The Mind of Spaz

I went to Wal*Mart.

Yes, I realize that this is a humor blog and I’m supposed to be writing humor, but there’s nothing funny about going to Wal*Mart.

Ok, EVERYTHING is funny about Wal*Mart! Who am I trying to kid!

Because I’m a childless asshole, I don’t have the first clue what to buy for kids.  Seriously.  Following the directions on the package doesn’t work either. It SAID ages 3+ on the package, and this kid was seventeen.  Seventeen is greater than three, so why the hell did try to shove it up my ass?

And come on, what six year old wouldn’t love a home made flame thrower.  This one was no exception, he DID love it!  Why the mother tried to get all Lorena Bobbitt on my ass I haven’t the foggiest.

So this year, my buddy came with me to shop for his kids and the other kids on my list.  He even corrected me as to what a Bionicle actually was.

Not a Bionicle. Not Kernal Sanders in Disguise, either.

The evil Wal*Mart conglomerate’s mass buying Chinese children slavery manufacturing practices have made it almost impossible to do quantity buying anywhere else.  What I’m saying is, they are cheap, and that’s where we went.

We pulled up into the parking lot at 9 P.M. on a Thursday night to a sea of minivans, parked haphazardly outside of the painted yellow lines dispersed among the shopping carts thoughtlessly left wherever, even though there were return corrals sprinkled liberally throughout.

Yay, entitlement.  This shopping trip isn’t going to make me want to kill, at all.

We walked through the double wide doors to accomodate a flood of morbid obesity going in and out to find the worlds oldest man greeting us at the door.

Welcome to Wal*Mart. Have you seen my dignity?

He offered to get us a cart but I said we didn’t need one.  In reality we probably did, but I didn’t want to be the one responsible for giving the old coot a heart attack because of the effort.  Don’t get me wrong, I know CPR, it’s just that I really didn’t want to go lip to lip with this guy.  People that eat nothing but cat food have some serious dragon breath.

Here’s the thing about Wal*Mart.  Looking around the store, I felt positively anorexic.  Just about EVERYBODY there is HUGE!  It’s like all the big people in my city all go to Wal*Mart ALL at the same time, ALL the time.

I got this dress in the Ladies Dept. Isn't it slimming?

The Wal*Mart people MUST know this fact, and yet, the aisles are barley three feet wide!  They pack as much crap in as they possibly can to sell more, then pack as many fatties as they can fit in the store.

Have you ever tried to navigate your way around a hephalump, two rhino’s and a gaggle of big breasted schoolboys all trying to get through the same three foot space at the same time? No? Go to Wal*Mart.

Despite the over abundance of inventory, people are grabbing at shit like it’s bottled water and the world’s coming to an end.  I still have the bruises from being pistol whipped by a barbie doll while trying to reach for a fake toy power drill.

But there’s one good thing to all this: Seeing fat hustle.

These fatties, in their effort to get things, ramp it up to marathon pace.  The jiggling chins, the flushed faces, the sweat and the heavy breathing, the bobbling man boobs and the unintentional machine gun farting, all make for some serious fodder for mocking.

If I don't get the white bionicle, my fat kid will splash me!

So I suppose it isn’t so bad. Still, I’m glad I only go there once a year.  Any more and I risk getting squished between two five-hundred pound ladies desperate for the latest “pee myself” dolls.

‘Nuff  Said.

politically incorrect, social commentary fat people, stupid shoppers, Wal*Mart

It is the eternal human pondering. What is the meaning of life? Why are we here, who or what are we?

Many say it is to serve whatever deity it is that they worship. Others say it is to make more babies. Still others believe it is the journey that matters, what you do with your life, and how you improve upon yourself and others.

I have struggled with this question for many many years. What is the meaning of life? More importantly, what is the meaning of life to me?

I like children but I don’t know if I’ll ever have any. If the meaning of life was to have children, then there are many who go unfulfilled by choice or by design.

I don’t believe in any deities, and will not serve one. The idea that the meaning is only to serve a god who doesn’t make his presence known to all so there is no question is an absurd one, in my eyes.

It wasn’t until today, watching my dog play in the park that it hit me, like a load of manure.

When she squatted to defecate for her third time that day, I looked at her and said “Is that what you’re all about, dog?”

That’s IT! That explains everything about the meaning of life! ALL LIFE CREATES WASTE! Gods aren’t proven, only females have children, but everybody poops!

That is the one thing that is common to everything. Even plants, by way of respiration, take in nutrients and expend waste.

There you have it then. We exist to process nutrients and the excretion of waste. It’s the one thing that’s mutually exclusive to any and ALL forms of life, from simple bacteria and protozoa all the way to blue whales and men.

Boy am I glad I came to this realization, because now I know I’m successful in life.

Successful at least once a day, sometimes twice!

poo, talking out of my ass meaning of life, poo

For all of those politically correct overboard junkies, don’t get your panties in a bunch. When I refer to dirty fag sucker, I’m talking about cigarette smoking, not the other kind of smoking.

From here on in, cigarettes shall be referred to the proper term “fag”, as they are called in England. And I shall refer to fag smokers as “dirty fag smokers”, because smoking fags is a dirty, filthy, disgusting habit.

Fag smoking is such a dirty habit, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve done a lot of fag smoking in the past. The first time I smoked a fag, my reflex reaction was to cough, sputter, and spit until every last molecule of the white stuff was expelled from my insides. So what did I do? I took another suck.

Fag sucking first starts off as a result of peer pressure. All of the cool kids are sucking on fags, and all of your friends are sucking on fags. You’re offered fag after fag after fag, until finally you give in and start sucking on a fag to fit in. You derive no pleasure from the first few fags. That does not last.

After your body gets over it’s initial fag rejection, and you begin sucking more and more fags, you begin to develop a fag buzz. It’s a light headed euphoric feeling that fag sucking gives you, and you enjoy it. It’s a legal high! No wonder all the cool kids do it!

Soon afterwards, the fags let you down in a big way. You see, your body accustoms itself to sucking on fags, and the fag buzz is replaced with addiction.

That’s right my friends, you no longer WANT to suck on a fag. You NEED to suck on a fag.

The more fags you suck, the more fags you need. For those of you who have never been addicted to fag sucking, you can liken it to hunger for food. Your body NEEDS food, and when you go without it your brain can focus on very little but to go find food. Once you have food, and are sated, you mind can focus on other things. That’s what it’s like with fags. If you go without a fag for too long, your mind can think about nothing but sucking on that long, slim fag until you’ve had your fill. You’re only focus is to go and suck on that fag.

Some people try to justify smoking fags by sucking on the light fags. The problem with light fags is that your body needs a certain amount of fag, and smoking light fags just means you’ll smoke more of them and more often to get the fag your body requires.

Once you are truly and thoroughly addicted to fags, it’s almost impossible to quit. Doctors say that a fag addiction is harder to give up than cocaine. I agree. Apparently, your body needs the active chemical in fag. Once you start smoking fags, your body stops making the chemical because it gets all it needs from fag sucking. When you try to quit, it takes your body time to adjust to it and start making the fag chemical again. In the meantime, you go CRAZY!

Most who try to give up fag sucking will never do so because they make excuses about it. They say that it’s not the right time, that they are too stressed right now. You see, they will always have some sort of stress in their lives, that’s what living is all about. Life causes stress, it’s a fact. The funny thing is, that the stress they are actually talking about is the stress caused by not sucking on any fags. People insist that after sucking on a fag, their stress level goes down, it calms them, they can focus on other things. The stress is caused by your bodies need for the fag chemical itself! Of course you feel more relaxed after you fill that need!

I gave up dirty fag sucking about three years ago. It was probably the hardest thing I had ever done. Fags are very expensive now. It’s ten dollars for a pack of fags, and twenty-five fags come in a pack. Yes, I was sucking on twenty-five fags a day! I went through withdrawal, I got sick, I was stressed, but in the end I did it. I wanted to do it for my health, as fag sucking causes heart disease and lung cancer and a whole host of other maladies, and that scared me. I ended up finally quitting fag sucking for financial reasons. I had just purchase my home and I was very short on money. Could you imagine losing your home for something as silly as the need to suck on fags? The truth of the matter is that it took me almost a whole year before I was completely over my addiction to fags. Long after the chemical dependency has dissipated, the habit is still there. It takes a long time for your brain to adjust to not sucking on fags at break times, at lunch time, in your car, with a coffee, with a beer.

I’m glad I gave it up. Fag sucking is gross. After you suck on a fag, you STINK, and the area STINKS. Fag suckers don’t understand how much they actually smell after sucking on fags all day until they stop sucking on fags themselves. Fags also leave stains on your fingers and teeth, and you end up with little fag holes all over your clothing.

Kids, if you’ve never sucked on a dirty fag before, do not start. If you have started, stop now before it’s too late. Trust me, you might think it’s cool now, but you WILL regret it when you’re older and can’t stop sucking on fags.

People of the world unit, let’s stop dirty fag sucking!

Parody, social commentary dirty fags, fag sucking, fags, smoking

….. But it wasn’t.

I thought it was just two and a half hours of hell. But it was more, much more. It lasted for the next few days.

It started the night of. I thought I was going to be ok. It had been 10 hours since my last meal and I wanted to test out my now fragile digestive system. And so I downed a small piece of dry white toast. Apparently, that was enough food to dislodge another round of liquidy bum pow.

A few hours later, I tried soup and a sandwich to the same result. Yay me.

And the fun continued. The gas! Oh the gas! My gut was producing gas in quantities to power New Orleans during Mardi Gras. With the exception that ass gas doesn’t let me see boobs. No, this was far and above my normal flatulent self.

There is a problem with my new found friend.

You see, I found that my new gaseous companion was actually a gamble. If I thought it was gas, it was more likely his best buddy shart. And so, it became a gamble I was likely to lose. I don’t gamble to lose, so I stopped gambling, and that really put a damper on my free time.

The next morning it was time for my regularly scheduled poo. Yes, I schedule poo time. I’ve trained my body to expel waste first thing in the morning. That way, I minimize toilet paper consumption and make use of my shower head to clean up the mess. Don’t judge, it works.

Sitting down on the cold porcelain, I open the trap door to let the bomb fly. Only it wasn’t a bomb. Some jackass had replaced my bum rocket with ass molasses. Cleaning that up wasn’t wiping. It was like daubing a bleeding wound.

It continued. It happened at 9 am at work. I was trying to get my second cup of coffee and was re-routed on my way to the kitchen. I never made it to the kitchen.

Just after lunch it happened again. And again. At three, it happened yet again.  And then I left work to find something very interesting.

You see, after the fourth runny ass vomit, my anus was sore. Very sore, and throbbing.  Throbbing loudly.  I thought that I was the only one who could hear it, but I was wrong. There was a contingent of hippies outside dancing to the beat of the throbbing. They had thought it was a love in. They were wrong, so very wrong.

It’s now Tuesday, three days after I subjected myself to the colon cleanse.  I finally have had a solid shit and I’m no longer afraid to fart.

Kids, there is a moral to this story.

Don’t be stupid like Uncle Spaz.

‘Nuff Said.

dumb things I do to myself, poo colon cleanse, fart, poo, shart, stupidity