The Mind of Spaz

We all know what a handicapped sign is. Such as shown to the left.  You see that sign on a car or in a sticker in the car window and you know the person isn’t as able as you.  But wait a minute.  The person came back to their car and they weren’t in a wheelchair. They weren’t even limping!  They were some sort of handicapped that left you all dizzied and disoriented because the sign TOLD you they were in a wheel chair.

This kind of cock punch must stop. How are we, the able bodied people, know how to deal with, and properly react to, the type of handicapped that these people have?

That’s why I propose a new system that gives handicapped signs to people to tell others what kind of handicap they have.

Observe:

Staunch Republican:

Staunch Democrat:

Mommy Blogger:

Bank Manager:

Menopausal Woman:

Feminist:

Virgin:

Super Model:

Welfare Lifer:

Stupid Freeloading Hippie:

Gang Member:

Crazy Cat Person:

Douchebag:

Depraved Pervert:

Please, everybody write your congressman so we can enact these new detail oriented handicapped signs.

It’s in everyone’s best interest.

politically incorrect douchebags, handicap, retards, signs, wheelchair

There are people on this planet that are sicker and more deranged than I am.  I seem to attract them, which maybe is why I am the way I am.

Case in point, my boss.  He’s got a mind similar to mine but dirtier in certain ways.

Today was a good example of that.  Our duty that day was to sample a monitoring well that was located on a grass meridian in between a road and the parking lot for a grocery store.  It was a fairly lengthy process; we would be there for about 90 minutes.

As we pulled in, I noticed a car in the corner, parked so that he took up several parking spots. Parked like douchebag. I mentioned to my boss “hey, look at the way that douchebag is parked!”

No sooner did I say that then said douchebag took off.

“I wonder what he was doing?”

“Obviously, he was smashing his meat.” Said my boss.

“Smashing his meat?”

“What else would he be doing?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe he was eating a sandwich he bought from the grocery store.”

“You mean the grocery store all the way down yonder?  Why would he park so far away if he wasn’t smashing his meat?”

“Yonder? It’s 50 feet away, max! Since when is 50 feet a yonder?”

“Look Spaz, obviously he was smashing his meat. There was no other reason for being there.”

“So he wasn’t having lunch, making a phone call or reading?”

“NO.”

“It was lunchtime and he wasn’t taking a sandwich break in a grocery store parking lot.”

“The corner of grocery store parking lots are for smashing your meat.”

“So that lady in her car there, she’s Smashing her meat?”

“What else would she be doing?”

“Is that what you do in grocery store parking lots?”

“What else would I be doing?”

“Don’t start smashing your meat, ok?”

“Well, we are in a grocery store parking lot.  But it is during work hours”.

“Good thing too.”

And he is one of my role models. Do you folks see now where I get it?

‘Nuff Said

politically incorrect, social commentary grocery store, masturbation, meat smashing, sick sex perverts

It should come as no surprise to you that my dog is an asshole.

I mean, I did raise her myself from eight weeks old.

But I thought it was JUST an asshole.  I have one throw rug in my house. That’s where she pukes.

She climbs up into my lap, aims her butt to my face, lets a rancid broccoli fart fly, jumps off my lap, turns and laughs at me.

That’s right, my dog farts in my face then LAUGHS at me.

But the other day was the absolute topper.  I cannot believe what I caught the dog doing. I NEVER raised her to be like this, so she must have gotten it from the other dogs at the park.

My dog is RACIST.

Observe:

Why she picked the Oriental people to be racist about, I’ll never know.

But then again, why is anybody racist against anybody?

Rest assured I’ll be sitting down and having a long talk with her.

Ok?

Parody, politically incorrect asshole dog, jerk dog, racist dog

I don’t like kids.

I don’t like kids at all.  I don’t understand how anyone can think ugly, drooly, poopy, frog like babies are cute.  How they can tolerate a disgusting looking toddler breaking their shit and leaving dirt and grime everywhere.

As far as children and teenagers, I might have liked them if I was around in the 50′s.  These children were to be seen and not heard, respected their elders, and went out and EARNED their own way. Not like today’s stupid little turds, where everything is ‘fair’ and we KNOW that’s NOT how the world works. How they think they’re going to be rich by not doing anything, how everything should just come to them. Their talk back, contemptuous look for the people who make their soft, comfy lives possible.

Tweens and teens disgust me the most.

I live three houses down from a school. I’m constantly picking up the garbage that these little ‘tards strew about everywhere.  Juice box’s, sandwich bags, chocolate bar wrappers, chip bags. etc.

Funny enough, I never pick up apple cores, orange or banana peels.

No wonder today’s little shits make the Pilsbury Dough Boy look slim.

But the other day was the last straw. Some little PUKE left her USE TAMPON in the back of my truck.

Some giant, loose gaping vagina’d skank whore.

“But Spaz”, you’re thinking, “Why did you use the words ‘giant loose gaping vagina skank whore’? I mean, how do you know?”

How do I know? HOW DO I KNOW?  Well, I took a picture of the damned used tampon. Judge for yourself.

‘Nuff Said

social commentary, talking out of my ass babies, bad parents, children, garbage, kids, used tampons

Before we begin with today’s nonsense, I’d like to thank my buddy John from the Authoring Auctioneer.  He did an AWESOME AWESOME interview with me.  That guy should be on CNN or some shit.  Click HERE to read it, guaranteed not to disappoint.

Building a stripper pole in my parents bathroom wasn’t the only time I dropped a load in a museum.  I did so the other day at another museum with disastrous results.

Part of my job is to take care of my County’s numerous small water systems. Places like Community Centers, Arena’s and the like. Once such place is a small museum displaying items from our pioneer days.

The curators of said museum are display items in their own right, being as old or older than some of the display items themselves.

Fascinating.

I’m there the other day working on the treatment system.  The old guy was no where to be seen and I was glad because frankly, I wasn’t in the mood that day to inhale the aroma of old pee and regret.

It was then that lunch decided to come crawling out of my ass.  It almost seemed as if the chicken re-assembled itself in my colon and decided to come out and take a look around.

So, I ran to the antiquated shitter and dropped the Cosby kids off at the pool.

There was a problem.  It seemed that while the chicken wanted to check out the septic system, the rice and salad assumed a density of less than 1.  It also seemed that the chicken was just a tad too fat to fit down the hole.

These were the disastrous results.

Water came pouring up out of the toilet, taking the now brown and smelly rice and salad for a white water rafting adventure out the door and down the hallway toward the display of old farm bricks.  The poo wedged itself between the 150 year old trowel and the ancient wood mixing bucket.

Now I had a problem. I didn’t want to touch my poo but I couldn’t just leave it there.

Or could I?

After much thought, I drew up a sign that said “recreation of old time brick mortar.  Feel free to handle!” and stuck it in my fluffy ass child.

As I left the building, I couldn’t help but laugh as the local grade three class piled in for the tour.

Suckers.

poo, talking out of my ass I can get people to touch my shit, museums, old people, poo, projectile shitting