Hedgehogs Running Amok

I love that women can go to the bathroom in groups of two or more and matter of factly, pee, clean their teeth, fix their makeup, write a 3000 word essay on the Crimean war, wax the car and gossip about their boyfriends and still make it back within 5 minutes.

 
Guys go to the bathroom and pee.

 
You might get a grunt or a “HiHowArYa” out of them, but we do nothing else but pee. How boring is that? With very few exceptions we do this alone. If you, by chance see two guys going to the bathroom together, it is because they are sexual partners. That is the truth. Only gay guys will go to the bathroom together.

 
Okay that is not fair. One could be straight, but the one that follows is gay.

 
Once in there, you go to the available receptacle farthest from the occupied one. These are the rules people, I don’t make this shit up.

 
Every guy pees differently.

 
The Squatter: They are the guys who for some reason like to pee sitting down. Usually they are just lazy and don’t want to stand for the 30 seconds that it will take to pee. You can tell they are squatters by the muffled sound of a misting cooling system coming from the stall.

 
The Dribbler: These are the guys that you worry about. You want t run over and give them the number to a proctologist. They sound like a dripping faucet in the middle of the night. The guy who was standing next to me today must have a prostate the size of a grapefruit because I was done and gone and I could still hear him dripping all the way down the hall.

 
The Horseman: These are the guys that pee like a race horse. You can hear them a mile away and they are proud of the fact. Well in truth, I get a little embarrassed and try to muffle the sound. I have not yet found a way to do so.

 
The Sprayer: These are the guys you have to watch out for.  Sometimes, a guy’s plumbing may become clogged. When this happens, it does not prevent you from peeing, but sends the urine around the obstacle. These guys are bad, really bad. They are silent and they don’t have good aim. They spray in every direction but the right one. You can tell one of two things about a Sprayer. He just had sex in the last 8 hours or he wears linen underwear.

 
The Splasher: Not related to the sprayer, these are the guys who can’t seem to aim their equipment. Remember when you were a kid and you would turn the hose on with the nozzle on and the hose would flop back and forth across your lawn? That is the Splasher but on a smaller scale. You want to give them a towel and lessons on handling their equipment. They sound like a gentle rain hitting porcelain

 
The Drunk: Related to the Splasher, this guy will go anywhere, including his pants. He usually wants to tell you about all the chicks he has fucked or what a great friend you are or what a whore his ex-wife is. Stay away from this guy unless you are tossing him for his cash. And if you are after his wallet and then wash it off.

 
So how did this blog post come to be?
 

Me – I still need a blog topic asshole
PA – You should write about work or how much you suck
Me – I fucking hate you.

 
I don’t make this shit up!

Posted by Gargs at 08:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 Where do you think a blog post comes from? Do you think that I magically pull it out of my ass complete and fully written? It doesn’t work that way my friend. It takes long hours to make this shit up. I work hard for my money!

 
Not really. I usually sit down at the computer and start to type and hope something comes to me. But not today. I sat down and nothing came to me. The stuff that is in the news just pisses me off so I would rather not bring that animosity here. I have enough of my own to spread around, I don’t need anyone’s help.
 

I asked my friend P.A. for some ideas, but he was notably quiet today. I hate that fucker so much, I am going to slap his mother and father until they don’t recognize each other for spawning his demon ass.

 I am so tired of Party Fags; people who are more interested in drinking and dancing than forming relationships. They can’t spend two hours alone with their significant others without talking about parties or bars. Then they complain to me that their relationships are on the rocks. Get a fucking clue already. If you can’t stand your mate unless you are surrounded by 1000 strangers, maybe just maybe you shouldn’t be together.  So don’t complain to me about it.

 
iPhone users are probably the biggest douches on the planet. This is a scientific fact. Scientists have a meter called a Spencerprattometer that they use to measure douchiness and iPhone users are at the top. Nevermind that I want one. But fast approaching are FourSquare users. UGH! I don’t want to know where you are 24 hours a day unless your name is Jake Gyllenhaal. I don’t care that you are at a trendy bar on a Wednesday night. You know what I really want to know, I want to know when you are sitting in front of the TV catching up on your Netflix Instant Queued shows and eating Imagine Whirled Peace Ben and Jerry’s ice cream out of the tub. Now that is something you should post on FourSquare because that is shit real people do.

 
Do you know that Ben and Jerry expect a pint of ice cream to be split between 4 people? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Yeah, right. Try and pry it out of my fist bitch and see if you don’t get cut.

 

There are a lot of people retiring at work. They always want to send me special little reminders and tell me what a great boss I am. I am a damn good boss. I tell you what I want you to do, you tell me how you are going to get it done. It gets done in record time. I get praise. I like it. But I have a real problem with telling people I wouldn’t talk to out side of work how much I will miss them. I am not going to miss them. Another person will take their place and I will spend weeks trying to learn their name and they will die or get fired or retire. My disdain for people grows and then someone new comes along and the cycle continues until I am a bitter old man sitting alone in a cabin in the woods wondering what my foot would taste like if I braised it in a dark beer. But I digress. I have come up with a new phrase that I am using with staff who are leaving.  “You helped me learn that we all shine in different ways”.  I am so full of crap I want to barf at myself. But it works.

 
Every night when I go to bed, I wish upon a star (Last night it was Pearce Brosnan) that tomorrow will be a better day. A day in which everyone in the world will do my bidding. I tell myself that the world would be a better place if everyone would just do as I say and not as I do.  I ask the star for minions to pass this word along to the masses. Each morning I am depressed to find out that it did not work. So I figure that I just wished on the wrong star. So tonight it is Yul Brynner. Wish me luck!

Posted by Gargs at 06:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 

I am sick. Caught a cold over the weekend whilst remodeling a friend's home. I notice I go through stages when I get sick.

 

Denial - "It is just allergies" or "There is dust in the air." I never want to admit that I am coming down with a cold.

 

Anger - I get pissed. I start taking it out on people. I hate everyone already, so this is just a subtle ramping up of the usual malaise that I feel. "Get off my lawn, you damn kids" becomes "I will kill you and eat your motherfucking parents if you don't get off my lawn". See subtle.

 

Bargaining - "If I can just make it though the day, I will go home and get some rest" It never works out. I always keep going and doing more than I should.

 

Depression - Yes, I get depressed. And when I get sick it isn't pretty. I begin feeling helpless and whine about dying and no one will listen to me. One of these days, I am going to whine about being dying and surprise everyone by doing just that. That will show the bitches.

 

Acceptance - At the peak of my illness, I will lay in my bed and make peace with the gods and ask them to take me. And soon. But they never do. 

 

So yeah, I am sick. I came home early today. But tomorrow, I am going back to work and get every asshole who did not give me sympathy this damn cold. You gotta hit them where it hurts before they will understand. Besides, I am a bitch when I am sick. That will show them.

 

Posted by Gargs at 11:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 Ever find something on the Internet that fits everyone else but you? Found this. The funny thing about it is that the original poster obviously has an inflated sense of self importance, and yet admonishes others for believing they may have a a unique voice.

 

I wish I knew who the original poster was, because I would tell him or her. I have no delusions of grandeur. I know who I am and I am quite happy with my life. I like writing, such as it is. I write for myself and no one else. Read it or not. That is your decision.

 

I am sick and cranky. Leave me alone.

Posted by Gargs at 11:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 Listen up fuckers! Today is August 26th. It is 112 fucking degrees fucking Fahrenheit outside. Halloween is two fucking months away, Christmas is 4. Get a fucking clue and stop trying to shove Halloween and Christmas shit down my throat already. You are ruining the holidays.

 

Or I will send grandpa to your house to tell you what he thinks.

Posted by Gargs at 01:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 Lord knows I love me some hate mail. The thing is, how does PA know this?

 

I was sitting in my office talking to my boss' secretary when PA brings me this very official looking letter and places it in my hand. I start to open it as he walks out the door. I call out to him and say "Don't leave, if it is full of a anthrax, I want you to get a lung full too so I don't die alone."

 

As I open the envelope, the above message appears as clear as day, facing my supervisor's secretary. There was no way for me to talk my way out of it so I did what I would have done if she hadn't seen it. I laughed out loud, thanked PA for breaking up the monotony of the day and relieving stress.

 

It was awesome.

 

But now, the secretary has the hots for PA so she keeps asking questions about him. Another pretty boy friend is going to get a swelled head.

Posted by Gargs at 12:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 

This is gonna piss someone off and I am going to get alot of hate mail. But I guess some mail is better than none.

 

Let's get it over with. Retard.

 

Yeah, I said it. What are you going to do about it?

 

Retard, retard, retard.

 

When I do something foolish, I will say "I am sorry, I am a little retarded sometimes". And I can bet you 10 to 1 odds at least one person over hearing me say that will pipe int "That word offends me". To which I will reply, "Okay, I won't use "sometimes" any more." They will then go on to tell me about the cousin that is special needs and they grew up being made fun of and being called retarded or retard. Blah Blah Blah Blah. Tell me one fucking kid who has not been made fun of, and I will show you the child who was never born.  Face it, children are assholes and retarded. They are going to make fun of you no matter what. Get the fuck over it.

 

Retard, retard, retard. I think people who are offended by retard are retarded.

 

Look at it this way. We spend so much time telling special needs kids that they are no different than everyone else, then why are we protecting them from mean people? Who is protecting me from the mean people.

 

Let's get real. The same people who think that "retard" is offensive have no problem with their kids using "gay" or "fag" for "lame" or "stupid". Yeah, they can be offended by one word but not others. It makes no fucking sense, and you know why? Because they are fucking retarded! That's why!

 

 So tomorrow, when you do something stupid, and you know you will, be sure to say loud and proud "I am retarded!" and watch people squirm. When someone comes up and complains, say to them "Whatever, fag, I am retarded and so are you".

 

Posted by Gargs at 12:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Gargs at 11:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I hate spam commenters. I also hate the luncheon meat but that is not what this is about. It is about all the freakin' spam I get on this site. Every day, I have to read page after page of comments about how great a writer I am, and how sage my advice is only to find out that it is spam. While I would love to believe that I am the best writer ever, you and I both know that this blog is pure drivel. It is the crazy thoughts of a goofy white boy.

But the thing is, that I really like some of the comments.

• You are a great writer
• You are the best blogger ever
• Your penis is too short
• I want to put your member between my breastes and scream your name.
• Great point but what would Jesus think?

What to do? I don't know. I have started approving some of them. I know they are spam because they are on the older posts. So if you are made a comment on a post older than June, it probably got junked.  If you are a spammer, be forewarned, I will start replying to you and making unfounded claims about your parentage or suggestions for your personal sex life.  I am hoping in to shame the computer programs that send out the spam into submission. A guy can hope.

 

Posted by Gargs at 11:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

 

Went on vacation and came back to find that my mother and father had remodeled my bathroom. New tile, new sink, new toilet. Well not really new, it all came from the Habitat for Humanity resale store where they sell the stuff that comes from construction jobs because it can't be put in pretty houses. Not that I am complaining. It is awesome that my 80 year old parents kicked ass and did all this stuff for me. Just don't look too close, if you do, you might notice that the toilet tank does not have a lid.

 

It is great. I really appreciate my parents surprising me with this gift. I am worried about the hidden  motivations. I hope they are not about to spring a surprise on me, like getting married or something. I don't think I can handle it. But now I need all new accessories. OFF TO THE MALL!

 

The S.O. and I went shopping and stopped by Home Depot looking for a top to the toilet, some shelves and some Ikea accessories. Afterward, we met some friends at one of my favorite pizza places. They make this incredible Buffalo Chicken Salad with Ranch dressing. But the pizza is the best ever. We all arrive all at about the same time and are seated together.

 

I may need to remind my readers, because it has been so long, but I really really don't like servers. They are painfully self centered, greedy and ignorant of even the most basic customer service skills. And they are truly un-trainable. They all know more than you do. If you find a good one, please be generous with your tip. I will always leave at least 10% even if I get really lousy service, but I have been known to leave 30% when the service has been great.

 

Enter the albino waiter. Okay, Okay, he really wasn't albino. But he was the whitest white boy on the planet. Looking like he just stepped off the High School graduation line, He was pale to the point that I actually thought I saw his blood vessels through his skin. He had those freaky translucent eyebrows and eyelashes. He was as cute as a clear button, but looked blond from head to toe. He was monochromatic. He looked like he had been dipped in flour and put on light pink lip gloss. I wanted to rush him to a tanning bed immediately but was worried that even the slightest exposure sunlight might turn him into Cajun fried chicken.

 

Being in a college town, there are people from all over. He had a distinct mid-western accent, so I assumed he came from a small town in Minnesota where for decades they have been breeding families to come up with a human who could, at will disappear into a snow bank. Why? Because someone thought it was a good idea at one time. Who knows, but they succeeded.

 

And then add on top of that, the boy seemed to be just a little this side of retarded. Now don't get me wrong;  I am not referring to people formerly known as retarded but now called mentally disabled or special needs. I am talking about someone who, on the surface, seems perfectly normal, albeit at an extreme end of the spectrum, and still acts stupid. This kid knew nothing about the menu. We asked for a pitcher of iced tea so he wouldn't have to keep coming back and  he brought us a pitcher of Pepsi. He brought out two meals a full 10 minutes before everyone else's. He was a mess.

 

But the entire time, he was nice. He was happy, cheerful, apologetic, and very good-natured. That meant something to me.

 

When I paid the bill, I left him a 50% tip, because I felt sorry for him. S.O. noticed this, and commented to me "I thought you didn't like chicken" as he grinned ear to ear. It took me a second, but it dawned on me, he was referring to the age of the waiter. I just shook my head, and told him "What can I say, I have a thing for Paul Bettany's character in DaVinci Code. The whole self flagellation thing, turns me on."

 

His reply, "You are one sick motherfucker, you know that don't you"

 

Yes, yes I do.

 

P.S. Please note that I have nothing against albinos. Please do not send the Pale Mafia to kick my ass. Thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted by Gargs at 11:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)