Have you ever had your personal space invaded?  Has a complete stranger ever been so dumb as to not understand the whole concept of personal space and it just makes your skin crawl?  I’m not talking just about a close talker or someone who stands too close to you as in shoulder to shoulder.

It’s much worse than that.

If she had been good looking and/or good smelling, it would have been different.  As it were, we were in Price Chopper, so you know the clientele wasn’t the upper crust of society.

I had the dubious honor of helping my friend Tech Joe pick up a giant T.V. yesterday.  On the way back, potatoes was one of the things his wife needed him to bring home.  As an aside, she should really start to make lists, so one phone call would do instead of the 103 he received from her in that 3 hour period.

Sometimes I’m glad I’m not married.  Moving on.

We were waiting in the checkout line.  The person ahead of Tech Joe was having trouble with his debit card so the line wasn’t moving.  The lady behind me, if you can call it a lady – IT is the more appropriate word – decides to step RIGHT in front of me to start loading her stuff on the conveyor.

That’s right.  We were practically doing the standing spoon right there at the checkout line.  My crotch was right at her fat, saggy ass. And she didn’t care.

I coughed. Nothing.

I ahemed.  Nothing.

I shuffled a bit. Nothing.

I got a wiff of her unwashed fold cheese filled body. I retched a little. Still nothing.

So I did the only thing that came to my mind. I opened my mouth and screamed at the top of my lungs:

PELVIC! THRUST!

And hip checked her right over the casheir.

And that’s how I learned that I am a super hero. I call myself.

PELVIC THRUST MAN!

I’m still working on a costume.

UPDATE:

I have found some enemies that I just cannot defeat.  SNL’s the Ambiguously Gay Duo.

There are some things that a man just can’t do.

‘Nuff said.

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Is it ok to laugh at retards?

Yes. Yes it is.

‘Nuff Said.

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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!

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There’s no doubt the world is full of idiots.  After living on this planet for thirty-one years I’ve come to the strong conclusion that nine out of every ten people are absolute blithering retards. The kind of blithering retards that should never be allowed to breed but seem to do so in excess.

On a related note: We’re fucked as a species.

One of the smartest organizations (not) on the planet is our postal system.  These people are absolutely brilliant. They are so brilliant that they put a letter in my mailbox that was not only NOT addressed to my name, the postal code was also completely wrong. It wasn’t even NEAR to the same as my postal code.

So naturally, I wrote on the envelope “return to sender” and put it in the nearest mailbox.

You can guess what happened next, can’t you. Yes, the letter came back.

I guess the words “return to sender” weren’t clear enough for these jackwads, so I decided I’d put the letter back in the mailbox with a few more explicit instructions.

In case you can’t read it, it says:

See the first note.  I am not the sender. I am also not Kristen.  This is why I returned to sender in the first place. DO YOU GET IT NOW? Thanks.

Canada has some really weird laws, and I’ll probably end up serving life in prison for this with the likes of murderers, kiddy diddlers and litterers. Thanks for reading me folks, see you all on the other side.

Spaz out.

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