Tornados are generally considered the worst excuse to use if you need to get out of going to visit your in-laws (898 hits)
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Submitted by wardy (View user info) at 2008-02-02 18:19:20 EST
Anyone that can achieve what I have in their lifetime should be considered borderline amazing. I'm not talking about Jesse Owens amazing or Stephen Hawking amazing, no I'm talking Ringling Circus amazing.
It isn't that I consider what I've done to be in any way amazing, out of the ordinary, or extreme, more it is the matter in which I go about completing the ridiculously mundane and ordinary tasks that most consider routine. I generally have no qualms with lying, cheating, and/or selling any number of souls I've accumulated up until this point in order to achieve success. There, in my mind, is no boundary which is impenetrable, all things that need to be done in order to achieve success can and most likely will be overdone, simply to ensure victory and my place somewhere near the lower echelon of the top of the food chain.
That being said, I'm a very "take-no-prisoners" kind of guy. I have no problem eliminating those with any means or motive to lower my status in society, and I have every ambition to surpass said criminals of my interests as well.
Take Jerry, for example.
Jerry Watterpinkle was quite possibly God's* definition of a harmless shit head. Jerry wasn't exactly graced with a tactful understanding of the ways of things, matter of fact he was often caught in a whirlwind of controversy, confusion, and idiocy. Of course, the most recent recollection of an example of this would be his attempt at diffusing the sexual harassment conflict that was quickly erupting in the office about a week ago.
* I'm capitalizing and recognizing a supreme being in this case simply in order to confuse the reader of my ambiguous and sometimes outright offensive religious beliefs. In no way do I believe in anything that is not anything.
The following transcript does not acknowledge any wrongdoings, nor does it convey any actual facts of anything that has ever happened... ever. More importantly, all names and places have been changed, along with some of the dialogue in order to maintain theme and flow:
Jane: I can't believe you! You fucking sexist asshole!
Mike: What? I just said 'I hate jelly rolls!'
Jane: You were looking directly at Martha when you said it!
(At this point Martha turns back to her computer, whimpering)
Jerry: Actually Jane, that would make him an obesist.
I am well aware of the gratuitous nature of this conversation and the implied intention of gaining cheap laughs. Like I said, I'm all for selling out or doing whatever necessary to make people like me more.
Back to the adventure at hand, Jerry wasn't exactly a connoisseur of discretionary comments, and as previously shown, often found himself in the crossfire. In these situations, I often find myself pulling up an old, beat up lawn chair (the more retro, the better) and a case of anything alcoholic. I love watching disaster ensue. It tickles me in a way that only my ex-wife used to: strapped down and on the verge of tears.
Now I didn't do much research on this, but I can inform you of what I know about the character of Jerry Watterpinkle. He was born sometime between 1940 and 1960 in an area of the country that was not in the direct vicinity of anywhere that I grew up. I can thus conclude that there's a good chance he did not grow up in Houston, Texas, Bayerville, Indiana, and Los Angeles, Washington (It's a small town outside of the village of Philladelphia. Don't worry, the paradox continues infinitely outward until somewhere in Montana where there is rumored to be one of the seven or nine gates of Hell, depending upon your denomination and tax exemption standing.) He has a grotesque amount of sub-nasal hair and often occupies himself by rubbing it methodically and laughing, sometimes muttering words or phrases such as, "Indeed", "But of course", and my personal favorite, "Dogday Humperdinks!" (This phrase is actually only known to have been muttered once in the course of human history, so far as I can tell. This of course is coming sometime around the climax and anticlimax of this adventure, right about where I completely lose you and your head explodes from a massive embolism. I don't even know what an embolism is.)
This incident, the utterance of this clearly, but not limited to, political jargon occurred slightly after the Martha and Jane incident at the office. I'd say, if my Timex Ironman watch was correct, it was within the vicinity of eight-point-three-six seconds after the less than sauvasious comment made by our now iconic and infamous first mate, Jerry.
Jerry, who often found himself in these situations at least once a day, made a quick exit after the probably two to three seconds of guffawing and booing. He silently made his way down the row of fabric cubicles, his awkwardly angular frame waddling its way to the end of the office. Oh, if I forgot to mention this already, he has a slight limp (or gimp, depending on your language of origin) from a severe "Charlie Horse" received when he was thirteen at summer camp. Doctors refused to operate on the severely bruised and traumatized tissue/muscle/bone saying the ailment is untreatable - that "[bruises] should... [naturally]... go away." I personally believe this is the Devil at work, but then again I also believed the owl when he guessed three licks.
Well at the end of the office, where the 'T' of Jerry's destiny awaited, he was forced to make the decision to fake left and go right, or fake right, pitch left, and roll right. He opted for the latter of the previously discussed options.
Now, it should be noted here that Jerry wore a set of prescription glasses. In grammar school, such cliché jokes as his glasses rivaling that of the not-yet-existent Hubble Spacecraft or the Razdow telescope, or even still the slightly mentally disadvantaged youths likening his eyewear to "Binoculars! (Insert childlike laughing here). Of course, by the same token, his older classmates soon became more refined as they advanced their academic careers, and by high school had thrown away the simple, childish clichés of verbally abusing Jerry, and taken it upon themselves to push him into lockers as much as possible. Perhaps this was not more refined. Actually, in retrospect to statements just conversed, I think this might be one of the rare occasions in human history that humans have actually reverted to more primitive practices than they had earlier achieved. See "War Theory" by this same author to get a better understanding of this concept.
So Jerry faked right, then pitched left, and then in a most unathletic, unacrobatic, unpoetic manner, he rolled right. His roll carried him into the wall, a serious miscalculation that probably caused him to silently wish somewhere in the deep recess of his mind that he'd taken that roll at a much safer velocity and slightly different angle. At the very moment of his collision with the white plaster drywall of the thirty-first floor office, his sixteen pound peepers were sent cascading off into Colt Dawson's cubicle.
Jerry's ability to confront any situation with an uncertain air of confusion is actually his greatest asset in disarming most if not all hostilities. For awhile it was believed that the Discovery Channel was doing a documentary on this very tactic of his. Later it was discovered that it was merely a perverted film crew led by a French guy named Colonel or something equally ridiculous. The three crew members involved with him each got sent to Utah or prison, whichever one sounds more likely to involve an ass raping.
Colt hated visitors. Even more than his hatred of visitors he detested interruptions. And even more than his detestation of poorly timed interruptions he despised his parents. Colt's parents, Harold and Shirley, were of the academic doctrine that anything religious was contemptuous and vile. Or it might've been that they were of the religious front that was in support of anything that stated all events can be explained by a wave of the hand, cross of the fingers, and belief in everything that you can't see. That isn't supposed to make sense, and is aimed at being the most tongue and cheek statement made in the history of anything ever stated. Either way, Colt's parents were extremists to one end of the spectrum of the other, and this caused Colt to grow up a sheltered/non-sheltered life that expanded/restricted his mind/not-mind into a state that caused him to be reclusive, neurotic, and obscenely ambiguous with the details of his parents and upbringing.
As you can probably see, you are reading this. And if the prior statement is true, then you are probably still here right now. If I really wanted to, I could at this point entertain the "How do you keep a moron busy" theory, but for the sake of artistic creativity and the window of opportunity that you are currently debating sliding through, I will continue on with the adventure.
At this point, I had moved my lawn chair and cooler of alcohol and set up camp just to the right of Colt's cubicle. This was done in what might quite possibly be the most acrobatic, athletic, and graceful maneuver since Nancy Kerrigan lit it up in Nagano. I successfully managed to carry all my previously stated belongings to the current site, along with my wits, charisma and a deck of playing cards. The epic battle of something versus something was about to ensue. I think it would be a great topic of discussion in possibly but certainly not limited to a graduate level course, on what this was an epic battle of. Answers could be formed in the form of questions and at no point should they have any relation to one another. For example, an appropriate response to this would be (but not limited to), "This account of the battle between Jerry and Colt was a great example of the battle between good versus justice." Notice the inconsistency, along with the complete disrespect for all properties of the English language, including the importance of a simple understanding of implied meaning. There's a good chance this discussion could last minutes, hours, or even in rare cases, years.
The following is another transcript of mostly biased recordings on a fairly low quality MattelTM tape recorder borrowed from my niece three months prior to the incident. In no way am I endorsing MattelTM products over any other brand of tape recorders, but at the time of writing that statement, MattelTM was the only brand I could think of. This might be due to a brilliant marketing scheme or more likely a crossing of neurological neuronic pathways that electroculed one another at a precise moment that triggered a synapse in the memoral sectum of my medulla cerebrum, which in turn caused me to associate tape recorder with MattelTM.
<Transcript via Sub-Secret Office 31st floor, June 11th, 1998 09:03:06 EST>
Colt: What the hell are you doing?
*Fumbling noises heard on recording, like fingers searching, reaching—reaching out for—ah, my mistake. I was opening a Kraft Single.*
Jerry: I'm sorry. I dropped my glasses and can't see without them.
Colt: Well they're not in here! Beat it before I get real dangerous...
*Clicking sound identical to that of a standard NYPD issue 9mm Beretta, as determined by a computer program created for this very purpose. Oddly enough, it can also do incredibly simple arithmetic, which up until a few weeks ago was thought to have been made obsolete with the introduction of all things complicated.*
Jerry: Okay, well I'm really sorry. But I really need these glasses to see. If you could jus—
Colt: There's about a seven percent chance right now that you're going to make it out of this without suffering any bullet wounds.
Sizable crowd assembles, including Jane, Martha and Mike. This was not determined by any super-intelligent computer program, but is only inserted here to help create atmosphere.
Jerry: Is there any chance I could ask to incur knife wounds instead?
Again, Jerry's limited capacity to understand the severity of situations along with his inability to see anything within three centimeters of his nose put him somewhere between a rock and a really big, menacing, futuristic looking crushing machine. Either end of this was not proving to incur an optimistic outcome, and Jerry's slightly disadvantaged mind was very slowly, very quietly, and very not quickly coming to the realization that he was in the midst of a real shit kicker of problems and it was in his best interest to do everything possible (as determined by Newton's laws, and other such things determined to theoretically limit our complete domination of the first four planets in the solar system) in order to get out of this.
Then something slightly magical happened. I say slightly because I am in my best attempt trying to maintain a certain degree of ambiguity as to my beliefs, intentions, and motives, and if I said completely instead of slightly, you might be inclined to misinterpret this as a declaration of beliefs in spells, wizards, and all other things contained within the realm of not plausible. This thing—this slightly magical occurrence happened at the precise moment before Colt Dawson could pull the trigger of his nickel plated 9mm and just after the moment of realization made by our main character.
User Reviews
Submitted by BlazinBull (user info) at 2008-02-04 12:30:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
What just happened?
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2008-02-04 10:30:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
i don't know what I just read but I did read all of it.
Submitted by Ltap (user info) at 2008-02-03 13:04:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
+1 for being mildly humourous, but cut down on the length and don't ramble as much.
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2008-02-03 03:10:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2008-02-03 02:39:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
steak like.
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2008-02-03 00:28:46 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
i was in a battle of wits with my arch nemesis, God. you would not believe how fucking smart that guy is.
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2008-02-03 00:04:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
well where the hell did you get off to for so long?
and why did you come back?
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2008-02-02 23:18:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you just left a magnificently large and smelly dump here
good dog
Submitted by jimboruckus (user info) at 2008-02-02 22:01:09 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2008-02-02 20:59:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
sphag, it's good to know i still have some fans out there. i'm not sure how the hell this place kept going without me...
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2008-02-02 20:54:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:59:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think I like you.
Is Dog the Bounty Hunter dead?
---------------------------
could be. but i think that we can both agree i'm the last person you'd want making the assertation on whether or not someone is alive or dead. i think that's best left for people of the medical profession and donald trump.
Submitted by Sphagnum (user info) at 2008-02-02 20:02:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wardy = auto +2 every time.
Submitted by HandZon (user info) at 2008-02-02 19:29:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
'incurring' knife wounds and stepping up the social ladder have never been a continuous thought in my head, I'm stupid, and therefore I can't comprehend (plus, peer pressure's a bitch; I started to read Uber and then went and bought Whiskey).
Jane: I can't believe you! You fucking sexist asshole!
Mike: What? I just said 'I hate jelly rolls!'
---Is a 'jelly roll' when you punch someone in the mouth and then shoot a load, or is that a 'jelly donut'? No matter, could someone save me the time and tell me what indigenous 'Angolese' people speak. Spank you very much.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:59:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think I like you.
Is Dog the Bounty Hunter dead?
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:52:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
indeed.
Submitted by Linus (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:50:16 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
-2 justly awarded then.
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:49:10 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
i'm a bull fighter and a fighter pilot. i don't have intentions, only missiles and red capes.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:48:20 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
You owe me five minutes of my time, asshole. This was terrible.
Submitted by Linus (user info) at 2008-02-02 18:34:27 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Was your intention to make the reader progressively hate you more and more?