I’m pretty sure that isn’t going to happen here, to me.  And I’m not going to apologize for being away either.

See, I’m a busy man. Ok, i’m not that busy. It’s just that I lost interest. I mean, there’s only so many jokes you can make about fat, poop and stupid people and I just lost interest.  Plus, none of the people that come here buy anything from my amazon links or nothing, and google ads are just worthless on this site. Not that anyone clicks them anyways.

Ok, fine, I’m a money grubbing Jew. But with my site, www.truthofwater.com, making upwards of $10 a day on google ads for me doing NOTHING, well, that site is way more important. So within the next week a new improved version of that site will come out and hopefully It’ll rake in more bucks so I can satisfy my Jewish/guy that likes to spend money side.

But the point of all this is that I’ve now compiled my bucket list.  This list will start the DAY I turn 80.  As follows:

• Smoke crack
• Screw a hooker
• Screw a hooker with aides
• Resume smoking cigarettes
• Smoke more crack if I liked it the first time
• Take ecstasy and go to a rave
• Try naked bungee jumping
• Get really really really really really really fat
• Walk around shirtless after getting really really fat
• Buy and ride a moped
• Public defecation
• Do something that’ll land me in jail for a couple of weeks
• Punch the biggest guy named Bubba in jail right in the gonads
• Scream at annoying teenagers from my porch
• Scream at annoying teenagers from their porch
• Buy a trunk monkey
• Break into the biggest drug company I can find and bitch slap the president until he releases the REAL cure for cancer, aides, et al. Yea, we know you have it but are just making money on drugs bitches. Get ready for 80 year old Spaz, I’m coming for you.
• Go to Afghanistan and find Osama. Then rape his ass with an AK-47. Make him read a statement while on T.V. saying how much he likes getting things up his bum.
• Smoke more crack

I think that’s it.   See ya’ll in a few months, bitches!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

Just like any other human (especially a human female), she’s a manipulative little bitch.  She asks to go outside, and as we get upstairs, she turns and chews on a bone instead. She just wanted to see if she could get me out of the chair.  When she wants to come in, she barks. But she won’t come in until you offer her a cookie, which of course, she gets.  Let’s not forget the way she leaves half eaten beetles and cicadas squirming about the house, you know, to save them for later.  I tolerate it, all of it.

I have recently learned that despite not actually wearing pants, dogs can poop themselves.  Yes, it’s possible.

You see, I picked Jinx well.  Ever since being a little pup, she has had the ability to eat 3 ounces of kibble and make 6 ounces poop, just like me.  Ok, well, it’s not 3 ounces of kibble with me.  It’s more like 8, I’m a much bigger animal. Don’t judge, times are tough and kibble is cheap.

Moving on.

There’s two things that Jinx MUST have every day, besides kibble, denta stix and every one’s undying attention.  The first is a bout of our favorite game of “You smack me in the face and I bite your hand”.  She LOVES this game and can keep it up for hours, mostly because she always wins.  The second is a walk. She has to have one every day, if only to mark her territory.  Yes, this bitch lifts her leg to keep her ‘hood’ hers.

It was on one of these walks where I discovered a pantless animal can poop themselves.  As she usually does, she turned three times, walked three paces, turned three times again, walked another few paces, then bent to poop.

The first two were the pretend poops to throw me off guard. She’s tricky like that.

She started straining, and grunting, and flexing her little bum. It was then that I knew this was going to be a big one. No ordinary poo, but the magical poo that makes a walrus sized load from a terrier sized bum, poor dog.

But it didn’t drop to the ground as it normally did.  No, this time it started to curl and didn’t stop. It curled right around and around and stuck to her little bum so bad she couldn’t lower her tail or even attempt to leave the squat.

She did what anyone in this position might do.  She did a bum wiggle. She wiggled here and there and up and down and side to side. The poop wiggled too but wouldn’t leave.  She then tried the one foot stomp.  A little wiggle from the poop but no dice.  She then did the bull riders buck, but that turd was stuck there for good.  Yup, she shit herself and she shit herself good.

It was then that I got the look, and I knew exactly what it meant:

Yup, you know it. I am Jinx’s bitch, and she’s got me wrapped around her little paw.  Because she knows that she can poop herself in public and I’d clean it up for her.

But just so you all know, after I came out of the coffee shop washroom where I used their TP to wipe my dogs ass, I bought a coffee. Because I’m a good man like that.

After reading their blog (for which they can’t even afford the $10 for a proper domain name), I decided to submit. Why, because I was looking for validation? Because I wanted them to give me pointers on how to improve? No, I knew that wouldn’t happen.

Sure, if they like you they can give some pretty good advice. But if they don’t like you, they regress into the mental capacity of bitter twelve year olds with an impressive lexicon of Websters like grammar and verbiage.

As my loyal readers might remember from my foray into P.E.T.A and the vegitarians, there’s nothing I like more than seeing idiots spew verbal diarrhea at what they think is my expense.  I even got a death threat from one of the Ask zombies! The entertainment value is absolutely precious.

If you have a blog that’s full of teenaged angst, emotional instability, or depressing real life antics, submit it to Ask and Ye Shall Receive.  You might get some good pointers on blog layout, design and perhaps even grammar and writing style.  If you have any other type of blog, and want a laugh, submit it too.  You’ll see some reasonably intelligent people revert into a complete and utter children. They’ll make assumptions about you and your life, even if what you write about is complete and utter fiction.  They will do their best to insult you personally too.  It’s pure entertainment value.

I think the most entertaining thing is the Ask zombies.  They have a group of people who nod their heads like bobble dolls to whatever the reviewers say, and even go as far as to insult your READERS, not just you!

If it’s not entertainment you’re looking for, then go for the validation. If the people at Ask don’t like your blog to the point they revert to babyish insults and outright assumptions, that means you are actually pretty good.

But don’t just take my word for it, try it for yourself.  You might just like it!

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.

So there I am, with the laptop, watching T.V. and surfing the net.  Now all I need is to build a shitter into the chair, and put a fridge beside me and I’ll never leave. Not even for work.  Which might be unwise because they’ll cut off the electricity and water depriving me of the ability to T.V., compute, and flush.  I like doing those things.

So this week I’m off on  vacation. A family vacation.  My sister lives in VA and once a year my mom, dad and I go down to visit her. It’s pretty slow as my sis lives in boring, American and my parents are old so require a lot of downtime.  My hotel room will have free internet AND a TV so I can continue vegitating into nothingness.  Sweet.

But I really am looking forward to seeing how well my WIFI card works on the way down there.  Midget porn in Buffalo? Definately.  Girl on girl action in Pensylvania?  For sure. Maybe we’ll even overshoot VA and get to Georgia so I can pick up some “first cousins kissing” porn. Awesome. And the really kinky stuff will be surfed if I pick up any government or educational WIFI signals, just to fuck some people up.

See you all around.