WTH now? Well apparently I paid compliance to the police but I have to pay all manner of fees to reinstate my license. Fine, whatever - at this point I have spent a little over 600 fucking dollars to get my license. He takes the money, PRINTS UP MY LICENSE, types something in the computer, and then puts my license under his desk. I politely ask him WTF he did that for in a menacing tone and he informs me that they don't process payments for 24 hours just to make sure the payment clears the bank. I counter with while that is a sound business practice I paid him in CASH. He informs me that be that as it may they can't change the rules for one person otherwise anarchy would ensue and undead zombie kittens driving German panzer tanks would duct tape us to the floor and use our nipples as catnip while a morbidly obese man takes a shit on our chests and Muslims would take over the country all because he bended the rules for me. Whatever, I leave.

2 days later, after I go to court on the insurance ticket, I go back to get my license, and the same guy informs me that they are going to put my license in the mail, and that they STILL haven't processed my paperwork yet, because they are backed up. This boggles my mind, because that implies this is a daily occurence, and if so why is no one else complaining? Because they are still in line, that's why! He says my license will come "in a few days" and he's oh so sorry about all that. I can come back when the payment clears and get a duplicate for 12 more dollars if I like. I storm out.

Long story short, after waiting a week I go get a duplicate. Same guy tells me according to their records they sent my license out that morning, do I really want a dupe? Seriously....What....the.....Fuck. Never have I wanted to study bomb-making or just get a large car and bulldoze a building more. Putting up a NAMBLA Pedophiliac Drive-Thru would be a better use of a building than having a DMV there. Shoving my arm full force up an animals ass and unblocking it's impacted colon while it shits down my arm and into my shirt would be better than going through this process again.

Epilogue, still waiting on the original license they mailed out February 18...

What else....today is Smeagol's birthday, in honor of such a day I am going to the hospital to watch either Black Dynamite or MacGruber with him, well wishes are welcomed, insults will be rebuked with photos of Jeremy.

Ridicula.

2010-11-16T06:15:00.000-08:00

damn you homeless guy

why do I even bother

you shit on my tire

First, before I begin, if you haven't already gotten it, At Home by Bill Bryson is one of the most interesting, thought provoking, fantastically chock full of useless facts that will annoy people and bring out your inner elitist books I have ever read. It really is fantastic, it's a history of the home and how it has evolved over the millenia, from the lowly bus station skank, to the high class, sophisticated, Fifth Avenue, bus station skank.

Smeagol update: Well kids, he's doing better, but still not to his normal self. He talks at about half speed, and moves like he is in water.... I'm not going to lie, it hurts to be there and see someone you love and who owes money to you going through that. Am I EVER going to get my 10 dollars back? All jokes aside, he is displaying glimpses of his old self, as when I guess Mystery got a ride from her mom's house 120 miles away, and he told her to get the hell out of his room as he had just woke up and didn't want to see that shit. Classy times. I am torn between forgetting about the past and feeling sorry for him because no one deserves what happened to him and wondering how much of this is karma and could have been avoided with one trip to the doctor's office, or, you know, asking someone at WORK because he works in the medical field. I do know Thanksgiving will not be the same without him... not looking good for him being able to make it out by then...

Anyway, on to other things. I recently picked up one of those Chinese knockoff ipads, and am pleased to say that for only 100 dollars you can safely rub one out to some bondage goat porn as they surf the web at a pretty decent clip! I also like letting people check it out then tell them I only really use it on the can after they touch it and lick their fingers. I do that because I am a classy guy, and because 80% of the time I am using it I AM on the can, so there's that.

Anyhoodles, we took the kids around for Halloween recently, and it led to some observations, observations I would like to share with you:

1. The child molesters that are not allowed to participate, do you think they are jacking off while looking out their curtains? Like I do when old ladies walk their dogs by my house? Well I'm not behind the curtains but still...

2. How fucking lazy have kids gotten? I remember when I was a lad we got dressed up, Mystical and Toboggan would drop us off at Mr. Z's on 39th and Volker Boulevard in Westport, and told us they would be back at 1030. We usually got dropped off at about 6. Smeagol was told to watch over us, so naturally as soon as the car pulled off he would tell us to go fuck ourselves, take what little candy we had started out with and run off with his buddies, probably to assault another wino who was just down on his luck.

We would walk ALL over Westport, and this was the 80s, when 3 out of 5 houses looked creepy anyway because back then the weird molester look was in for some reason, or maybe we were infested with the back then, I dunno... houses without lights on, fuck it we didn't care... and every once in awhile Smeags would come by, assault us and relieve us of our bounty, and disappear again. I miss those simpler times...

We get outside, and first, about every 7 out of 10 kids is getting DRIVEN from house to house by their cell phone yakkin moms, almost running us over and glaring at us when they have to stop talking long enough to apply the breaks..... WTF?! is it really that taxing on your fat ass to get out and walk around for 20 minutes?!

Fuck!

Anyway, kids are fucking lazy too.... my jizz-spawn walked around 2 fucking blocks and then started whining about being tired and could carry them. ?! I mean I thought I was a lazy shitsniffer because I would get tired before we made it to Gennessee, thinking back that was almost 2 miles in... I know, I know, I am old now because I am whining about how it used to be, but shit!

And the trust thing... we get home, I take my thong and nipple clamps off, the kids are already balls deep in candy, candy that could have razors or jizz or arsenic in it, I thought that was a well known tradition: wait until the parents check it and take all the good candy. It's a tradition passed down for generations, yo!

I recently had to have "the talk" with my oldest. How awkward can things get? Try explaining to your kid that if he plans to rub one out make sure he erases the history and uses a laptop so I don't have to walk in on him. Funny side fact: after we got done talking, later on that night, one of the checkout laptops was gone and he was downstairs. I had already heard that he was on some Harry Potter site but told the wife he was rubbing it out to necro porn. She was less than impressed both with my knowledge of the various types of porn but with my insinuation that our kid liked seeing dead people ravaged, but you know, fuck it if people can't take a joke.

So that's about it for now, I will be uploading my elvis pictures on facebook soon and will post some in here as well, I ought to start a business or something, I may have found my calling.

Karma.

2010-05-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

trachea cock storm
testingtest out the throat with flesh probe
prison love is back

It's been a while.

I had hoped I would never have to write this post, that by the time it became apparent this post would be needed it would be ok, or even wanted; that hasn't happened.

If you came here looking for giggles and laughs, I point you to the online photos of my genitalia.

Since you all know him mostly (only) as Smeagol, I will continue to refer to him as such.

Make no mistake, all I have written on him is true, and no amount of sepia toned glasses or fond remembrance will fix that; he has always been, and hopefully will continue to be, a self centered, self absorbed, womanizing, jail-going raptor of the highest caliber... but things have changed.

Let me start from the beginning.

Last year, apparently around August, Smeagol got into a car accident. I was not aware of this. In this car accident he apparently cut his foot up pretty bad. As a diabetic, any fucking shit-flinging retard would go to the local hospital and get immediately checked out. Being in the medical profession, you would naturally assume Smeagol would know this. Working in various nursing homes and being summarily dominated in all manner of fisticuffs by sundry old people who also have diabetes and all manner of complications from the disease coursing through their veins and causing issues like an unstoppable rebel force, you would also with a certainty think that wily raptor would have the presence of mind to get his dumb ass checked out.

He didn't.

Apparently, the rapid swelling, lack up unswelling, turning purple, smelling worse than his thong, or seepage from open sores 7 months later did little to deter him from seeking help. The horrible cacaphony of his coughing and hacking that I made fun of that has gotten worse over the recent 7 or 8 months has also not clued him in that something was possibly wrong.

This takes us to about 3 weeks ago. Smeagol caught a most terrible fever, I mean 104+... he was taken to Truman Medical Center.

Truman Medical Center, if you are not in the know, is well known as the only place you can go and die from a runny nose. My favorite (true) story is when I was going to Northeast, a ghetto school, I went there to get a sports physical for football. During said physical, the doctor looked more and more confused, and at what I will call the low point not only for the physical but for my illustrious career as a heterosexual male, I had to instruct the gentleman to touch my balls for the hernia test. Thankfully he looked both surprised and dismayed at this prospective idea.

Anyway, TMC is also known as the best place in the region if you have to go to ICU, depending on whom you talk to (certainly not JJ, who got shot in the leg and received gauze and a band aid). It was to this ward that our intrepid hero was taken.

Long story short, I got a call at work (completely unaware any of the previous story had occured) and am informed that Smeagol was at the hospital, and that he had for all intents and purposes, gangrene. I rushed to the hospital, hoping that since they had never worked on a live raptor, that they were wrong in their deduction that they would have to amputate his foot.

You read that right. They were going to amputate Smeagol's foot.

I rushed to the hospital, and was completely and totally shocked. What I had assumed I would find was Mystical, maybe Toboggan, JJ possibly, but that was it. What I found, was the entire clan, all huddled in the waiting room, more than 15 people waiting to talk to that crazy raptor... aunts, uncles, his real dad, my sister... I waited my turn and went in.

What struck me first off was that my sister and mom were being unnaturally caring, and I remember my first reaction being "I hope this never happens to me" because I hate hugs and compliments and handjobs (unless they are free) (for the record the handjob part I just wanted to throw in there). Smeagol was completely loopy, his voice had risen another octave, his eyes were glazed over and he was absolutely giddy. I instantly felt embarrassed for him and saddened that it had come this far. Mystical kept lifting his sheet to look at his junk, and tried to show it to me, and luckily I was able to turn away each time. I also saw his foot, which was almost 3 times larger than his other one...Fuck, dude.

I will try to finish this sage tomorrow, the writing helps take the focus off of what is happening right now... I know it sounds like I am having fun and enjoying all manner of debauchery, but I'm not. I am not an emotional man, I don't cry or feel sadness or pain (because I'm not gay), but I'm not going to lie it hurts. RIght now Smeagol is on a ventilator, after blood poisoning which had been left free to multiply for 8 months had made it into his lungs caused complications after his lower leg was amputated and caused him to fucking die for a minute or so, and the doctors (I at first wrote "coctors" and thought about leaving it) brought him back and have been trying to revive him to no avail... and are wanting to meet with the family to talk about options.

I am putting this down for posterity, and like I said it is not a funny post but one I feel needs to be made...

Will the posts stop? No, as soon as we get something worked out they will continue.
Will the posts about Smeagol stop? No, he would disapprove of us being all nice and lovey dovey now...

Anyway, that's whats going on here.

Oh, I forgot, I play 8 man outdoor football for the Missouri Mustangs. We are 7-0 right now, and our last game of the season is this Saturday, then we have the "playoffs" and the "Superbowl"... stay tuned, I will post pix of that, my newest retarded outfit I wore to work, and more later... honestly I just don't feel like it right now.

Food poisoning...at the hands of the Mexican tamale vendor

2010-03-16T21:34:00.000-07:00

bursts forth from cocoon,
new wings drink in fresh spring air
the raptor is back

Confluence.

The raptor sat in the darkened room, pondering; no, plotting his next move. How had the world turned it's back on him in his hour of need after all he had done? Had the adversity of his ever full flagon of failure not brought about a togetherness that had united a once greatly and deeply divided populace? How dare they attempt to eradicate that which will not be eradicated!

He grunted hard as he squatted over his raptor litter box, his acidic waste, from all of the 30 day old Taco Bell and Kim Chi burning like acid as it melted through the freshly shredded activated credit cards. Oh they thought they had beaten him, but he would be back.

It had started out such a mundane affair: He had asked that whelp JJ if perhaps he could "Pay you to lick on your honey's pussy a little bit niggie", and had been laughed at. By golly he wasn't going to take constantly being declined the sloppy seconds he so desperately needed to regain his full power so blithely!

He had gotten into his new car, a Ford Explorer with no door handles running on poorly photocopied temporary tags, purchased from the fine automakers on 44th and Troost, just like all the other cars he had bought, and decided the town, like a coveted piece of candy in an infant's hand, was his for the taking (negating the fact that those damn infants usually defeated him in unarmed combat on a regular basis)! He hardly noticed that he has physically pumped his fist and muttered an evil laugh as he drove away, a faint unpleasant odor, stopped up toilet and wafting sounds of Wham!'s "Jitterbug" the only sign he had even been there, and went to the finest restaurant in Kansas City, nay in the world: The tamale vendor outside U-Wrench-It.

Purchasing a few tamales with his hard earned monies form all that booty ass overtime he worked assaulting the infirm, Smeagol sat in his car to think about how he would reclaim the world that had so wrongly been stolen from him in the Middle Tyme, when he was promised a partnership in ruling the world if only he would cast out the dragon-folk of Middle Uberion with his flaming +4 Cloak of Enfeebling Failure, which had like a +50 instant mana burn and took strength, constitution and Dexterity down even lower than that of a halfling. Believing the Fabled King Arthur was nowhere near as crafty as he, Smeagol had cast his cloak about, whomping up on those bitch motherfuckers with extreme rage niggie. The devastation would cause the very Earth to cry over the deep chasm the cloak had created, pulling the dragons and valiant Orc-trolls into what we now know as the Marianas Trench.

But treachery had been afoot. The fiend Arthur had tricked Smeagol, had stolen his preciousssss.... his Rent-a-center Preferred awards card, and Smeagol had been cast out of Upper Ilyarnikka into the dungeons of his own lair, never to see the light of day again. A seal of valid credit cards, approved credit applications and the Runestone holding the spell 'Bob' had sealed him to his fate.

But the economy had failed, and the cards and apps had disappeared, weakening the barrier, and finally the foolish Tylester of Kansa had spoken the name Bob, freeing Smeagol from his dungeon to wreak havoc upon an unsuspecting world, and thats what he would have done right after his nap, but then it happened: what he had assumed was another innertube of poopy had in reality turned out to be food poisoning from the tamales, and since failure had permeated his very being, there were no longer defenses to keep the poison from attacking his frail body like an unstoppable rebel force. Would this be the end of the Raptor's siren song?

No....

Old people should be exterminated

2010-02-07T15:34:00.000-08:00

Super Bowl is on
Smeagol's out of hospital
world back in balance

So as none of you know Smeagol was recently in the hospital for food poisoning. I will post more on that later. Tonight I have a more pressing topic.

I don't normally have any problems with old people. They smell funny, want to talk way too much and constantly want to tell long boring stories with no discernable start, end or plot; in this way they are not unlike women. Women, though, make up for all of this by having breasts and vaginas. Old people, not as much.

"Why are you tanking on old people Stevester?" You may be asking, or not, I don't care I am going to tell you wither way: Tonight, I was on my way home from football practice. It was freezing cold, I was dead tired, my car smelled funny because of all the intermingled sweat from myself and numerous dudes, and I wanted to hurry home to watch the Super Bowl.

I pull up to the intersection of Kansas and Ridge in Liberty, and watch, dumbfounded, as this old fucker pulls his crown Vic out and sideswipes me. As if that's not bad enough, this no talent asshat fuckin drives off! As annoying as the prospect is, I follow him a little ways, and a police car that had been sitting at the top of the hill pulls out between us. For the first time in my life, I am glad to see the police, as I really don't want to kick some old guys ass, or have some old guy kick mine. I follow, a smug little smile on my face, and watch as a block later the officer turns right.

I now have a choiceL follow the old guy farther into the depths of Liberty, and risk running into Flanders, or follow the officer and see what the fuck is his problem. I, like a retard, choose the latter. I turn and follow the officer, flashing my lights and honking my horn, and he speeds up and leaves me, thus ending any hope I had of for one sticking it to the man.

This leads, and gives further credence to, my idea that all old people, once retired, should be humanely exterminated, by making them dig a grave and then humanely feeding them through a rusty woodchipper into said grave. I know some of you out there are gonna wine about my idea, but seriously, that motherfucker never even looked around at me after he hit me, and that's not the first time some old shitfucker has hit or almost hit me and then just drove off.

Old people feel like just because they are too old to be of use, that it gives them wanton license to:

1. Steal
2. Make everyone feel guilty
3. talk too much
4. clog up roads, supermarket lanes, restrooms with their inane chatter and funny smells
5. talk to you in the gym while completely naked (seriously?! no one wants to see your saggy ass old balls)
6. Hit people in their fuckin 1994 Dodge Shadow then drive off
7. Wear weird clothes
8. Be old

I think I have made my case here. That is all.

Smeagol.

2010-01-16T12:08:00.000-08:00

The time has now come
For Smeagol to take his place
As king of Raptors

...blah blah blah "something about posting more" blah blah...

Your raptor, whom you all know, love and look down to, is at it again.

"Has he been arrested?" Will may ask...

"Who are you again?" Derka must be musing...

"I'm so tired... bitch niggie" Tylester may be moaning, spread eagle on his bed with a 3 liter of urine next to him...

But you are all wrong (and I'm hurt that SOMEONE forgot to give their old pal Stevester a login to their site, I promise I wont send you Jeremy pics anymore!)

Smeagol had apparently moved back in full time with Mystical, thus ensuring I shall never run out of stories again.

Apparently, his short-lived love affair with the young lady who once took 5 cocks in one night (no none of them mine, that woulda been more like 5 1/2) was unreposed, and she told him he could no longer stay with her during the work week and lap up other gentlemen's love milk or whatever he was doing.

So far he has gotten in trouble numerous times for stopping the toilet up, been caught in everyone's bed wearing his gentle thong and... even less (my favorite story is when JJ's girlfriend called him into the room and was standing there laughing at Smeagol's saggy little balls whole they rested unceremoniously on JJ's pillow, great times)... and Toboggan has had the thankless job of picking up and dropping off said raptor every day so he can work booty ass overtime and not pay any bills or rent.

JJ got a job at the corner liquor store, which stereotypically is owned by Koreans. Those who know Smeagol will know where this story is going, but dont ruin it yet... Koreans make kim chi, and Smeagol is aware of this. The first time JJ allowed Smeagol to come up to the liquor store to get "a little" kim chi, Smeagol ended up eating the whole pot, and helping himself to many sundry items that were deemed unfit to sell as they had come into contact with a raptor. More stories on that to come.

Also of note is when I was telling the Tylester about the time when Toboggan Boy would cry on the couch about how he desperately needed pussy, and who should come to his rescue but Smeagol, gently patting his back and telling him "don't worry, you'll get some" and the new twist on that story that has occured recently. Also there's the fact the Mystery is still in the apartment deemed not fit for a raptor, and Smeagol almost coming to fisticuffs with JJ's girlfriend before Mystical came to his aid.

I will post more during the weekend, lots to talk about, but just wanted to pop in and inform you all that that raptor is alice, well and in rare form.

Golgorath McNipplemilk

2009-12-04T08:42:00.001-08:00

Golgorath McNipplemilk

hard times D & D

tiny weiner, apathy

da revolution

So I know I have been less than forthcoming on posts, and the only thing I can say right now is I will try to update as I can, but in these poor economic times I must at least pretend to have some semblance of productivity. I so miss the Clinton days, even though I began working on the tail end of them, knowing that even though I made 4.75 an hour I would be alright because someone was taking a shot in the mouth for America. Now I make all of 5.13 an hour and I am wondering from whom I can take a shot in the mouth to make it in ths world... great times.

Anyway, lots has happened, and I will try to post as I can, but today's post is about guns. Yes, guns, helping conservatives seem relevant since 1860.

As you all know, I teach the k-rat. I also teach jujitsu (and if you would like a day getting all hot and sweaty rolling around on the floor with the Stevester, email me and I will send you sign up sheets, Will and Tylester). My main student for jujitsu, for even though the class is free to k-rat denizens, no one but this young lad has lasted longer than 2 classes, is a pretty staunch conservative. He's a great guy, him and his mother both take karate and are like family to me, but sometimes their standpoints on things makes me want to abort my own asshole with a rusty pitchfork.

When the talk turns to politics, which happens WAY too much in k-rat, it usually ends up being my instructor, who is I think pretty centric, which means liberal, against them, and it gets awkward pretty quick. I know none of this appears to have anything to do with guns and you only logged onto my site to read about Smeagol, but it does, so wait a second, let me lay down the lyrical foreplay before I get into the main hot, sweaty throbbing thrust of my post.

Anyway, I have a lot of ideals that are somewhat conservative, so usually I will mosey over after one of these awkward confrontations (did I mention this happens after class while everyone is lined up waiting to leave so they have to listen to it?) and try to smooth things over as they usually look pretty riled up. Some of the stuff they say though, like the reason we are in a recession is because of Clinton, that George W. was the best president we have had in recent memory, that Democrats are hell bent on taking their guns away from them, that being gay automatically makes you a Democrat (I SO want to counter with the fact that 95% of the allegations of child molestation, inappropriate sexual comments to male underlings and hurried weiner on weiner frottage has been PROVEN to have been perpetrated by Republicans, but I am a diplomat of sorts, so...), among other thing, and the worst part is these people actually believe this is the truth.

OK, now back to guns. A week ago I was invited by said student to go skeet shooting. I immediately wondered why some dude would want to see how far I could shoot jisms from my chowdermaker, but learned that skeet shooting is actually shooting at moving clay targets with a gun, and not what rappers say it is (curse you Soulja Boy!). I accept the invitation, as I have never really felt black due to my lack of firing a gun. I traded a gun for a sega game, but that doesnt count. The only way I know I am black is my poor credit scores and strange almost unstoppable urge to mount all large white women (I can't stop thinking about it).

Anyhoo, I get directions to their house, which is in Klanland, or Northern Missouri (I have no idea if the klan is out there, but let's assume there is nothing else out there just for the sake of comedy HMMMMM?), and we head out in their car, the whole time them talking about how when I shoot a gun I should feel great about the freedom to do so because Democrats (and I got the feeling they believed I) wanted to take their basic freedoms away. I leave all the obvious mistakes and idiotic believe alone, as we are in the middle of the woods, I am outnumbered 2 to 1 and they have guns, and pray neither of these guys has seen Deliverance.

We get there and get out of the truck, and what do you know, I am the only black guy. I am also the only black guy not wearing suspenders, camoflauge (if thats not how you spell it, eat my shitmaker) or a combination of the two. I am also the only one who does not have a beard. Strangely I was pleasantly surprised when other than a sideward glance every few seconds like "Hey Cletus, izzat nigger still here?" I got little to no attention.

So anyway, the first gun they give me is a pump action shotgun, very nice, and show me how to load it, I assume since I am black my negro instinct will take over and I will wow these rednecks with my accuracy, the first clay pigeon flies, I aim, fire, annnnnd....miss.

Oh well, second one annnnnd.... miss.

in fact, first 10 in a row are all misses. I am saddened and horny. The dad walks over and informs me the problem is that I am "aiming". I look at him like he just got done pounding my wife and told me he was checking her cervix instead of what I saw, and he explains that aiming screws it all up. I look at his NRA hat and figure he might know what he's talking about. He tells me to aim at a milk jug about 50 feet away. I aim, and miss. WTF? I can't hit a huge milk carton 50 feet away? I feel saddened and not as horny anymore, so I look sad and slump my shoulders. Long story short though (too late) I learn that aiming is for suckers, as once I quit bothering to aim the gun or take the safety off when I was reloading I realized my day got better by tenfold!

Ah... great times. I will update on the Thanksgiving from Hades later, and also on how Smeagol can make your life better!

I got Crabs!

2009-11-17T14:20:00.000-08:00

I got crabs

organ donor time

hot beef injection is here

talking about ham

So I just wanted to share with you all that I got crabs. 2 little fiddler crabs from the local Wal-Marts. They are adorable, but I should have done some more research on them... I put them in my tank and watched them scurry around, and then one of my fish, an African cichlid that I bought because it was a pretty fish, promptly moseyed over and ate one of their claws off. The worst part of this whole ordeal is the crab then turned toward me and just stood there, and I dunno if you have ever looked at a crab but they always look sad, but this one looked like I had just....well, just put him in a tank to die. I almost started crying, I felt horrible. I have a 10 gallon tank in the basement that I am gonna clean up and probably put them in, crap I'm a jerk.

Anyway, as we all know (and I am sure care) Sunday was my birthday. Yes, it's true, yer old pal Stevester turned a delectable 29, and I feel every friggin bit of 70, except I can still get it up and I don't shit myself...yet.

Anyway, the day started with my mom and JJ calling me at 7:00AM and yelling "Happy Birthday" into the phone, then laughing and hanging up. I of course did a great Danny Glover impression by saying "I'm gettin' too old for this shit"... the awkward part was when they guy with the greasy jeri curl with the sax played that little hook from Lethal Weapon and then walked out the garage (for Prit, that's "gair-awjj").

Anyway, after receiving phone calls from my whole family, I get up and that's when it hits me. Smeagol. The raptor. The Life-Stealer. The Thong-Wearer... known by many names, answering to none.

I get a call, and it's him. Foolish foolish me, I assumed he was calling to tell me happy birthday, which would have been a nice change, but as we all know Smeagol never does anything unless it will benefit him.

"Hey Niggie, how you doin well enough of the small talk I got a computer from Rent-A-Center and I need some help with it" he moaned sassily, I can only assume scratching another barnacle out of his thong.

Before I go any further, I must explain something to those of you who read this blog who are not IT techs:

For the most part, we enjoy our jobs. Some, like me, got into the field simply to make money and become useful members of society, while others found a way to make money doing something they love. We also love our family and friends, and every once in awhile do not mind helping with a technical issue if they need assistance with it.

But make no mistake, it is still work for us. My uncle is a mechanic, and I used to call him all the time asking idiotic questions about my car and what was wrong with it, never realizing he didn't want to come home from working on cars all day to work on more cars. It is the same with your IT friends. We don't mind helping you, and sometimes even if we do the genuine love and friendship and good will will outweigh our annoyance with working on your computer, but there are a few ground rules:

1. Don't make the call for computer help the ONLY fucking time you contact us.

2. Don't EXPECT us to jump at the chance to remove all of your split beaver shemale porn.

3. No matter how well you try to hide the nasty shit you put on your machine, during the normal course of things we will find it unless you delete it.

4. I dunno about my colleagues, but we do NOT enjoy "being alone with all that techy stuff", and will more often than not get annoyed when you go in the other room and enjoy your day like I am a fucking plumber. Bitch you ain't fuckin paying me, the least you can do is entertain me.

5. Don't assume that because we CAN that we WANT to.

6. You are not the only asshole who calls me for technical help. I WILL answer people who are not pushy a LOT sooner than you. If you don't follow any of the above rules, I will NEVER answer you and put you off until I get annoyed with your calls or the next holiday when you inevitably corner me and ask why I ignore your calls all the time.

Sorry, BTW I am not talking about anyone who reads this site, mostly I am talking about a couple people in my family, it's REALLY annoying when they call 1 time every other year and it's only so I can remove all the gay porn their kid downloaded onto their computer, "completely without my knowledge", which is why it is in the quicklist on WIndows Media player. RIIIIi-i-ight...

Anyway, this post is about Smeagol, so back to the story. He calls and after I spend an excellent 15 minutes walking him through getting his computer configured and set up, he remarks that he needs a mouse. There is a long pause as I wait for him to ask where to get one, or what kind he needs...

....and am wrong. "...so... if you can bring me one, that would be great niggie." I blink a few times as the realization sinks in. What?! This fuckin' raptor wants me to bring him a mouse. A mouse. a 3 dollar fucking mouse. He wants me to get in my FUCKING car, on my FUCKING birthday, and drive for a half hour to bring him a mouse. You know what, fuck it. I do it. Because I am a spineless piece of shit who will bend over backwards to help my family out, I fucking do it. Well also because I wanted to know what was up with that raptor so I would have something fresh to post. It's also a lovely drive from Smithville to Liberty via the back roads, so I pack the kids up, grab a mouse and head out. I leave at 2:08PM on Sunday, with the full intent on being back at 3:00PM to watch the Chiefs play the Raiders.

I get to Smeagol's coven, tell the boys that we are not going to be there for very long, walk in, ignore his "Thank you so much" as I know the thank yous will not replace the 5 bux I spent in gas money driving over there, plug the mouse in and prepare to leave. Then Smeagol notices my oldest son holding a Harry Potter book. This is significant, because had he not taken that fucking book inside I would have happily enjoyed the rest of my day Smeagol-free. And yes I am blaming the ruination of my and my dad's day on my 9 year old son.

Smeagol pounced on him, talking about wizard school, Hagrid and all manner of fantasy nerd bullshit (I say this knowing I installed and am currently playing Dungeons & Dragons Unlimited on my computer - it's free!), even comparing books and plot twists. THis does 2 things: It gets me thinking maybe Smeagol is not so much of a douche, and keeps me close by long enough for him to lay his question on me:

"Hey niggie, you aren't going by Mom's house are you? I need tog et down there because I have orientation tomorrow..."

No. Not in a million years, no. My kid tells him I just filled my car up though, so I can't use that as an excuse. Think, Stevester, think!

Nothing. I tell him to call Mom and Dad, and if he can't get ahold of them, to call me after the game and I will run him down there. As I am leaving he leaves no indication that he plans to call anyone by saying "I'll see you after the game niggie!"

Fuck.

The only joy in this whole thing is going to be when my dad sees that raptor at his house and gives up HIS will to live. I get home, call my dad, ask if he will go pick Smeagol up, listen as he and JJ and my mom laugh in the background for a couple minutes then hang up on me, and realize I now can't wait to take that wily raptor down there to share in their lives and take their resources and stop up their toilet.

After the game, Smeagol of course calls, tells me he couldnt get ahold of them (I called right before he called me and he never called them), and I prepare to go pick him up. I get to his house, and I call his cell phone; I'm sorry, "Francisco"s phone, and get Mystery. I tell her to send him out as I don't want to get out of the car, then wait 10 minutes to see him hobbling out the door with a couple huge bags, and smile internally even as I get out of the car annoyed to open the trunk and help him with his bags.

The ride down to JJ's house was for the most part uneventful, except Smeagol remarking over and over how great my 1994 Dodge ran. Seriously?! I mean for all the jokes and shit I know it is a piece of crap car, I hate it when people patronize me. Notice that Smeagol still hasn't said anything close to Happy Birthday or "Hey let me give you gas money for making a 95 mile round trip"... nothing like that.

We get to JJ's, I happily take Smeagol's bags in, and grin internally as the look of joy at seeing me quickly turns to deep, face-creasing frowns for my dad, my cousin and JJ at seeing Smeagol hobble in... and head straight for the kitchen.

JJ mouths "What the fuck" as my dad just sits there, shaking his head, and I instantly feel bad for what I have done. What have these poor souls done to deserve a raptor in their lives? As we are shooting the breeze, Smeagol pokes his head around the corner and asks Dad if he can have one of his beers. The awesome thing about this is my dad's name is "Toboggan Boy" if Smeagol doesn't need anything, but it's "Daddy" or "Dad" if he needs something. My dad asks how many beers are left, as he doesn't want that raptor drinking his last one, and Smeagol walks off, supposedly to count the beers. We talk for a minute, my dad promising to drop Smeagol off at my house one of these days, and Smeagol comes back in slurping noisily at a Miller High Life, the Champagne of Beers. Dad asks how many were left, and Smeagol holds the can up while proudly proclaiming "I took the last one!" and we all laugh and enjoy the good will and cheer as he drinks it right in front of everyone, then lets us all know he has to be at orientation on 110th and Troost (I didn't even know Troost went that far) the next day. There is no way I am going to call in to work or show up an hour early to drive that asshat all the way to fucking Joplin or wherever 110th and Troost is, and I turn and leave. Great times. I enjoy the annoyance, the genuine, unfettered annoyance everyone displayed when I took him by. They will all be REALLY surprised come Thanksgiving time.

Smeagolaise

2009-11-06T09:09:00.000-08:00

Smeagolaise

gentle brook bubbles

clear cold water bubbling down

shit I pissed my pants

Porn time

Smeagol is a thief. This is well known. From his "house cleaning" excursions when not only is the house spotless, but less cluttered with your personal belongings, to his "I thought it was mine, niggie" when it is fairly obvious no person with a double digit IQ or higher would believe that, especially since your name, address, DNA/Urine/Stool samples are permanently affixed to whatever the item is, I mean come on!

I have a penchant for collecting classic video game systems. I HAD everything from the original NES (can't find a decent Atari 2600) all the way up to the XBOX 360, including handheld gaming systems. I even for a while had them all hooked up, until my lovely wife came home that day I was in nerd heaven, and after that I was a true nerd, completely sexless masturbating on the sofa whilst crying softly. Sorry, didn't mean to go into that much detail...

Anyway, JJ is my brother. I love my family. SO when JJ asked me if he could borrow my Sega Genesis and my Sega Dreamcast, there was never a second thought. He had never stolen from me before, so there was no reason to think he would now...

I gave him my Sega and 22 video games with it, lots of them quite rare, each one with my name and most with a picture of a cock being plunged into either a vagina or puckered asshole crudely inscribed on them as I am wont to do, and my Sega Dreamcast with 15-20 games that I had burned over the years, since I long ago lost the original copies... note that these games were fucking BURNED onto cd-rs, had my name on them, and were very obviously not the original games as they had no artwork on them, well save for the aforementioned pubic regions.

Anyway, JJ asked a few days ago to borrow a few PS1 games, which I gave to him, including Final Fantasy 7, Metal Gear Solid, and Xenogears, a game I paid more than 125 dollars for. Like I said I don't mind helping.

JJ called last night and asked if he could borrow some Dreamcast games. I was like "sure", went to my inventory closet in the basement, past the shelves and shelves of porn, and realized the Dreamcast was gone, as were the games. I then remembered I had loaned it to him. I called and informed him of this, a little put out, and he mentioned with some trepidation that Smeagol had been by recently, and had cleaned house. He also noted that of the original 33 Sega Genesis games, there was now only the actual game deck, 1 controller out of the 2 I loaned him and 2 games. Smeagol had actually stolen a controller and the FUCKING power cord. And how do you steal 31 game cartridges without being caught? Apparently it had not all happened at once, but every time Smeagol came over to clean he would steal 5 or 6 different items, tuck them under his shirt or down his sweat pants (really) and then ask for a ride home from the very people he had stolen from.

-Update- this post was written a couple days ago, I am just finishing it. JJ went to Smeagol's hovel, and apparently saw all the games and assorted memorabilia sitting on his table next to let's assume his genuine thong collection. Upon seeing my name on them, he asked Smeagol where he had gotten them, to which he first replied "I bought them all at the pawn shop, niggie!"

When confronted with the notion that pawn shops aren't in the business of selling 20 year old video game systems, and the coincidence that the games and stuff had my fucking name on them, Smeagol changed his story right there to "Oh, well I had these for years".

I am now torn between taking all of my things back from JJ, and thus depriving him of the opportunity to ever play these great games again, and actually going to Smeagol's hovel and taking my shit back, though I know that will only lead to Smeagol somehow raptoring to my house and never leaving. At what point would you just say goodbye to your belongings, no matter how precious?

I know I harp on this a lot, and a lot of you are getting tired of hearing about it, but dammit!

Anyway...

Well it's that time of year again, Thanksgiving. This year I invited everyone, and already some battle lines have been drawn. Here is what we have so far:

I invited Smeagol (because my fucking mom told him and so he invited himself) and Mystery. No one knows they are coming, but all 30 people who came last year (my lovely wife included) have threatened to kill him if he shows up simply because he owes them money, has propositioned and/ or dry humped them into oblivion.

JJ wants to have Thanksgiving at Mystical's house, which is in the ghetto. My wife informed me that since the dangers of being shot are at roughly 1 to 1 there, if I go it will be alone. Her family also refuses, and my mom's kitchen/ dining room is smaller than my bathroom.

My wife's sister, who lives out past Lexington (like an hour and a half drive) informed us she would be completely insulted if we did not pack up and go to her house for Thanksgiving, which is awesome as if we all go there then my family will hate me as most of them planned on eating at my house.

JJ and my mom said if my aunt (my mom's fucking sister) goes to my house after showing her ass last year and being a douche all year this year, they are not coming. This will lead to more bad blood as my aunt is one mean lady.

My sister said if Smeagol is going to be at my house she is going to murder him, and she also doesn't want to see my aunt.

My cousin said if my wife's "fat white bitch ass" shows up she is going to "cut some gravy out dat bitch". The infraction? Last year said fat white bitch butt-bumped my cousin out of the way on the way to the turkey.

I hate children and most if not all of them are bringing their kids and more than 5 of said children's parents have already asked about leaving their kids with me for the night, which will not make me happy.

I hate the holigays.

Smeagol, the Sausage Thief

2009-10-19T13:10:00.000-07:00

Smeagol, the Sausage Thief

Love is like a rose

delicate, beautiful, yet

the thorns fuckin hurt

First things first: I got kicked in the goddamn taint. "What the fuck is a taint" you may ask yourself? A taint, or taintius holestinkius in Latin, is the small sensitive area of skin between your asshole and your ballsack or lovehole if you're a lady... and while you may wonder why I am not glad I didn't get kicked in the balls, sit back and listen and I will regale you with the tale, and form your own opinions...

So we are sparring at the K-Rat last week, and things are going well... I couldn't find my sparring gear, so I wasn't wearing a cup (I usually don't anyway, they're too constrictive. I'm not saying I have huge junk, I'm prolly wearing the damn thing wrong, but I always have one ball or my wiener hanging out cause there isn't room... OK this is too much info... Sorry) and wasn't planning on sparring anyway, but I get there and everyone already is, so I borrow some gear and saddle up.

Things go well initially, until I am sparring this fucking little girl about 10 years old and she punches me right in the fucking dick. This is not a particularly painful experience, but when it smashes your balls into your leg and that fart you had been desperately holding in because you had fried chicken with gives you horrible rotten-egg-and-brussel-sprout smelling farts escapes with all the velocity of a Taepodong missile (LOL) and almost kills the other patrons of the building, something bad has happened. I pretend it doesn't hurt by balling up in the fetal position and crying loudly, and after the pain subsides we go back to sparring. I told you all of that to tell you this.

At this point I REFUSED to get kicked/punched/licked in the fuckin' cock again, and was quite willing to take a shot in the ass if that meant no more (not that way, sickos). We line up to spar, and I throw a back spinning hook kick right into this guy's sternum, resulting in a very satisfying "WHUMP" sound and him hitting the floor. Yeeaaaaaahhhh. He gets up, and as soon as the ref says "fight", he bull rushes me. Let me take you in slow motion what transpires at this point:

As he is hopping toward me, he is throwing all manner of hard front, side, round and gay kicks, following them up with punches meant to stun. I coolly assume since he is a much lower belt rank that somehow he will not see me move, even though I am a fat black guy and it is a brightly lit area, and move to the side, turning so I can trow a backwards roundhouse and snap his ribs. As he gyrates around like a wind up toy that is hooked up to a car battery, he throws a perfectly times front kick, which I am not incredibly worried about as I had received more than one toe IN MY ASSHOLE before (no, seriously, all the way in there). As I lift my leg up, my pelvis kinda arched back, and his whole foot barely missed my shitbox and pounded said taint. This is met by me again balling up on the floor and crying for my mommy.

It sucked.

Aiight, anyway, you don't care about my taint (or if you do, you're so sweet), face it: the title intrigued you, you feel cheated that thus far you have heard no mention of (and let's be honest here) the only reason you even bother logging into my blog: Smeagol. Hold your horses, here it is.

Apparently Smeagol got relieved of his position at the nursing home. This is the same nursing home that had fired said raptor for infractions such as bringing in a doberman and letting it run free, and allowing it to bite people; assaulting residents (verbally, but let's assume for comedy he was going in and punching old people in the face as they slept), sleeping on the job,and many others. Our favorite raptor was saddened, and had apparently moved in with the ladyboy and her friend who sucked my cousin off, in the hopes of possibly maxing out on said ladyboy again and also attaining sloppy seconds on said young lady (it sucks, she is REALLY pretty, she could do so much better for herself... whatever though), as he had his mail sent to her house.

JJ informed me Smeagol is still an avid player of Pokemon (or as he calls it, and I shit you not, "Pookee Mans"), and is constantly writing codes and various crap down on any paper he can find, and in this case he got a letter from said nursing home, and after glancing nonchalantly at the contents, commenced to writing said codes all over the back of it.

During one of his many, many naps, apparently Kareema (the girl who sucked my cousin off, not the ladyboy) saw the notice, and called and informed JJ, who informed me. It was a termination letter, and under "Reason(s) for termination", right there in black and white, was the cryptic sentence: "Caught stealing sausages from the kitchen".

HmmmMMmm.....

Seriously, What. The. Fuck. Apparently said raptor was caught, on surveillance camera (and how much would you pay to see that), raptoring into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, and stealing delicious sausages, much as his ancestors stole live young and suckable eggs from the nests of more successful creatures. JJ said one of the sad side effects is now Smeagol is coming by MUCH more often, and things are disappearing at an alarming rate... I loaned him 22 sega genesis games, there are only 13 left. JJ went to Smeagol's house and saw them, and remarked that those belonged to me, to which Smeagol replied he had "bought" them. When confronted with the fact that my full fucking name had been written on said games as I knew something like that would happen, Smeagol repeated the edict that he had bought them at a pawn shop, nevermind pawn shops would NOT still have Sega Genesis, what kind of coincidence that there's another Stevester out there who just happens to have the same 7 games and pawns them at a pawn shop down the street from our intrepid raptor?

None, that's what.

Anyway, I know we all got a little sad that no one could find a job for Smeagol, but now joy of joys the search is still on.

Love, Happiness, Steveshaikus

2009-09-30T07:39:00.000-07:00

Love, Happiness, Steveshaikus

the budding writer

begins on the shithouse walls

and ends writing shit

Good morning,

Here at steveshaikus we use only the finest completely nude midget hookers to bring you the stories you know and love - from Smeagol making sweet love to a hermaphrodite, to Toboggan Boy sliding down stone steps in tight burgundy boxers, to Mystical Retard proclaiming with much gusto that her salsa was so good it made her want to suck a man's love appendage.... to my sister telling me not to put my arm out the window of her 1984 Ford Fairmont as it would slow the car down, the list goes on and on and on.

Today's steveshaikus will take a slight detour, though I promise more Smeagol/Mystical/Toboggan Boy goodness in the near future...

My lovely wife enjoys reading. A LOT. She reads these totally lame Harlequin novels and love stories with the default picture of the shirtless guy wearing some sort of hat (seriously, she has one called "Captured by the Sheikh", and it is the same fucking white dude but now he is wearing one of those dinner cloth helmet towel things...) carousing with a woman who is NEVER naked enough to pique my interest... and said novels are full of complete crap that would never fucking happen in real life.

I hate these books, forget the fact that she gets all hot and bothered and dances on the Stevester skin pole more often, these books are the bane of men the world over, because NO real man would act like these assholes in these books. After a prolonged discussion last night, your old pal Stevester decided to write a short novella that is just as romantic, but much more realistic... Like Stephen Colbert;s Better Know a District or Alpha Squadron 7: The Tek Jansen Adventures, these will be peppered throughout my posts, and much like soap operas it will take months for anything to happen and when they do happen it will be on a day that none of you are reading (not that I watch soap operas, I do love Bridezillas though, that show kicks ass!)

And with this short introduction, I bring you the first short chapter of my own romantic novella,

"The Way of the Shaft"

By Stevester

Lindsey woke up with a start. It was cold outside, late fall in the hills of Vermont tended to be cold, and the wind was howling outside the bay window, throwing rakish moving shadows across her fuscia colored walls with little gay flowers on them, VERY tasteful. She looked down at Burlap, her dark chocolate colored Labrador, who was snoozing peacefully at the foot of her canopy bed, his hind leg barely moving as he dreamed about catching rabbits or tearing the throats out of those smelly coloreds.

What was making her so jumpy? Could it be that her biological clock was ticking, and the conversation she had had with her mother that afternoon was getting to her? Or could it be that Smithers, the snivelling yes man at her job as a fashion magazine editor, was vying to get her fired for snubbing his awkward, infantile advances at the company Halloween party? The thought of Smithers dry humping her as she frantically tried to get away from him made her shiver subconsciously, and she felt a quick stab of pure hatred for all men because of it. Why was she having trouble attracting a decent man? She turned to look at her face in the large vanity mirror, scrutinizing her straight dark brown hair, falling haphazardly onto her shoulders; her large, emerald green eyes and her decent tits. Fuck dudes should want this shit!

She lay back, trying to get into position, fluffing the comforter up and drinking in the smell of her juicy sounding fart that had been festering like a boil for what could have been hours, and drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a gentler time when men were gallant, women were worshipped, and Roseanne was still a popular show.

~~~

"....and you tell that son of a bitch that I will wrap up the Johnson account today if it kills me!" Dirk yelled into the speaker phone, clenching his fist in unrequited anger. Damn why all of this bureaucratic red tape when his construction/architecture/investment firm was just trying to turn over a profit? Why must he endure this endless parade of middle managers, thankless snivelling leeches who had nothing better to do than mire these negotiations in the proverbial muck?

"Well you'd better, because Mr. Genovese doesn't like it when people are late making their payments, and Mr. Genovese particularly doesn't like when he is made a fool of," the connotations of the underlying message were deafening. Mr. Genovese, kingpin of the Genovese crime Family in Rutland, Vermont, was someone to be taken very seriously. He was also one of the only people to turn to when you were in a pinch. He was also totally gay and loved the cock. Dirk took a moment to compose himself, wondering if these people even had hearts in them, and promised to make a payment soon. Sated with his extortion for the day, the lackey hung up, and Dirk gladly took the speakerphone off of his knee where he had been balancing it as he dropped a clunker in his half bathroom, half office on the jobsite. He had won the bid to build the Gordon P. Chesselbaum office building, and things had so far not gone to plan. First the illegal aliens he had been carting around had died because he forgot to let them out of his van, and after burying them in the cement foundation of his building. covering them in lime and quik-set concrete, he realized that Orloff, the Ukrainian refugee with a heart of gold, had all of his building permits tucked into his pants for safekeeping. Then the building code inspector, Ilsa Jenkins, had been pestering him about various things, like why was the foundation already poured when there were no steel beams or girders sit in it to, you know, support the building?

Dirk Ventured outside to check on his crew. It was a cool day, and being a little after noon the crew had taken up their usual spot, in front of the privacy wall cat calling any woman, man or animal that dared cross their path within earshot. Funny how some things change and some stay the same, Dirk thought as he ambled lackadaisically toward the crew.

As he stepped around the fence, he heard Antoine, his most senior employee and token black guy on the construction site, say in his best Boston accent (for, seriously, the only way to catcall if you work in construction is with a Boston or New York accent) "Hey hey hey! Wouldja check out the legs on dat broad! Hey baby! I bet you're looking for a commitment with a strong man with good family values who is unafraid to cry! A-WHOOOGA!", making the other workers grunt in agreement. Dirk looked around to see who he was talking to, and saw her: the beautiful woman who took this route about this time every day, always alone, walking quickly with her head down as if she were always wading into a hurricane. He watched her walk across the street and into the fashion magazine building across the street, and wondered if she might be the one his astrologist told him was the woman for him...

~~~

A few excerpts to keep your interest piqued until the next chapter:

"...Lindsey knew this was wrong, that this was all happening too soon, but she also knew she must feel the rock hard shaft of a man plow into her stinkhole of love, or she would go insane..."

"... Dirk wondered if Lindsey knew how much he cared for her, how badly he needed his dinner ready for him when he got home from work, and how much he enjoyed maxing out on her naked ass during commercial breaks during NFL Sunday..."

"... Smithers looked down in disgust. Yes, he had fucked his dog in the ass again..."

"...Dirk wondered, 'did she really love me?' ... 'Would I ruin this love if I told her how much I care?'.... then he bunched up and dropped a brown bowling ball in the shitter, wondering if there was a little brown baby in there..."

All this and more in the next chapter of the steamy novella, "The Way of the Shaft"!

Smeagol and the Ladyboy: A Love Story

2009-09-23T08:26:00.000-07:00

Smeagol and the Ladyboy: A Love Story

corpuscle madness

things begin to not make sense

more baconnaise please!

*sigh*

I want to get back to the cars, I really do, and I was a little apprehensive about posting a story about a certain raptor allegedly making sweet love to a ladyboy, as I am starting to feel bad about it (hasn't Smeagol been through enough? I mean getting his magical ring stolen from him and now this)....

It's a terrible battle being waged. On the one hand, sweet lovemaking between a raptor and a chick with a dick is the kind of story that launches these kinds of blogs; on the other hand, such sweet love is something best shared between those two parties, a sacred bond that no man, woman or woman with a cock should tear asunder, and I am a little guilt-ridden to share this.

The only reason I decided to go through with this story is because Smeagol is going out of his way to cheat on his loving wife, and though she once got caught allowing come janitor dude entry into her shitbox at a nursing home (allegedly), I am sure she doesn't deserve this.

Well, here's the story:

My cousin, Rhinoxx (not his real name), recently found himself de-hoed. This led to his yearning for the gentle feel of a young lady's mouth on his man-shaft, and he relayed this concern to JJ. JJ informed him that Kareem was available for such endeavors; nay, all Rhinoxx need do is walk up to her and display said appendage and suckitude would most surely commence with little to no negotiation, as Kareem is apparently a "hoe". Upon learning this your old pal Stevester was most saddened that JJ could not recount her address or whether she was home, but that's another story (I kid).

Anyway, Rhinoxx made the trek to Kareem's house, I am assuming rubbing his junk gently while riding the Metro (he has a car but this is funnier so I will go with it) and possibly grumbling incoherently, much as every other Metro patron in that neighborhood is wont to do, and is most surprised to see Smeagol at Kareem's house. This is not too far out of the realm, JJ informed me Smeagol hung out with Kareem a lot trying to "get at that hoe", whatever THAT means, and this was evident as Smeagol informed her even with Rhinoxx in the room that he could give her a "schlip slop sally whop sassafrass spicy tuna roll" labial tongue lashing that she would not soon forget... so his default conversation topic with the ladies (I'll pause here for any ladies reading this to finish with your steamy fantasies of Smeagol....)

So anyway RHinoxx, who as I noted before was desperate for the mouth of Kareem, informed her he would be much obliged if she would suck his rock hard shaft. Kareem, as a true lady should, balked, informing him she wasn't that kind of lady, and then as soon as Smeagol left the room, proceeded to suck said shaft most convincingly and with much gusto.

Where had Smeagol gone? According to my mom, JJ, and Smeagol himself, Kareem was not the only love hole in that lovely apartment that day. Apparently there was a young lady, who JJ noted would only accept it from the back because she had a sizable cock in addition to the vag and butthole package your garden variety bus station skank carries. Smeagol revelled in his recounting of the tale of "munching away on that pussy niggie!", and therein lies my conundrum, which for the sake of clarity I shall put in numbered format for the more astute observation and debate amongst all 5 of my stalwart readers:

1. If you have sex with a hermaphrodite, does that make you gay?

2. If you are not gay, and are munching said hermaphrodite's twat, and her/ his cock touches your forehead, does THAT make you gay?

3. Is it possible to pound a hermaphro's twat without touching said cock?

4. JJ said she was not ugly, yet all the shemale pics I have sent and been sent show what look like a dude with a 5 o'clock shadow and horribly misshapen fake boobs. Can Hermaphrodites grow beards?

5. Was Smeagol making sweet love to the old guy with gorgeous boobs on that people of walmart website? If so, did he then suck room temperature creamed corn with cottage cheese chunks out of the old guy's beard at the completion of the act?

6. Why was Smeagol so proud of that, and how does Mystery stay with him when everyone within a 50mile radius of Smeagol knows he cheats on her?

Conundrums worthy of the best Sherlock Holmes novel, to be sure....

More later.

D-M-V!!!

2009-09-22T08:53:00.000-07:00

steveshaikus: sweet, kind, nice

like willow branch in a pond

swaying in the breeze

D-M-V! (Sang to the Ruff Ryder's theme on DMX's album (...And then there was X))

OK, So here is the story. It's finally time to get my car legal, after replacing the entire engine, transmission, and one brake light (which was the hardest part)...

First, a little backstory (like a backpussy, warm and moist. A little stinky, mostly gentle pink, unless there are poor wiping habits, then a thin shade of brown... ok I'm done)

My K-Rat instructor lives in the country (for this story, anywhere north of Smithville Missouri but South of St. Joseph counts as 'country'), and goes to all manner of delicious estate auctions out in the middle of nowhere. On once such estate auction, he happened upon a totally sweet 1994 Dodge Shadow, the precursor to the Dodge Neon, with a 5 speed manual transmission and a 2.5L engine. Awesome.

He buys said car, and, remembering a certain Stevester loves such cars (I promise I will finish the cars thing soon), he decides he will sell said automobile to me for the paltry sum of about 600 dollaruskies. The car has a little over 100k on it, so it's not too bad, and I decide why not, I always make great decisions when it comes to automobilia, let's go with this.

Upon road testing before selling said car to me, my instructor finds out why he got the car so cheap. The previous owners, who he works with, ran the car out of oil, and it promptly throws a rod, which after a little diggin on the internets I find out does not mean the same thing as it does in the films I keep under my bed. Apparently, to "throw a rod" means one of the pistons breaks and shoots through the cylinder, or is in danger of shooting through the cylinder. I won't bore you with the details, it's pretty manly though...

Anyway, all the stuff I did (replacing the engine, transmission, brakes, rotors, hoses, etc) is going in another post that will have pictoral documentation and funny quips and anecdotes, this is about the (ongoing) saga to get this fucking car legal.

I am not an angry person. I like to think of myself as patient, kind, funny, huge-cocked, with a penchant for snuggling and a mind of the arts. Probably none of these is true, but whatevs. Going to any DMV in the state of Missouri, however, turns me in to a complete and total asshole, and I shall explain why.

Here's the deal: The old guy who sold the car to my instructor gave him the title, lien release, a scrap of notebook paper that had both his and my instructor (let's call him Bob) names and a date on it, like that constitutes a bill of sale, a legal bill of sale from when HE bought the car from his son, and other assorted documentation that for the sake of brevity (too late) I will not divulge. My instructor, upon learning that the car needed a new engine, was just going to junk the car rather than sell it to me, but I told him I wanted it anyway, so he dropped it off at my house. I looked online and found an engine at a local junker that had less than 60k on it.....

Anyway, my instructor gives me all the paperwork he has, and tells me I SHOULD be able to send the paperwork off and get the title sent back to me, no problem. Having dealt with the DMV before, I was skeptical. I decide to drive from Smith-fucking-ville to Ray-shithole-town to get the old guy to sign off on my title and a fresh bill of sale, to hopefully circumvent the unstoppable rebel force that is the shithole DMV.

I drive to the old guy's house, kiss his ass for a few minutes, and get him to sign. He signs the bill of sale as the buyer, which annoys me but I decide to let it go, and I go on about my way, happy that I will have no trouble getting said car legal. If I had no trouble, though, there would be no need for this post. I give all the paperwork to my wife, who goes to the DMV, waits 3 hours in line with my 3 year old, only to be told that since Old guy, who the title is signed over to (we signed on the second assignment line) originally, never got the car registered, that it was an illegal sale and we would need to get the ORIGINAL guy to sign said title over to us, or the old guy would have to register the car and pay the fees and all that shit just to give us the car. In other words, take it in the hole Stevester, take it hard.

At this point I am pissed. Now I have to drive ALL THE FUCKING WAY back to RAY-FUCKSHITASSCOCKPUSSY-Town, find the ORIGINAL asshole, get him to sign it, and then I can get the car legal. Fine. I drive to Raytown, wasting even MORE gas, stand there and listen to this guy piss and moan (rightly so, I mean this is retarded that he has to even be a part of this), but after a while sign on the third assignment line, and we crossed out Dad's name and he wrote his on there. Should all be good, right? I now have:

Title (with 3 assignments filled out on back, but the last one is what counts)

bill of sale

inspection

lien release

insurance

property tax

2.5 inches of rock hard cock should I need to persuade any of the old ladies at the DMV to see things my way

I go into the DMV at Petco, feeling good about myself, when that old apprehension hits me. Did I forget something? Are they going to balk at the 100 dollar selling price? Would this lady in line in front of me get mad if I rub my wiener on the back of her shorts?

It all falls away when my number is called. I know this will go well, I have been through too much shit for it not to. I get up to the counter, confidently throw the paperwork in the young lady's face, and say with all the courtesy I can muster "Gimme those plates"...

She sorts the paperwork, looks at it... it's taking too long. Fuck me, she starts shaking her head.

"OK this isn't going to work, this is called title jumping and it is illegal. This guy here-" she points to the first assignment, showing the original owner selling the car to the old man -"needs to get the car legal and in his name then he needs to sign it over to you, he can't sell the car to you if he doesn't own it."

I point out that the guy whose name is on the FRONT of the title DID assign it to me 2 assignments down, and start trying to explain, and she cuts me off. "Well this guy-" still pointing the first assignment, which I already told her doesn't matter -"has to get the car legal, you have to go to him, have him get it legal, have him sign it to you, then you have to start over. There's too much writing on this, it's illegal."

I snatch the paperwork from the bitch smirking smugly behind the counter, mouth a growling "fuck you" and stomp off.... then sheepishly mosey back and ask her to hand me my sunglasses. Karma is a bitch yo!

So I go to another DMV to try and get SOMETHING done.... and long story short, get the same answer but get a temporary tag while I wait for the original owner to jump through hoops too.

I have a few questions so far regarding this whole process:

1. If filling out more than one assignment on the back of the title completely invalidates it, WHY THE FUCK ARE THEY THERE?! That is the dumbest thing in the world, why have textboxes there that it is illegal to fill out?

2. Why is it the DMV cannot listen to logic? Apparently it was too tough to comprehend that I was not buying the car from the old guy but from his son, the original owner. I asked if we woulda been able to get it legal if I crossed the other 2 assignments off or wrote VOID over them, and was assured that would just make it harder to get said car legal.

3. Why do you have to wait so fucking long at the DMV? I stood in line for almost an hour, and watched as one after another lady went on break, and the DMV at that point had only been open for an hour. Seriously?! WTF is that all about?!

I know now why so many people just don't bother getting their cars legal and run on bad plates all the time. Missouri is the WORST place to get a car legal in the United States. I could detonate a bomb, wipe the shitty state of Missouri completely off the map, fill it in with Jello, and the economy would magically raise a few points and no one would miss it. Jesus have you ever tried driving for any length of time across the state?! The whole place is a festering shithole! Why is it always overcast when you are driving through Missouri? Because God is trying to blot the whole state out, that's why. "But Stevester, you live in Missouri" you might say, and screw you hippie for pointing out how much of a hypocrite I am! I have the right to be a completely uninformed douchebag opinionated retard, hell according to the election results from 2000 and 2004, more than 50% of America is full of them! Zing!

I will get back to posting on the cars soon, I have a few other things coming up, including Smeagol making sweet raptor love to a chick with a dick, my saga of putting the engine in (with pictures!) and other assorted dementia.

Deaf Bob and the Mekanixxx

2009-09-09T07:44:00.000-07:00

Are your ear-pussies

ready for my haiku schlong?

I won't be gentle

Deaf Bob

OK so I will get back to the cars and all that shiznit I have been neglecting later, but I had to share this little tidbit. The other day I am minding my own business, looking for a successor to Jeremy, and Deaf Bob (heretofore known as Def Bob) shows up. Def Bob is the manager of our building maintenance engineering technician accompaniment, or janitors for short. He is also, as the name implies, deaf.

Anyway, he come up and kinda taps me on the shoulder as I have my back to him, and you know how deaf people talk you can't really understand what they are saying because it sounds like the adults on Peanuts? Fuck you if you're offended I'm trying to tell a story, but he was all like "A'whugh fat machy idn wonkie" or something like that... I just sit there looking at him because now I am retarded simply for trying to decode his simple but beautiful language...

After 5 or 6 tries and much miming I realize he is telling me his fax machine is not working. When he sends some paper through it it goes, acts like it is faxing, but no confirmation sheet. Proud of myself for figuring out what he had said, I was not totally thinking when I went into technician mode to try to troubleshoot the issue.

Now I want you to read this next part good, maybe twice, because it may qualify for the single most wrong thing I have ever said. My first question to Def Bob is "When you pick up the handset on the fax machine what do you hear?"

It still had not dawned on me, as he stood there blinking at my blatant idiocy, wondering if I was really that stupid or if I was trying to insult him.

Why can I not go more than a week without saying something so wrong there is no way to make it right?

Anyway, one more update for you all, the new hot rod successor to the Escort is almost finished, we got the engine swapped out, and I proved the other day why Stevester should ALWAYS be under direct supervision when vehicles and tools are concerned...

So we have the entire engine done except for putting the front axle and the wheels back on (I have a picture montage in the spirit of my old gateway days that I will share soon), and your favorite Stevester is feeling pretty good about himself. It's time to start filling fluids, or so I assume, and I get the radiator and cooling system filled with NO LEAKS. I am psyched, as I personally hooked the cooling system back up and it's very gratifying to see that it is done correctly the first time.

I move on to putting the oil in. On manual transmission engines, you do not put in transmission fluid, you fill the transmission with oil, which I did not know but was psyched to find out. I fill the transmission with oil, of course overfilling it, and go to bed. Remember, at this point, the axle is still not in the car. The car's front end is jacked up about 3 feet in the air, meaning the lowest point in the car would be where the front axle goes. If you have any automotive knowledge, you would know the front axle is COMPLETELY driven by the transmission, nay, it is an integral PART of the transmission. And, being a moving part, it needs to stay lubricated. The best lubricant in a car engine is oil. If you haven't figured this all out yet, I will spell it out. There was a huge hole in the bottom of the transmission I filled with oil that the axle usually takes up, preventing oil from pouring out of the bottom of the car and onto the floor of my completely flat garage floor, which was nice and dark the next day when your loving Stevester wandered out there in plastic crocs to revel in his handiwork. Not seeing the fucking LAKE of fresh, clean motor oil, and perhaps tired from playing Assassin's Creed on my Xbox while watching Canadian Football and Lockup (I love Lockup, great series), I was walking pretty briskly toward the front of the car, where the old fucking 600 pound car engine was sitting, balanced precariously on a wooden block.

Luckily my awkwardly splaying outstretched hands and feet missed the block and the car, but not the concrete floor, and I learned a valuable lesson as I lay there looking at the ceiling of the garage. Leave all mechanical work to professionals. I hope this PSA does not scare anyone from riding along with me in my new hot rod of justice, as I plan to have it inspected by a competent professional.

Understandificate what I'm Sayin'!

2009-08-17T09:37:00.000-07:00

Understandificate what I'm Sayin'!

O Larry Johnson

my man-crush stands unwav'ring,

which is why you rule

Alright, I came in today intent on moving on in my car saga, but this morning's festivities demand I talk about them.

First, I think I told you all I was going to lunch with my mom and JJ last week, well, there were complications...

Apparently, my foolish, foolish mother was telling Toboggan boy about me taking her and JJ out to lunch, and Smeagol, sleeping face down on the couch, woke up, hearing about the possibility of free vittles. His thong leapt into action, informing her that since it was free food, he would tag along, as he had nothing else to do that day (go figure). JJ called me the morning of, whispering as that wily raptor was camped out in the front hallway, making sure no one left without his knowledge:

JJ: (hushed tones) Fuck Stevester, I can't leave, fuckin' Smeagol is at the front door and he can see the back door from there too...

Me: Well, I'm not buying the entire goof troop's damn lunch. I got 50 bucks, and that's it (I had my credit card, but telling them that is asking for the whole damn clan to show up, and I'm not doing that again)...

JJ: (even quieter) Every since he heard we was gettin' free food he's been sitting by the door, all dressed, just looking around to make sure no one leaves without him...and he stinks!

Long story short, he called my mom, who was out paying bills, and informed her she would have to go on without him, as he wasnt going to sacrifice letting Smeagol come along and ruin everyone's life just to get some damn vittles... so I ended up going to lunch with my parents and enjoying a 75% beef fat lunch at Gates. My God, I remember the burnt end sandwich having, you know, fucking MEAT in it. Are times that hard that you raise the price AND slather BBQ sauce on cooked fat and serve it? Wuduppwidat?

Anyway, on another front, I went upstairs to the 4th floor to toilet shop this morning, and man I was laying some rope. It was a huge ringer turd, and there were 6 or 7 clunkers in the middle, which is great times, but all of a sudden, some lady opened the door to the bathroom and called out "is anyone in here?"

I sat there, frozen, and in shock. I had 2 choices: A), I could ignore it, and risk them coming in and seeing me shitting, or 2), I could call out, and anyone out in the hallway would know I was the Bathroom Bandit, much like Desmond was at da Firm. For a split second I contemplated option 1, but with the legal ramifications (can I get arrestified for indecent exposure if I am in a shitter stall and some lady sees me?) went with the second. I called out "I'm >grunt<>

I heard her say to someone beside her "There's someone IN there... what do I do?"

Well RIGHT FUCKING AFTER I answer her, some guy yells from the FUCKING HALLWAY "Hey is anyone in there?" FUck? What did they expect? That I would disappear between the 4 seconds of silence between her calling for me and him calling? Fuck that asshole, I sat there quietly. Then he comes into the shitter and I hear him say "I can see someone in the last stall" real loud... FUUUCK!

I assumed since someone was, y'know, IN THE FUCKING BATHROOM, they would leave and let me sneak out with what little dignity I had left intact. Not a chance. All of a sudden I hear loud noises, like there is a construction zone in the bathroom, and I am mid-turd so I can't stop... I go ahead and finish, flush and try to sneak out of the stall, and right into the middle of 4 guys tearing the fucking bathroom apart. The soap dispensers are all gone, the paper towel dispenser is open, and these guys are tearing the whole fucking bathroom apart. I stand there, shitty fingers hanging at my sides, and one of the douchebag du jours notices me and says "Oh, hey, you probably need some soap"... then he leaves. I stand there awkwardly, looking at the other guys working within 5 feet of where I had just taken a huge shit, no doubt smelling it, and one of them hands me a roll of paper towels. At this point there is no coming back, so when the guy brings the soap in (we were changing vendors), I am all like "hey, thanks buddy!" and wash my hands.....while the 4 guys watched. It was fucking creepy. I then turned and left, sure they would look in the stall I had just vacated and see the tire treads I left in the bottom of the stool...

The 4th floor, which for 2 years I have loved like a brother, a brother I hide behind to take shits, is now tainted. I must now find a new shit spot. Let us all have a moment of silence, as we remember a friend lost, a comrade who has fallen by the wayside; nay, let us *sniff* remember the good times, the *snort* time I won the superbowl on tecmo superbowl during the harrowing month of December, when I ONLY allowed myself to play whilst on the can...

4th floor, you will be missed.

Cars, cars, everywhere there's cars

2009-08-14T08:53:00.001-07:00

Cars, cars, everywhere there's cars

see the mountain blue

heartland vista; majesty

Let the eagle soar

Before I get into the next set of cars in our cavalcade of awesome, I must (as I am wont to do) emit another flurry of barely understood rhetoric on politics. If you are a conservative republican, tell the person reading this to you to skip the next paragraph. Thank you.

I so wish I could be hired on to go to these town hall meetings. I would put everything so bluntly a retarded deaf blind child with an arm growing out of his ass would understand. And then he could explain it to Rush Limbaugh's listeners.

Here would be my speech, verbatim:

"Ladies, gentlemen, child molesters, and mullet aficionados, welcome. I will make this short, so as to save you time and keep you from missing the next NASCAR/ Bass fishin' event. Before you start screaming about Obama bringing 'socialism' to America, you are from now on required to define socialism. If you cannot correctly define socialism, you will be tazed, then pepper sprayed, then sterilized so your idiocy does not infect our country's gene pool, which would lead to some bad stem cells being used to lengthen the penises of homosexual men before they legally marry.

Second, if you truly believe there are going to be 'death panels' (note I would put up the double quotes on all these), panels that tell people to die and try to steer old people toward death, then you are an idiot. While personally I believe that all people (myself included) should be exterminated once they have outlived their usefulness (which does not come at an age, mind you), only a complete and total moron would put that into legislation. And claiming it is magically 'hidden' (note the quotes again) in a document that is 'more than 1,000 pages!', shows you have a shorter attention span than the average Harry Potter aficionado, who is on average about 10.

Lastly, Barack Obama was born in the United States. End of story. If you are one of the many, many idiots frothing at the jowls about needing to see his birth certificate, you should be stripped naked and raped by a prison gang. Nicely though, with like lube and stuff because stupidity is a crime but it's just as entertaining as it is hurtful.

Thank you, and no further questions.... except from that big tittied girl in the third row."

Seriously.

Anyway, political rant over for the time being, let's move on:

10. 1992 Plymouth Sundance

Price - 650

Location bought - Truman Road and I-435 (auction)

* So finally I had had enough with these sheister car dealers, what with their deigo mustaches and their greasy hair (I got that from celebrity jeopardy, not even sure what a deigo is, I think it's someone from California though), and decided to buy a car from the public (pubic) auction this time, as THAT would be a lot better.

Not a lot on this car, except it was one of the top 3 cars I have had the honor of owning. I put 32000 miles on it in 2 years, never had a problem (except that if you tried to speed up to 55 without letting off the gas, the car would yaw until you let off, then it would drive fine) until the transmission shit itself. Like an idiot, instead of getting it fixed, I just got out and walked off, no idea what happened to that car.

THE END - Tranny went out one day, I got out of the car and walked away. Never looked back.

11. 1986 Dodge Diplomat

Price - 250

Location bought - Truman Road and I-435 (auction)

* The steam engine. The bird-murderer. The Life-Stealer. All names given to this well-documented piece of machinery. The windows in front would not roll down, and the heat only worked in full blast mode. It had NO power, even though it had a 318 v8, because it had almost 250K miles on it, but when we DROVE it to the junkyard, it had almost 400k miles on it. I had to replace the alternator once a month, and we had to hose the engine down once a month from all the oil spraying around in there. Great times. Look through earlier posts, I really did love this car. I got it the same day as the SUndance, and it lasted for 5 years, mostly as the backup car but for a LONG time as the only car...

THE END - We sold it to Wyatt Earp, who drove the shit out of it, and finally took it to the trash heap when he got tired of the poltergeist like manifesting of the car shitting itself.

12. 1996 Chrysler Concorde

Price - INITIALLY 2000

Location bought - My wife's dad

* Initially this car was supposed to be 2000 dollars. Long story short, I think at last count we owe just under 4000 now, with all the repairs that her dad covered on said automibile. Not a whole lot on this car, it had 75k miles on it when we got it 8 years ago, we still have it, it had 176k miles on it, my wife plowed into a deer doing 70 on I-435, and THEN finished her drive to work, we put a bright purple hood on it (the rest of the car was an opal color, so it actually kinda matched), and since it was my wife's car it was almost always halfway full of fucking trash. I hate dirty cars. There's no fucking reason for it. When you finish eating your sandwich, throw the damn paper in the trash or out the window at a wino so he can smell success...

THE END - the car never really ran right after hitting the deer, but it is still here, sitting in my driveway... maybe one day I will see what's up widdit.

This post is getting a bit long, so I will pause here. Monday I shall delve into the EBAY years of my car buying career, great times.

*/Post note: If you are a conservative and I have offended you, my bad ho. It just annoys me that I have to listen to people all the time saying stupid shit and I have to keep my mouth shut because I am at work or in some other setting where it is socially unacceptable. /*

Cars, Cars Cars!

2009-08-12T11:02:00.001-07:00

Cars, Cars Cars!

golden shower time

upturned face, mouth is agape

it's apple juice, perv

...so without further ado, we move on to the second installment of my 5 part series, "Better know a lemon"

6. 1980 Chevrolet Malibu

Price - $800.00

Location Bought - Truman Road across from Elmwood Cemetary

* So when it was obvious that the Skylark had a myriad of problems that had been covered up (it was later found out it had some serious front end problems, but it was tough to find that out since I couldnt keep the car started long enough to find that out), I did what any sane and thoughtful person would do: I got Toboggan Boy and headed down to the car dealership to get another car from them.

It was great fun watching Toby's crack fuelled rage-o-thon, the indignation in his voice as he threatened to "whomp some goat-smellin' ass", his white guy afro and huge lip rug jiggling in awe-inspiring fury, the stereotypical nasty looking lady with the green shirt and filthy pink sweatpants never taking her eyes from her magazine... and finally he calmed down enough to infomr them that we had no intention of ever purchasing a car from them again, and that we were leaving this piece of crap here. We were then informed that they would call the police unless we took that car because I signed a contract. This was somehow parlayed into me buying the above mentioned car.

THE END: This car was another "looks great, runs, not so much" cars, which will become a common theme in my sexy time posts... the front end was so squirrely when I took the car back to them the steering wheel had ceased to turn the car anymore, and it was by pure luck the car just happened to randomly turn enough to bump it up on the curb by their establichment.

7. 1985 Mercury Grand Marquis

Price - $1497.00

Location bought - 52nd and North Brighton (right off of North Prospect, FYI)

* I got this car because the down payment was in my budget (49 dollars) and because it was big and gold. It had an anemic 302 V8 in it, got about 14 mpg, and fell to shit soon after I got it. First, the power windows went down and would not come back up. This would not have been a huge deal, but I bought the car in December. Driving down the highway with it fucking snowing and freezing rain inside you damn car lets police know that stopping you is paramount. Then it started dying. Often. While I was driving. Finally, one day something happened and antifreeze foured out from under the car.

THE END - I took it back to the dealership, having learned my lesson, and got

8. 1992 Ford Taurus

Price - #3495.00

Location bought - 52nd and North Brighton Road

* I never go to drive this car. I had been arrested and my license had gotten suspended previously, for turning when the police were turning, which for some reason equalled suspicious behavior, and my lovely wife drove this car the whole time, so outside of the fact that it always ran, I can tell you little to nothing about said car.

That being said, I will note that during the ice storm that hit that year, she was driving down North Oak WAY too fast, jumped a curb at like 50 MPH and from then on between 45 and 60 the car jostled like we were in a washing machine. Great times.

9. 1978 Chevrolet Impala

Price - $330.00*

Location bought - Northland somewhere

* THis car was a pleasant, and complete surprise. We were sitting at work on break, my wife and I, at lovely Burger King, trying to figure out how we were going to pay 375/mo. rent AND the way too high 152.00/mo. car payment. No we couldnt afford, so didnt purchase, insurance. As we were talking, the lady behind us remarked that she was moving to Montana (why I am not sure. Are there people in Montana?), and that she would sell us her Mother's car, which looked rough but ran great. Her price, 330, was more than equitable, and we went to look at the car.

Well, "ugly" did not begin to describe this car. Let me preface this by saying I LOVE that body style of car, and this one had no dents, dings, or any of that shit. On the OUTSIDE. It was, however, sky blue, gold, rust colored and orange. As in 3 times someone had decided to paint the car, got started, said "Fuck it", and quit. Whatever. The interior left a little to be desired. The cloth on the seats was all ratty and torn up, so we sat on lovely foam cushion, which would of course grind itself into your pants if you dared move. There was also no headliner, so there was orange fluff that rained down on you at all times. By the time you got out of this car, you looked like a Cheeto. All of these things sucked, but this was the best automobile I ever owned. It ran ALL the time. My wife dumped it nose first into a ditch - twice, still ran. I spun out and hit a guardrail, still ran. Did I mention when these things happened there was no damage to the car? It got 20 MPG, city, highway, or lake. It was an ugly son of a bitch, and people moved out of the way when I got on the highway. Best memory though? When I drove that ugly sucka up to the hospital door to take my oldest son home. You should have seen the look on the nurse's face, great times. I sold this car twice, got it back twice, and it outlasted everything I ever had.

THE END - I am literally getting teary eyed as I write this. I fucking loved that car. She finally met her end when a buttfucking JJ got to her, as he wrecked it trying to peel out around a corner. Every year I stop to think about that car, the great times, the lack of air conditioning, the sweet jacked up look it had when I put truck tires on the back, and I let out a remorseful, sad, memory laden fart in honor of my gone friend. Rest in Peace...

Fuck, I will do the next few tomorrow, I...I don't wanna talk about cars anymore. WHY?!

* The price for the car was 330. We told the lady that we had 300, and promised to send the remaining 30 later. She left for Montana that day. To this day I am assuming I owe some lady 30 dollars in Montana. Great times.

Vehicular Manslaughter

2009-08-11T14:45:00.001-07:00

Vehicular Manslaughter

touch the Whitesnake, girl

Kraken's your QUiet Riot

Take on me, A-Ha

So yesterday, we were all debating cars, with me being the only one in the room who does not enjoy the fruits of GM's labors, and the Tylester dared ask me to explain myself. Well, friends, as I was going through the cars I had, we all came to the completely skewed observation that it was not so much the fault of GM, as it was mine for purchasing cars for less than 600 dollars and then expecting them to be awesome. I figured I would go through, really fast, the more than 20 vehicles I have owned in my short driving career, and let you draw your own sweet and sassy conclusions.

1. 1982 Buick Regal

Price: Free (it was a "gift" from Smeagol)

Location bought: N\A

* In all honesty, this was a really nice car, and I cannot complain too much about it. Smeagol gave it to me to drive, I drove it for about 2 weeks, then Smeagol took it back and traded it in for a 1990 Pontiac Sunbird, which promptly got impounded and still to this day sits in an impound lot, as far as I know.

THE END - Smeagol took it back

2. 1984 Pontiac Fiero

Price: $297.00

Location bought: 41st and Troost

* This was a sweet looking car, kinda like a little Ferrari. Why was it so cheap? It was a manual, had 200k miles on it, and had no 3rd gear. I also remember it not being able to go in reverse either. I ended up trading this to the most shady character I had ever seen (you know when you see someone and you can just tell by the way they are kinda jukin' and jivin', or smoking crack?) for car number 3, which was:

THE END - Traded for Camaro

3. 1978 Chevrolet Camaro

Price: $575.00

Location bought: 37th and Cleveland *interesting side note, it was a junkyard/trash heap, and I had to climb over trash to get to his desk. This should have been an indication of what was to come...

* I got this car because it looked cool, plain and simple. It was electric blue, had turbine wheels, T-Tops, and a cool sounding engine. However, the ENTIRE front end was held together with bailing wire (which is chicken wire, for the uninitiated), it never ran right, and every time I turned a corner I had to hold the door on or it would fly open, which was not cool. The first day I had it, I went outside to admire it after some healthy toilet shopping to find some nasty ass old guy in the front seat. I asked him politely what the fuck he was doing in my car, and let my doberman loose before he had a chance to answer. Turns out I had forgotten to take the "For Sale" sign off of the car and he thought it was for sale... Tee hee!

Another funny thing (not really) is when the skeevy loser came to pick the Fiero up, it ran like a top even without that gear, and I had never driven it because I didn't know how to drive a stick and also because it had no third gear, so that Fiero could have ended up being a great car, I will never know.

THE END - I ended up selling it to some hoodlums, who promptly found out it was crap, demanded their money back, which I gave, and then came back later and stole the car. Sad times. Also I had no title, so there was that.

4. 1991 Pontiac Grand Prix

Price - I dunno, it was technically Smeagol's car

Location bought: 63rd and Troost

* The Grand Prix was a pretty decent car, technically it was Smeagol's, but since he would always climb into the back seat and curl up on the floorboards and fall asleep, gassing me (have you ever tried breathing through your mouth and actually TASTED fart?!)

THE END - I backed out of the driveway and the axle broke. In the middle of the fucking street. I just sat there, cars on either side honking at me (what the fuck am I supposed to do, moron?) and looked, dumbfounded, as all manner of fluid trickled out of the bottom of the car.

5. 1986 Buick Skylark Custom

Price - $850.00

Location bought - Truman Road across from Elmwood Cemetary

* I should have known not to purchase this car because all of these dealerships looked shady, but fuck I needed a car. THis was a GORGEOUS car, it was silver, had a digital dash, smelled fresh all the time, there was one problem. When I bought it, apparently the mechanic covered all the holes in the block over with some thich black grease. I first noticed this when I tried to go up a hill and the car could not do it. This was an indication that something was awry. My second clue was the car died. A lot. Like every 3-4 minutes. I am not exaggerating. It was hilarious, one of the bus station skanks I dated during that time thoguht I was killing the car on purpose to get busy. This could very well be the case, but I would want to get, you know, away from your fucking house first, moron...

THE END - I traded this car in, at the same lovely dealership, for car # 6, a 1980 Chevrolet Malibu...

More tomorrow... I will try to do 5 a day, that way I will be done sometime early next week.

Giggity Giggity Goo!

2009-08-06T14:03:00.000-07:00

The nipple pimple

blemish on hot body part?

or snack with your milk?

Well, Smeagol went home today. I know, I know, you are crying in your oatmeal... I know you all secretly hoped he would come into your life, sleeping on your couch, in your car, on your toilet as he stops it up with ginormous half-digested 30 day old taco bell turds of justice... but I guess true love, or Mystery's mom getting the lights turned back on, convinced him to change his ways.

So I told JJ to tell Smeagol about the party my sister was having, simply because it would have been hilarious to see him there, but he didn't show up, meaning either A) Smeagol never woke up long enough to be informed about said party (he was always asleep when I called, which is why I never got to talk to him) or B) he feared the Country Club Plaza's constabulary corps.

Whatevs, the party wasn't so bad, they had a band (can't remember the name, but my sister was all googley eyed the whole time, so I am going to assume it was Culture Club), decent food, plus I was the buffest one there, so that was pretty cool...

I guess I just don't understand that wily raptor. Sometimes I think he can function in normal society if he really wanted to, and though outlandish, his constant claims that he got to sniff the vaginas of hot ladies all the time can't ALL be lies, can they?

Anyway, on to something else, the PLAN is this next Tuesday to take my dear mother out to lunch with the Tylester, where I am assuming he will attempt to make out with her or get her to say something from the olde Mystical Retard days... we will be at Oklahoma Joe's on 47th and Mission road next Tuesday, look for the guy not wearing any pants, and Tylester and I will be behind him.

On another front, we have another 50th b-day coming up, and before I am asked to dress as something humiliating, I would like to come up with an idea of something hawt to dress up as, but I am coming up blank. I originally thought assless chaps and a Duluth letterman jacket would be nice but maybe not so corporate environment friendly...

So I am leaving it up to you. What should I wear? This time it is being left up to me, and as long as they are no more wrong than a pink tutu or a bumblebee costume I am willing to listen to any ideas... I will then put them up to a vote and get a costume made.

Crawdads, Crackheads, Crying and Karate

2009-07-29T13:23:00.001-07:00

Crawdads, Crackheads, Crying and Karate

help a child read good

buy a wino an ice cream

punch a pedophile

Busy, busy weekend all. Let's get to it.

So on Saturday, I donned my safari gear, filled my bait pouch with meth and Poison/Def Leppard/ Quiet Riot/ WHitesnake cassette tapes (because old Camaros and El Caminos don't use fancy schmancy cd players), and with the rest of my dojo travelled to beautiful Independence, Missouri to spar with a different school, part of our outreach program.

So we get there, and it is a pleasant surprise. It seems to be a pretty decent school, the people there are pretty awesome, good times sparring, plus I tit punched what was I am assuming a 15-16 year old girl, then kicked her in the stomach hard enough to make her turtle (I am not sure I made her turtle, and it was pretty loud, but I coulda swore I heard an anguished fart escape). The best part of sparring was when I got to spar with the instructor, and we were karateing it up so much we were almost out of the dojo and into the parking lot, where I would assume we would then switch to a West Side Story- style dance fight, replete with spiked mullets, Thriller jackets, too tight highwaters and tiny switchblades. Except I don't know how to hum.

Anyway, we finish the karawtefest, luckily no injuries, and it is decided we will go to Joe's Crab Shack to eat.

For those of you who do not live in the KC area or haven't seen the commercials because you are pooping into a sandtrap (support the troops), Joe's is a crabshack much like CHilis, in that it tries to look genuine or like a nice place to hang out, but unless you are wearing khakis, have spiked hair and engage in extreme sports, not for you.

So from the commercials, I order the "Orleans", which is a pound of crawfish, a pound of shrimp, some baby potatoes, a tiny corn on the cob all in a net. It was, firstly, without a doubt the most spicy food I have ever eaten in my life. My lips were on fire. even my fucking drink tasted like Hade's balls.

I must ask though: what is the allure of the crawdad? First of all, they look like big red grasshopers with claws. How appetizing does that sound? Second, there is an on average 1.5 minute process to go through EACH FUCKING TIME to get to the only part which is edible, which is the tail. Third, after all that work, you get a tiny tiny nibble of what COULD be a tasty treat, but the sample size is much too small to tell, much like I used to get told after dates (zing!). I mean, fuck me, there's a pound of crawdads in the Orleans meal, and I got maybe 2 ounces of actual fucking food. The rest of the meal was what looked like dead insects in a puddle of butter and fat. YUM...

"But Stevester, what does any of this have to do with crying crackheads" you may be wondering. Well, shut up and I'll get to it! Sorry, I am trying to go cold turkey on coffee and withdrawal is causing some grumpiness and a little anal leakage (I drink my coffee through a tube shoved up my ass so I get ALL the caffeine, which leads to awkward times)

So after the exhaustion of Saturday and sparring almost literally all day, coupled with spending 25 dollars on something I could dig around in any shit pond and eat for free, I was ready for a long, relaxing Sunday, wearing nothing more than my holey chicago bulls cutoff sweat pant shorts, dirty wifebeater and watching porn while the kids played outside. This, ladies, is the perfect day for a guy, the only way it could be better is if there was football on all day and there was PBR in the fridge. If some guy says he would rather go shopping with you or go see a play, he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Apparently, in order to get sexy time, I had promised weeks ago to go to a birthday party for my niece. I have no idea if it was really for sexy time, but that makes for a better story and my wife said it so it is easier to acquiesce than it is to argue. I don't particularly like my niece, I don't hate her but like any 15 year old young lady she is a little spoiled. But this part of the story isn't about her.

The party was to be held in a park in the middle of Independence, Missouri. Not in the good part, where you can be sure your meth was cooked in a clean bathtub, but in the other part. We get to the park, head over to the shelters, and there is a rather scruffy looking gentleman sitting there reading a book. No one pays him any mind, and he moves to another table to give us some privacy, so all in all if he is a wino he is a respectable one, and I almost thought of high fiving him. We get down to the art of setting up a party for a teenager, which included me doing nothing because I'm a man and a jerk. The boys head down to the water park portion of the park, and are dancing around and probably pissing themselves to utopia, and I notice one of the kids looks a lot older and is less playing around, more bathing. She is still dressed, but you can tell she is not a kid, as no parent I know would allow shorts that small on their kids.

WHatevs, she moseys up to the scruffy guy and they sit there, her looking at me every few minutes, with what I wrongly guessed was revulsion, as I was neither white nor Mexirican, like the other patrons there. The fact that I was making out with my wife and that other wino probably also got me the looks. I ignore her, and the rest of the guests show up. One of them knows her, and she asks him in a loud voice if he would introduce her to me. The realization of why she had been staring at me sets in, and cold, dank fear gripped the Stevester's tender testes...

You see, the fairer sex's default reaction to the Stevester is revulsion, annoyance, and in the case of my lovely wife, utter awe that jellyrolls can jiggle so voraciously. This has led to me either being completely oblivious to obvious attraction (my wife) or, in this case, at a loss for how to respond. I will tell you, I was prepared to fight someone, as racism is still alive and well and the sight of me dry humping my wife into submission is a battle cry for some of the more mulleted mustachio aficionados frequenting said borough... but I was not prepared for some crackhead lady trying to entice me by flashing her camel toe in her cutoff shorts and then crying loudly when I did not make sweet love to her... I am sure for some of the more attractive people who read this blog this is a normal thing, but I felt awful about it.

I mean, come on, I can't fault the lady's taste in men, or the come hither look she flashed me as she headed for the public shitter, or the sadness on her face as she came out after realizing I wasn't going to pound her in a filthy restroom... ok I was but I couldn't get away from everyone else! Ugh, even joking about that illicits images I would rather not see....

Anyway, more later, There are a few sexy updates on Smeagol, and I would appreciate it if you voted on the poll. My sister informed me that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES was I to let Smeagol know she was having a huge get together. I was allowed to let JJ know. Smeagol, for all intents and purposes, lives at my mom's house right now. Should I?

Cordoba

2009-07-24T14:52:00.001-07:00

Cordoba

Much like a fine wine

underwear is meant to age

then worn inside out

Ah, gentle readers, it's been too long, like 2 lovers seperated by land, sea, and vicious STD's many things have tried to keep me from you, but like the erstwhile pedophile, I show up again, climbing through the open window of your psyche, ready to fill your ear-pussies with jisms of knowledge.

So updates... updates... well Smeagol's search for employment continues. JJ insists he is not living with them but EVERY time I call Smeagol is asleep on the couch in the living room, thonged up to the max, so seriously...

I recently spoke with a good friend of mine, Ricardo, who I worked with at Burger King, and thought I would share a story from our special time together... this being a slow news month (Smeagol is in his molting season, historically all of his arrests have occured closer to the end of summer and beginning of the fall) and all...

By far and away my favorite memory is the one with the BK Broiler where Ricardo put huge slabs of mayonnaise on it and the guy got it all over himself but thought it was the best sandwich ever (I told you about that, right?) But a second favorite story concerned the Mullet haired tow truck driver.

This guy comes stomping in there and slams a chicken sandwich onto the counter in front of me, right in front of the customers. I look at his questioningly, never stopping my retarded spiel taking the customer's order. He looks at me, tapping his foot angrilly for a minute, and as soon as I finish launches into a tirade about how crappy his sandwich is, how the lettuce must be a year old and the cheese isn't even melted and blah blah blah. All the while I am looking at the sandwich and it actually looks pretty good to me, man was I hungry too...mmmmmm....

Anyway, Ricardo was having a particularly challenging day, and had no patience for such tomfollery by this ruffian carpetbagger. As I remember the scene (my fellow BK alumni will undoubtedly correct me), Ricardo slapped the whopper he was making down on the counter and came out, rolling his sleeves up. The trucker guy, seeing this very red-faced, very angry fellah strolling toward him, decided perhaps the state of the mayonnaise and used condoms on the sandwich weren't bad enough to merit further action, and absconded with his mashed, now cold sandwich I had touched with my fingers that, as you will remember, had been massaging my junk only seconds before.

Anyway...

So last night I went to karate, and since we are going to spar with another school tomorrow morning, the majority of the class was spent sparrifying it up.

So I get up with my first opponent, which is a white belt -

Wait a second, let me explain real quick. Yes, I am a 3rd degree black belt, so TECHNICALLY this is not a very fair fight. THe reason I was sparring this gentleman, though, is because as my instructor takes every opportunity to inform new recruits, "Stevester is a gentle giant, and he has a ton of control and so you will be safest sparring with him. Also he is a fat asshole and he wears a tutu."

So anyway, my first opponent, whom I had sparred before, gets ready, and makes the request that I only kick him on his right side, as apparently I had cracked one of his ribs during some earlier sparring. This came about (and it was totally his fault, I swear) when he walked up behind me and I instinctively launched a - hold on, how would Karawte Man put this - "Kick that flew at supersonic speeds, like a German Panzer tank with a space shuttle taped to the top of it, hell bent on flying through wormhles in the space time continuum and shattering not only the sound barrier, but creating a powerful vortex from which no light can escape, the souls of consumed kittens crying in agony as they try desperately to avoid the unstobbable rebel force of such a deadly attack" - side kick that landed right in his ribs.

Anyway, sparring goes as usual, I completely eat up the other side of his ribs, and already feel like a heel, when I get my second sparring opportunity. This guy is a green belt, but hasnt sparred much. We line up, shake hands, start circling, me giving him tips as I launch test attacks to see how he responds, and then it's time. I do my famous Jean Claude Van DAMMETHATHURT kick, which is when I kick low to distract you and then kick high really fast. He completely falls for it, and thusly is ducking down and to the side when my foot is coming up. At full force. Toward his face. and my foot isn't padded.

Well I catch him mostly on the neck, and it runs up the side of his face, and I can feel his teeth digging into my foot as I look on, horrified, at what is ensuing. I back up, and look on as he stands there dazed for a few seconds, and begin apologizing profusely. He is all like "I'm not gonna lie, it hurt, but don't worry about it" later on, but all I can see is that his neck and face are turning red and then purple... Sheeeeiiiittt...

The funny thing? I have been taking martial arts for almost a decade, and have NEVER hurt anyone until this last week or two, when I have hurt 2 really cool guys. I am a doucher. What's sad, is I am only going 50%, and I STILL cannot manage to not maraude through other people like an unstoppable rebel force.

Now tomorrow I will have to annihilate someone or these guys will think I have it in for them.

More later

Et tu, Bruno?

2009-07-13T08:54:00.001-07:00

Et tu, Bruno?

funkyzeit Bruno

Chili's? Yeah then I'll show up

lotsa cock there tho

So for the 2 other people who read this blog who did not go Friday, we enjoyed a hearty dinner at Chili's and the movie Bruno, and after the bad dreams and a little therapy watching the most hardcore straight porn (Golden Shower Girls with Bea Arthur, mmmmmm) I could find, I feel I can talk a little about it.

First of all, it's been too long since I had seen Max, Derka and Dez, and you know it's messed up whe I am the first one there. Seriously, I am well known as the last person to show up. The idea of eating at least 5000 calories worth of fried food dipped in ranch, though, gets my blood boiling. Or at least moving as fast as my quickly clogging arteries would let it.

Anyway, you didn't come here to listen to me tell you of my heroic but sadly failed efforts to hold what felt like beer farts in, you want to know about Bruno.

Let me put it this way: Imagine you are in a room. THere is nothing in the room but a chair. The room is completely devoid of color, stark white, except one wall, which is a huge screen. And on this screen are dicks. Lots and lots of dicks, some singing, some being stuffed unceremoniously into various assholes, some spining like a pinwheel. There is also a Korean guy with a champagne bottle in his ass, and a very strange contraption which SHOULD be an exercise bike, but is actually a human powered vibradildospear. If you read the preceding paragraph and your interest is piqued, then this film is for you. I personally found it to be hilarious, not quite Borat hilarious but funny nevertheless. Here is a quick rundown of my thoughts throughout said movie:

2:30 into the film - Man this guy is gay, but has excellent fashion sense. A velcro suit?! I would buy!

5:00 - Derka has some nice legs (platonically, of course) Maybe if I tried to run I would have nice legs too.

5:15 Would Des fall for the popcorn trick?

15:35 - I'm not sure I could drink from a champagne bottle sticking out of a Thai ladyboy's anus.

17:00 That is some kind of exercise machine! Oucheroo!

23:14 - I wonder if the guy sitting in the row in front of me would notice if I blew ass right now.

23:30 Nope!

41:15 - If there were lots of other naked chicks in this film, this lady who is much too tanned would not be hot. My masculinity, though, is desperate to push all thoughts of gayness away, so all my brain can come up with it "hole shit loggitdosetitties!" SHe had a sweet german looking eagle tattoo on her stomach, I wonder how that would look on my arm...?

1:03:10 If I worked at that hotel, I would just have stood there pointing and laughing. Mr Magorium?! LOL

1:24:30 - These two dudes making out in an MMA ring is the most disturbing thing I have seen since Salo. Nice...

You know, after the movie was over and everyone said their goodbyes, there was an awkwardness. I wondered if I was being over the top and the other 3 were wondering who had invited me and what the hell was wrong with me, or had someone smelled my PBR farts? I doubt it as no one was throwing up.

To Des - I in all honesty did not mean to pick you up like that, it was either that or fall on you as dexterity is not my strong point. My bad.

I did not follow through on my stated plan of copping a feel on everyone, which made me sad, but maybe it was for the best.

Anyway, on to other things, great times had by all, and I still plan to purchase said film...

...{cont.}

2009-07-10T07:32:00.000-07:00

...{cont.}

Michael Jackson's dead

sadly it took the man's death

to like his music

So I brought in my Michael Jackson collection to listen to today, and maybe it's the nostalgia but I remember loving these tunes and they are still just as classy.

Anyway, back to the story I started yesterday before being so rudely interrupted...

Well with all the stuff I was doing, I needed to eat on a semi-daily basis. This did not bode well for Smeagol's living, which is basically to inhale the farts of others and let your raptor innards detach essential nutrientes from the inhaled flatulons. I don't know the science of it but really if you came here to get smarter you will be very disappointed.

Since the majority of my monies went to gasoline and clothes, it was generally held that Smeagol would ensure there were groceries int he house, since he, you know, worked a full time job. This almost never happened, resulting in my at one point weighing in at around 190 pounds, which is not a good weight for me.

Anyway, you know all of this already, so what is new about this story?

On this particular time, I watched in awe as Smeagol E. Raptor went on the prowl, the prowl for sustenance!

He informed me we were going out to dinner, which annoyed me because if you take the 50 bux it takes to go out to dinner and spend it at the grocery store, you can eat, you know, more than once. This logic was met with a grunt of annoyance, and off we went.

The prowl started off as so many other treks Smeagol went on, with him shifting his automatic transmission into neutral to coast down hills to save gas, then revving the engine at stoplights to intimidate the homeboys with his 1992 Pontiac Grand Am and taking off as fast as the poor v-6 would let him, the whole while saying over and over "Awww shit niggie"...

We get to Mystery's mom's job, and Smeagol pulls to an inconspicuous spot not only to catch her unawares but also because he saw a police officer driving around and wanted to avoid detection, incarceration, and one may assume, penetration...

Whatevs. Like a couple of detectives on a stakeout, we sit, Smeagol watching the door with increasing intensity, possibly using his heightened raptor senses to pick up heat signatures...

We finally see Mystery's mom mosey out, probably after a long, hard day at work (I think she works for the railroad), and Smeagol leaps into action...and tells Mystery to get her. Mystery, the whole time doing that little annoyed spittle spraying "pshshhshst, tsk duh" shit she does, awkwardly gets out of the car and ambles toward her mom, who, like a deer in the headlights, looks at her with full knowledge of what was about to happen, yet powerless to stop it.

She comes back with about 40 dollars, which I again bring up could be used to purchase gasoline for the car and ramen noodles or something until I get paid, and this is met with annoyed grunts from Smeagol and guffaws from Mystery, who I still don't think had any idea what we were talking about.

And so we're off, going to Ryan's to eat, and fuck it it's none of my business, I'd like to say I took a principled stand against such idiocy, but I was hungry and I didn't work that day, so I went.

During the meal, me getting less and less hungry from watching them eat, Smeagol asks how she managed to finagle (finagal? Finland?) cash out of her mom, to which Mystery replies, while I'm eating, "I'm leaking some kind of fluid and I need to go to the doctor>" I push my plate away and wonder if I could get a sharp knife and maybe rupture my eardrums as Smeagol looks at her like she is the dumbest human being on the planet.

"WHy didn't you tell me, you dumb bitch?" He tried to growl, but even angry, Smeagol sounds about as mean as a box full of kittens. Kittens that Greyskull hast already consumed the souls of.

"It's not a big deal, I will just tell them I'm homeless and they will see me for free," she replies, which is both funny and sad at the same time. Apparently her modus operandi is to wear clothes for days at a time and not bathe or bathe improperly in order to receive free medical care from the fine doctors at Truman Medical Center, the only place you can die whilst getting a physical (seriously, I went there to get one for football, and had to tell the doctor what to do. Have you ever told a dude to grab your balls and check for a hernia? Not cool), and had done it numerous times before.

That's it. I have no ending to this story. Smeagol took her, they assumed she was homeless, I hit on a Somalian chick (Muslim and Indian chicks are hot) and got nowhere, and life went on.

Anyway, I would like to end this post with a plea for help for that wily raptor. I know you all want a little more Smeagol in your life, and outside of Will (I seriously would not want to imagine Smeagol trying to go through basic training or being asked to lift a rifle) if any of you know of a job opening please pass it my way and I will see if I can get Smeags hirefied. If you want to tell me about other kinds of openings, please remember I am married, so be as graphic as humanly possible.

Thank you

Smeagol, the man, the raptor, the Thong-Destroyer

2009-07-08T14:57:00.001-07:00

Smeagol, the man, the raptor, the Thong-Destroyer

fork over the cash

gently touch the ass, female?

matters not, you're drunk

Plea for Helping Time

So I said I would get an update on Smeagol, and I did, but it is a most distressing one.

JJ informed me that that wiley raptor was desperately trying to get ahold of me, because he wanted me to "buy a couple things online, and tell him I'll pay him back when I get paid". Now we all know this means I will never see said money again, and past experience with a certain raptor also says since he knows he will only get away with this once per person that he must try to get me to spend as much as possible before he moves on to the next victim. I inform JJ that giving Smeagol my new phone number is tantamount to treason and would be dealt with quite harshly, and we both laugh and share a tender brotherly love.

JJ informs me that I made the right choice, as Smeagol has recently lost his job at both McDOnald's and at wherever else he was claiming to work on the same day. How they could deal with losing a high level manager is beyond me, but that is not the main gist of my posticle here. I need to find Smeagol a job, because although you may take from my many postings on him and the many ways he has failed and induced failure over the years, he is still family, and my heart is good, my prostate is weak, my bladder, full to bursting (thanks for asking).

What could Smeagol want me to purchase for him that he could not wait to get with his first paycheck from wherever he ends up going? Maybe a business suit to wow potential interviewers not only with his magnanimous customer service skills but also with his rapist wit and excellent dress habits? No, he wants another video game and some parts for a r/c car he will take 2 years to build. Seriously, and this leads me to an older Smeagol story that I must now share.

Twas early spring 1997, and I, beng a strapping lad of 16, was constantly on the go, what with school, football and work every night keeping me (thankfully) out of the house at all times.

Shit, didn't realize the day is almost over, will finish tomorrow.

Bruno

2009-07-07T07:43:00.000-07:00

Bruno

Bring your Zinfandel

appletinis in the mix

leave your pants outside

So I am gearing up to go see Bruno with my peeps this week, and by gearing up I mean waxing my butthole to remove the hairs and oiling up my assless chaps.

Anyway, back to the story of my sexy time trip. The plan was, as it is a 13 hour drive down there, that we would leave at 1 in the morning and switch off in St. Louis, then in Nashville, giving me about 8 hours to drive, and my wife about 5. This did not happen. I ended up driving all the way to about 20 minutes south of Nashville, when she "remembered" the plan and we switched. Have you ever smelled your own balls or had yourself so compacted into a car that your asshole is pointed at your face, thus ensuring you get first dibs on your own flatuvapors the entire time, for 11 hours straight? No? Well it ain't nice.

Small political note in the middle of my semi-retarded rantings: what's all the hubbub about gay marriage? If you surf over to the Rude Pundit (and I suggest you do, it's a most excellent read), recently a bunch of moronic "tea parties" were held by mouth frothing, homophobic conservative douchebags. Not that I'm biased or anything. I recently had a discussion with a conservative friend, and Toboggan Boy's stance is "I don't want a bunch of gays getting married, then I'll have to pay for them!"

This from a man who answered "did you ever take a shot in the mouth for some crack?" with "Yerdaddy's done some foolish things..." I mean honestly. I don't really think he did but to be so cracked out of your mind at the time that you cannot definitively say you didn't is just as bad if not worse.

Real quick, then I will move on, here are the reasons I hear the most from my red state buddies and why they are stupid:

1. "It's against the Bible, which is the word of Gawd!" (said in Mr. Garrison's voice)

Debunk: You are retarded. Seriously though, "The word of the Lord" has been rewritten more often than I've sent photos of Jeremy out, and homosexuality in those times was a sign of stature and was not looked upon as wrong or bad (look it up), but even if they were what the hell does some dude wanting to violate the anus of another dude who isn't you any of your business?

2. "If those homos get married I'll have to pay for their benefits I am Benson Hunter!"

Debunk: So what? When you factor in that more than 50% of marriages end in divorce within the first 3 years, as well as the fact that marrying someone to allow them entrance into the United States is a common practice, what the fuck do you care? It's not like a couple of gay guys getting married are going to raise the amount of taxes you have to pay, but even if it did THEY PAY TAXES TOO, moron! Single homos are paying so you and your wife can receive checks long after you have outlived your usefulness, too. If this is your argument, gay people should not have to pay taxes, since they will obviously not benefit from them.

3. "They only turn gay to get on Hollywood TV" Look up a guy named RIchard Burgess. Youtube him. It's audio, it's NSFW, but well worth a listen. I KNOW people who have said the same things.

Debunk: Why in the name of fuck would you CHOOSE to be ostracized, beaten, cast out, made fun of, looked over for promotions, kicked out of the military and countless other insults to your person? And I don't care, if it was me, I could pretend to "go gay" right up until it came time to take another dude's cock in my hand/ mouth/ ass. Nope. If that is the case, that is one elaborate fucking scheme.

4. "Homos are ruining the American Family!" THis is the idea that 2 men or 2 women fucking somehow ruins the lives of "normal" God-Fearing Americans.

Debunk: There is no such thing as an American Family anymore. The picturesque families we all try to model ourselves after, the 1950's kind of "Leave it to Beaver" (LOL) family does not exist. Your average family now has no time to sit down to dinner together, as both parents work, the kids have homework and friends and videogames and internet pornography all vying for attentions that has to be shared with the parents, and with bills and the costs of basic services skyrocketing along with the death of the 8 hour workday NO ONE has a "Normal Family" anymore. Family time now entails a hurried microwave burrito and dry humping by the microwave while the wife puts on her makeup before going to work. Well no I try to do that every day even if we have the time but you get my point!

Sorry to go off like that, but listening to this huge non-issue, for that's what it should be, a non issue, when we have bigger things to worry about, like health care, the war in Iraqiranistan, running out of oil, and other forms of buttfuckery is starting to hurt my head. Seriously, unless 2 men are touching dicks over your Cheerios in the morning and pounding eachother on your lawn making you mow around them, who cares?

Anyway, back to my regularly scheduled program.

Why is Smeagol still at my mom's house? Seriously. He's almost 40 and spends his time either munching already pounded twat or avoiding his wife. If you don't care for someone why are you with them? I guess I can't complain too much though, he hasn't been to jail in a while.

More later...

Back in the Saddle

2009-07-01T11:21:00.000-07:00

Back in the Saddle

Chewbacca give pain!

hairy paw smashes your face

colonoscopy!

Sorry it's been awhile, I was on sexy time vacation. Rather than bore you with all the minute details (I saw someone taking a shit in a urinal, I saw a real live glory hole, I got pissed on and not by a child) I will delve into other subjects....that relate to my vacation.

As you may or may not know (or care), I went to a karatefying tournament in Dalton, GA. I was a little bit apprehensive about making the trip, what with my limited knowledge of the South and my corresponding belief that literally every human being South of Kansas City is either in the Ku Klux Klan or on the waiting list (strangely enough I am on the list, why won't they call me back?!), and that Deliverance is acted out on a daily basis.

But anyway, let's start from the sexy, sexy beginning. The plan for my week off was to do the following:

1. Drive to Omaha and visit the Omaha Zoo

2. Drive down to Dalton, GA stopping in St. Louis, Nashville, and for some reason (OK the reason is because I like saying the name) Paducah, KY (LOL).

In order to effect this, we decided to drive the entire way instead of flying, because we use our time wisely. I go to pick up the car, well secure in the knowledge that unlike previous instances, I had planned ahead and gotten the mid-sized car, which was a lovely Chevrolet Cobalt, and-

Chevy Cobalt? For those of you not in the know, I am a fat man. I am also a moderately tall man. This car is not for me. I see this car, which is not only not as long as my own car (Zing!) but also almost a foot shorter, and I feel the sad time. Apparently, sometime since the economy went down the shitter, I guess so too did the definition of midsize car go the way of the Lollipop Guild?!

Anyway, I get the car, and we are off to Omaha first, which was pretty schweet, I have some photos of Smeagol in his natural habitat that I will post later... of course since I am the man I ended up driving up there and back, but I didn't mind, except for the fact that I was scrunched up enough that I could tell the soap had missed a few places under my balls, because my face was in my own friggin pube thicket the whole time (visualize that while eating your lunch!)

So anyway, the zoo trip over (the best part was when we went into the swamp and my oldest was looking around in the gloom and an alligator was sitting in the water less than 5 feet away, those were great times), we go back and relax for a day, to get ready for the 14 hour drive to Georgia. And this is the meat of today's post.

I recently found out Netflix rents softcore porn. Now I know what you are thinking, and the answer is yes, I do rent a family movie every once in awhile just to liven things up. My favorite ones are these Italian ones which are comedies with porn in them, which seems right up my alley, since every time I take my pants down my wife starts laughing.

So I recently found a director who makes the majority of these films, and rented everything Netflix suggested. Big mistake.

I get the movie in the mail last week, the name of it is Salo. If you hear someone groan when they read that film title, they have heard of it. If they throw up and then run screaming from the room, they saw the first half. If they shit in a bowl and eat it, they were in the film.

Anyway, I figure since I need to get some sleep early, as I have to get up at 1 AM to start the drive, I will watch some of this film to see what it's all about. I pop that beeyotch in the dvd player and lay on the bed.

Beginning: So far, so good. The film is set in 1944 Italy, and is apparently about kidnapping attractive young men and women for what is apparently going to be forced orgies (this is actually said in the beginning of the film, I did not make this up). Although there were way too many hairy weiners, some of the chicks looked bangable. I'll keep watching but there is nothing funny about the movie so far.

0:35 - Ummmm.... so they are talking about how luscious it would be to anally violate this young man, and the way these old guys are literally licking their lips is kinda grossing me out. They take the group to a secluded compound, and elicit the only laughter I was able to muster the entire film, when they tell the group "You will never escape. You will die here. Orgies are to occur every morning at 9:00 precisely"... sounds like me on a date.

1:00 - So everyone in this film is completely nude except these old guys, who are strange but not too far out there. Apparently the movie centers around the orgy room, where everyone sits and listens to some nasty ass older ladies talk about all the depraved stuff they did, and then the older guys come in and act said acts out on the victims. It's getting progressively nastier, as the ladies are talking about peeing in people's mouths and this guy takes one of the girls in this back room and has her whiz on his face and in his mouth. I want to stop watching but cannot. What is happening to me?!

1:30 - The wife walks in just as the next lady is talking about one of her Johns wanting to lick her butthole out and then had her shit into a bowl, which he then ate. She was going into detail about eating a diet specifically designed to maximize poopage and the wife walks in and is like "What the fuck is this?!" Then she sits down and watches too, transfixed.

1:39 - THis is as far into the film as either of us got. At this point, after the story, a large tub was put in the main dining hall, and was filled to the brim with shit, piss and vag-i-blood, which everyone ate in excrutiating detail. Then one guy starts making out with another guy with a turd in his mouth and I just threw up in my mouth. Tastes like Doritos and failure.

I sent the movie back and took the rest of them out of my queue, replacing them all with SPace Chimps and various Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. I have been scarred for life. The saddest part is I want to know how it ends, but cannot watch it long enough to see how it does. Please if one of you watches it, tell me how it ended. I will buy the movie for you...

Anyway, more sometime this week, including more Smeagol madness!

Like a Thief in the Night

2009-06-18T14:48:00.001-07:00

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.

The Road Not Taken

2009-06-11T07:46:00.000-07:00

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.

Busy Bee

2009-06-09T13:06:00.001-07:00

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.

Fees, Fees and fat honeybees

2009-06-05T09:46:00.000-07:00

Fees, Fees and fat honeybees

swollen monkey balls

if they were yours, you'd scratch too

and friggin love it!

*Sigh*

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!"

CLICK

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.

Love is...

2009-05-28T12:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Cutesy

2009-05-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

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!

Open Letter

2009-05-19T14:05:00.000-07:00

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:

"...so 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.

Gems from TSC

2009-05-15T07:54:00.001-07:00

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 http://www.techcomedy.com . 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!"

Things that make you go "Oh Gawd!"

2009-05-14T06:48:00.001-07:00

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...

More Gays...

2009-05-12T12:52:00.001-07:00

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'

My ass is killing me

2009-05-11T07:27:00.000-07:00

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!

Happy Cinco de Mayo

2009-05-05T14:00:00.001-07:00

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

Inappropriate?!

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 learn....um...I 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.

Feel the beat, rock with me

2009-04-29T13:52:00.000-07:00

Feel the beat, rock with me

Mmmm, you ligget Steve!

tight silk boxers on display!

saggy butt-cheeks, yo!

*Sigh*, I hate rainy days. I hate when rainy days occur and it's too warm to shut the windows, and when you go to bed the sheets are all damp like you just made handparty all over them... but I digress.

For today's funness I figured I would touch on a nice, safe subject: race.

As you all may know, I am what is known as a "mulatto", my dad is white and my mom is infected with negro. I have also been called "Oreo" "Ice cream sandwich" "Homo" and "fat ass" (One lovely young woman once remarked that the jiggling of my belly mesmerized her. I am assuming she meant that in a racial way)

Anyway, throughout my life I have been asked some of the dumbest things as they relate to my race, and I was asked a retardotron question today that reminded me of some of them. I figured I would share.

Things that annoy part 432804328947832

2009-04-28T08:30:00.000-07:00

Things that annoy part 432804328947832

Kiss is on my list

Hall & Oates rocks the casbah

like a ship at sea

So I am in a less than stellar mood, which I am hoping to turn into me being a stallion with my wife tonight, but will probably end up with me watching Operation Repo until I fall asleep on the couch in a fog of my own flatulence like I do every night (great times!). Anyway, I figured I would go through another short list of things that annoy me, one because I can't remember any decent stories and two because I am lazy. Here goes!

1. Men who walk into a pretty much empty bathroom, walk PAST the urinals, go into a stall, leave the door open and stand up and pee: What the fuck is that all about? I mean seriously...I can kind of understand if you want to sit to tinkle, but to walk past the urinals and go into a stall and leave the door open says "I don't want you to see my tiny prick, but I will leave the door open in case you want me to see yours"

2. People who are WAY too gung ho about their jobs and expect you to be too: Let me preface this by saying my boss is one of the coolest bosses I have ever had, only beaten by my first boss when I worked in security, who had huge knockers and a thick spanish accent (mmmm.....boobies). That being said, there is something horrifying and disturbing about how gung ho he is on the subject of work. When he takes a vacation day, he still stays up to the early hours of the morning sending emails and creating tickets for us to work on. He is ALWAYS available by phone. He always shows up before he says he will when he takes a half day or something like that. And when he is talking to one of our "customers", he will more often than not talk our group into more work, which I really don't understand. If the people you work for already like you, why keep trying harder? Unless you are actively trying to get into their pants....hmmmmm.... Anyway, let me tell you this much before I move on: Once I am outside the building, or on the toilet or anything like that, I don't give two shits about work. I cannot be bothered to complete any work whatsoever, do not call me, I will be drunk and/ or taking a dump. This is not to say I do not care for my job; far from it. This is to say when I am in my last years, which judging by the way I live will be about 40ish, I want to look back and remember I did something outside of work every day, even if all that is is watching indian porn (tech support, not drunken casino), which is my favorite kind.

3. People who walk toward the door while you hold it open but decide at the last second to hold an hour and a half conversation on Venetian squirrel migration patterns while moving closer and closer to the door so you end up fucking holding it open and being late to toilet shopping: I know this one is a little long, but fuck it. I hate it when someone is acting like they need you to hold the door, you know those little moans of exertion while they carry or pull one of those long handcars of crap, and then like a gentleman you hold the door and expose yourself as chivalry demands, and said assdouche starts talking to someone smoking 10 feet from the door, using the "Do not smoke within 50 feet of building" sign to shield themselves from the wind, and move closer to the door while glancing at you expectantly every time you start to walk away. Fuuuuck!

4. Timid drivers - I hate when everyone can see that the lane ends, everyone gets over, and like a nice person you slow down to let someone in, but they need approximately a quarter mile of space before they deem it safe enough to pull their 2 seat Smartcar into the 10 MPH moving line. Fuck you and die on the toilet.

5. Cats - I hate cats. They are annoying, they shit and the smell permeates everything within 200 yards of their catbox, then walk over and try to cuddle with you, the whole time trying to rub their shitty ass on your fucking shirt. They also try to climb the screen window, tearing it up and letting all manner of flying insect into my fucking house, and living this close to a lake that's a lot.

6. Bums who try to stroke your ego (or anything else they can get their hands on) - Dear Homeless wino: FUck you. The only thing that annoys me more than you urinating on my car, flipping me off because I did not give you enough money to purchase a 22 0z. can of Camo, or taking a WHopper from me and throwing it in the trash only to dig it out and eat it later, is when you walk up and start in with "Hey there, big man, man you's is a big strong dude!" Fuck you, although I do enjoy the compliment, following that up with begging for 11 cents to feed your family of 43829 will piss me off.

7. Chicks who think I am hot - Dammit, where the fuck were you assholes when I was single, jerking off to Roseanne (Darlene and Becky, and sometimes DJ, don't judge) while wondering when I was going to escape the epic clutches of insurmountable failure washing over me like a tsunami of stupidity from Smeagol and Friends? I swear to all of you before I got with my wife the only reason a young lady would talk to me is to see if they could get JJ's number; so far I have been with my wife for a little over 10 years and barely a week goes by when some lady informs me my sexiness has washed over her like an unstoppable rebel force, blitzkrieging into her heart and filling her loins with love shrapnel from my Panzer-tank of studliness. WTF?! Why? You know the funny/ gay thing? If I left my wife tomorrow I would be back to Roseanne for another 5 years... well that and taking numbers from ladies to give to JJ. Not that I am complaining, I love my wife and yadda yadda yadda whatever, it's just the irony of it all... I am not sure I would trade the classy kind of lady I usually end up with for JJ's constant parade of ghetto/trailer trash, all yearning for one night stands and no commi..... wait what the hell am I saying?

8. The weather: be hot, be cold, make up your fuckin mind! It's gotten so that I wear a fur trench coat with a speedo and flip flops so I can go through the day comfortably! Add in my purple velvet fedora and you've never heard so much whining as I hear at work

9. Assholes who cannot think of enough things to make up a top 10 list: That just shows a lack of brain power, like the person who did it was too stupid to think up enough things to even pick the 10 best so had to come up with filler, fuck those guys!

short blurb

2009-04-27T14:59:00.000-07:00

short blurb

oh, baby come back!

you can smoke some crack...with...me!

can't smoke without you!

(sung to "Baby Come Back" from those swiffer commercials)

So I am going down to the gym this morning to work on my buns and thighs, much as I do every day, and the following conversation with the smartass guards ensues (I say "smartass" in the most loving way possible, those guys are hilarious and I truly love them for their bad jokes and yearning to insult both me and Tylester on a daily basis):

First, a little backstory: Last Friday we had naturalization. While normally the only reason I care is I like looking at the hot ladies (and laughing at some of the more homely ones until I realize I am laughing at a mirror), this one was different. For some reason, I had to dress up to the friggin 9s and tape this crap, and on a Friday to boot?! I rebelled in the only way I knew how - by wearing my suspenders and looking like an overweight Baptist ghetto preacher. Apparently, this made the guards' day, and they spent a good few minutes laughing at me every time I dared walk past them.

Anyway, like I said I was heading into the gym, and Colonel Sanders guard (He looks just like the Colonel. Ask Tylester) is talking to a police officer, and he makes some snarky comment about how hawt I looked in my suspenders. That's all good, I did think the suspenders looked pretty snazzy on me, and suspenders are the ONLY thing that look better on fat men than on skinny men; in fact, all I was missing was a beard and a condescending attitude to make the whole thing complete.

While we are joking around in front of the cop, the other guard pipes up that next time I should wear the suspenders with the tutu, and all hell breaks loose. You see, no one, NO FUCKING ONE, in this entire building has ever forgotten the tutu, and I constantly hear about it, from people walking up and rubbing the skin on my arm and proclaiming how smooth it is and how smooth my legs were when I wore the tutu (NO I do not shave my legs, I just don't grow body hair for some disgusting reason, totally gay, well on my ass I have a tiny dinglebeard, or wish I did (that would rawk)), to people asking at all times of the day "Hey there cutie where's your tutu?"

I'm not gonna lie I like the attention and the fact that I am remembered, but man you would think I am a movie star sometimes! Wait until they see my assless chaps I plan on wearing for Halloween this year!

So the guard is talking about how people were looking at me funny the day I was walking around like that, how they couldnt tell if I was a man or a woman and all that, and the other guard turns to the cop and goes "Hey, I think I got a picture that I carry with me" and with that opens his phone and shows the cop, who looks at the picture, and then at me with a look I would rather not recreate for fear it will invade my mind again.

Which was more disturbing, the fact that the cop now has even less respect for me after seeing that, or the fact that a grown black guy wearing a tutu is some other dude's cell phone background?

My fight with Food.

2009-04-23T08:29:00.000-07:00

.....and then there were many

Behold my man-tits!

mayo infused sacs swaying

baconator time

Ugh.

So I guess you all may be wondering why I have been the shit time making my posts. I shall share, you listen now!

I got food poisoning.

I am trying pretty hard to diet, and am actually doing a lot better, but sometimes a fat man needs his damn meal, naw'm say'n? (someone call Des and read that to him so he can understand the ebonics)

Well my wife works at a restaurant, and I informed her that I required a delicious hamburger from her establishment in order to pick her up. Big mistake, since I pick her up at 11 at night and I go to bed soon after getting back home... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

So we get home, and the burger has like fried onions and mushrooms on it, and smelled like pure grease. Delicious. I smothered it in mayo from my tit like I was nursing a baby and ate the whole thing, eating half of her burger as well.

I showered and went to bed, but woke up a few hours later with what I erroneously assumed was the Itis. The Itis is what you get when you eat too much grease, it is a bubbling of your guts and leads to the dookies and to your asshole playing various jazz medleys most unstoppably.

But man, this fuckin hurt! Oh well, I woke up the next day and took a huge, greasy shit the next morning, relieved as I assumed that was the end of it, and went to work. I should have known that this was a harbinger of doom for a few reasons:

1. I am a regular guy. I mean REGULAR. I crap within a half hour of the same time 3 times a day. None of those times are anywhere near 6 AM.

2. I still had mad bubble guts and the Itis, and usually a dump makes EVERYTHING better, my weiner seems longer, clothes fit better, I can read Sanskrit....

So I get to work, and the ride there was fine, but man as soon as I stood up and started walking toward the building I could feel trouble brewing on the horizon (what the fuck does that saying even mean?), and I knew I would not last the day. I did not. Man that was a lot of doo doos, great times though.

Other news from the Western front:

My fucking kids tried to make an ice rink in the basement. I'll say that again. My damn KIDS, went into our completely enclosed, non walk out BASEMENT, and turned the spigot on the wall on to make an ice rink. Luckily, I was done jackin it in the bathroom to the new Victoria's Secret catalogue and got down there in time to stop the onslaught of water before it ruined the supremely professional looking carpet job. What the fuck? SOme might say it is only natural that they do something retarded as their father did things like poke holes in the drywall with a crobar and set his mother's clothes on fire in the bathtub, but those were snarky 80's pranks, this is fuckin serious! The had water all over the place, and were trying to "skate" in their socks across the concrete floor, and failing miserably. What is up with these young whippersnappers?

On another front, your favorite wily raptor is up to his super sexy tricks again... remember that one story I told a year and a half ago about that girl who accepted upwards of 5 gentlemen's rock hard cockshafts in one evening on his bed? Well he was picking her up for another evening out on the town recently, and went bragging to JJ that he thinks she is "almost ready to give it to me, niggie!", which means she let him see her boob this time while some other dude pounded her in his apartment, him crying softly while massaging his raptor weiner under his thong in the corner, perhaps trying to keep cadence with the rapid thrusting of the virile young stallion as he marauded through her pink love valley with his purple headed colt of power... who says the Stevester is not a romantic fella?!

Man, it sucks that I got fucking food poisoning though, the worst part is it now ruins hamburgers, and pretty much effectively red meat for me for all time. This joins the list, which I will share with you.

I have a fucked up mind. You may be shocked to know this, but I do. I think I have a light form of like OCD or something, as I have to have things just so or I get agitated and start grunting out greetings which lead to manager's meetings and nothing good comes from that.

Anyway, here is a short list of things I can no longer eat and why:

1. Chili. Literally one day I was thinking about chili and I came to the realization that it is in essence "meat soup". I can now no longer eat it or think about it without gagging, which sucks because I vaguely remember enjoying it.

2. Oreo cookies (and to a greater extent, the cheapo sandwich cookies). My dad told me when I was a lad that the cream filling was lard with sugar mixed in, and I remember even at 7 or 8 picturing some huge fat guy laying spread eagle in a factory, sweating mayonnaise and lard all over his naked, lighlty haired freckled body, into a huge vat that some guy with a handlebar mustache stirred constantly, cackling maniacally as workers scooped up small servings and filled said cookies with it.

3. Lil Debbie brownies - I saw one of the ingredients is eggs, and my dad informed me that they were raw eggs. Every time I even THINK about eating one of those brownies I picture raw eggs in it and gag.

4. Chitlins - I know the correct spelling is "chitterlings", fuck you, that is the White man's spelling! Once you get over the fact that they are the intestinal wall of one of the nastiest animals on the earth, the fact that my mom said the only way to make them is to "leave a little dookie in there for flavor" has ensured I never sample their delights again...

5. Fried chicken - I know, I know- "but Stevester, you are half infected ith negroitis!"... if it were not for my poor credit scores and yearning for light skinned women I would have to turn in my black card. This one is food poisoning too, I got some Church's Chicken on 39th and Prospect, and I know this is going to come as a shock, but they were not the cleanest restaurant I have ever been in....

6. Hamburgers - see first paragraph. Every time I think of a delicious burger, I think about spraying milk chocolate shit all over the inside of the toilet while throwing up in my fucking sweatpants. WHich sadly turns me on, weird, no?

I will post more as time permits, I have to actually work. Why don't criminals take the spring and summer off?

Sussudio!

2009-04-08T13:50:00.001-07:00

Sorry about the long time between posts, fucking Internet Explorer 8 doesnt work with eBlogger so I cant paste the shit I write. I am doing this in Google Chrome, which is pretty snazzified. Enough with the tech talk, have at you!

Phil COllins, you rock!

feel my invisible touch

in the air tonight

Man, I love Phil Collins almost as much as I truly enjoy Tangerine Dream... I have listened to Force Majeure at least once a day every day for the last week... awesome.

So what the hell has been up....hmmm... not much. Working 6 scammers at once is taking it's toll on my will to write like an unstoppable rebel force, I wish Benson Hunter would respond to my emails and help me on these, but for some reason he's still cranky about all the driving I made him do... go figure.

Ah well, let's take a short trip into the past, as an event today reminded me of it...

When Toboggan Boy was in love with She Who Comes From A Pipe, he would launch into these super long, boring, whiny rants about how he was a "foolish, foolish man" and how "with the love and support of my family, I know I can get better" all the while riffling through your things looking for pawnables. This is already well travelled ground, so I will not really get into this facet of his cracketry. What I will get into he still does, and is almost as bad.

I know this is going to sound strange to most of you, as you think about all the love, kisses and tender touches from your parents during your youth, but no one in my family likes touching except Mystical. I think my dad hugged me when I was like 6, but I can't even be sure of that. There were never good night kisses, hugs, handshakes, or anything like that, but there were other things which were worse. Toboggan Boy would get no end of joy in putting his hand on JJ and my knee and say stuff like "Look at the little girlie boy" and giggle like a schoolgirl when we tried to avoid his faux-molester touch. You see, JJ and I hated touching as much as everyone else in the family did, and we all still do. If we were to have a family reunion tomorrow, there would be 2 constants: Tylester and Will would BOTH be there, and no one would be bothered to touch or interact with anyone else unless it was to ruffle Smeagol's perm and call him "Bob" to make him grunt angrily.

Anyway, the knee thing was just gay, but the worst was the high five. If any of you ever see JJ, attempt this. You will not be sorry with how he responds, I promise. What this is, is when Toboggan Boy was deep into the crack, and would finish a story, he would hold up his hand as if to say "good talk, buddy", and hold it there until you high fived him out of sheer embarrassment (as he usually spat out these boring diatribes in the middle of a store or in front of your girlfriend's parents, thus ensuring you will never see her again), and when you did high five him he would gently close his fingers around your hand, and hold it for a few extra seconds, super gay.

If you tried to pull your hand away he would hold on just a little tighter and then let go. WHile it annoys me as he still does it (though I think he does it now because he knows we don't like it), JJ hates it with a passion most reserve for much bigger things. I know this sounds petty and lame, but dammit it friggin annoys the hell out of me!

What happened that reminded me of said annoyance? One of the judges here, after informing me that a fix I had given them had worked, held up her hand for me to high five. I did the high five, and then came the soft but firm clamping of the fingers. It took all of my being not to laugh or blow snot all over the place, as that would have been the end of my career and freedom. The funny part is she seemed somehow sincere about it, and Toboggan Boy seems like he is just trying to pull you into whatever conspiracy he is in on that moment.

Also in news, apparently a few of my readers have informed me that they have checked my supersexyblog in other countries, and I would like to request that if you do that, at least make this the home page on whatever computer you happen to be on, so as to spread the gentle wordicles of steveshaikus.

Lotta mercy!

A blurb, a rant

2009-03-31T09:39:00.000-07:00

running from the cops

twisted anus, fuck that hurts!

cold, dark death awaits

I'm in a bad mood. Fuck it.

BLURB

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.

Mystical Retard Chronicles

2009-03-18T10:39:00.000-07:00

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?

The Show

2009-03-17T14:56:00.000-07:00

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!

Whippersnappers

2009-03-16T14:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Anyway...

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.

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

2009-03-12T11:14:00.001-07:00

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.

2 Weeks of Freedom

2009-03-09T21:14:00.000-07:00

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!

The One to Rule Them All

2009-03-04T12:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Rasta!

2009-02-24T13:47:00.000-08:00

rasta man give up
smeagol done take all your fish
Smeags no give dem back!

That's my attempt to use reggae. Ja mon!

Anyway, sorry about the last few days, sickness is tearing through my house like a realistic game of Oregon Trail, every other day one of my kids, the wife, the dog, random homeless people who had been sleeping in my basement, get struck with cholera, dysentery, consumption or "other". Kinda strange, the other day I saw my youngest son trying to ford across the lake, which as we all know from Oregon Trail is friggin impossible!

Alright, enough with the Oregon Trail references, let's move on. Apparently some of the old ghosts of winos long lost still haunt my old job, as my dad gets no end in joy telling me all about the bummetry going on down by da Firm.

Remember Roy G.? No? He was the homeless man who was one of the regulars at the lovely Town Pavilion, known not only for flashing random people, but for being caught in one of the numerous unsecured back hallways, bent over a railing with 2-5 shitty condoms either on the floor or still hanging out of his ass as another bum drunkenly pounded his stinkhole to oblivion, but you already knew that story.

Apparently, Roy is also known for being one of the more active winos, not only content to shit his pants and wander around aimlessly like the others, Roy knows he wants more out of life. Not content to simply sit in a chair quietly until the next roaming security guard comes by to remove him and then leave without a fuss, Roy is known for farting loudly in said leather chairs, wiping all manner of bodily fluids on said chairs, and then coming back over and over again.

On this fateful day, my dad was the unhappy victim of a Roy encounter, and informed him he needed to go. According to my dad, who is now too boring to even bother come up with a lie, Roy got up and pointed his cocked finger at my dad and made gun sounds, and threatened to kill him by way of nuclear arsenal. My dad escorted him out and informed him in no certain terms that he carried around a 14 inch Mag lite in the middle of the day for a reason, and the altercation ended. Fast forward to yesterday afternoon, and Roy was in the char again (he does this 5 or 6 times a day). Dad told him to get up, he did, and started shuffling toward the door. My dad follows, sure he is going to start a fight (I was going to type 'stink', but let's just assume Roy does that by default), and Roy gets to the doors, spins around, and says in a game show hosts voice: "It TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIiIiIIIIme to GO!", shuffled out the door and began urinating in the plants in front of the building. It was probably a lot funnier when my dad told me.

Anyway, back to sickness, it finally got me, I was so sick it was late yesterday afternoon before I could comfortably fart without fear of....you know. I briefly thought about keeping a 2-liter and a funnel by the couch so I could a) not have to sprint to the crapper, and b) have something to brag about when I filled said 2-liter up, but then I remembered Toboggan Boy's 3-liter bottles of urine, filled to the brim as he was too lazy to walk literally around the corner to the bathroom, and I don't want that.

I will try to get more this week, including where Smeagol is and what he is doing, other than trying to get JJ arrested by having him drive him to his PO's office instead of going himself because, and I quote, "I don't wanna go to jail!"

Grundle

2009-02-18T09:21:00.001-08:00

what is a grundle?
how funny you should ask, friend!
a grundle's a man's taint

Meh.

Smeagol is out of jail; I survived the weekend watching my sister's kids, Viggo Mortensons was at my house trying to sell my wife a vacuum last night while I was at karate... I think I own 4 pron dvds that start in just that way!

Smeagol got bailed out of jail by someone else, no help from the Stevester. Not much to tell there, but the funny thing is he DROVE his ILLEGAL car all the way to my little brother's house to have said little brother drive him to see his PO. THis is funny because his PO is on Broadway downtown, and he would have had to LITERALLY drive past the Probation office to get to my little brother's house, but he still thinks it's a good idea. Ya gotta love that wily Smeagol.

You know, I know I have brought it up before, but JJ and I were talking last night about how annoying it is when Smeagol calls because he never gets to the damn point, but also screws up the "buttering up" stage of his begging as well. When Smeags calls, first you are treated to a 15-20 second soft moan as...as- I guess as the strain of holding the telephone up takes it's toll on his frail body...

Then, heaven fuck forbid you should show any hint of displeasure, because he launches into his patented "MmmmMm..... what's wrong, you sound down/sad/in a tizzy (who the fuck says that?).... wanna talk about it?" No. You do not want to talk to a raptor about any of your problems. He will ALWAYS fucking trump it, even with something trivial. For example:

you: "I haven't slept for a few days, I am getting tired"
Smeagol: "I know what you mean, I haven't slept for a week, or eaten for almost two, I also have cholera, tuberculosis and pneumonia from working booty ass overtime out in the snow for the last month niggie, I can relate"
you: "But it's June."
Smeagol: "....listen niggie I need a favor and YOU CAN't SAY NO!!"

Luckily ignoring him and asking why the fuck he is calling gets him to the point of his call: money, a ride coupled with giving him money, bailing him out of jail, or signing your name to some contract so he can skip out on it. I know I am sounding cynical, dammit I just don't care.

Anyway, JJ said Smeagol has taken to calling him up and trying to butter him up by groveling with no sense of pride or self-worth until JJ acquiesces. He said at first it was kinda funny, with Smeagol telling him "You really are so strong I bet you could punch through time" or some such shit, but lately it is getting gayer and gayer, like "You are the pinnacle of manliness, I saw you in your skivvies once and it changed my life niggie!"

I get shit like that a lot from family, it annoys me to no end. I don't need to be stroked- wait, let me rephrase that in case my wife is reading this. I don't need to be stroked by people who are not my wife or her attractive friends just in case she was contemplating a threesome (though, since I can't satisfy ONE woman, why would I want two there? All the literature on menage a trois I read change subjects at that point... it's a conspiracy!). Anyhoo, enjoy today's link, it is completely work safe and awesome to the core: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7809160.stm

If you already saw this, well.... good.

I am working on a pretty sweet scam, and unfortunately for you I am too lazy to start another blog, so I will be periodically (maybe once or twice a week) posting the backstory on this current one...

KRPTR - all raptor, all the time

2009-02-12T13:27:00.000-08:00

it's fascinating
what's pulling Smeagol to jail?
we missing something?

So Smeagol's in jail, and the magical day when I have no intention of answering the telephone draws near. Everyone in my family is scrambling, trying to purchase telephones with caller ID so as not to have to pick up when he calls, completely forgetting that Valentine's Day is coming up.
Valentine's Day, there's a shit-can of a holiday...I wonder if anyone knows the real St. Valentine was a priest who married Christian couples illegally during the reign of Claudius II, and was rewarded for this by being stoned, clubbed, tortured and then beheaded after he tried to convert the emperor to Christianity, probably by trying to rub his balls (I know not all priests are gay, and that most of the ones that are turn out to be catholic, but I was raised Catholic so I feel I can make fun of them, kinda like when you have a black friend so you feel you can use the N word). Romantic, no?

I found out why Smeagol has a warrant in Oak Grove. This is also not his first warrant he has had in Oak Grove, which begs the question "does Smeagol E. Raptor get arrested EVERY time he goes to Oak Grove?" I would like to posit that he does. I also wonder if the police have to take turns arresting him, or if only the senior officers get to, and if they thump him on the head and sprinkle crack on him. I lastly love the idea that he could get arrested and sat next to a real live Amish man (the Amish are thick out there, like the swarthy negros are thick on Prospect. Being a swarthy negro myself, I feel drawn there for unexplained reasons too....), which besides being a great starting line for a joke (you can't tell me "A raptor and an Amish man get arrested..." is not interesting and/ or funny) would be hilarious because Smeagol would insult the gentleman (Let's just call him Jebediah) for living a simpler life, and then try to snuggle up to his beard, which would be most distressing.

Anyway, you are probably still wondering why Smeagol would drive 50+ miles out of the way to Oak Grove, and the answer is LOVE, or rather, there is a woman out there who has agreed, with no chemical or physical intimidations, persuasions, or molestations, to allow Smeagol entry into her love hole. How he met her, I am not sure. Why, I am even less sure. Does he take Mystery and make her wait in the car? Likely. I am wondering if he only got a car to do this.

THis leads to so many questions, the chief one being: am I less attractive than Smeagol? I know, and have known for a long time, that JJ is far more attractive to the ladies, what with his unkempt facial hair, lack of a job, poor grooming habits and bad attitude that the ladies seem to find endearing, but I always held out the idea that I am more attractive than a wily raptor, but this shakes my foundations.

I mean, I know I am married, and I would never cheat on my wife, but I like to think I can tell when a lady finds the Stevester irresistible, and I never get that vibe. EVER. Is it because I'm fat? My wife informed me my penchant for eating 20-30 chicken tenders slathered in mayo (don't knock it until you try it) made her fall in love with me in the first place, and I hear all the time how the ladies like big guys, but apparently none of the ladies I have ever come into contact with have. Does that make women who are attracted to me strange?

Or maybe I am not good at reading women, which would explain my recent Valentine's day/ birthday/ anniversary purchases, but I like to think that just like my dad, I am capable of deciphering the naughty language of love...

But let's look at the numbers of this. In the last 15 years, I have had 5 what you would call actual "girlfriends", meaning I went on more than one date with them and/ or married them, and I could remember their names. JJ has by far eclipsed this feeble number this week, so he's out, but in this same time period, Smeagol has had at least 15 ladies he has wasted his entire paycheck on. This makes me, by far, the least lucky in this, the game of love. Now with commitment, I am far ahead, as I have been with my wife for 10 years or 6 months or something like that. I dunno, I think it's because they both have facial hair. I can't grow facial hair, I try, but all I can do is transplant my very plentiful pubes and crack hairs to my face, which is time consuming, costly and stinky.

Anyway, Smeagol has been maxing out on this particular skeezer (as JJ refers to her) for a while, since that other girl he was paying JJ 100's of dollars to hump on in their living room finally became diseased and informed him she would no longer be accepting his raptor love. She has 3 kids, and probably a husband. Wait a second, my wife has been dressing up a little nicer lately, could it be...? Nah, I would be able to smell the failure on her.

Any takers to run Mystery around and help her bail Smeagol out? You will be required to sign with the bail bondsman, so....

Same Old Smeagol

2009-02-10T12:12:00.000-08:00

call of the raptor
brings failure to all who hear
siren song indeed

Smeagol Tyme

So I was sitting on the couch messing around on guitar last Thursday, totally rocking out the emo tunes, when JJ calls with a warning:

"Smeagol just called and asked if you got paid tomorrow, and then hung up when I said I think so."

I was immediately wary. Could Smeagol be coming over to bum money from me? Then I thought about it and realized he would have to drive past the police station in Liberty, Ferrelview and Smithville in order to do so, and that that was an impossibility without the police noticing and/ or arresting him immediately. Literally 2 minutes after JJ hung up the phone rang, and the onscreen caller ID (nay the only good service Time Warner employs(I will explain later)) displayed that name: Raptor, Smeagol E..

I simply ignored the call, and went back to trying to play Menuett by Bach (it's tough!) and forgot about it. Fast forward to Saturday, and I am in the basement playing a game on the computer, and I have the cordless phone which sadly does NOT have caller id on it. We had just gotten our refund, and I was waiting to go buy stuff I would never use again when the phone rang. Thinking it was my most lovely wife I answer only too late to hear the breathing of something not human, but raptor:

"Heeeeyyyy niigie!" Smeagol oozed, eliciting an unconscious groan from me, which brought out his usual "You sound down, what's the matter? Are you feeling alright?" I used to think that meant he actually cared or wanted to help, but from experience was only so he could get some "juicy gossip" to pass along to the rest of the family or anyone who cared to listen. WHat follows is as close as I can get to what actually transpired, S = Smeagol, M = Me:

S - "Listen niggie I need you to do me a favor' - there was a long pause here, I think he wanted me to answer in the affirmative that I would help him, 'it's real important. I am going to jail in Liberty, I need you to pick Mystery up, take her to cash my check, and come bail me out here and then get me out in Oak Grove".... he kinda trailed off, as I sat there, again stunned. I am not sure why this stuns me anymore, but what reason does he have to get arrested out here?

M - "How many times have you been to Oak Grove?"
S - "Just once, why?"
M - "..." I tried to let the absurdity of this sink in, but apparently it did not. "SO what do you want again?"
S (after an exasperated grunt) - "I am going to jail in Liberty. I get paid on the 17th. I need you to go pick up Mystery in the morning, take her to get my check (at McDonald's?!), take her to cash it, bring her to bail me out, wait while they run an FJC-11 (I know there was a number 11 and the letters F and J in it, but he knew the name LOL) and find out I have a warrant in Oak Grove, at which point they will rearrest me, and then bring her out to Oak Grove to bail me out there."

I told him I would think about it and hung up.

To put this into perspective, He wants me to drive 16 miles to pick Mystery up, waste about an hour running her around while she bails him out of jail, take her to pick him up, watch while they rearrest him in the lobby of the jail, try not to laugh, then follow him out to Oak Fucking Grove, which is in the middle of no-fucking-where, and bail him out again. Oh I forgot, he also wants me or my wife to be the cosigner because "no bail bondsman will trust Mystery and I can't get out on my signature since I skipped out on my court date last time." That sounds like a great deal!

Really at what point do you cut ties with someone? At what point is it no longer enough to feel sorry for them because they are hated by pretty much the rest of the populace? At what point do you look at a turd and say "That's a fucking turd, Bob"? I feel lie I am the main character in "The Emperor's New Clothes", at some point I have to come face to face with the fact that I am walking around town with my schlong hanging out and dangerously close to experiencing anal rape? (Come on anyone who has seen the Brown Bear's tush you know you can't resist! Tee Hee!)

I am NOT going to run that smelly asshole all over town, and I am not going to bail that raptor out.

2009-02-04T14:43:00.000-08:00

damn those cursed Steelers!
they clipped the Cardinal's wings
Springsteen's still alive?

I finally feel like writing again after the loss Sunday, really writing to cleanse my soul of all impurities or whatever gay shit Dr. Phil says...

I think I am going to go through with it. I am going to get a tattoo. Originally, since the word "Bear" has been at least a part of my nickname since I was in high school, I was going to get like a picture of a growling bear on my arm with a caption under it that says "Growl."

Pro: It would look awesome, especially since I have been pumping up the guns a lot lately.Con: It would look less awesome as I became more geezerfied, and it might turn the ladies at the nursing home off to see something like that.

Then I thought about getting a barcode on my chest or on the back of my head, a la Hitman, especially since I started pretty much shaving my head:

Pro: It would make me look, like, moody and dark or something.
Con: A tattoo on my head would get me fired, and with my current skillset the only other job I qualify for is Jizz Mopper.

I might skip the tat and just get Spongebob boxer shorts instead.
Pro: I love Spongebob!
Con: I heard people who like Spongebob are gay (though if that's all you have to do to be gay, sign me up!)

So my sister called, she is in the hospital having another minion (I say that in the most loving way possible), and wanted to know if I would be available, should the need arise, to watch the rest of her spawn. I instantly assumed everyone else had said "no", as the last time her kids came to my house and experienced soul crushing discipline I am sure they vowed to never return except to break my own children free from my iron totalitarian grip.

I think the worst part about this whole thing, before I get to the real meat and potatoes of the story, is that for all his other flaws, I hear Smeagol is an excellent babysitter. I am not joking. JJ tells me when he drops his daughter off there Smeagol treats her like a little princess. I assumed that meant he tried on her clothes and ate the snacks he sent over while she stayed locked in the tower, but this time I was happily disappointed. Smeagol seems to genuinely care about children, just so you know, Max, if you ever need someone to watch your kids, he is also pretty cheap, unlike when he needs a ride somewhere and not only does not pay you but asks you for gas money even when he does not have a car... which is weird.

Anyway, you would think with his record of excellent child care, coupled with him living closer to her than me by about 10 miles, and you would think she would jump on the opportunity... sadly, not to be.

Anyway, she informs me that since she is in the hospital, she put some testing strips and such on like craigslist or ebay or hornygrannytranny.com, I dunno. So some guy calls her and offers to buy some of the strips, and she gladly accepts.

He shows up, and she said he was some huge black guy (zing!) and he has a minor league football hall of fame ring on. His name is Ron (I forgot the last name) and she said he told her he was at the Sprint Center talkifying with the Chiefs. Since he is in the hall of fame, I am assuming he was not talking to them as a player, but as a coach. Or a janitor. Could this be a Rooney Rule interview, or is Scott bologna pony Pioli up to some sassy kinda classy tricks? If he gets hired, you heard it here first, bitches!

Also, she said he was looking for linemen to play for the Kansas City Jazz, and gave her his card to give to me upon her description of me (I can only assume the description went like this: "the color of sweet mocha, but not tanned; firm, supple thighs and a chiseled fat ass stomach.... slightly retarded face and a barrel of a chest; thick of muscle and strong of cock")

I am probably not going to call him, though the chance to relive my glory days now that I am taking care of my diabetes would be awesome I am not sure whether or not I would physically have time to do anything... and I doubt the Kansas City Jazz only has practice like twice a week and would all work around my already hectic schedule.

Still, it would be nice, right? Hitting people in the face and having adoring fans cheer, stomping on opposing team players' hands as they lay prone from a bone-wrenching hit; farting while at the bottom of a dog pile and letting the essence waft up.... great times.

Romance during Black History Month?!!

2009-01-29T13:28:00.000-08:00

love is in the air
influence spreads like a spore
Brown Bear is immune

So I guess it's getting to be that time that I dread: not only is Valentine's Day, the shittiest fucktard-iest holiday ever, but my wife and I's (I know that's not grammatically correct, but I'm retarded so lemme alone!) 10 year anniversary is coming up, which is gay. Now I heard from someone that for the 10 year anniversary you are supposed to give her wood, but I give that to her all the time whether she's awake or willing or not, so I am not sure how giving it to her for our anniversary is going to make it a gift. I'll try though, maybe if I surprise her by doing some of that "foreplay" I keep skipping past to get to the sex parts in movies, but then she might expect that all the time, so that's a no go. If it takes longer than a commercial break, I ain't interested, that's the only true thing I learned from Smeagol and it's a good caveat to live by. That and "never look Mystery in the eye", for doing so leads to dementia.

I also heard tin and aluminum are 10 year anniversary gifts, which is strange. Should I buy her a flask? Would I be uncouth if I drank all the alcohol out of it first? The idea of a woman wearing a hip flask automatically gets me excite for some reason, does that make me gay? Let's look at what Semagol gave his love for their anniversaries:

On their first anniversary we moved from lovely Smithville, Missouri to Ghettotown USA, also known as the corner of 54th and Woodland. We also had to bail Smeagol out of jail.

On their 5th anniversary Smeagol met her at a hotel down by Swope park for some undercover lovin while his thong steamed like an oven (I love rhyming)

On their 10th anniversary he had her bail him out of jail.

My track record, dear readers, is not a whole lot better, unfortunately.

Our first anniversary I was going to school in the morning and working all night, so our first anniversary I think I copped a feel while I was changing and that was it.

Our fifth anniversary we got married, on the same day so I wouldn't have to remember 2 days (her idea, not mine)

I was going to learn Tears From Heaven (I am not gay, listen to the song it actually sounds pretty cool) on guitar for her, and surprise her at work with a serenade, but I spent all this time rocking out on Led Zeppelin, which is slightly less romantic, but maybe more awesome.

Last year I had flowers sent to her job, but I guess I ruined it because instead of a poem or love note I wrote in the little card "Please bring me home a burger and some fries, I am hungry" (I am not kidding)

The year before I purchased "Hot Ebony Honies pt. 7: Indiana Bones and the Last Horny Crusade" which was strangely enough a straight to dvd film that was pretty cheap. I figured we would watch it together and then....uh.... well anyway I guess she was less than enamored when I decided to screen it before we watched it together and accidentally left it in the dvd player. Awkward!

Granted the way we started off in our journey through life together was less than romantic - I was calling around after being taken to jail to get someone to bail me out, and Smeagol, after telling me "Well that's your problem, niggie" I guess told someone at Burger King where I worked at the time (I'm not exactly sure how it happened) and she took 500 bux out of her savings to purchase her some USDA black beef, but I need to come up with something romantic.

I briefly thought about maybe not farting in her face or something like that, but I really want this to be special, not "speshul", which most of my other gift ideas are (for her birthday one year, I accidentally spilled grape juice on the carpet, and she was on me to get a rug doctor to remedy that, but instead of renting one, I bought her a steam cleaner for our anniversary.....what?)... I thought about purchasing a scarf from a very talented entrepreneur I know, but I think it's too late to do something like that, and there's a waiting list. Though wearing just a scarf and dancing around like I did at my Chippendale's audition might be a good idea... if I wanna be single!

I think the thing that makes it worse is she has given up on trying to hint, or even acknowledging stuff like anniversaries or Valentine's day or anything like that, because to do so would be, much like the misled creditor who gives Smeagol a credit card, to set up for unending and total failure, and that's not how I wanna roll.

SO I need brainstorming. What have you done for your significant other? Smeagol said Mystery nuzzled up behind him recently, and asked him "what can I do for you?" to which he answered "You can get the hell outta my life!" While that is romantic, I'm not sure humor is the way to go in this instance.

Come on, peoples. While I am well versed in the art of killing, I am a n00b to the fine art of loving.

Rock the boat (don't rock the boat baby!)

2009-01-28T08:40:00.000-08:00

it's snowing, snowing
wintry breath of the angels
and dutch ovens for all!

While I love winter, I hate these temperatures. all the piss and jizz I spray all inside my pants on the way to work every day freezes up and makes me walk funny.

So I guess Smeagol finally got his car running, and though it is totally not legal and he has no business driving around as his license has been suspended since the geri curl was in style, he drove his car down to JJ's house to have JJ take him to see his PO. I can only assume another frantic call for bail money is coming up soon, as he will apparently never learn his lesson.

Things were going pretty well with his new lover, Erica. Although she had completely smashed his new Mercury Mountaineer and completed what he would soon find out was a hit and run, she felt bad enough about that to shower him with praise and twat, nay the only 2 things any man wants. Then things took a slightly less than serene turn: I think she found out about him meeting Mystery in a hotel for afternoon delights, after which I am sure the hotel room was cordoned off and never used again.

Anyway, I guess his new honey found out, and decided to take her big head kid and go home to her husband. I think I have told this story before, but it still gets me: why would you cheat on your girlfriend with your wife? Did Smeagol use the same hotel Toboggan Boy and Janet used for their honeymoon? How did Smeagol get there since he didn't have a car? Can Herpes be transferred through sheets? Did Erica's husband ever touch her again after he found out about Smeagol's looks? How lame is it that she was 2 grades lower than me in school?

Smeagol wants to come by again this week, no doubt to see if I had attained any more stealables. I now have a pretty decent digital video camera, and though I am not sure I can imber video into my blog, I know I can imbed photographs.

Also, I learned something last night, no not that the reverse cowgirl can hurt if done without copious amounts of lube (I knew that already from my jail days), I learned some wounds run deep, nay, some wounds never heal. I called my sister to see if she wouldn't mind calling Smeagol to give him his father's teleophone number, and the hatred in her voice when I dared mention his name was palpable. Not only did she refuse to call him, she told me to give her his number to give to her dad because she didn't want to ge responsible for giving Smeagol that information. THis hatred is not lost on him, though, as he informed me he had nothing to say to her either.

This leads me to a question, and I really want you to think hard before you answer, because not only is this cruel and a terrible practical joke, it will probably end with neither of my older siblings ever talking to me again. WOuld it be funny if I called Smeagol and gave him her phone number, telling him it was his dad, to see if they will talk and make up?

You know what, no. That's cruel. I have done the same thing with JJ, and also given him the phone telling him it is a girl only to see the look of general dismay on his face when he realizes it's a certain raptor, and I cannot put anyone else through that.

Speaking of which, I know I have said something about it before, but why is it every time he calls he asks if you're ok, "you sound kinda down, kinda sad..."? Has he not figured out it is him, with his constant begging and "You can't say no niggie, you just can't!" whenever he calls asking for money and/ or free rides?

on the vote

2009-01-24T20:27:00.000-08:00

since I am being inundated with people telling me that I misspelled "greatest", I did that on purpose, it is supposed to be a joke. But even if it wasn't, if you are reading my blog you should know by now pedantics and poor spelling skills are NOT my biggest concerns by any stretch. More on Smeagol Monday.

I Love HMO! (sing to "I love Rock N' Roll" By Joan Jett)

2009-01-23T11:42:00.000-08:00

I love my HMO
regularly deny stuff,
but want their dues NOW

Stevester's Adventure through the American Medical System

So I wanted to do a couple of things, namely change my medical insurance from Coventry (motto: "We don't fuck you in the ass as hard as Blue Cross at least, I mean am I right?") to GEHA, which is the government employee's health insurance. Since I work for the gub'ment I do not have to fill out a lot of the forms and shiznit you other skanks do, but I noticed on the parts I didn't have to fill out that the American public really takes it in the ass. Let me explain.

Apparently, in order to change your insurance, you have to have had a catastrophic life-changing and APPROVED event going on. You cannot change your insurance because it sucks or because another group gives you a lower rate. THis is not unlike peer pressure drug dealing, except these guys get your money before you get your paycheck and the drugs cost more and do less. Plus when they kidnap you you do not get your drugs for free, and none of the HMO guys wear cool clothes....I guess they're nothing like drug dealers. Oh well.

"But why the diatribe against the American Health care system Stevester? I'm Benson Hunter!" You might be saying if you really were Benson Hunter, which you aren't, so don't even joke like that.

Let me tell you a tale, a tale of daring, a tale of daring, of electric attraction, of primordial embarrassment, of the cold shrinking a wiener. I went to the doctor because I wanted to see about going from taking 4 shots a day (no not in my ass) to getting an insulin pump, because it offers more control over the diabetes which is apparently marauding over my pancreas and kidneys like an unstoppable rebel force.

HMO - 0, Stevester - 0

Round 1 - I walk into the doctor's office, which costs 30 dollars now. Fuck.

HMO - 1, Stevester - 0

Round 2 - After waiting for almost 30 minutes after my scheduled appointment, I am called back and weighed, listening to the "tsk tsk" of the nurse who is weighing me. "I ain't Missin' you " is playing on the radio in the background, and a doctor and nurse are trying unsuccessfully to tell who sings the song. I ashamedly inform them that it is John Waite, and that I own the album, to which the nurse, who couldn't be any older than 20, gives me this sad, sad look like "what a fucking loser" as she asks how old I am, and once she finds out I am thisclose to 30, informs me that she is 21. Fuck.

HMO - 2, Stevester - 0

Round 3 - My doctor walks in, I ask about the pump, she hands me an appointment card to see a specialist, informs me the pump is not covered by Coventry, and leaves. Total time actually speaking to a doctor - 1:02

HMO - 3, Stevester - 0

Round 4 - I go to the specialist, pay the 50 dollar entrance fee, and go back to wait. Since I was fasting, they take a urine sample and half my blood, then a midget punches me in the taint for good measure (I guess on a dude the taint is called the grundle, but I digress...) before the doctor walks in and asks me all the same questions he just had me fill out on a 12 page questionnaire, some while reading off what I had written. I instantly hate him.

He signs me up for a class to learn about how to use the pump and how to not be fat, and tells me to wait for his nurse. She walks in and informs me that since I just filled the cup with piss and they did not need it anymore, and since the lab that I needed to go to next was just "a few doors down", I could just take the cup with me and give it to them so that although they would still take blood, at least they wouldn't make me piss again. She gives me the room number and while checking my blood pressure at first awkwardly straddles my arm, so that my palm is nuzzling her camel toe. Nice.
So I leave the office, and find out the lab is on the other side of the hospital, and now I must walk down a bunc of full hallways carrying a cup of my own urine. On an aside, why the FUCK are hospital hallways so goddamn long? should I really need to be able to run a triathlon to make it from the shitter to the water fountain and then to the elevators? C'mon!

I get to the lab, and they inform me that Coventry will not cover their services, the only place that will is about 15 miles southeast of where I was. They hand me a map, the forms, and my cup of urine back, and send me on my way. In the elevator, a really hot asian chick gets on, kinda looks me over with a little smile like "hey, how YOU doin?" Then sees that I am holding a cup of what is obviously my own quickly chilling urine and moves away from me and doesn't make any more eye contact. Factor in the fact that my foot hurt from sparring the night before when I kicked someone and he brought his elbow down on top of my foot, bruising it terribly, and you have what looks like a crazy fat homeless guy. Fuck my life.

HMO - 4, Stevester - 0

Round 5 - I get to the other place, and walk in with my urine. Fuck this shit. I walk up to the desk and inform the lady I needed to get some labs done and that "I have both the forms and a cup of my own urine I have been carrying around all day", placing said cup on the counter right in front of a couple of old ladies, letting them revel in it's amber glow, hint of key lime pie and frothy textures. Fuck them! Feeling I was leaving in victory, I cracked a smile, only to have it wiped away when informed that Coventry would cover all but 15 dollars of the fucking lab work. Sheeeit!

HMO - 5, Stevester - $0

WHat kinda shitload of fuck is our medical system where a man must cart around a cup of his own fucking urine and still pay almost 100 dollars for the privelege? All I have to show for that day is 2 pamphlets on insulin pumps and a funny story to tell. How is it Cuba has universal health care and we do not? I briefly thought about moving to like France or something but they do not have NFL so fuck them.

Resurrection...?

2009-01-15T12:49:00.000-08:00

Rest in Peace My friend
like like the lone cherry blossom
I know you'll return

Sad news, brothers and sisters... there's been a death in my family. If you came to this blog looking for funnies to lighten your day, I caution you to turn back now, as I need to vocalize my grief. After 4 short, beautiful years, My Ford Escort finally bit the dust. Like a loving parent, heart aching and in all manner of painful agony, I finally pulled the plug, and the front license plate came off with it.

I went to pick the Hot Rod (and don't anyone dare to call it anything else, it was a hot rod and that's how I shall always remember it dammit! I need a hug!) up after leaving it at my dad's house for him to work on, and he informed me that it was working fine, that he couldn't find anything wrong with it. I gleefully threw the keys to my 2004 taurus on the cold ground and ran to lovingly caress the aerodynamic pieces of trim half falling off my beloved, noting that instead of fixing one of the rear seatbelts so that the back seat would fold down someone just cut it off, and loved it even more. I got in, started it right up, and reveled in it's awesomeness as even though it was in neutral it said "Shift Up". I backed out of my parents driveway, the wife and kids in tow in the massively inferior Taurus, with it's stupid ability to go up hills and....heat, and took off like a shot, speeding up to a breakneck pace of 25 miles per hour! Already in 4th gear, I drove to the ghetto gas station to fill up, and marveled that 14 dollars completely filled my car up. I got back in, noticing the sex eyes being given to me by the local skanks (and dudes for some reason), and turned the key....nothing. I held the clutch down and tried again, and got the starter up, and it backfired loudly, scaring a few hooligans no doubt intent on rubbing their naked bodies against my car in hopes that such coolness could be transposed by osmosis.

What had happened? I tried over and over again, and nothing happened. I sadly got out of the car and with one hand pushed it over to the phone, and called my dad and AAA. Back at the house, we checked all the hoses, everything was in order, it just would not start. I have no shame in admitting I started bawling, and thought about laying spread eagle on the ground and masturbating furiously whilst crying, but it was muddy out so funk dat.

"But why is this post called 'Resurrection', Stevester?" You might be asking, wondering in earnest if I really was crying or not.

The reason why this post is titled 'Resurrection', is because just a few days ago my wife informed me of something that can only mean the spirit of my car had not died, just moved. Apparently her friend at work is wanting to sell her 1993 Ford Escort, which she says is a piece of crap that refuses to die, but she wants a car where parts don't fall off of it whenever she hits a speed bump and/ or surpasses 50 MPH. As my wife told me about this, I felt a flutter in my heart, and a tear came to my eye. Could it be? Was my Escort trying to reach me from beyond the grave? I asked with baited breath and cautious optimism if it was possible....shitty looking?

She informed me that it definitely was, and it was a stick, and I knew. You know when you see that special someone and you just know you were meant to be with that someone? When you think about you and that person together, your breath catches and your heart and soul fill with serene light as you revel in the thought that you had finally found your other half, how the cosmos had finally been tamed, how you had finally harnessed the beautiful language of love and felt ready to rule the world? Well I never felt that until I heard the Escort was a piece of crap, and then I knew. I knew we were meant to be together, and no one, not even the law, is going to keep me from being with my sweet ass Escort. This was further confirmed when she informed me that her friend wanted 200 dollars for said Escort, and that it really was a 200 dollar car. Over the next few weeks, I will regale you all with tales of how awesome the old Escort was, but hide your sadness like a wiener in a hot dog bun, waiting for your hapless victim to choose it from your strategically held hors d'ouvre tray, slathered in mustard and pulsating with happiness, because this story only took a twist, it has not ended.

As soon as I get it and get a chance to legalize and then awesometrize it, I will offer free rides to anyone who has the urge. Wait... that didn't sound right.

Part II of the Epic Tale

2009-01-12T09:51:00.000-08:00

Let's go Cardinals
No one likes the damn Eagles
And you're due to win!

(Getcha thought there'd never BE a part II, huh Wabbs?!)

The Cardinals, with sexy manstud Larry Fitzgerald (I only like his abilities, I would not make sweet man-love to him, so stop snickering) Are going to the NFC championship, agains the perpetually troll-looking Donovan McNabb (not that I can talk, I look like a gorilla or a brown bear, but I'm also not famous, so fuck that guy!), and I am very excite! It's sad that the Cards are doing the same thing Shittenheimlich did with the Chiefs, putting trust in veterans from other teams and being ridiculed constanatly before the season starts, and are now 60 minutes away from the big time. I have already started getting ready for a Phoenix Cardinals/ Pittsburgh Steelers Superbowl with the essentials: Spinach dip, bloomin onions with sassy horseradish sauce, 3 tubes of KY lube, my karate foot cozies (I don't care if it sounds gay, they are warm and they look cool, plus they are constantly drenched in the dpittle/ blood of my sparring partners... duct tape and margarita mix along wit da Cuervo, you know how I do! (I heard that somewhere)

Anyway, you didn't come here to hear about my Superbowl preperations or to ponder what I would need all that lube for (totally innocent reason, gutterbrain), you wanted to hear

PART II of the Epic!

I would like to do this in the format of 24, you know, the television show with the Counter Terrorism Unit that Benson Hunter was going to send after me? Anyway...

4:38PM (tick....tock...tick....tock...)

- We're driving along in my cherry 1985 Mercury Grand Marquis, the huge golden boat with the white interior that my then-girlfriend would soon use to back over a hapless victim driving a transam, my trying not to make it obvious that I am trying to leam out the window for fresh air, Mystery in the seat next to me, leggings on full display, funk emanating like a sulfur deposit on Callisto (read about it, planets are fascinating!), constantly doing that stupid tsk tsk thing, just trying to get me to respond so she could annoy me. You see, Mystery is one of those people who thinks they are better than anyone else, and that everyone cares about, nay, is yearning to learn about the inner workings of her mind, therefore, it wouldn't behoove her to start talking to you directly; no, no, she has to hint that she intends to say something profound to get you to ask her

"hey what's on your mind friend?"

I do not care what is on her mind, and simply turn the radio up to cover up her snotterings (I made that word up, it's when you try to grunt a bunch of times to get someone's attention, the grunts turn to snorts and sooner or later you end up with snot all over your face), and then she does the unthinkable: she turns the radio down and starts in with "man I sure hope this thing I'm going to do works, I might need help though, duh!" while looking wistfully out the window. I am now completely annoyed but just want to get this over with, so I ask her what the hell she is talking about so I can go back to listening to my damn Beegees.

I really wish I could add audio files to this blog, you really need to see what I am trying to explain here. Picture her pursing her lips, much like a duck would. Then picture her trying to blow air out of those pursed lips, spraying a fine mist of whatever bacterial organismsn are strong enough to survive the funk of her mouth vents all over anything within 6 inches of her face.

"Well I just hope he will take how much money I've got, I think he will-"

Stop right there. I almost wrecked the car. What the Fizzizzuck?

I ask her to explain. At this point, Smeagol was in Kearney or some small town outside of Kearney, and this was going to be a 45 minute MINIFRIGGINMUM drive to.....HOPE the bail bondsman will take the money she had? No, no, funk dat. I ask her what she means by that, to which she replies that she technically HAS all the money, but is going to try to bargain with him to let Smeagol, who we all know will skip bail, out for less money. I briefly consider explaining to her that the only way for bail bondsmen to feed their fucking families is to collect the money he was asking her for, saw the completely blank look in her vacuous eyes, and thought better of it.
Whatever. We get all the way to the damn jail outside of Kearney, by the way some shitcan town North of Kearney, which is a shitcan town itself. I see the bail bondsman, who like I said before is a walking bail bondsman stereotype, at least until Dog the Buttfucking BOunty Huntress becomes famous that is, smoking a pipe while looking at us with disdain. I automatically hate people like that, who are you to think you are better than me, fucktard? I wanted to ask him that, but remembered this was all for Smeagol, and kept my mouth shut. Mystery walked over and started talking to him, and I could hear him rasping like a cherry 1989 Ford Escort engine, telling her he would need this info and that info and my info and addresses and....wait wha?!
Apparently this asshat wanted all my info, social security numbers, address, where I worked, the works. Now I realize the reason is he has no way to know if Smeagol is a flight risk, and being a winged velociraptor he very much is a flight risk, at least until the weight of his thong drags him back down, but I balked nonetheless...

Tomorrow, part 3 in the series, in which we have to drive to friggin Kansas... stay tuned.

Another Saga, Part I

2009-01-09T07:19:00.000-08:00

Drain the wicked snake
I love turkey pot pies son!
haikus are easy!

Breaking News-

I know I was going to do part 2 of the Epic today, and I still might, I just have to get something off my chest first (besides the cleveland steamer Max left there, cocaine is a helluva drug)...
If I have spoken to any of you on the phone since moving to my new house, you may have noticed something strange. You may have noticed that for some reason the phone cuts out OFTEN. I mean once a minute for about 20 seconds at a time. I can still hear you, but you cannot hear anything I say. At other times, it sounds like I am int he Matrix, as the digital signal from my phone breaks down so much it makes my voice sound robotic. Naturally, being a well rounded professional, I assumed it was naked granny zombie poltergeists messing up my phone, and the only thing that would sate their hellish intents was a ride on the Stevester Peg. I laid completely naked with a hardon on my basement floor as an offering for almost 20 minutes until my ass cheeks fell asleep and I ran out of donuts that I had stacked on my man pole to munch on in case I got hungry, but other than the neighbor lady looking through my window nothing happened.

So I turned my ire toward more Earthly fare. I have the Time Warner all in one digital package, with the "blazing fast internet, digital phone and cable, all in a fantastic package" which is how I desribed myself when I first met my wife, Ziing!

I hate talking to customer service. They are poorly trained, underpaid, rude, and also probably from the ghetto. Being a tech nerd, I also feel more comfortable using my keyboard for communication (both by chatting and throwing it at people) than using my verbal mandingo to come in lucky people's ear pussies. Imagine my surprise when I noticed Time Warner has a live chat option! No more talking to guys from India who 1) have no fucking clue as to what they are talking about, and 2) have suck thick accents you can never tell if they are talking to you or munching twat (Youuuuu liiiiiiigget Vishkayan!)

I log onto chat, and wait patiently to give a very stern textual thrashing to whatever unlucky douche gets me in the queue. Something told me though that I was in for a long day when the chat opened up. I will try to remember it as best I can, and recreate some of the conversation here:

Vishnaly Smith (from here on VD)Me (from here on Me)

VD: Thank you for contacting Time Warner Cable, please give moment look account informations
Me: Yep
VD: I understand you are having slite issue with telephone and internet, is this correct?
Me: Yes, I am h-
-Chat has ended!-

The asshole stopped the chat. Ah, how magical, how fantastic! First, who names their kid Vishnaly Smith? You need an ass whoopin. I log back in and get someone else with poor spelling skills, let's call her VD too:

VD:
Me: look, I am getting pissed off right about now. I want a working phone and working internet. I want someone to come out to fix my issue. I want that done today.
VD: I understand your concerns.
Me: (after waiting 2 minutes with no replies) OK, that's great. Are you sending someone out?
VD: I'm sorry, someone out for what?
Me: If you read what I JUST WROTE, you will see what my issue is. Here, I will copy and paste: look, I am getting pissed off right about now. I want a working phone and working internet. I want someone to come out to fix my issue. I want that done today.
VD: Let me check your account informations, hold please...

At this point, I am already annoyed. But on an aside, why do they have you input all your account fucking information if no one fucking reads it? What's the point of having me input all that shit if I get asked EVERY FUCKING TIME for the same fucking info? Fuuuuck! I seriously start thinking about laying naked on the floor again, maybe the old lady zombie (you see, we recently found out the only reason our house was available is because the old lady who lived there died... more on that story later) was on the shitter or something, when VD comes back:

VD: I will need to send technician to your house to resolve issue. May I have address please?
Me: It's the one on my account, the only one I would call you about in the first place...
VD: Oh ok. I send out, Technician will be there between 8:00AM and 6:00PM. Is the-

I log off, annoyed.

Later: The first tech, and why I now hate Mexico.

NooOooOoooOOOOooOoO!

2009-01-08T13:33:00.001-08:00

Alright, I usually don't post twice in one day, but this is an emergency.

You all know I am deathly afraid of someone touching me or speaking to me or looking at me while I am at my most vulnerable: i.e. whilst I download the brownload (credit for that phrase go to Chris, word to yo mutha).

I was sitting on the can, not really crapping anymore, just letting it all stew whilst I played Tecmo Super Bown (I got a Nintendo emulator on my GBA, Schwiiiing!) when the door opens. Annoyed I turn down the volume and pucker my sphincter until they leave.

Not only does this guy not leave, but he walks past not one, not two, but 4 empty stalls and stands in front of the one I am in for what seems like an eternity but in all honesty was prolly more like 3 seconds. I then see his hand go over the top of the stall as he yanks on the door not once but twice in a row, trying to open the door. I am riveted at this point, and my sphincter, in my lack of concentration, lets loose a most unmanly fart, the kind that is kinda weak sounding like you were trying to hold it in and it escaped?

Anyway, while this is happening, I swear to you all, I saw him peek with one eye in between the crack and the door at me sitting there, shitting, and for only a nanosecond I think we made eye contact. This is rape, and I was powerless to stop it, as the only thing I would hate more than being anally dominated is to have shit all over my pants. I prepared for a hand-to-hand combat session, and almost laughed out loud when I pictured a grown man fighting another man who is sitting on the toilet, and losing.

After ascertaining that a locked door, shitty smell and actual human sitting on the can meant the toilet was occupied, he went to the stall closest to the urinals and let loose what I can only describe as the 1812 overture played backwards. The smell was horrendous, even for shit. I hightailed it outta there, feeling dirty but still confident that I coulda whooped his ass while taking a dump.

Also, I forgot to tell you all Smeagol came by this past weekend. Lemme finish the epic and I will get to that, though I swear I have never heard more moaning in my life than I did that fateful day.