The Mind of Spaz

Yes, as soon as I find her number, I’ll share.

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Here in North America, we have a pandemic called the morbidly obese. These people have waists that are four times wider than their shoulders. These people have boobs on the front and back of their bodies, and that’s just the doods.  With asses on the front of them, two or more chins and thighs so fat walking is reduced to a duck like waddle, these people are no longer human, they’re the stay puffed marshmallow man.

I was wondering why we have so many of these people, what possible use we have for them.  They can’t get around very well.  Most can’t drive that well because they’re back fat forces their arms up around their ears and they can’t turn their heads to look at the blind spots, causing massive traffic issues.  They take up entire aisles in stores, and forget going to all you can eat buffets – the kitchen can’t keep up and all you get is crumbs after they’ve been at the trough.

So what possible use are they besides keeping the horse clothing people and electric cart industry in propetual forward momentum?

Protection, that’s what! These people are going to be our first line of defense when the terrorists come.

I don’t care if you think I’m an alarmist. The terrorists are coming. They’re already here. It’s going to be middle eastern and asian people trying to take our resources and/or forcing some sort of religious law.  They’ll be fighting us, they’ll be fighting each other, but the important thing to note is that the next world war will be on North American soil and there will be NO front.

In science class as a kid, have you ever done the experiement where you put a piece of foam on you and then a piece of plywood and smack you with a sledge hammer?  It doesn’t hurt, does it. That’s because the plywood protects you and the foam takes the energy of the impact away.

Now imagine an army of people that already have the foam padding.  Imagine wrapping them in kevlar and what do you get?

An army of impervious tanks.

Just like any tank they are slow going, take a lot of fuel, break down often and sometimes refuse to move at all.

But they’re so big and they have so much padding, they will be impervious  for the most part to bullets.  And because they take up so much space, you can hide behind them just fine.

So here’s what you do. Get a mechanics roller bench, the one they use to slide under cars, and attach it to the backs of your rolling army of the obese. Then, you lie on it, stick your rifle through their legs, and mow down the offending army.

There are of course problems with this. You’ll have to wear a hat so their sweat doesn’t drip in your eyes, and a gas mask because of the B.O. and ass gas that comes with that type of propulsion. Also, they’ll only last for 5 minutes on a good day but hey, that’s probably all you need to get the job done.

Think I’m going to hell? You won’t after my idea saves your scrawny ass. Or maybe your morbidly obese one, which is why you hate me in the first place for this, right?

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The guys over at the humorbloggers.com are having some sort of summer camp week, and I am doing some sort of campfire story.  Anywhosits, here it is:

Ok folks, nice to have you around the campfire so to speak.  Today, I’m telling you all a campfire story, started by thinkingofyou.

And I’ll start the story as soon as thinkingofyou quits leaning over the campfire. Those are NEW boobs thinking, and they’re not made of conventional human flesh. Frankly, as much as there are people here who’d like to touch them, tromping on them to put out the explosive fire isn’t on anyone’s to do list.  Thanks, you have a seat over there.

Now, let’s begin. It was a dark and stormy night and CHELLE B IF YOU DON’T STOP CLEANING THAT DAMNED RIFLE ALREADY I’M GOING TO SHOVE IT RIGHT UP YOUR BEHIND! And quit pointing it at my head!  And the other head. Ok fine, you can polish it. I don’t need another orifice, thanks.

So it was a dark and stor – Moooooooooooooog! What the HELL are you doing over there?  I don’t care how small it is, quit moooging over thinking’s new boobs. I’m trying to tell a story here and frankly, that’s just creepy.  Fine, you go into the woods and pinch a loaf for half an hour, see what I care.

Let’s continue.  It was a dark and st – Garnzo, what are you doing.  Acting the scene out? Did I ASK for anybody to act it out? You don’t even know the story! And how the hell did you plan on acting out a dark and stormy night? Jenn Thornson, can you make him a smore to keep him busy please.  What do you mean you ate all the Hersheys? Ugh. Just go see moog, he’ll give you something dark and chocolaty.  Garnzo will never know the diff.

The night was stormy and da – oh WHAT NOW.  Yes wanna smile, the squirrel is fucking cute.  We all think squirrels are cute. Are you happy now? Are you happy that I acknowledged the stupid squirrel as being cute?  Fine. Good. Let’s get going now.

It was a dark and stor – VE! Jannaverse! Lady Sarcasm! Hussy! Don! Crotchety! I don’t care how much you want to start that orgy, It’s STORY time!
Oh for fucks sake.  The damned hook was still in the car when the guy got out. That’s how it ended. Now go do your stuff.

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Sometimes you get a call from a wrong number. Last night I got a text from a wrong number. That’s the first time it’s happened, surpisingly.  I mean, everybody texts now, so I figured it would happen sooner or later.

Just like wrong number phone calls, I decided to fuck with the texter.  And he/she was kind enough to oblige me. Observe.

Doofus: Tell bob to call the house this is Dalls

Me: Yo momma

Doofus: Wat

Me: No you!

Doofus: Yes

Me: Maybe?

Doofus: Who is this!

Me: Yo Momma

Me: Can I have $5?

Doofus: When

Doofus: No

Doofus: Ok

Me: Do you still have the stuff?

Doofus: What stuff

Me: Don’t hold out on me

Me: You used all four bags?

Doofus: What dus that mean

Me: Shit. Now I really need that $5

Me: My ass itches!

Doofus: My dad side no

Me: $2?

Me: My o’henry has corn

Doofus: But i’m not going to give you 5$ or 2$

I actually got that last text the next morning.  He/she/it didn’t text for a while so I got bored and went home to bed.  I hope he/she/it texts again. That was fun, wouldn’t you say?

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That’s right, your favorite spastic idiot has become urbanized.

No, I didn’t get some cooth, whatever the hell cooth is.  I didn’t comb my hair, get a new wardrobe, become a meterosexual or buy a condo on the 3 millionth floor of a major metropolitan area.

I didn’t switch up my plain black coffee for some horribly expensive concoction at Starbucks that contains everything BUT coffee.

My beer has NOT been replaced by Zinfidel or metropolitins or anything with a gay little umbrella.

And when you look at me you still think “Look at that high class redneck with his hygiene and such – who’s he trying to fool, he’s still a redneck”.

No, by urbanized I don’t mean I’ve become some liberal voting, namby pamby meterosexual faggy looking black rimmed glasses wearing man purse toting freak. Nope, none of that at all.

Do your remember the other day, when I got that free can of febreeze? I know you all do.  Well, I seem to invented a word. A word called ‘poocules’.

It’s now in the ubran dictionary, thanks to me.

So I can now say I’m urbanized, and I can PROVE that I actually invented a word.

Now THAT is awesome.

Feel free to use poocules wherever you’d like, but just give me a prop or two, would you?

And do visit the Urban Dictionary and thumbs up my poocules, huh?

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