The Mind of Spaz

I got beat up this weekend.

I wish it was for something cool, like breaking up an extremist Muslim terror ring or having the balls to call Mike Tyson an ear biting pussy.

I wish I could say that it was from some big muscly biker doods when I knocked over their row of bikes.

I wish it was even from screaming “STAR WARS SUCKS” at a geek convention.

No, it was from a girl.

I wish it could say it was from a group of angry Latina gang members looking for their smack.  I wish I could say it was from a 300 lb bull dyke looking to beat on “the man”.  I wish I could even say that it was a fully grown woman.

This weekend, I got beat up by an 8 year old girl.

That’s right.  All one-hundred and ninety pounds of this hairy man animal got beat up by an eight year old girl.

I must admit it was a good fight.  I mean, I did grab this thing called a Bratz doll that was on the shelf of WalMart, and was the last one there. And I did see her on a dead run toward it.  But I was under strict instructions to get a Bratz doll for the birthday of another little girl.

She screamed at me, that was HER doll. GIVE IT NOW.  I told her that I was here first, and she can suck it up.  That’s when she hit me.

I was surprised, very surprised. She jumped on a nearby barny doll and started pumeling my face.  What a left hook!

So I hit her back. That’s right.  That uppercut right to her little jaw sent her pink hair clips shooting off her head and her flying off barney.

And that’s when she got REALLY mad.

I woke up in ICU with tubes all over.

I think there’s two lessons to this story:

1. We need to stop with all the hormones in beef. It increases strength and anger.
2. Don’t mess with today’s children.

That is all.

talking out of my ass barney, beat up, girls, lesbians, mike tyson

Well, I got my furnace fixed.  It wasn’t without its own trials and tribulations.

I mean, I was lucky enough, thanks to my friend Tech Joe (who comments here every once and a while and is my fat person wingman) to get a competant repairman out last night. Apparently this repairman owes Joe some favors. I don’t know what kind of favors. I don’t want to know what type of favors. And Joe, I’ll thank you to wipe that white crusty shit from the sides of your mouth.

So he fixed my furnace so quickly and efficiently I barley even noticed that he hasn’t washed his jumpsuit or himself since Allah parted the red seas. Or made the seas red with the blood of the infedels. Always get those two mixed up. Anyways, the stank was worth the skill.

But folks, the best thing happened: My house got warm and my testicles decended.  Which is a good thing for me but not necessarily for leftie.

That’s what I call my boys, lefty and righty.

You see apparently lefty had developed a relationship with my kidney while he was up there.  He used to have a relationship with one eye (that’s what I call my penis. One eye).  Well, everybody decended back to there they were, and boy was it awkward with lefty and one eye.  Real awkward.  They got into some sort of fist fight.

I don’t know what the hell they were doing down there, but man, did it hurt.  Got some strange stares at work too, because my crotch was moving around like Amy Winehouse at an all you can snort coke buffet.  I was offered work in the stage play of puppetry of the penis, but I couldn’t perform at my audition.

Yes, it seems that lefty and one eye have broken up and now one eye is hanging on the right side, much to righty’s chagrin. You see, righty and useless (that what I call my chode) have a little thing going on and one eye is just being the third wheel.

It’s not a good scene there folks, but I found the solution.

You see, things between lefty and one eye couldn’t be patched up until old bean (that’s what I call my left kidney, old bean) was out of the picture. So I got date raped.

Well, not date raped, but I got fed the drug. You see, I’ve heard rumors that hot chicks don’t actually want to date men, they just lead them on to drug them and take their kidneys to sell on the black market.  I didn’t know if this was true. I did know that having one eye lean to the right didn’t feel proper.  So I went out on a date with a hot chick.

By golly, it was true!  I ended up in a tub full of ice with holes in my sides and a note that said call an ambulance! I’ll tell you though, since old bean is out of the picture one eye is now hanging out with lefty and all is right with the world.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to smoking what ever it is that I’m smoking.

talking out of my ass balls, Drugs, furnace

…don’t hurt any more.  Thank the many armed gods.  Of course, that’s probably due to the fact I can’t feel them at all.

Yes, they are still there.  There hasn’t been any raging man like feminists that have been so angered by my insensitive Nazi like blog comments they came and ripped it off in one massive bite from a disgusting unwashed mouth with beard stubble.

Shit, disgusting man like unwashed lesbian women with beards.  Add the words ‘morbid’ and ‘obese’ and I think I just gave myself a boner. Which I also would not be able to feel.

You see, it’s October in Canada and my furnace decided not to start up this season.

For all of you south of the 49th, that doesn’t seem like a big deal. Except that my house is like 9 degrees and dropping, which is giving me a case of blue balls, blue hands, and blue everything else.

Which probably means as soon as I get heat again, my balls will drop off from whatever disease is afflicting them.  Fucking balls.  You women think it’s horrible to bleed for 5 days a month, well, try wearing your gonads on the outside of your body.

Women, seriously, try it. Get a couple of kiwi fruits and a hot dog and glue it onto your hoo haw and see how it feels (*If you’re black, you’ll need two large sized granny smith apples and a foot long sausage).

Can’t find a comfortable place for it to rest ladies? Let me let you in on a little secret. THERE IS NO COMFORTABLE PLACE.  It’s like god really did make man genitals as an after thought. He probably got drunk and gave the wiener and peas to his retarded angel Effrum who picked the location with a demented game of “pin the nards on the man animal”.

And while you’re trying to find a place to put your new prosthetic, you WILL be touching yourself a lot. And in public. And now you know why.  So ease up, ok?

On the subject of easing up, balls are VERY sensitive. Your gonads are deep within your body, protected by organs, muscle, skin, and a bit of fat. Sometimes, by a lot of at.  If your gonads were dangling out of your body you’d understand how just a tiny little slap can have BIG pain repercussions.

Jumping off something without being prepared?  Ever seen those devices on a corporate desk, the little swingset with the balls hanging from it?  And when you lift one ball it hits the others and causes a chain reaction? Yea, that’s what happens with ours and it HURTS.

Shit, I’ve seemed to get some feeling back into my testes. They hurt again. Mother fucker.

Uncategorized

I don’t have much today.  My fucking balls hurt. For no reason. It’s not like they’re getting used for anything fun now a days. They just hurt. I  don’t know why.

Maybe it’s cuz I got a couple of friends who are stressing me right the fuck out, and it’s manifesting itself in a physical ball busting?

Whatever. I managed to make a shitty motivational poster.

Try to enjoy!

talking out of my ass ball busting, balls, hurting testicles, stretch armstrong

I’m confused.  Yes, that’s a perpetual state for me, but now I’m confused for a reason. You see, some people actually like me. I don’t know where all that is coming from.  My inferior genetics have made me into a people phobic introverted/extroverted socially awkward annoying asshole. Yet, there are some people that like me so much that they’re vacationing here, with me, and are crossing oceans and continents to do so.

And they’re not complete wastes of organic carbon like me – they are good people.

So what’s the problem? Well, I’ll tell you what the problem is. I have 5 days to turn this:

Into this:

It’s part of my personality flaw! Everything I do I have to take to the extreme, including bachelor hood.  I mean, it’s not like I live alone.  I have somebody home all day. I go to work and get beaten by the corporate asshats into a quivering pulp of demoralized goo every day to pay the mortgage, utilities, and buy food. The least she could do is the friggin dishes since she’s home all day. Yet, every day I come home and she’s done NOTHING.  Lazy BITCH!

At least you keep the homeless out of my yard, and I don’t have to feed you that way.   Also, you poop in the local nursery school sandbox. I suppose you do earn your keep. Moving on.

So I got 5 days to get my place in shape.  I’ve cleaned out all the old rotten food in the fridge.  Granted, some of it is so old it evolved, and it was an extra struggle to get it in the garbage bag.  I decided to put that in the sandbox at the nursery school too. What, it looked hungry, and I’m doing my part for mother earth by helping with the overpopulation problem.

Then I took a rake and a shovel and cleared out the garbage, and cleaned the rest of the house the only way I know how – with paper towel and a bottle of all purpose cleaner.

It still looks like shit.

Oh well, I guess I’ll have to pull out the big guns.  A cleaning lady. Not just any cleaning lady though, a Mexican cleaning lady.  Not just any Mexican cleaning lady.  She has to be old, fat, big boobed and go by the name Esmerelda.  And she has to clean my horrible sty with no complaints and all for $12 and a bottle of gatorade.

What, it’s all I have!

Which me luck peoples, I’m going to need it.

dumb things I do to myself, talking out of my ass cleaning, guests, sty