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My Nextdoor Neighbor

So . . . his name is Darrin. The first day I met him, he was sitting on his front porch, drinking a beer with his “buddy” and using a telescope to examine the menus at a nearby Sonic. Darrin is what I would call a “good ol’ boy.” He hast a country accent, wears tattered Budweiser shirts, keeps his red frizzled hair in a pony tail, and loves a cold beer after a day of grueling manual labor.

Almost everyday without question, I come home and find him on his porch, having a beer. Every time he finishes a brew, he crushes the can in one hand, and lazily tosses it out onto his front lawn. He has another one opened before the previous hits the grass.

One day when my lawn had become a little overgrown, he came over and said, “Hey, man – if you mow your lawn, I’ll pick up all the beer cans in my yard.” I told him it was a deal and immediately had my yard mowed.

Anyway, about two months ago a group of shady blacks moved into the house next door to Darrin. Their arrival has turned Darrin’s life upside down. It all started when a group of them walked through his yard one night. Their trespassing on his property bothered him so much that he attached a “NO TRESPASSING SIGN” to the front of his house.

When I came home from work one evening, Darrin hopped off his porch – beer in hand – and immediately clarified the story behind the sign.

“Hey, man,” said Darrin, stepping off his porch. “I don’t want you to think I’m an asshole or nothing – you can come in my yard all you damn well please – I just put this sign up here to keep these fucking niggers outta my yard . . . I caught ‘em creeping around here last night at three in the morning . . . I’ll tell you what – they ain’t nothing but a bunch of drug dealers and I just want some peace and quiet.”

There have been several incidents where Darrin has verbally attacked our black neighbors. He’ll scream things like, “My buddy’s a police officer – one phone call is all it’ll take! One phone call!”

It’s hard to tell if the new neighbors actually have something against Darrin, or if Darrin just has something against them.

Apparently his war with our black neighbors has been escalating over the last several weeks. It got to the point where Darrin suspected that one of them had siphoned gas from his truck in the middle of the night.

Well, this, of course, only made things worse. Eventually, after a week of sleepless nights, Darrin actually caught one of these men siphoning gasoline from his pick-up at 2 AM. Darrin proceeded to chase the man into the house next door, where he met about 20 of the man’s friends . . . waiting and ready to kick his ass. Needless to say, Darrin received a severe beating.

Several days after the incident, I came home from work, and as usual, Darrin greeted me. He looked horrible. He spoke with a lisp . . . something I’d never noticed before. He struggled to recount the situation, stopping often and swallowing hard. He showed me bruises that covered his arms, face, and ribs. Then, after a hard swallow, he asked, “Reid . . . do you have a strong stomach?”

I hesitantly answered, “Yes.”

Darrin put his beer in his left hand as he used his right to pull-up his upper lip. I was expecting his front teeth to be missing . . . but it was far worse than that. Darrin’s front teeth has been jammed back into the roof of his mouth, yet were somehow still connected to his gums, which had somehow been pulled forward. Everything was black and purple.

Darrin explained that once he was in the neighboring house, one of the men thwacked him in the mouth with the butt of an unopened beer bottle. Needless to say, Darrin had been living on applesauce, soup, and beer for the past several days.

He told me that he was going into the hospital for surgery soon and that he was extremely nervous. The last time he went in for surgery, the anesthetic stopped his heart and he almost died. Darrin asked me to keep an eye on his car for him and to call the police if I saw any of our neighbors siphoning his gas.

Darrin went in the hospital almost 10 days ago. I haven’t heard anything from him. His porch remains empty in the afternoons. Who knows . . . he might be dead.

Dumbass Product: iShit

So . . . the iPod and its countless spin-off products have, if anything, done a superb job of distracting our society. Apple has trained millions of teens and hip-young early-twenties trendsetters that they cannot – for one second – be without their amusement. The iPod now offers distraction in several forms: music, photos, and video.

We are slowly teaching ourselves that every task needs some sort of noisy electronic accompaniment.

If we take a walk, we grab the iPod.

If we ride the bus, we grab the iPod.

If we’re an Eagle Scout going on a nerdy hike, we grab the iPod.

If we’re going to fucking sleep, we grab the iPod.

God forbid that we just sit and think – hell no! We must continue to mash our brains with the likes of Seether and Nelly Furtado. We must saturate our minds with the same old Will Ferrell sketches over and over and over again, so we can get the satisfaction of being a “funnyman” when we repeat it 10 minutes later at work.

Ew . . . I hate office fucks. Look at this shithead – basking in his idiot-glory.

This perpetual consumption of throwaway media, this constant distraction, will eventually result in an overall dumber society. We are so often distracted, that we never stop for a moment and assess our situation, our lives, or our paths. Perhaps we want to ignore our situations. Perhaps are situations are more painful to face, so we use constant media exposure as one of many numbing devices.

Being constantly distracted has recently been embodied in a product from a company called Atech Flash Technology (AFT). On July 21, 2006, AFT will release the iCarta.

As you can see, the iCarta is a toilet paper dispenser/iPod-dock. The shitter is one of the few places where many of us are actually forced to stop and think. I mean, we’re shitting. We have nothing to do except stare at a wall and focus on our shit. However, because focusing on shit isn’t too pleasant (for most people), our minds tend to wander and we might even reflect about the day ahead or behind us.

However, now, with the iCarta – we don’t have to shit in silence. We don’t have to sit and think. No, for those 4 minutes we’re squatting on the pot, we can fucking jam to Ghostface Killah.

And the last thing we need in our bathroom is Ghostface Killah.

It’s the same idea as having an MP3 player installed in our sunglasses or having a fucking TV on our refrigerator. Can we not be without the goddamned TV while we dispense our ice? Can we deal with it?

Apparently not. People buy them.

8 Steps to Tremendous Wealth

So, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m a heartless bastard. I wish death upon strangers. I curse the lives of those who write checks instead of swiping a card in the grocery line. I wish fatal accidents on those who drive 60 in the fast lane.

But more than anything – I hate activists. I don’t care what cause they are supporting – I just despise picketers – especially those who protest for or against abortion. They’re all annoying, screaming fat women who are easily offended. I just can’t handle these people. SHUT UP! Mind your own business! Go home! Take care of your criminal-children for God’s sake!

Anyway, because abortion activists are my enemies, I have come up with a scheme to exploit these time-wasting, busy-body, traffic-inducing, blabber-mouths while also “earning” a shitload of money to boot.

Behold, the Get Rich Quick Scheme of the Century in Eight Easy Steps:

STEP 1: Create a website. It could be www.savemybaby.com or something like that.

STEP 2: Get a woman pregnant. (This woman must be willing to have an abortion at the end of her first trimester.)

STEP 3: Put the pregnant woman’s picture on the website.

STEP 4: Put a 90-day countdown ticker on the website.

STEP 5: Create a PayPal account and link it to the website.

STEP 6: Post this sentence on the website: “If Donna doesn’t raise $1,000,000 by the time this ticker (see STEP 4) reads 00:00:00:00, she will abort her baby. Please donate now to save this precious child!”

STEP 7: Forward website URL to the Southern Baptist Convention headquarters.

STEP 8: Wait 4 hours, then collect hundreds of thousands of dollars from PayPal account and buy houses, cars, and useless shit.

This get rich quick scheme is so simple, so beautiful – and guaranteed to work. It’s basically a legal hostage situation. I mean, can you imagine a God-fearing Baptist finding the page and NOT donating? In their eyes, it would be a sin NOT to donate.

Also, this scheme has the potential to earn some major cash. You see, there are 37,000 churches in the Southern Baptist Convention. Even if each church gave a single dollar, you would get away with $37,000. That’s not too bad for 10 hours work – especially since one of those hours would be spent knocking someone up. (Now, of course, it would be only fair that you give the female participant a large majority of the earnings – after all – it’s her fetus.)

You could really milk it, too. As the child developed, you could post ultrasounds of the baby on the website, you could name the kid, and you could post the amount of money that had been collected. And, of course, when the first trimester ended, you would announce what happened – whether the baby was saved or legally slaughtered.

Another great part about the scheme is this: once the first baby is saved, you can start over, and repeat the process all over again. You could make $4 million in a year – easy.

Now, here’s the tricky part – you might go to prison. Good luck!

10 Reasons Why America Trumps China

Everyone knows that China sucks. However, no one really knows why. So, I’ve taken the liberty to provide you, my loyal readers, with 10 Reasons Why America Trumps China.

America Uses More Drugs. America is the world’s largest consumer of cocaine. China only dabbles in methamphetamines. Pansies.

America Chugs Oil. Little China’s 1.3 billion citizens only consume 6.3 million barrels/day while MIGHTY AMERICA’s 300 million citizens guzzle a whopping 20 million barrels/day. Sounds like China needs a boatload of Ford Excursions to help them catch up.

America Knows How to Blow Shit Up. China’s military spends a petty $81 billion a year. America’s Military spends a staggering $518 billion a year. Screw you, China! We’ve got priorities!

America Embraces the Big Baptist Way of Life. While America’s government is “unofficially Southern Baptist,” China’s heathen government is “officially atheist.” Have fun in Hell with Buddha, you Communist Scum!

America’s Got Black People. African-American’s are virtually non-existent in China. In contrast, Big Black America is 12% black.

America’s Got More Death. That’s right, America’s got 8 deaths/1000, while China has a measly 6 deaths/1000. Maybe if China had more black people they wouldn’t be lagging so far behind.

America Knows Democracy. We here in America get to voice our opinions and our government will actually listen to us. However, in China, the government is made up of a bunch of authoritative war-monger communists who only do what’s good for them and their friends – not the people.

America’s Got Bums. Even though the average household income in China is only $6,800 (America’s being $41,500), America still manages to have a larger percentage of citizens living below the poverty line. Yep, America’s got 12% of citizens living below the poverty line, while China’s only got 10%. China needs to start outsourcing if they ever dream of catching up.

America Knows How to Shop. When it comes to reckless spending, China is not even in the same league as America. While Little China has only accrued $240 billion in national debt, America has amassed over $8.8 trillion in national debt. What’s it like not to have things, China?

America Knows How to Buttfuck. America’s got 950,000 AIDS patients, while little China ONLY has 840,000. Looks like somebody needs a course in anal.

HAPPY 4^th of JULY EVERYONE!

I Can’t Say "No" to Disabled People

So, the other day I went to the dentist to get a pre-emptive cavity filled. Like the current war, I’m rather certain that I didn’t need it and the dentist was just scamming me out of $150. However, even if it was an unnecessary filling, disputing it would be totally hopeless because I have no basis for my dispute. I mean, I’m no dentist and there’s no way in hell I’d be able to examine my own tooth, so my only real option is to trust a total stranger who claims to be a dentist . . . I don’t trust him.

Anyway, medical deviance aside, I would now like to shift focus onto what happened AFTER my cavity was filled.

As I was walking out of the lobby (it’s a huge, corporate dentist office – this comforts me because it decreases the chances that I’ll actually form a meaningful relationship with my dentist) I noticed a gross, disabled woman in a wheelchair outside. It appeared she was struggling with a concrete garbage can.

Because she sat between me and my car I had no choice but to take a deep breath, pretend to be on my cell phone, and quickly make my way past her.

So, I began walking – every muscle tense – hoping to God (or whatever the fuck is in charge of the universe) that she wouldn’t say anything to me.

Well, unfortunately, it seems God has it out for me. Not six steps past the woman did I hear, “Excuse me, sir.”

Ewwwwaahhhhahahaaw. Her voice sounded like something from the Pumpkinhead movies. It was as if her throat was stuffed with semen-covered sandpaper.

I slowly turned around (trying to hide my distress) and said, “Yes, ma’am?”

“I dropped my cigarette,” gurgled the woman. “Can you pick it up for me, please?”

OH DEAR GOD . . . . I looked to the pavement and there, next to the garbage can, lay a half-smoked cigarette. So not only was I being forced to communicate with this frog-like creature, but I had to actually touch something THAT HAD BEEN IN HER MOUTH.

Now, if any normal person asked me to pick up their cigarette, I would probably say something along the lines of, “Fuck off, slime.” However, this woman was handicapped, which gave her the upper hand. I can’t say “no” to the handicapped. I mean – who can? The handicapped have that power over the rest of us – they can make us do whatever they want because (for some reason) if we don’t do their bidding we feel guilty.

So, accepting my fate while fighting the urge to vomit in my hand, I smiled and said, “Sure, I’ll get it.” Then I casually skipped over to the cigarette, pinched it as close to the ash as I could without burning myself, and handed the cigarette back to the woman as if I were performing a “happy everyday task.”

Then, expecting to hear a “Thank you, sir” I prepared to deliver a “you’re welcome.” However, the “thank you, sir” never came. Instead, I just stood there and watched the gurgling pile of sludge take frantic drags off her newly recovered cigarette. Like a calf to its mother’s teat, this woman found solace and comfort in her cigarette – totally ignoring the fact that I’d just helped-out her crippled ass.

Since the conversation was non-existent and there was no “thank you” in sight, I awkwardly nodded to the woman, whose eyes were hidden by brown, saucer-sized sunglasses, and quickly made my way to the car . . . my faith in humanity shaken just a little bit more.

Adobe Training Video vs. College Degree

So, I hold a bachelor’s degree in advertising – not something I’m especially proud of. Why? Mainly because advertising is a sham profession that excels in hardcore sleazery. (Oh, how I wish I had gone to pharmacy school instead. You can work anywhere in the country sorting pills in exchange for a $90,000 salary. Amazing . . . .)

Ad Exec on lunch break.

Anyway, my advertising “degree” is 100% worthless. I learned absolutely nothing. And I didn’t do poorly in my classes. I graduated with a 3.5 GPA, but nonetheless, I probably finished dumber than when I started. I spent FIVE (5) years and $40,000 learning that in order for an ad campaign to work, it needs to showcase a relevant product, make sense, go against the grains of competitive advertising, and be tirelessly repeated. For FIVE YEARS I studied this crap. For FIVE YEARS I studied basic common sense. I could have learned the same thing in a second-rate 4-week crash course at a community college on the outskirts of Cleveland. And as we all know:

Another aspect of my advertising “degree” was learning the Adobe Suite. In college, I took several classes that focused on the technical side to producing good print ads. (Radio and TV were virtually ignored.) The classes were usually led by bumbling, 22-year old, big-titted teaching assistants who knew more about highlighting their hair than graphic design. So, as students, we were basically left to our own devices if we wanted to learn anything of value.

So, about two weeks ago, a friend of mine (and former classmate) gave me a copy of Total Training Presents: Adobe Creative Suite 2, From Design to Delivery. The two-disc DVD set is basically a four-hour tutorial on the Adobe Suite, hosted by an annoyingly perfect British guy named Steve Holmes.

Steve Holmes: The Male Mary Poppins.

Wanting to brush up my already-disgraceful design skills, I popped in the DVD and began watching. The results were astounding.

After 4-hours, I learned more about print and web production than I could have ever learned at my university. After 4-hours, I also realized that the DVD-set contains more useful tips about print and web production than the collective brains of the entire teaching staff at my former university.

Now, here’s the really stupid thing. Had I not WASTED FIVE YEARS of my life earning a college degree, I wouldn’t have the job that I do today. However, had I skipped out on my degree and only studied these DVDs, I would have been much better prepared for my job.

Some gross comparisons:

University Tuition Cost: $40,000
Adobe DVD Cost: $249.99 on Amazon

Time at University Provided: A muddled set of vague concepts. No real skills.
Time with Adobe DVD Provided: A specific set of applicable concepts. Defined skills.

Time Spent at University: 160 credit hrs = 2,000 in-class hrs + 1,000 out-of-class hrs
Time Spent on Adobe DVD: 4.5 hrs + 2 hr review

The numbers speak for themselves. Had I favored the Adobe DVD instead of college, I would have saved $39,750 and have used the 3,000 hours of time spent in class to earn five years’ worth of full-time work.

I will conclude that the public school system in the United States is a scandal. With credit requirements rising, I’m convinced that the higher-education system is a nationwide scam to pillage everyone of their money. I would imagine many degrees – especially ones like advertising – could be streamlined into an efficient 30 credit hours. It would save our nation time and money.

So, I say screw advertising degrees. Take a 4-hour video course instead. You’ll be better off.

Confession: I Had Worms

When I was 8 years old, I got worms.

As a child, I played outside a lot, which usually resulted in the removal of my shoes. Anyway, according to the doctor, one day some sort of worm pierced the bottom of my foot, made its way into my bloodstream, and somehow found its way into my intestines. Once in my intestines, it proceeded to crawl down to my anus to lay eggs every night.

As an 8-year old I was mortified.

Primarily because when I thought “worms” – I thought “big, backyard, earthworms” – not pinworms. Unfortunately, this was never fully explained to me and for some while I thought that I had earthworms living in my body. Needless to say, I had trouble eating for a few days.

However, despite the sheer horror of having thousands of wormy creatures writhing in my intestines (and coming out to lay eggs every night!), the doctor visits concerning these worms were much more terrifying.

Allow me to explain:

When my mother first suspected that I had worms (probably after watching me scratch my ass for lengthy periods of time), she took me to the doctor. Because it was the summer time, my little brother wasn’t in school, so she took him to the doctor’s office with me.

When my turn rolled around, my mother and little brother accompanied me into the examination room.

Once in the examination room, we all got to meet with my weird, deep-voiced nurse. First, she attacked me emotionally by asking me all sorts of embarrassing questions like, “Have you been playing in any poo-poo lately?” I don’t remember how I even responded. I just remember being deeply insulted that she even considered me the sort of person that would intentionally play in animal shit.

Then she asked, “Has your little tush been itchin’ you lately?” This struck me as an insanely personal question – especially to pose in front of my mother. “I guess,” I sheepishly replied.

Now that she was done attacking me emotionally, she proceeded to attack me physically.

“Well, there’s only one way to know if it’s worms for sure,” she bellowed as she patted the examination table. “Hop on up here, son.”

I did as I was told and climbed up on the examination table.

“Lay on your stomach, please” she ordered. If I had only known what was going to happen next, I would have never willingly rolled onto my stomach.

Before I knew it, that fucking bitch had my pants down around my ankles. No warning, no hesitation – just pants down, right there.

Panic-stricken, I froze and tried my best to act casual – which is pretty fucking hard to do when your pants are down in front of your mother and your snickering little brother.

What happened next was 100% unbearable. The nurse took it upon herself to SPREAD MY ASS and place a strip of tape on my ANUS.

Then she said, “We’re gonna catch us some eggs tonight. Try not to poop, okay?”

My brother exploded with laughter as I struggled to get my pants up.

I specifically remember the ride home. The car was totally silent. My mother probably knew I was embarrassed, but knew that addressing the issue would make it worse. My brother just sat in the seat next to me, smiling and pointing at my face – proud that I had tape on my asshole and he didn’t.

The next day was just as horrifying as the last. I was dragged to the doctor again, where the same nurse bent me over the table and removed tape from my asshole – again, in front of my mother and brother.

Why couldn’t she have just told me to take the tape off myself in the bathroom? Why did she have to do it? It doesn’t take a professional to rip tape off of someone’s asshole. And why would she bend me over in front of my mother to rip it off? These doctors treat kids like fucking animals. I mean, if I went to the doctor with my mother, I’m pretty sure they would put me in a different room if they were going to spread her ass – and they should. But me . . . no – I was 8 – I didn’t have the privilege of dignity.

After looking at my ass-tape under a microscope, the deep-voiced nurse concluded that I did in fact have worms. I was given a prescription and my little tush eventually quit itching.

More Reasons Why You’re a Pervert

So, every once in awhile, I take a look at my website counter and compile a list of all the search criteria users entered that eventually got them to my site. Every time I look at the latest list of search criteria, I feel two simultaneous emotions: shame and awe.

Shame, because the list is ironclad proof that I’m “contributing” to the seemingly endless array of useless internet clutter. Awe, because I’m consistently shocked at how users will mish-mash choice terms in my disgusting articles to create some of the most stupidly hilarious searches you could imagine.

Every search criteria makes me intensely curious as to the conversation that was going on when the search was made and what in the hell the user actually expected to find.

So, without further ado, the most recent list of Perverted Search Criteria That Eventually Found My Site:

• farting women
• sex wedges
• ass fucking pigs
• fucking fat pigs
• fucked up singing the national anthem
• george carlin ludes
• george lord memphis pipe
• niggers on social security
• vagina exercises
• mary tyler moore and the pope
• professional handjobs
• older sluts in high heels with big teats
• sarah silverman porno
• bedknobs and broomsticks soundtrack
• birthday card xenu
• blog boyfriend penis
• fat dumpy ass chinese man
• death yin yang

And my personal favorite:

• how to put a hacky sack in my ass

I mean, really . . . did this guy (notice, I assume it’s a male) expect to find an instruction manual on the best way to insert a hacky sack into his ass? People are idiots.

Glad to know I’m fueling the fire.

Somalia Boycotts Taco Bell

Somalia, June 4 – Geeddi Abdi, a Somali man of Jambaluul village, announced yesterday to Reuters and that he and the citizens of Somalia are openly outraged at Taco Bell’s “Fourth Meal” ad campaign. So, angry in fact, that Mr. Abdi and his fellow villagers have declared war on the United States.

In a letter written to the United States Embassy, Abdi wrote,

Over the years, my people have respected Americans as heroes on a mission from God to bring peace to the world.

Now that Taco Bell has announced a 4^th Meal in the United States, we have finally seen Americans as they really are: bloated, selfish, gluttonous, swine.

I am 37 years old and probably nearing the end of my life. As of this writing, I have never had a full stomach. Always hungry. Always starving. (There is no Taco Bell in Somalia. It would not fit in with the wasteland motif we’ve got going.)

See. Looks odd, doesn’t it?

As I dream of having enough food for my starving daughter, I know that in your land, you swollen, sweaty motherhumpers fill your pulsing bellies not once, not twice, not thrice, but FOUR times daily. FOUR. Such gluttony should not continue while my people starve.

Child receiving weekly broth rations.

The children in my village jump for joy when they receive an eyedropper of broth for the ENTIRE WEEK. But you get ornery when you can’t stuff your face with cheesy burritos in the middle of the night. YOU ARE SCUM.

American Shithead receiving nightly rations.

So, here are my demands: I demand that all the money earned by Taco Bell’s Fourth Meal (the new meal between dinner and breakfast) be spent on non-perishables that are crated up and delivered to my attention at:

Somali Food Collection Agency / War on America
Third Stack of Bark on the Right, Near Pile of Dirt
Jambaluul Village
Somalia
c/o: Geeddi Abdi

I will make sure that the food is put in the proper hands. If you do not comply with these demands, myself and every citizen of my country will boycott Taco Bell and Mountain Dew every time we are vacationing in the United States. This, you will surely regret. We trust you will comply.

After reading Abdi’s letter, Taco Bell CEO and Chairman John E. Martin said he does not take the threats seriously.

“These are clearly empty threats,” said Martin in press release. “If Mr. Abdi does live to 38 and can actually afford a ‘big magic plane ride’ to America, he’ll never be able to resist the greasy goodness of a hot-n-zesty, sour-creamy-crunchy Chalupa – nobody can – especially villagers.”

When asked about Abdi’s suggestion that Taco Bell start aiding foreign countries experiencing food shortages, Martin cited numerous charities that Yum, Inc. (Taco Bell’s parent company) already supports.

Martin explains how his business works.

“What people don’t realize is that we’re the international good guys,” said Martin. “For instance, we’ve provided huge financial backing for various pro-immigration organizations that wish to grant Mexican citizens the right to run for the border in pursuit of a zestier diet here in the United States . . . so don’t call us the bad guys.”

When Abdi was contacted for a response, his villagers informed Reuters that he had died of starvation only hours before. Abdi leaves behind his wife, Amina, and his daughter, Fatuma.