Went to Six Flags today with my kids and I was taken aback by the Walking Wall o' Lard that people are calling a family nowadays.
I mean you hear these reports on the news every other night about America's obesity, but I guess it's like 2 girls 1 cup; you have to see it with your own eyes before it hits you.
So many of these sweaty behemoths were slugging around that I wished I'd had a box of rock salt to pour on them so they just would have melted.
Normally, I don't judge, but when it started raining today and the park employees put on their yellow rain suits my 6 year old pointed out that everybody looked like Pac Man. Fat-assed Pac Mans.
I suddenly got nervous because I'd realized that I had a bag of bouncing cherries in one hand and a bag of bouncing bananas in the other and you know how much Pac Man loves that shit.
We rode rides, we had a blast, but people need to lay off them funnel cakes or they might as well build a damn cardiac care center in the middle of that place.
That's all I'm sayin..
Fidelio, out.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Nassville
Short Version for People with Limited Time:
So, for those of you who didn't notice I quit my job last week.
There were no tears involved, trust me.
Coincidentally, El Topo was meeting some people in Nashville this past weekend and asked me if I wanted to go seeing how I didn't have shit else to do so I said yes.
Couple of quick notes about the town:
Guys I met with ET were cool, laid back and have a ton of potential talent,
Waitresses, bartenders, hostesses, desk clerks, or any person that the rest of the world would consider "Service Industry Personnel" sucked major donkey balls (I could go on for days about how no one in that town who's PAID to acknowledge your existence will do so, but I'll save that for another day),
I got bored, so I got a SNL
and I ate at Waffle House with Snoop Dogg and his posse.
Long Version for People Who Work in IT:
My last day at work consisted of me going in, literally walking around all day, nobody acknowledging that I was walking around all day and then me walking to my car before anyone decided to wanna hang around our cars and talk about all of the good times we had.
With the exception of Porn Chicken and occasionally walking around for hours at a time with my zipper down I really didn't have any good times there.
It was job limbo.
A place to drift while I slowly pulled my head out of my ass only to slowly slide it back in right before it popped out, because I'm a fucking tease like that.
All in all I have a ton of memories from it, but as I said before, there were no tears involved.
So I went to Nashville with ET because he was doing some work there.
It'd been years since I'd been to the town. In fact, it was just after I'd come home from my extended vacation in Iraq. I was given the privilege of hanging out for a few weeks in Kentucky and some of the soldiers there took me down to NashVegas.
Met several guys from their lair, although, I didn't get anybody's stage names.
My bad.
The two guys that we spent the most time with I will tell you have their shit very close to being together.
And by together, I mean, that if they keep performing the way they did this weekend without other PUAs clouding their mind with the Zen bullshit that PUAs always want to pass on to each other then I think these guys will easily be pulling several SNLs a months.
They were able to set aside something that keeps a lot of people from ever truly growing (in this field or life): PRIDE.
If you can set it aside, you can absorb and RETAIN what's going on all around you.
I think they both did very well and I was impressed with their abilities.
I was especially impressed with one, in particular, who didn't have an awesome night on Saturday, but kept on plowing anyway. Most guys would've just stopped and started texting their friends, but you kept pushing yourself.
Kudos.
I will seriously tell you that Service Industry People suck in Nashville.
If you're an SIP and you're reading this and you think to yourself "Man, that's just not true" I submit this little exercise to you:
Go put on your velvet vest, apron, bottle opener in your back left pocket, dish towel hanging out your right, your OSHA approved rubber soled comfort clogs and walk over to the mirror.
If you don't immediately acknowledge the individual looking back at you, then you are, in fact, the garden variety Summer's Eve SIP that I speak of.
You wonder why I didn't tip you for the drink?
I routinely and without hesitation tip, you ass clown, but I'll answer you anyway.
It's because you let half the drink slosh out of the Dixie Cup you served it to me in.
It's because you were in SUCH a hurry to pull the next Dixie cup from the dispenser that you didn't even look at me to see if I actually WAS the asshole who ordered the Red Bull and rat piss that you served to me in the first place.
I wasn't, but I drank it anyway, because I need to calm my stomach from the pain of watching your suck ass skills.
Suck ass skills, you say?
Yeah, motherfucker, I say!
Quick quiz: You and Stephen Hawking in a flair bartending competition, who wins?
Answer: Stephen Hawking, hands down, EVERY fucking time! That's literally hands down, ASSHOLE, and that's with him not even using his powers as a Decepticon!!
Fuck it!
I'm not even gonna address restaurant waitstaff who stand five feet away as they take your order, hostesses who are still offended because last time one of our party came in he implied that you were a slut and the waitress at Cracker Barrel who eyeballed me while hiding behind the half wall for forty five minutes while our empty teas glasses called out for her to simply do her damn job.
Let me get back on track here...
I'll post the SNL separately.
Sunday night, as we're rolling back into the ghetto-assed motel that ET saved money on by using Priceline.com, we drive by the Waffle House that is literally fifteen feet from our room.
The driver points out to us that there is one of the largest black men blocking the door to WF that he's ever seen. My interest abound, I looked over and agrees that he's right.
In fact, it actually looked like there were two of them, but it turns out that glass has this ability to reflect objects.
Me and ET get dropped off.
I want a fucking BLT because anyone who's been to WF knows that they can take any product that contains pork and make a fucking work of art out of it.
ET declines because he's got phone calls to make.
I stroll over, walk past the fleet of running SUVS with 24" spinners and think nothing of it.
As I enter the WF, everyone literally stops eating and turns towards me.
I'm thinking what the fuck is going on?
Did somebody reserve the WF?
Can you do that?
I said "Is there a seat available?" to which Yvonne stated "Yeah, sweetie, right there."
I totally ignored the 8ft tall dude in the sunglasses wearing a Lakers track suit as I walked by.
I thought "Really, the Lakers? OK."
It was only after I sat down and had time to look around that I realized that everyone in the room with exception of the waitresses and myself were with the same party.
As my brain slowly wrapped around the situation, I realized other things that most people wouldn't catch, like everyone in the room calling the guy in the track suit Snoop and the guy had played some songs on the jukebox and was singing along with a voice that sounded like it would come from a Snoop.
He seemed to be really chill, like maybe he'd been doing some meditation out in one of the trucks earlier, or something.
Everyone left about ten minutes after I got there.
Evidently, he was in town to present an award at the CMT Awards.
I'm not gonna say how much, but after his party left, the waitresses were tallying up how much money they got tipped by him and his posse and it was a nice chunk of change.
He even tipped the ones who didn't serve him. Although, one of those ladies, actually said to the others, "Snoop Dogg ain't as big as he used to be."
He gives you a fist full of cash, you didn't even serve him and then have the balls to crack wise? Classy.
He seemed pretty cool and, yeah, I thought of a million things to say to him AFTER he left.
I got mad jokes and they would've laughed at them because everybody knows that those with mad jokes and those with mad grip always have a good time together.
Instead, I just ate my BLT and texted Sinn who reminded me that I still don't have a fucking camera phone.
Fidelio, out.
So, for those of you who didn't notice I quit my job last week.
There were no tears involved, trust me.
Coincidentally, El Topo was meeting some people in Nashville this past weekend and asked me if I wanted to go seeing how I didn't have shit else to do so I said yes.
Couple of quick notes about the town:
Guys I met with ET were cool, laid back and have a ton of potential talent,
Waitresses, bartenders, hostesses, desk clerks, or any person that the rest of the world would consider "Service Industry Personnel" sucked major donkey balls (I could go on for days about how no one in that town who's PAID to acknowledge your existence will do so, but I'll save that for another day),
I got bored, so I got a SNL
and I ate at Waffle House with Snoop Dogg and his posse.
Long Version for People Who Work in IT:
My last day at work consisted of me going in, literally walking around all day, nobody acknowledging that I was walking around all day and then me walking to my car before anyone decided to wanna hang around our cars and talk about all of the good times we had.
With the exception of Porn Chicken and occasionally walking around for hours at a time with my zipper down I really didn't have any good times there.
It was job limbo.
A place to drift while I slowly pulled my head out of my ass only to slowly slide it back in right before it popped out, because I'm a fucking tease like that.
All in all I have a ton of memories from it, but as I said before, there were no tears involved.
So I went to Nashville with ET because he was doing some work there.
It'd been years since I'd been to the town. In fact, it was just after I'd come home from my extended vacation in Iraq. I was given the privilege of hanging out for a few weeks in Kentucky and some of the soldiers there took me down to NashVegas.
Met several guys from their lair, although, I didn't get anybody's stage names.
My bad.
The two guys that we spent the most time with I will tell you have their shit very close to being together.
And by together, I mean, that if they keep performing the way they did this weekend without other PUAs clouding their mind with the Zen bullshit that PUAs always want to pass on to each other then I think these guys will easily be pulling several SNLs a months.
They were able to set aside something that keeps a lot of people from ever truly growing (in this field or life): PRIDE.
If you can set it aside, you can absorb and RETAIN what's going on all around you.
I think they both did very well and I was impressed with their abilities.
I was especially impressed with one, in particular, who didn't have an awesome night on Saturday, but kept on plowing anyway. Most guys would've just stopped and started texting their friends, but you kept pushing yourself.
Kudos.
I will seriously tell you that Service Industry People suck in Nashville.
If you're an SIP and you're reading this and you think to yourself "Man, that's just not true" I submit this little exercise to you:
Go put on your velvet vest, apron, bottle opener in your back left pocket, dish towel hanging out your right, your OSHA approved rubber soled comfort clogs and walk over to the mirror.
If you don't immediately acknowledge the individual looking back at you, then you are, in fact, the garden variety Summer's Eve SIP that I speak of.
You wonder why I didn't tip you for the drink?
I routinely and without hesitation tip, you ass clown, but I'll answer you anyway.
It's because you let half the drink slosh out of the Dixie Cup you served it to me in.
It's because you were in SUCH a hurry to pull the next Dixie cup from the dispenser that you didn't even look at me to see if I actually WAS the asshole who ordered the Red Bull and rat piss that you served to me in the first place.
I wasn't, but I drank it anyway, because I need to calm my stomach from the pain of watching your suck ass skills.
Suck ass skills, you say?
Yeah, motherfucker, I say!
Quick quiz: You and Stephen Hawking in a flair bartending competition, who wins?
Answer: Stephen Hawking, hands down, EVERY fucking time! That's literally hands down, ASSHOLE, and that's with him not even using his powers as a Decepticon!!
Fuck it!
I'm not even gonna address restaurant waitstaff who stand five feet away as they take your order, hostesses who are still offended because last time one of our party came in he implied that you were a slut and the waitress at Cracker Barrel who eyeballed me while hiding behind the half wall for forty five minutes while our empty teas glasses called out for her to simply do her damn job.
Let me get back on track here...
I'll post the SNL separately.
Sunday night, as we're rolling back into the ghetto-assed motel that ET saved money on by using Priceline.com, we drive by the Waffle House that is literally fifteen feet from our room.
The driver points out to us that there is one of the largest black men blocking the door to WF that he's ever seen. My interest abound, I looked over and agrees that he's right.
In fact, it actually looked like there were two of them, but it turns out that glass has this ability to reflect objects.
Me and ET get dropped off.
I want a fucking BLT because anyone who's been to WF knows that they can take any product that contains pork and make a fucking work of art out of it.
ET declines because he's got phone calls to make.
I stroll over, walk past the fleet of running SUVS with 24" spinners and think nothing of it.
As I enter the WF, everyone literally stops eating and turns towards me.
I'm thinking what the fuck is going on?
Did somebody reserve the WF?
Can you do that?
I said "Is there a seat available?" to which Yvonne stated "Yeah, sweetie, right there."
I totally ignored the 8ft tall dude in the sunglasses wearing a Lakers track suit as I walked by.
I thought "Really, the Lakers? OK."
It was only after I sat down and had time to look around that I realized that everyone in the room with exception of the waitresses and myself were with the same party.
As my brain slowly wrapped around the situation, I realized other things that most people wouldn't catch, like everyone in the room calling the guy in the track suit Snoop and the guy had played some songs on the jukebox and was singing along with a voice that sounded like it would come from a Snoop.
He seemed to be really chill, like maybe he'd been doing some meditation out in one of the trucks earlier, or something.
Everyone left about ten minutes after I got there.
Evidently, he was in town to present an award at the CMT Awards.
I'm not gonna say how much, but after his party left, the waitresses were tallying up how much money they got tipped by him and his posse and it was a nice chunk of change.
He even tipped the ones who didn't serve him. Although, one of those ladies, actually said to the others, "Snoop Dogg ain't as big as he used to be."
He gives you a fist full of cash, you didn't even serve him and then have the balls to crack wise? Classy.
He seemed pretty cool and, yeah, I thought of a million things to say to him AFTER he left.
I got mad jokes and they would've laughed at them because everybody knows that those with mad jokes and those with mad grip always have a good time together.
Instead, I just ate my BLT and texted Sinn who reminded me that I still don't have a fucking camera phone.
Fidelio, out.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Farewell
Sadly, my reign of porn chicken is almost over.
After much deliberation (read:3 years and 9 months) I have put in my notice of resignation with my employer.
My last day will be this Friday 04 APR 08.
I would like to thank all those in the community who've actively bitched at me for years and repeatedly berated me for not getting a real job that is commensurate with my talents.
Among those that recently come to mind:
Sinn, whose lack of appreciation and condemnation for any job where I get to use my man hands, is unparalleled,
Shaft aka Double D aka His Highhness, the Hater of the Homeless, for all your nods and smiles where you pretended to agree with my assessment that this job was just a stepping stone, all the while secretly studying and judging the underlying psychology of my verbiage,
El Topo and, in a supporting role, the tapeworm in his stomach that allows him to eat expired dairy products and not be hospitalized,
Second Chance who lead the way, quit his job and followed his dream of making products that I wipe my ass with,
Twitchy, for helping me dust off my resume, retouching it and making it a work of art that has gotten me zero job offers
and finally,
Captain Jack who has repeatedly given me sound advice that I've repeatedly ignored so that I could turn around and make personal attacks on your struggles with bulimia just to make myself feel better.
I would like to thank all of you, my dear friends, but I won't.
For as you well know, Dorothy, just like my tattooed cock and balls, it was in my hands the whole time.
So anyway, I'm quitting, have no job lined up, had a laptop meltdown and as of last week have two dead cars sitting in my driveway.
All in all, I'm feeling pretty fucking good.
Maybe, I'll have time to take up a hobby like blogging or picking up a girl or two or something involving origami because that shit is so emo it cuts itself.
Who knows...
Fidelio, out.
After much deliberation (read:3 years and 9 months) I have put in my notice of resignation with my employer.
My last day will be this Friday 04 APR 08.
I would like to thank all those in the community who've actively bitched at me for years and repeatedly berated me for not getting a real job that is commensurate with my talents.
Among those that recently come to mind:
Sinn, whose lack of appreciation and condemnation for any job where I get to use my man hands, is unparalleled,
Shaft aka Double D aka His Highhness, the Hater of the Homeless, for all your nods and smiles where you pretended to agree with my assessment that this job was just a stepping stone, all the while secretly studying and judging the underlying psychology of my verbiage,
El Topo and, in a supporting role, the tapeworm in his stomach that allows him to eat expired dairy products and not be hospitalized,
Second Chance who lead the way, quit his job and followed his dream of making products that I wipe my ass with,
Twitchy, for helping me dust off my resume, retouching it and making it a work of art that has gotten me zero job offers
and finally,
Captain Jack who has repeatedly given me sound advice that I've repeatedly ignored so that I could turn around and make personal attacks on your struggles with bulimia just to make myself feel better.
I would like to thank all of you, my dear friends, but I won't.
For as you well know, Dorothy, just like my tattooed cock and balls, it was in my hands the whole time.
So anyway, I'm quitting, have no job lined up, had a laptop meltdown and as of last week have two dead cars sitting in my driveway.
All in all, I'm feeling pretty fucking good.
Maybe, I'll have time to take up a hobby like blogging or picking up a girl or two or something involving origami because that shit is so emo it cuts itself.
Who knows...
Fidelio, out.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Holy Fucking Shit!!
Lately, every time I hang out with my circle of "friends" it seems like everyone's taking shots about how lazy I am and how I haven't updated my blog in forever.
For reals yo, I had no idea that it's been that long.
I hate when other people are right about my lack of motivation.
I'm not gonna make any huge promises about posting every day because I do have other things I need to do, but I will ACTIVELY start to ATTEMPT to finish some of the backlog of posts I've started and haven't completed.
If your bored and even still reading this blog I figure I at least owe you that.
Fidelio, out.
For reals yo, I had no idea that it's been that long.
I hate when other people are right about my lack of motivation.
I'm not gonna make any huge promises about posting every day because I do have other things I need to do, but I will ACTIVELY start to ATTEMPT to finish some of the backlog of posts I've started and haven't completed.
If your bored and even still reading this blog I figure I at least owe you that.
Fidelio, out.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
New Guy is Superfly
During our studies, all of us have come across tons of guys with something to say.
Much like life, this community cycles through a shit ton of people.
My personal experience leads me to believe that new PUAs generally have a shelf life of about 6 solid months.
A time line:
0-6 Months
I just read a book/watched a TV show.
I just googled everyone's stage name from the book/ TV show.
I just signed up for 55 forums starting at the national level all the way down to the rooms in my house.
I just posted a question that is already on the FAQ page of said 55 forums.
I just got flamed for asking a question that's already been posted on the FAQ page.
I'm new and too impatient to read the FAQ so take it easy guys (JK, LOL, smiley face followed by My Bad).
I am overwhelmed by the flood of information on how many different way there are to get my boy parts into girls thingy before I die.
I decide to model, doppelgang, carbon copy, stalk and generally try to steal the identity of Super PUA X because he's just like me and would appreciate the homage.
I will choose a name that rhymes with or is homonymic, homophonic, homographic or any variation of any word beginning with homo in nature to said Super PUA X.
I will study ONLY PUA Super X's archives.
I just had an "eye-opening," "mind-blowing,""earth-shattering" revelation and post such on previously said boards.
I just got flamed for having a revelation that's already been posted on previously said boards.
I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance and now I have enough to take a boot camp, seminar, workshop, etc.
I study photos of PUA Super X's wardrobe and fully stock my luggage with the required 2 rings (1 for my pinkie, 1 for my thumb), velvet wear(hat or pants or bandana or jacket or thong), faux exotic animal leather shoes with pointy toes, boots with rubber soles so thick that Goodyear had to shut down their operations due to a lack of materials and whatever flashy, sparkly, novelty item I got from sending all those box tops in to the Kellogg company.
I decided not to study or in any way prep for the aforementioned class because, for the money I'm paying, it's their responsibility to mold me into a lean, mean, dick-swingin' machine with less than 24hrs of 1-on-1 interaction.
I just stood there during the infield portion of my boot camp because I "wanna go at my own pace," "see how the pros do it," "was not in my type of bar,""didn't find anyone attractive,""had jet lag and I'm tired from the classroom portion,""only open 10's, blonde Asian tranny dwarf's with nipple rings that flash in the dark or whatever type and there were none there."
I just got back from an AMAZING!! boot camp weekend and "I'm in the zone" or "I'm unplugged from the God damned, played-out Matrix analogy" and I can't wait to go out 3-4 times a week in my hometown and own this fucking joint!!
I can't commit to 3-4 times a week because I have a REAL job not like those overpaid "Guru assholes" so I'm only going out on weekends, but I can still progress just as fast as PUA Super X did.
I have a super hectic work schedule and going out on weekends just isn't realistic for me right now so I'm gonna concentrate on online game where you can get more pussy than an animal shelter.
I'm not feeling the online game because there's just to many psychos out there and I don't wanna bring any back to my house even though my inbox is flooded with winks from girls like BriannaEscort214 and KnottyNikkiMassage$$$ and JoezSepticService4Boyz who all wanna meet me.
I decided that I need to start over, read books and refocus on the subject because hands on real world field work is just not how I learn, I'm more academic.
I realize now that I was duped by false idols and suckered into believing that anyone can get laid if they're willing to put forth an effort.
I start religiously reading the great authors on consumerism, subliminal advertising of soft drinks/cigarette ads and now I see clearly that I was expertly grifted.
I see now that PUA Super X just wanted my money and not to help make me and the world a better place where we could conquer vagina and give each other congratulatory hugs while naked in the sweat lodge.
I'm so burnt out on this useless, manipulative community of misogynistic assholes.
I don't wanna lie to women.
I love women.
I love buying flowers and jewelry and expensive meals for women.
I'm a fucking gentleman who can wait for that ass.
I liked the "real" no-ass-getting me better.
I'm better than you Community.
I don't need you anymore.
I'm going back to my IT job.
I'm out.
6-mos to Present
...
Who gives a shit?
The first six months is what makes me tummy smile.
Fidelio, out.
Much like life, this community cycles through a shit ton of people.
My personal experience leads me to believe that new PUAs generally have a shelf life of about 6 solid months.
A time line:
0-6 Months
I just read a book/watched a TV show.
I just googled everyone's stage name from the book/ TV show.
I just signed up for 55 forums starting at the national level all the way down to the rooms in my house.
I just posted a question that is already on the FAQ page of said 55 forums.
I just got flamed for asking a question that's already been posted on the FAQ page.
I'm new and too impatient to read the FAQ so take it easy guys (JK, LOL, smiley face followed by My Bad).
I am overwhelmed by the flood of information on how many different way there are to get my boy parts into girls thingy before I die.
I decide to model, doppelgang, carbon copy, stalk and generally try to steal the identity of Super PUA X because he's just like me and would appreciate the homage.
I will choose a name that rhymes with or is homonymic, homophonic, homographic or any variation of any word beginning with homo in nature to said Super PUA X.
I will study ONLY PUA Super X's archives.
I just had an "eye-opening," "mind-blowing,""earth-shattering" revelation and post such on previously said boards.
I just got flamed for having a revelation that's already been posted on previously said boards.
I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance and now I have enough to take a boot camp, seminar, workshop, etc.
I study photos of PUA Super X's wardrobe and fully stock my luggage with the required 2 rings (1 for my pinkie, 1 for my thumb), velvet wear(hat or pants or bandana or jacket or thong), faux exotic animal leather shoes with pointy toes, boots with rubber soles so thick that Goodyear had to shut down their operations due to a lack of materials and whatever flashy, sparkly, novelty item I got from sending all those box tops in to the Kellogg company.
I decided not to study or in any way prep for the aforementioned class because, for the money I'm paying, it's their responsibility to mold me into a lean, mean, dick-swingin' machine with less than 24hrs of 1-on-1 interaction.
I just stood there during the infield portion of my boot camp because I "wanna go at my own pace," "see how the pros do it," "was not in my type of bar,""didn't find anyone attractive,""had jet lag and I'm tired from the classroom portion,""only open 10's, blonde Asian tranny dwarf's with nipple rings that flash in the dark or whatever type and there were none there."
I just got back from an AMAZING!! boot camp weekend and "I'm in the zone" or "I'm unplugged from the God damned, played-out Matrix analogy" and I can't wait to go out 3-4 times a week in my hometown and own this fucking joint!!
I can't commit to 3-4 times a week because I have a REAL job not like those overpaid "Guru assholes" so I'm only going out on weekends, but I can still progress just as fast as PUA Super X did.
I have a super hectic work schedule and going out on weekends just isn't realistic for me right now so I'm gonna concentrate on online game where you can get more pussy than an animal shelter.
I'm not feeling the online game because there's just to many psychos out there and I don't wanna bring any back to my house even though my inbox is flooded with winks from girls like BriannaEscort214 and KnottyNikkiMassage$$$ and JoezSepticService4Boyz who all wanna meet me.
I decided that I need to start over, read books and refocus on the subject because hands on real world field work is just not how I learn, I'm more academic.
I realize now that I was duped by false idols and suckered into believing that anyone can get laid if they're willing to put forth an effort.
I start religiously reading the great authors on consumerism, subliminal advertising of soft drinks/cigarette ads and now I see clearly that I was expertly grifted.
I see now that PUA Super X just wanted my money and not to help make me and the world a better place where we could conquer vagina and give each other congratulatory hugs while naked in the sweat lodge.
I'm so burnt out on this useless, manipulative community of misogynistic assholes.
I don't wanna lie to women.
I love women.
I love buying flowers and jewelry and expensive meals for women.
I'm a fucking gentleman who can wait for that ass.
I liked the "real" no-ass-getting me better.
I'm better than you Community.
I don't need you anymore.
I'm going back to my IT job.
I'm out.
6-mos to Present
...
Who gives a shit?
The first six months is what makes me tummy smile.
Fidelio, out.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Door Handles and Dick Beaters
For the life of me, I've never understood why guys will go into a public restroom and wash their hands before they use the restroom, but not after.
I find this fucking disturbing on so many levels.
First off, I mean, if we were out in the field or in a nation where water wasn't provided freely for your public use, then there would be nothing but love and understanding on my part.
We're not out in the field or in the third world though, are we?
Instead, you get my disdain, you dirty dick beating bastard.
I have a couple of questions for you:
Are you washing your hands beforehand because you know that your dick is dirty?
and
Is it dirty because you're a nasty motherfucker who likes leaving the juices of fatties on your cock to swelter within the confines of your jeans so that when you do whip it out again you inhale that musty mixture of man meat and mutton like an asthmatic grasping for his nebulizer?
I bet you are a nasty motherfucker, you grungy son of a bitch.
You could argue to me that you've been touching all sorts of germ infected items all day and that by washing your lobster claws before you touch yourself that you're actually helping keep the germs off of your baby maker.
You could argue that, but you'd be wrong.
Dead wrong.
For civilities sake, let's assume for a minute that you're right; that you are actually keeping the germs off your cervical cannon, but then how do you explain the germs that you don't wash off after you've touched yourself in an excretory way?
You KNOW that you got a drop of piss on your thumb as you shook it twice at the urinal.
or
You KNOW that you were sitting down as you gave your stall mates the courtesy flush.
So you wanna talk about germs?!?
Fucking Dateline did a whole show on how far toilet flushing spreads germs.
The results: Toilets are like chlamydia cannons, you fucking assclown, and now your sphincter, gooch, balls and cock are covered in a web thicker than Spiderman could shoot!!
And don't you even fucking get me started about you wiping your ass in there.
I KNOW you didn't use enough paper on that first pass through that hairy canyon you call an ass crack.
I KNOW this because I heard the familiar "Oh, shit!" of someone whose fingertip went through the one ply and accidentally stuck his finger in his ass and got wood because he hit his prostate.
As a soldier I heard those two words almost as much as I heard the "Cough, Cough You're Not Alone In The Bathroom Because I'm In Here Beating Off At 3 AM And I Need You To Please Get In And Get Out So As To Not Interrupt My Rhythm Nation."
And then you have the balls to grab the door handle with your shit-on hands as you exit the restroom and spread the joy of your stank with the ones who follow unaware behind you?!
Every hand shake after that, every bite of food, every item you touch in every store now has your diseased aura rubbed all over it.
You are a dirty dick beating bastard, indeed, Mr. I Only Wash My Hands Before I Expel Waste, But Not After.
If you're gonna wash your hands before then have the common sense to do it after, as well, you inconsiderate fucktard!
I've got more to say to you, but my boss just got back from lunch and now I have to pretend like I'm putting commas between peoples lasts names and first in our database, you lucky twat.
Just remember this: Every time you touch a door handle after someone who didn't wash their hands, your not only touching their cock and asshole, you're also touching the cock and asshole of everyone who's cock and asshole they've touched.
Sleep on that.
Fidelio,
Keepin' it Great in '08
I find this fucking disturbing on so many levels.
First off, I mean, if we were out in the field or in a nation where water wasn't provided freely for your public use, then there would be nothing but love and understanding on my part.
We're not out in the field or in the third world though, are we?
Instead, you get my disdain, you dirty dick beating bastard.
I have a couple of questions for you:
Are you washing your hands beforehand because you know that your dick is dirty?
and
Is it dirty because you're a nasty motherfucker who likes leaving the juices of fatties on your cock to swelter within the confines of your jeans so that when you do whip it out again you inhale that musty mixture of man meat and mutton like an asthmatic grasping for his nebulizer?
I bet you are a nasty motherfucker, you grungy son of a bitch.
You could argue to me that you've been touching all sorts of germ infected items all day and that by washing your lobster claws before you touch yourself that you're actually helping keep the germs off of your baby maker.
You could argue that, but you'd be wrong.
Dead wrong.
For civilities sake, let's assume for a minute that you're right; that you are actually keeping the germs off your cervical cannon, but then how do you explain the germs that you don't wash off after you've touched yourself in an excretory way?
You KNOW that you got a drop of piss on your thumb as you shook it twice at the urinal.
or
You KNOW that you were sitting down as you gave your stall mates the courtesy flush.
So you wanna talk about germs?!?
Fucking Dateline did a whole show on how far toilet flushing spreads germs.
The results: Toilets are like chlamydia cannons, you fucking assclown, and now your sphincter, gooch, balls and cock are covered in a web thicker than Spiderman could shoot!!
And don't you even fucking get me started about you wiping your ass in there.
I KNOW you didn't use enough paper on that first pass through that hairy canyon you call an ass crack.
I KNOW this because I heard the familiar "Oh, shit!" of someone whose fingertip went through the one ply and accidentally stuck his finger in his ass and got wood because he hit his prostate.
As a soldier I heard those two words almost as much as I heard the "Cough, Cough You're Not Alone In The Bathroom Because I'm In Here Beating Off At 3 AM And I Need You To Please Get In And Get Out So As To Not Interrupt My Rhythm Nation."
And then you have the balls to grab the door handle with your shit-on hands as you exit the restroom and spread the joy of your stank with the ones who follow unaware behind you?!
Every hand shake after that, every bite of food, every item you touch in every store now has your diseased aura rubbed all over it.
You are a dirty dick beating bastard, indeed, Mr. I Only Wash My Hands Before I Expel Waste, But Not After.
If you're gonna wash your hands before then have the common sense to do it after, as well, you inconsiderate fucktard!
I've got more to say to you, but my boss just got back from lunch and now I have to pretend like I'm putting commas between peoples lasts names and first in our database, you lucky twat.
Just remember this: Every time you touch a door handle after someone who didn't wash their hands, your not only touching their cock and asshole, you're also touching the cock and asshole of everyone who's cock and asshole they've touched.
Sleep on that.
Fidelio,
Keepin' it Great in '08
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Among many other things holding me up I'm currently in limbo internet wise at home and I'm not able to even connect right now because of some B.S. network upgrade.
This is just another reason to love small town ISPs.
I'm at work right now and I wanna make a quick note here as a reminder to myself...
I saw that movie Turistas on satellite TV last night.
I'm in the process of analyzing how errors in their game led to the deaths of at least 5 people and how proper logisticization could have created an opportunity for a threesome.
Stay tuned...
This is just another reason to love small town ISPs.
I'm at work right now and I wanna make a quick note here as a reminder to myself...
I saw that movie Turistas on satellite TV last night.
I'm in the process of analyzing how errors in their game led to the deaths of at least 5 people and how proper logisticization could have created an opportunity for a threesome.
Stay tuned...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
