The Mind of Spaz

There are certain people that shouldn’t run, ever.  They need to know they can’t run, and they should not run when they don’t need to.  As a matter of fact, if they are dumb enough to put themselves in the situation where they need to run, they should just die instead.

I said it. People who shouldn’t run should die instead of running. Yea, you heard me right.

I came to this conclusion today, at a cross walk in one of my local towns.  The rules are explicit and known at these crosswalks: Pedestrians first. Everyone knows that.  If a pedestrian puts the lights on the crosswalk, you come to a screeching halt or Constable Inbred will have you in jail.

And you do NOT want to be in Constable Inbreds jail.  Weird things happen in there.

So there I was, driving down the road to see the pedestrian lights come on. I stop, and I see Mulu the land manatee starting to cross the road.

She was HUGE! As wide as she was tall with a mug that even a walrus mother couldn’t love.  It was then it happened. For some reason she decided that she needed to hurry across the road. Why, I don’t know, it’s a narrow road, and nobody in this town was in a hurry, especially me, the municipal worker.

As it happened, Mulu was going free range under her shirt. That’s right boys, she was braless.  I don’t know if it is because she just doesn’t give a shit, or because her tits are just too big to be harnessed by anything man has yet created.

The resulting effect is her long, flat, 400 lb udders started bouncing.  They didn’t jiggle like normal boobs, they bounced. And with every tremendous step, they bounced higher and higher.

Thunder thighs built up quite some speed for her tremendous bulk, and did those udders ever get flying!

And by flying they started smacking her right in the face. That is NO joke.  Smack smack smack! Right in the face, SMACK!  And they would slap off her huge gunt too. SLAP SMACK. SLAP SMACK. SLAP SMACK.

And then she got to the other side of the road and the SLAP SMACK stopped as she slowly decelerated.

What. Five hundred pounds of woman can’t come to a stop from a full gallop right like that. I’m pretty sure the shock wave would destroy half of Ontario.

But I tell you, those kind of women sure can give you the stink eye when you’re laughing hysterically at them.

‘Nuff said.

politically incorrect, social commentary boobs, fat woman, manatee

Anyone that actually reads this blog might remember the beginning of the Febreze Saga. My friend Big “active anus” Eddie decimated my toilet to the point where it added a nice smelling fecal odour to my house which Febreze did nothing to mitigate.  So I wrote them.  You can read all about it here.

Well, they wrote back.

Thanks for contacting Febreze, Mike.

Our goal is to produce high quality products that consistently delight our consumers and I’m sorry this wasn’t your experience. Please be assured I’m sharing your comments with the rest of our team.

Since your satisfaction means a great deal to us, I’m sending compensation by postal mail. You should receive my letter within the next 2-3 weeks.

Thanks again for writing.

Of course, I had to respond.

Thank you for the very quick response. I will be sure to tell many people about the quality of customer service Febreze provides, and I hope the rest of your team enjoyed my letter as much as I hope you did.

The compensation package is appreciated but not necessary. I’ll still take it as I’m curious as to what your various product offerings are. That being said, the intent of my letter was not one of complaint, but to make you aware of an advertizing deficiency. I’m sure you can understand that your advertising claims to remove odours from air, but your product seems to fall short in the bathroom.

Perhaps your engineers can be made aware of this deficiency and work to improve your product in the future.

An improved formula that can destroy odours from fecal molecules, or poocules as I call them, can open up your company to manufacture a vast array of new and hopefully popular products to the end of massive financial gain.

With a product that can neutralized poocules, I can think of several potential new Febreze products:

1. The Febreze undergarment pad
2. Febreze disposable undergarments
3. Febreze under the rim toilet deodorizers
4. Febreze Portable battery powered travel deodorizers for public restrooms
5. Febreze Discreet Pocket sized hand held fresheners
6. Febreze Audio devices for idea #5 that emit a diversionary sound such as traffic or a dog barking

The above ideas are just from the top of my head, but you see where this is going.  And in today’s economy, I’m sure you can appreciate that any edge over the competition will work in your favour.

I would be more than happy to work with your company for product ideas from the resulting improvements of your formula to eliminate poocules.  My compensatory packages are very affordable, I assure you.

I did get a free can of Febreze, which I will be giving to Big Eddie for his birthday.  I think he might need it more than me.

dumb things I do to myself, poo febreze, free stuff, poo

Dear Batman

That’s right Batman, I know your secret. You, that have been hiding in the shadows, skulking around like some flying rodent in the night, I’ve discovered the terrible shame you carry with you.

You thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?  You thought that nobody could possibly find out. But you got sloppy, real sloppy, and now I know.

It started innocently enough. I’d see the Bat signal at odd times, times when there normally wouldn’t be any problems in the city.  After a while my curiosity was piqued, and I started stalking you.

You heard me. I was stalking YOU.  The master of the night, owner of the shadows. I stalked you and you had NO idea, because I’m all ninja like that.

I saw it the other night, Batman.  The terrible shame you carry with you.  I followed you to a small abandoned house out in the middle of nowhere. It was really easy too.   Who knew Batman would have a white limo with a driver, but there it was.

I snuck around to the side of the building where I heard a series of grunts, but mostly shrill screams like you were stepping on the tail of a cat.

I craftily climbed in through the attic and shimmied through the rafters to see you and catwoman.  Whatever you had just done, you were finished and I saw the both of you leave.  When I got a closer look at the spot you two had just left, that’s how I discovered your secret.  And batman, I have proof to show you that I know. Here it is:

That’s right. The fetus of the love child between you and catwoman left carelessly strewn on the carpet right next to your home made abortion kit.

You fucking bastard.

The picture above is not the original. I have the original. And if you want it to stay in my hands only, then you’ll ship your utility belt to the anonymous P.O. box address of which I will send you upon agreement.

I always wanted your utility belt. Oh, and that grappling gun thingy. That is SO cool!

Best regards,

Your creepy backstabbing admirer.

talking out of my ass

Children are dipshits.  They really are, and it’s becoming a pandemic.  An ever increasing number of children are becoming dipshits, and the sad part is, they do NOT grow out of it.

As a result we, as a society, have an every growing population of adult dipshits that have the minds of children and THAT is why we are doomed to failure and destruction.

Boy, aren’t I just a ray of sunshine or what? Moving on.

Every day when I pass kids, they’re doing this thing called texting.  I don’t get texting.  It takes you minutes to text what you could just call the person and say in mere seconds, all from the same device.  It makes absolutely no sence whatsoever.

But the kids are all doing it!  Moping along, heads down, looking at their phones, chubby little thumbs going a mile a minute.  Now there’s a future burden on our hospital system. The people that sell tensor bandages are going to make MILLIONS with all the carpal tunnel.

What we have now is a bunch of texting zombies.  They won’t stop to look while they’re crossing the street, moving through a construction zone or walking off a peer to drown to their deaths.  If you can’t recognize danger and avoid it, then you are clinically retarded, and we need to help these retards.

I think I have a plan at how to help these retarded texting morons.  I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m somewhat retarded and my plan is doomed to failure.  Well, you’re right about me being somewhat retarded anyways.

Tonight I was taking the dog for a walk and trying to answer a text message. Hypocritical? Yes, but I send a total of three a week, not three every ten minutes like these dipshit kids. Anyways, as I was texting away the dog kept on walking, pulling me on our usual route through the neighborhood. And it’s then that I had a brilliant idea.

Blind people have seeing eye dogs to help mitigate their disability. Well, we could have dogs trained to help the people with texting disabilities.

Afraid your kid will walk into oncoming traffic in the freeway because of her texting disability? No problem.  Attach the fully trained rover to their torso with a short lead and rover will keep them out of trouble!

It’s brilliant, absolutely and totally brilliant. In one fell swoop I’ve saved lives, created a whole new industry and tens of thousands of new jobs.

You’re welcome.

social commentary, talking out of my ass dogs, dumb children, idiot adults, retards, texting

Let’s go through the following checklist.  I’ll answer each question with a yes or a no. Ready? GO!

• Are you gainfully employed? Yes.
• Have you always been gainfully employed? Yes
• Have you taken post secondary education, and did you pass? Yes
• Did you pay for it yourself? Yes
• Do you have an electric scooter because you’re too fat to walk? No.
• Do you have an ass on the front? No.
• Do you have back boobs? No.
• Do you receive welfare? No.
• If you did,would you spend it on smokes and booze? No.
• Do you have children you don’t know about? No.
• Do you have children at all? No.
• Do you smell like corn chips, B.O and booze? No.
• Do you regularly vomit in public places? No.
• Do you regularly visit the hospital whether you need it or not? No.
• Do you visit the hospital regularly because you have chronic issues due to years of substance abuse, poor diet, poor hygiene and extreme obesity? No.
• Does the government pay for most of your house? No, not any of it.

So, I’m gainfully employed, I pay my taxes, I’ve never drawn welfare or EI, I’m healthy and I keep myself that way.  I pay for all of my own stuff, I don’t need any prescriptions and I don’t stink up the neighborhood with my crap.

Basically, what that means is that I pay into the system, and take absolutely nothing in return.

That’s why my taxes are the highest. As punishment for only giving and not taking.

Sometimes it pays to be fat, chronically unemployed disgusting welfare lifer with 9 kids by 23 different fathers!

And that my friends, is socialism.

Thank you Pierre ‘Idiot’ Trudeau!

politically incorrect, rant fat disgusting welfare people, idiots, Pierre Trudeau, socialism