The Tard and the Truck
“Lady, CONTROL YOUR TARD”.
That’s what I wanted to say. But I couldn’t say anything like it. “Control your tard” has a nice ring to it, you know? Three little words to let the other person know they are shirking their duty and the accident that’s probably going to happen would be all their fault.
It was a Friday afternoon, and I was in one of the County owned parks. This particular park had a well and a treatment system, and as with all other County owned facilities it was my job to maintain said treatment system. My truck was inside the park, but I had locked the gate behind me so no other cars could enter. This park was not yet accepting traffic, but walking was allowed by the County.
I heard a minivan pull up and turned to see two overly large, old and slow ladies pour out of the vehicle. Yea, two lonely overfed housewives out for an afternoon stroll so they could feel they earned their bag of Doritos’s, four hamburgs and a liter of ice cream. I see it all the time, and unconcerned, I returned to my work.
It was then that I heard it. I was inside the building doing my thing and it was a bit faint, far off and just a tad eerie.
“durgh…..”
It kept getting closer and closer, louder and louder.
“durgh………durgh……….durgh…durgh..durgh.DARRRGH!”
Oh no! It can’t be! Is Rachel Ray here?
I really can’t stand that woman.
But no, it wasn’t Rachel Ray spewing forth her never ending verbal diarrhea, it wasn’t Rachel Ray at all.
Careening towards me and my precious truck at breakneck speed was a full on retarded kid carrying a golf ball in his wildly flailing spastic tard hand.
Who the HELL would give someone with the IQ of rabbit poop that has all the control of Linsay Lohan at an open bar a hard object like a golf ball?
I’ll tell you who. The two equally retarded fat middle aged caretakers waddling desperately after him at the breakneck speed of 0.5 miles a hour while calling ineffectually for Jimmy to stop immediately!
That’s who.
The tard sees my truck and gives a delighted ‘DAARRGH’ and makes a beeline for it, making a pig like squeal with every step.
And this Tard can move, let me tell you. I mean, screw the special Olympics, this guy could probably make the REAL Olympics. And every time dumpy mcfatty pants said “Jimmy! Stop! Come here!” he’d move even faster.
So there he was, ambling around my truck like a drunken redneck looking to get in a fight waving his golf ball around with a limp hand that looked like it was going to release it straight into my windshield any time.
And the fat ladies ambled to and past my truck, calling to Jimmy and saying to me “boy, he sure does seem to like your truck, doesn’t he?”
“Control your damned tard!” is what I wanted to say. But that’s not what came out. What came out was “Yea, he sure does seem to like my truck”.
Sometimes I wish I could just say what needs to be said without fear of getting fired.
Fuck.
Anyways, this is FUCKING funny. Enjoy it.
