The Mind of Spaz

Maybe it’s Karma. Maybe I shouldn’t have made fun of those people. Maybe because turning 32 means I’m old and my body wanted to prove it.  Maybe I am human after all.  Whatever the case is, I was sick this weekend.

Sure, it was just a cold and it only lasted for a couple of days.  But I’m almost never sick so it caught me by surprise.

At first I thought it was because I’m allergic to Tech Joes pussy.   His pussy was rubbing all up against me and just wouldn’t leave me alone.  I told him to get his pussy away from me but it just kept rubbing and rubbing and making the WEIRDEST noises.

I’m allergic to cats. Also, I hate them. They are useless.  No wonder I enjoy Chinese food so much.

It became clear the next morning when I woke up that it wasn’t Joes Pussy, because there is no pussy in my house. Unfortunately.  Something was leaking from my nose, and my throat hurt. Which is weird, because I usually am not able to injure myself on the inside from my own stupidity. I don’t remember hitting myself in the throat.

I logged onto the computer, and searched for “help, my nose is leaking”.  I found this:

AHA! I need to go to a mechanic!  So off I went. He laughed at me. So I asked him where the human mechanics were. That’s how I ended up at the drug store.

By this time my nose had leaked all over my shirt and pants. It looked like a frigging ghostbuster or something.  Everyone was staring at me while I walked up to the pharmiscist.  I told her that my nose was leaking, how did I get it to stop?

Long story short, I ended up with something called “Kleenex” and something else called “Nyquil”.  And now I’m better.

Thank you all for your concern.

Parody, dumb things I do to myself i'm retarded, leaking, sick

Yesterday I was at Canadian Tire.  For those of you who are American, Canadian Tire does sell tires, but almost nobody buys tires there.  The do-it-yourselfer in your can buy car parts at the Tire, but do NOT take your car in there.  Unless you want some 18 year old high school drop out to screw up your car for $90 an hour.

I can’t remember what I went there for. I believe it was furnace filters, but I can’t remember.  I did NOT come home with furnace filters.

Does everybody remember when that stupid old turd destroyed me and my trucks back?  Well, some stupid old turd destroyed my back and my truck. The truck was repaired and it cost his insurance company $3500 and I hope it took him off the road. My back? Not so lucky.

Sure, I spent a week on some wonderful muscle relaxants that made me feel like I was some sort of drunk and/or high.  Yes, my back is better but it’s not %100 better, which really puts a damper into my new found morning activity.

No, it’s not tantric masturbation. Who has time for that?  It was jogging. I started jogging in the morning.  My doctor, however, put the fear of god in me when he told me “bip boop buppity bip bup dippity bip boop”, which I later found out is Hindi for “If you start losing control of your bladder or bowel or feel tingling in your legs come back and see me faster than the mighty Vishnu can swing her trunk.”

Know what that means, boys and gals?  That means he suspected possible spinal cord injury.  Yea. Fun shit.  And I so do enjoy being able to control my various sphincters.  So the last thing I’m going to do is screw that up by pounding on my back by jogging and completely destroying it.

Back to Canadian tire.  Again, for you Americans, there’s pretty much nothing you can’t get at Canadian tire, including aging Filipino hookers (although the hookers aren’t official Canadian Tire products, they just kinda hang out in front).  I passed by the exercise section and noticed something called an elliptical machine.

The ads touted this thing as mimicing jogging, but your foot never leaves contact with the pedals so it’s completly low and non impact. Perfect for people with joint or BACK PROBLEMS.

I have back problems!  I have a lot of problems. That’s just an aside.

It just so happened last years model, regular $899, was going for $399.  And I thought to myself, I shall have this machine.

Here is where my desicion making processes really broke down.  The box it comes in is about 5 feet long, 4 feet wide, three feet deep, and it weighs in at about 150 lbs and is completely square.  In other words, it’s mooooooooog! Instead of getting help, I decide to lift this thing into the cart myself.  Lifting it, yes, no problem, 150lbs is only a slight problem to me.  Here that moooooog? I COULD manhandle you if wanted to. Which I don’t, you sick perv.  The thing is, as soon as I got the thing on the edge of the cart, the cart was on wheels and started MOVING.  I was chasing the stupid thing around the store like a dumbass retard.

I’m sure there’s some Canadian Tire security employees laughing their asses off while playing and replaying my stupid retardation.

And that, my friends, is why you shouldn’t do things by yourself. At least, I shouldn’t.

dumb things I do to myself exersice, I poop myself, i'm retarded, mooog

Ok, I don’t actually have JLO’s back.  That was just an attention grabber because I am an attention whore.

Come to think of it, even if I did know JLO I wouldn’t have her back. There’s just too much of it to guard all at once, unless you’re the entire first string of the Miami Dolphins. And even then it would be tough.

No, my truck, aptly named JLO (because you can put a lot of junk in the trunk, thanks Mooooooog) is back from the repair shop.  The old fart that hit it did so to the tune of a $3,500 repair bill that my insurance actually took care of with minimal fuss.  I will say that the shop did one hell of a job fixing JLO’s ass up, as it’s now as big and perky and shiny as it ever was. Observe:

Isn’t she a pretty, pretty girl?  Yes, yes she is.  If I ever have a human daughter, I want her to be just like JLO – able to carry an entire cubic yard of mulch at one time at 100 km/h.

Today is my last day of drugs.  I’m sad.  On the plus side, my back still hurts so maybe I’ll get more drugs! The doctor did say come back if I experience symptoms such as the inability to control my bowel and/or bladder.  And if that’s what it takes to get more drugs, I will have no problem dropping a duece right on that paper covered examining table.  Perhaps if I start flinging the poop  at his turban with a tongue depressor I’ll get me some anti psycotic drugs too. That would be a score.

The old man called me up trying to weasel out of it going through insurance. I guess the old coot is getting tired of paying the inflated insurance rates every time he causes an accident.  Perhaps he won’t be happy until he kills somebody. Regardless, I told him that it had already gone through insurance and no, I’m not taking it to his cousin Vinny’s repair shop.  Fuck off.

Ok, I didn’t tell him to fuck off.  Well I did, with not so many words.

The nice thing is that I have the old guy’s name, address and plate #.  If my back is still bothering me in a week and I don’t get any more good drugs, I’m gonna go hang out by his place. When he goes to leave I’ll call the cops and report a suspected drunk driver. Maybe that’s mean of me, but I’ll probably save someones life this holiday season.

Your welcome.

dumb things I do to myself, talking out of my ass ass, drunk driver, JLO, old man

I never thought it could be like this.  But it is. I’m high! I’m so frigging high. I’m sitting here writing this and I’m high.

Excuse me. I have to go kill that tiny pink elephant. I’ll be right back.

Does anyone know how to get pink elephant gunk off your fourth leg? Anywhosits.

I’m high because some stupid old man thought his accelerator was his brakes. There I was, minding my own business at a stoplight, when all of the sudden, WHAM!  There was no screeching breaks, nothing like that.  Some old man just came screaming into me from behind, pushing me into the car in front of me.  The guy must have been 80, driving an ‘85 Dodge Van, which I believe is also 80 in car years.

So there I am with no more rear bumper and the truck a few inches shorter in the front too.

In retrospect, I wish he hit me just a little harder so the airbags would have went off when the front hit. That way the truck would have been a write off and I would have gotten a new one.

Regardless, I was pissed. The old coot kept mumbling something about his transmission.  Yes, the transmission made you jam on the accelerator towards the red light, you dumb fuck.

This is why old people shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Ok ok, don’t get all offended pansie assed on me. They can drive – little electric scooters. When you turn 75 your car gets traded in for a fortress 3000.  What are they gonna do about it. Throw their dentures at you? Besides, it’ll keep the roads safer.

Where was I. Oh yea, the drugs.

So anyways, this guy had a big van and he hit me hard.  I didn’t start feeling the pain until that night, but DAMN!  My back started hurting and spasming like a sonabitch.  Carried all through the weekend and into yesterday too.  So for the first time in about 5 years, I went to see a doctor.

See, the doc took a look and then sent me off for x-rays. I didn’t like that.  He did say that there was nothing obvious on the x-ray, not that he would know since I’m not quite human. On retrospect I should have seen the vet.  Regardless, he told me that I would be taking these pills for the next 7 days and to see how I felt after that. He told me to come back in right away if I felt weakness or tingling in my legs or I lost control of my bowels or bladder.  I guess getting rear ended by an 80 year old gives you depends transference, huh.

So it took two doses of these pills to kick in, but now i’m high as a kite and weak as a kitten. And I dont’ care about anything.

So yea, thanks old man, for getting me high for a whole week. Bless you, you retarded old coot.

dumb things I do to myself, politically incorrect drugs are good mmkayy, old man, poopy pants

Well, I’ve decided to start running in the mornings before work.  If running is the right word. It’s more like jogging.  Well, it starts out as jogging and then turns more into a saunter.  A lazy saunter with some heavy mouth breathing that a telephone pervert would be jealous of.

My technique leaves something to be desired too. The title of this post, ‘Spaz Running’ is very appropriate.  A lady pulled over and wanted to know if I needed help finding my way back to the group home.

Spaz running, indeed.

Even back in the day when I used to have some semblance of aerobic shape, I was never very good at long distance.  On my high school swim team, I was the sprinter.  I’m very good at lifting very heavy things, like large patio stones or my ego.

So why take up running? Well, there are some very simple reasons.  I’m 31, which I believe makes my life expectancy about 92% complete.  Which means if I don’t start taking care of myself now, I’ll be paying for it later.

Ok, so I don’t expect to be on a scooter with a giant, probably sweaty with massive cheese build up front ass. Heart disease does run in the family and I want to die doing something stupid NOW, not years and years of stupidity.

I thought about rejoining the gym.  Then I remembered that half the people in there are so dirty their Herpes have Syphillis.  I didn’t spend 31 years staying clean to get crabs from the thigh blaster.

I have a great bicycle, but this is Canada. We’re covered in ice most of the year and last time I tried winter biking I broke every bone in some old womans body.  I’ve just financially recovered from the lawsuit, so I won’t be doing that again.

Running it is then.

Let me give you all several pieces of advice when you start after not doing heavy aerobic stuff in a long time:

1. You’ll start out, and it’ll be great – for the first 3 minutes.  Then it’ll get bad. Don’t go out too far and strand yourself.
2. Buy decent shoes.  Bad shoes will cut the back of your heels up. Then you’ll wear white socks and some little girl will scream and freak when she sees your blood soaked heels and you’ll have some ’splainin to do to mall security.
3. Go early in the morning just after you wake up. This will make sure you actually go before your brain registers what you are doing.
4. See point three: there are very few people out early in the morning and it’s dark so people can’t see your running retardation
5. Keep with it.  It gets better every time you do it and maybe soon you’ll be able to do more than a 10 minute huff ‘n puff.

I’m looking for a running partner, perferably one that runs at least as badly as I do. Any takers?

dumb things I do to myself, good things heavy mouth breathing, running retardation