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.