Working with People.... part fuckin' 2

I am your brother

you're best damn friend forever

Renaldo Lapuz

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHAT WAS GREYSKULL'S RESPONSE?

WHY AM I TYPING IN ALL CAPS?

WHAT THE HELL DID I EAT TO MAKE MY ASS BURN SO VIVIDLY?

TUNE IN TOMORROW TO FIND OUT WITH THE CONCLUSION TO THIS HA-RROW-ING TALE!

Working with People

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

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

Flanders was bad, but I have to give him props he did not spend a quarter as much time in Greyskull's office as Santa did, preferring to bother me. And since I am in an honest mood, I will say until he started asking stupid questions, which started....no he annoyed me almost all the time, fuck him.

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

Anyway I am getting away from today's tale.

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

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

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

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

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

A Groovy Kind of Love

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

Toboggan boy was in trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tomorrow: The conclusion!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!!!!!

Things Kids Say

Taste the ambrosia
Sunlight glistens on window
This....is PBR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More tomorrow...

Love nuggets

steveshaikus.com
home to mystical retard?
Or wily raptor?

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

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

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

Anyhoo, on to today's tale!

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Monday.

Dontcha wish your girlfriend was Mis-ter-y!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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