The Mind of Spaz

We, as a working society, need a machine. A time machine if you will, but one that see’s the behavior of employee’s once they become comfortable and complacent in their job.

Not for the occasional extended break or coming into work a few minutes late or forgetting to put a quarter in the jar when you take a coffee. No, i’m talking about the serious issue. The ones that cause serious issues to the other employees.

It’s Mrs. K (not her real name although I’d love to post it).  She’s old, fat and ugly. But that’s not an issue. I mean, most of the workforce is old fat and ugly. Big deal.

She’s a sarcastic bitch.  Yea, her mouth doesn’t stop flapping. That too can be shut up with a few sharp words from me, because even though I’m not your direct boss I am way higher up than you are, understood? Good.

It’s not even her horrible work ethic that’s the biggest problem.

It’s her ass.

You see, she claims that she’s a diabetic.  She claims that it’s the medication that causes this.  Yet she continues to eat cakes, cookies, candies, chocolates, and anything else in site.

So what exactly is it that she does?

SHE FARTS.

Yea, I hear you all now. You’re all laughing. Oh, so what Spaz. You fart too. You’re the fart king. You think farts are funny. Why aren’t you enjoying this?

Seriously? Do you know why I’m not enjoying this? There’s a very simple reason why I’m not enjoying this. And I’ll tell you why:

BECAUSE SOMETHING CRAWLED UP INTO HER ASS, DIED, ROTTED, AND NOW SHE’S EXPELLING THE PUTRID ASS GAS.

That vile, rotten bitch.  They are small. They are silent. They are deadly. They stick to the walls, hang in the air, and bring tears to your eyes. And they come without warning from her. Nothing. She just pretends nothing happened as peoples eyes water and vomit spews forth around her.

Ok, fine. There was one time she actually gave warning, but not until after she sharted all over her adult diaper.  My desk is in front of the filing cabinets. She’s a file clerk. I saw her eyes go big and she beat a hasty retreat.

And then it hit me.

It was the worst, most absolute vile liquid fart that has ever came out of her old, saggy wrinkled ass. It hit me like a ton of bricks. My eyes watered, I dry heaved.  I got up and headed towards HR, finally sick of this shit, until I remembered the dumb cunt’s claim to medical issue. Fuck.

I went into the lab and tested some samples. Half an hour later the smell was still there. IT DID NOT MOVE.  The fart was neither lighter nor heavier than air, somehow completely defying physics. It didn’t spread, it didn’t move, it just hung there, turning the white walls brown and my curling my nose hair.

I want to know these things:

1. What sort of large animal crawled up their and died
2. How the hell did it get there
3. Why didn’t she notice it
4. Or if she did notice it, why couldn’t she be courteous and remove the damned thing and
5. Why can’t chronic farters be fired?
6. And why does she seem to enjoy destroying peoples lungs?

I guess she got tired of shitting herself every twenty minutes. She’s come up with a new trick.

Have you ever smelled a pissed in diaper?  One that’s been sitting on the baby for a while? Where it doesn’t smell like straight piss it smells like piss mixed with baking soda or whatever it is they put in the diapers to stop the smell.  Except the stuff that stops the smell is now making it worse because it’s been soaking in it for so long?

You know that smell?

Yea, that’s what she smells like now. She’s fucking PISSING herself.

Ugh.

And every one wonders why I do so much field work.

It’s not like I didn’t try to give her a clue. Air fresheners didn’t work. Automatic air fresheners hung above her desk set to spray her every 1o minutes just made her fart more. Hell, I even tried spiking her coffee with BeanO and NOTHING WORKED.

I’m at wits end. We all are. For the love of all that’s good and holy, can somebody PLEASE PLEASE help?

Please?

rant ass gas, farting, farts, old bitch, put on a diaper, stop sharting yourself

I’m not a big fan of animals that aren’t mammals.  Not that I like people mind you.  The vast majority of people I meet are stinky, stupid, idiotic, inane, ugly, entitled and pimply.

They just get worse outside of Star Trek conventions.

But what I really don’t like about other animals is that they are unpredictable. You see, with fellow mammals almost anyone instinctively knows their mood by their behavior, because it’s hard wired into your mammal mind. With other animals, you have a much harder time predicting their behavior, as you must actually be observant. Observant isn’t something most people are, which is why Britney Spears has been allowed to breed more than once.

The animal that I like the least (except for dinner) is birds. Birds freak me right the the fuck out.

The behavior that other mammals recognize most in other mammals is the “I’m about to kick your ass” look.  This is the look that tells you that you’d best be getting away, now.  I call this look The Stink Eye.

Humans are very good at giving the stink eye. Especially female humans. Especially when you forget to take out the garbage. Or fart in front of her mother. Or forget the anniversary of the day when you first kissed, or your first matching dinette set or the dogs first bath. Or going out without colour coordinating. Or just having a penis.

But it isn’t just humans that have a great stink eye. Our closest animal companions, the dogs, have great stink eye too.  Take my dog for example.  She developed a serious stink eye after a former boyfriend turned her lesbian.

Let me explain.

I had a roommate that lived in the basement.  He had a Jack Russel Terrier. Both man and dog has a severe case of little man syndrome.  His dog would constantly hump mine. She wasn’t too fond of this: You see, he wouldn’t do the customary butt sniff first. He’d just go right at it. He was smaller than her, so he sometimes couldn’t reach the right spot.  In fact, he never reached the right spot.  Her lower back. Her ears. Her head. her ribs. Her chest.  Her mouth. Ok, I’m pretty sure he meant the mouth.

She got real sick of this after about, oh, five minutes. He’d be humping away, just humping humping humping away, and she’d look back. He’d look at her and just keep pumping pumping pumping.  It was then, right then that she developed the stink eye.  I can always tell when she’s about to attack because of this stink eye, and it’s because of him that she gives the stink eye whenever another male dog is about to mount her.

But, a female dog with her nose buried in her crotch is just fine with her.

So while sometimes you get attacked without warning my other animals (especially those fucking birds. I hate birds), at least with mammals there is a warning.  You still don’t know why, but thanks to stink eye, you know when.

Thanks Stink Eye!

rant ass gas, farting, farts, old bitch, put on a diaper, stop sharting yourself

Every once and a while you come across something so good, so well done, so incredibly ….. just incredible, that you have to share.

I’ve found just that in a motivational poster.

I think, by far, this is the best motivational poster created in the history of motivational posters.

Don’t get your knickers in a knot, mooooog, yours are good too.  Just not as good as this one.

You guys can use this one, by all means. It’s not mine!

Anyways, enjoy the majesty that is the best motivational poster ever!

rant ass gas, farting, farts, old bitch, put on a diaper, stop sharting yourself

Hello there gentle readers!  It’s time for the first ever episode of Tardz Ask the Interwebz!  No one actually wants to ask me anything because:

1. I’m an asshole
2. I don’t have normal human emotions
3. I’ll tell you all the stuff that’s true, that you don’t actually want to hear.

Since I like giving advice, and the courts have prohibited me from giving unsolicited advice, I’ve decided to do something about that.

I’ve gone to those retards who solicit advice from the interwebz. That’s right, if you’re dumb enough to ask a question in an open forum, you’ll get your answer. From me. Deal with it.

So, I’ve scoured Yahoo Answers for some really good questions that I can give advice to.  Oh, if for some unbeknownst reason you want me to answer one of your questions, click here.  I doubt you’ll want answers after you read this though.

Question #1. Some Interwebz inbred writes:

Am i prego plz help need to no?

i was supost to get my rages on the 16th i havent got em yet and now my adatudz gay and im realy grochy plz help

Dear Inbred.

Do you call your mom auntie mommy?

Anyways, learn to spell. No wonder your pregnant.  You probably spell “no” as in the negative context as “know” and before you knew what was happening some little turd thought you were agreeing to sex over a text message. He was ran over to your trailer and blew his load inside you so fast you probably didn’t even feel it.  As he  didn’t use a condom you probably also have herpes.  Wait, can you get them more than once? Never mind.

I have some questions for you though: What the HELL are rages and who is gay?  And what the heck does “grochy” mean?  What language are you speaking anyways? The sky is blue on my planet, what colour is it on yours?

Tell you what. If your tummy gets really big and something squirts out of your midsection nine months from now that looks like you but smaller, your pregnant.  If you can’t tell if your gut is getting big because you can’t see over your gunt, then lay off the Doritos’s, meat pizza’s and chitlins. Whatever the hell chitlins are.

If you do squirt something out, do it a favor – give it to a family that can afford to feed it real food and give it an education. You’ll be doing the world a favor as well.  You’ll be doing the world an even bigger favor if you get your tubes tied.

Thanks  ‘Tard.

Question #2. Some sick bastard writes:

Do you like the way your farts smell?

Dear sick bastard.

What the HELL is wrong with you? What kind of question is that?  You’re asking the internets if they like the smell of fart.  Not everyone is Japanese, you know.

Frankly, I like the way my fart smell makes others react.  Remember, your fart has touched poo, and nobody likes to cram poo up their nostrils.

Except maybe you, you sick bastard.

My advice? Don’t strain too hard because nobody wants to be around anybody that just sharted themselves.

Question #3. Some idiot with no creativity writes:

Can u please show me links or pics of bathroom painting ideas?

Dear idiot.

Sure I can! Here you go:

Have fun with that.

That’s the end of my advice to ‘tards that solicit from the interwebz.  If you want some asshole giving you advice, I’m always here to help.

rant ass gas, farting, farts, old bitch, put on a diaper, stop sharting yourself

For those of you who know me, you know that I’m not a religious man.  When any particular sect of any particular religions is asked the question “why should I believe in yours in the way you practice it,” the best answer I have gotten so far is “because”.

So, after the events of this weekend, I decided that I would believe in my own god.  And I would believe in this god “because”. That’s probably a good enough answer.

My god will be called the GOD OF PROBABLY.  The name won’t be god, because god is claimed by every religion. No, we will classify this god by her whole name, the GOD OF PROBABLY or GOP for short. She doesn’t like GOP, but sometimes she’s not that nice to me, so screw her.

Also, did I mention that my god was hot?

My god has very simple rules.  If you want something to happen, it probably won’t.  If you don’t want something to happen, it probably will. Sort of similar to Murphy’s law but I imagine GOP is WAY hotter than Murphy.

My whole life to this point has been ruled by GOP, but it wasn’t until this weekend that I created her.  If you’re wondering if because I created GOP that would actually make me god, the answer is no.  Now quit with this metaphysical bullshit and let me get on with my story.

You see, as the average North American if I need to buy something I probably won’t have enough money to do the whole job because of something else. Case in point, the tires on my truck were bald.  This wasn’t so bad during the summer and fall, but come winter and it was slippery out – real slippery. If I didn’t buy the back tires I probably wouldn’t have survived this far, and there would probably be some people who would probably miss me. If only for a minute or two.  I needed to buy all four tires but I probably couldn’t afford to because of all the kids who I had to buy Christmas presents for that probably didn’t need them (or appreciate them).

I probably could have put all four tires on my credit card, but I could afford one pair for the back of the truck in cash, as I probably wouldn’t have liked the interest charges on my credit card come the new year.  Christmas passed and I saved my pennies so I could get new tires on the front of the truck.

Saturday was the day.  I got the tires put on the truck and I had new rubber all the way around, the increased traction probably saving my life down the road at some time.  Now, GOP saw that I had new tires on the truck, and saw that with my probably reasoning I was able to pay for all tires, and Christmas presents, with cash requiring no outrageous credit interest charges.

You see, I had enough of an old POS vehicle. When the old vehicle died, I went out and got a newer one.  It has low kilometers, it’s only a few years old, and it has been well taken care of. Every time I went to start it, it started. So when I went to start the truck, I knew it would probably start.

It did not.

It cranked and cranked and cranked and just didn’t catch.  The gas gauge read 1/4 full so I knew it probably wasn’t out of gas.  I added some gasoline anyways, just to see.  The truck started, so it was probably the fuel gage that was screwed. No big deal, I could probably get that fixed at my leisure if I kept my eye on the odometer.

I decided that a full tank of gas was probably in order, so I went to the gas station.  I filled the tank to the top knowing that if I didn’t, I probably would forget the gauge was broken and run out of gas again.  I started the truck, and drove 20 feet from the pump.  It probably wasn’t the gas gauge because the truck stalled and wouldn’t start.  I got it towed to my mechanic, who told me when I called him he probably wouldn’t be able to get to it until Tuesday, because of holiday Monday.

My dad told me I could have one of his cars but he probably wouldn’t be able to let me use it until the beginning of the week.

My mechanic told me that it was probably the fuel pump which probably would be very expensive.  I probably would be able to pay cash for it had I not purchased those tires, and I’m probably sure that the pump wouldn’t have crapped out if I had not got those tires.

This morning I called my mechanic.  He told me that they had been starting and driving the truck all morning, so it probably wasn’t the fuel pump. It probably was a clogged fuel filter.

I was relieved. This probably was only going to cost me a few hundred bucks, not a thousand like I had thought.

Relieved that I probably wasn’t going to have to beg Sally Struthers for food for the next month, I settled back into work for the day. Around three I called the mechanic to make arrangements to settle up and pick my  truck up. But the god of probably had other plans. It seems that the mechanic had thought it would probably be a good idea to have one of his underlings take the truck out for one more ride. The underling was probably joy riding, because he stranded himself five miles from the shop. It was probably a long walk to make when you have work to do. You see, it seems that it was my fuel pump, even if it probably didn’t seem like it at first.

But it’s not just this weekend. The god of probably works in many aspects of my life. For example, if I find a woman attractive, she probably doesn’t find me all that desirable.  If a woman is a disgusting ditch pig, she’ll want me so bad she’ll probably break her heart over me.  If a woman likes me and I like her, she’ll probably be married or probably have a boyfriend who’s good in bed.

If there’s a situation where I probably shouldn’t say something, I’ll probably say that exact thing that I probably shouldn’t say. There will probably be repercussions.

The list probably isn’t exhaustive, but I’ve probably overextended this post as most of my readers probably have A.D.D.

So if you’d like to sign up to worship the god of probably, she’ll probably take you, if you’re anything like me.

rant ass gas, farting, farts, old bitch, put on a diaper, stop sharting yourself