Young man, I was merely pointing out to my wife an offending odor when you leveled your accusation at me, quite loudly I should add, eliciting laughs from fellow customers waiting in this line based on nothing more than hearsay. Your “Smelt it, Dealt it” theory is supported by scant evidence and I dare say flawed logic.
My olfactory senses are quite refined due to my years as an avid wine taster and this gives me a higher sensitivity to the currents of malodorous gases. If I wanted I could dissect this odor with great precision, but I do now wish to dwell in its contents, though I do detect a hint of curry. This ability to divine from the air a nasal malfeasance does not reflect a closer proximity to the point of origin and in no way makes me the creator of such a malevolent scent.
This “fart”, as you so crudely put it, appears to have wafted from your direction. Your shabby appearance and unkempt hair suggests a lack of cleanliness or concern for what odor may emanate from your own body. Your t-shirt demonstrates a basic lack of education, as most know that corn is spelled with a C not a K.
My embarrassed wife has just whispered into my ear that she is in fact the originator of this unique and musty bouquet and is asking me to stop conversing with you, so I shall step away and wait for the air currents of this Wal-Mart store to move her fragrant cloud elsewhere.
This revelation in no way lends credence to your untenable speculation and you are still nothing more than a charlatan of odor science. Now, I shall take my leave of you. I say good day.
There’s this thing and everyone likes it. Guess what? I don’t like it. I used to like it but now I don’t like it and will start telling you why in list form.
1. I’m sure that thing that I don’t like is racist, homophobic or misogynistic somehow. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll make the claim and someone in the comments section will figure it out.
2. The thing that does what it’s supposed to do, it works perfectly and that’s what’s wrong and stupid about it and you’re stupid.
3. You’re stupid
4. I’m a much more highly evolved person than most people that’s how I’m able to see fault in the thing that stupider people can’t see. Listen to me and I’ll help you become a better person like I am.
5. How can I stand-out from others if I don’t give horrible advice and ill-informed opinions based on my need for attention?
6. Please pay attention to me.
7. There’s this other thing. It’s not as good as the original thing but since I hate that original thing we should all like the other thing
8. This will set up my article next month where I discussed how I used to hate the thing but now I no longer hate it and only stupid people hate the thing I used to love then hated and now love again and will probably hate in the future.
9. Please like my article to give me the sweet relief of validation or call my mom and tell her I’m a real writer
10. If you guys can fight in the comment section that would be great. I’ll just be here naked with my coffee watching the stupider people argue over how dumb they are for liking and/or hating the thing I like and/or hate.
What’s been happening with our country? We’ve let corrupt politicians, greedy corporations and illegal aliens subvert the will of the people and it’s gone on far too long. Seriously folks, it’s time to take our country back. Let’s get out there and take it back. Right now! Who’s got it? Who the hell took the country? Did you? Did someone you know take it? If you know who took it and you’re not helping me get it back then you pretty much took it. If I find out who took my country and they don’t give it back I swear to god I’m gonna punch them right in the taint. So I’m asking you one American to another just give me back our god damn country. You hear me! GIVE IT BACK. Seriously I’m not going to ask again. GIVE ME BACK MY COUNTRY!!! …
Okay sorry about that I’ve been a bit worked up lately. Lot of stress on my plate. My jobs been rough, boss has been riding my ass, so I’ve been tense. Wife tells me I should try yoga but I know that’s the devil’s work. So let’s try this again.
Please. Can I please have my country back? Pretty Please? Come on. Give it. How about give me half now half later okay. I think that’s fair. I mean how come you get to take all the country and I don’t get any. Seriously. That’s not fair. You could take another country. How about Peru? They have some nice stuff there. Seriously Peru. Take Peru. Damn it. GIVE ME BACK MY COUNTRY. NOW! NOW! NOW!
Okay. Once again. Sorry about that. It’s been a rough month. Gonna calm down now. I’ve been to a few meetings about my anger so I’m gonna do what they suggest and count to 10 and take a deep breath…. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9…. GIVE ME BACK MY COUNTRY YOU SON OF A BITCH!
Stan Gruffly is a avid taxidermist and beef jerky enthusiast. He writes poetry in his free time and campaigns for a candidate who will remain nameless but whose last name rhymes with grump.
I don’t know. My friends have made me think that maybe what I did wasn’t right. They could have a point, but I think I have some valid reasons too. Here’s what happened. The opportunity appeared for me to score some hash. I might add, some really good hash. I didn’t have any money, but I did have a three-year-old Yorki.
Well I guess the title should say “I sold my girlfriend’s dog for four grams of hash”. But once again I’d like to say that I didn’t have any money and it was really good hash. I know because I had just smoked a little when I told her that Mr. Scrapples was missing, and believe me, I was really stoned.
I was totally into Mario Kart and really stoned when she was searching the house for her dog. I told her he’d probably show up later. You know how dogs are, but she didn’t believe me and spent the night searching for him. She came back at five in the morning crying and asked if she could have a little of the hash she saw me smoking earlier so she could calm down. I told her I had just finished it all off. I actually had some left, but I sold a perfectly good dog for it and didn’t feel like sharing. I don’t think that’s wrong.
Anyway, a couple of days later she found out what I did. She got mad and kicked me out of her house and won’t return my calls. I’m living in my parents garage and now I’m wondering if maybe I did have a lapse in judgment. So my question to the world is – was this wrong? I guess only time will tell.
Written by Dirk Berring
Dirk tackles many of the gray areas of life. He’s not afraid to ask the serious questions and is currently seeking a couch to crash on if anyone knows of a place. His band is called ‘Unholy Shenaningans’ and they are playing at ‘Mutton Bar’ next week.
I am offended! I saw a gentleman riding his bike in the road, his buttocks raised and prominently displayed for passerbys and children to see. His buttocks! Passerbys! Children! Sure some might say that he was struggling to peddle up a steep hill and he was fully clothed in biking attire. I say he was graphically exposing his rear region for some kind of sick thrill.
I stared at it the entire time I was behind him and not once did he try to cover it or stop peddling. This buttocks-exposing activity must stop. My mother taught me that bottoms belong on seats and if there is no seat around then you tucked it in as much as you can in order to give the illusion that you have no bottom. Isn’t that man aware that your bottom is where poo comes from? Poo! How dare you sir! I’m going to write a letter to the city. Bicycling is nothing more than a gateway activity for perverts to expose their buttocks to our children.
Daisy McSqueese is a professional hair care consultant and mother of two wonderful girls. her hobbies include scrap booking, writing letters of complaint and American Girl doll collecting.
When it comes to yoga baby, I’m one Ashtanga crazy beyatch throwing my Sun Salutation all up in ya face. Don’t you come in here posin’ because up in this Y, we yoga tough. This ain’t your mamma’s yoga, this is extreme yoga. Monkey pose…bam! Flying Crow pose…bam! That’s right. I’m not even spilling my latte. You scared now? You should be.
Uh oh… Upward Facing Dog…bam! That’s right. I’m doing the dog. Uh oh… did you hurt yourself? Why don’t you take a break and see how the big girls play. Why don’t you sit there and watch me reach a state a perfect peace? Check it out… Bam! Peace! Right there. Just reached it. I reach inner peace faster than any of these chumps circular breathing in here. I got so much inner peace it’s shooting out my nose.
But I’m not done yet… oh no. Lotus pose… bam! Headstand pose… bam! How’s that? You’re like all upside down and stuff. Firefly pose… bam! Baby, look at me. I’m a firefly. My ass is lighting up and I’m flying around in my backyard on my peace wings. Damn I’m good.
Give it up, honey. Why don’t you try some Jazzersize or something, because in here, yoga is for the big girls. Lokaa Smastha Suckhino Bhavanthu – Chump!
by Peace Johnson
Yesterday my teacher, Mrs. Feldman, started singing Hokey Pokey in class. Stick your right leg in… blah blah blah. I was all like “why don’t you just throw in some Mary had a Little Lamb and completely lame out music time”. She tells me to sit down. So I stand up and ask the class, “Do you want to Rock? I can’t hear you… I said do you want to Rock?!” Of course they do.
See Mrs. Feldman doesn’t get it. I’m all about the She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain you know what I’m saying? Real Rock. Not this Hokey Pokey crap. If I ran music time, I’d unleash some Row Row Row Your Boat. I’d even bring a hot dish of Pop Go Tha Weezel to the Rock table. Oh hell yea!
Hokey Pokey? … lady come on! I can’t let this happen, so I whip out my Pop Go Tha Weezel, and she gets mad. My teacher’s all like “sit down or go to time out”, and I’m like “don’t try to hold down the power of Rock with your rules lady”. And she’s all like “okay no cookies during snack for you” and I’m like “I don’t need your cookies.” So then she puts me in timeout for 5 minutes. But I didn’t cry. That’s right. I’m a bad boy. I saw Jenny checking me out, and I threw her the Rock sign while I was Bad Boyin’ it doing my time. She knows I’m all about the Rock.
So when I finished, the first thing I did was jump on the teacher’s desk and fire up the greatest Rock classic of all time Old McDonald. Hell yea. Moo moo here, y’all, moo moo there. I swung my hips and the chicks went wild. I totally Rocked the horse and pig. Even my teacher was like Damn! He Rocks the McDonald. Then I slowed things down for the ladies with a little Twinkle Twinkle. Chics dig that. But you got to end big, so then I Rocked the close with This Old Man. He play two. Oh yea… He play nic nac on my shoe…
See my teacher just needs to know, when it comes to music time I bring the Rock like no other. Hokey Pokey is so pre pre-school man. When music time comes, I unleash the power of Rock and you suckas better back up and recognize.
By Sam Stillerman
Sam Stillerman is a pre-schooler at Happy Playtime Dayschool. He likes to chill out and listen to some This Old Man and drink juice boxes with his buddies. He wants to give a big shoutout to all the lovely ladies in Mrs. Davidson’s class. Keep it rocking Hapi Playz! Yea, you know what’s up.
What the hell is it with people and their talking? Have you ever noticed that? People moving their mouths telling you things, using words. It’s insanity. I can’t stand people that talk. Especially people that say things like, “Why are you in my house?” or “Excuse me, this is the women’s bathroom …” Excuse me? Excuse you! With your talkie talking breathing in my direction, saying things and doing stuff. What the hell! People are you all insane? All I want is for people to stop talking to me, don’t look at me and occasionally let me peek in their windows at night. I mean for the love of God! You people make me sick.
Harry Hanson is a model train enthusiast and member of the Branchville City Council. He volunteers his time at retirement homes and shares his love of bagpipes and beat poetry.