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The Internet’s secret shame

I was talking with a friend the other day about how rude and angry some people can be. I told him that I had worked in customer service for a few years and had my life threatened and asked to step outside more than a few times. My response was usually the same, very polite and then I’d inform them I can’t meet them outside as I was still at work but I get off at 6. That usually worked, usually.

One guy walked in, started yelling as he threw his phone at me. Bla bla my phone don’t work. Bla bla you sold me a piece of crap. I let him go on for 20 minutes then picked up the phone and powered it on. I told him he had to hold the power button on for 2 seconds not just jab at it then cuss allot. He seemed embarrassed and complained how his service was so bad just to justify his tirade. He asked to use the restroom and I showed him the way then went back out to the floor as we were busy that day.

About 15 minutes later I heard my manager yell. I ran to the hullabaloo and saw him peering into the bathroom. Did someone slip and fall ? Why wasn’t he helping? I looked in the bathroom to see a huge steaming turd in the middle of floor. What maniac would do this? Did someone miss the potty by 5 feet? No, this was a revenge turd.

I was angry, disgusted and dare I say impressed. This guy was so mad that he summoned this demon from the netherworld and crouched in the middle of the room to let loose. He then walked out of the front door as if nothing happened. I cant imagine being so mad that I would just make #2 on the floor. I think the American Psychological Association has named this illness, Anger Pooping.

Anyways I hope that guy feels better and that ATT will charge him for the Bio-hazard team that we had to hire to clean up his chocolate rage.

To my farty boss and his bowels.

I hear you.

I hear you in there.

I hear you farting. Shifting in your leather chair. Trying to muffle your bodily noises in your vibrating chair pad (which is creepy enough).

Worse: I smell you.

The first day you did this, I thought someone had burned a Lean Cuisine Salisbury Steak in the microwave. The second day, I stupidly asked you if you smelled “that vile odor”.

You blushed and said, “I have this little problem when I am stressed, excited, or eat a lot of protein in the mornings…” and thus began the stinkfest

.
Listen, can’t you lay off the protein bars and egg whites and ostrich sausage in the mornings? Can you eat them, say, at lunch or at night, and torture your family and pets with the stench?

I am tired of burning candles in my cubicle like I’m some kind of Wiccan trying to ward off the Samhain Fart Satyr. I dread bringing you my paperwork because I don’t always hear you and sometimes I am very unpleasantly surprised by the greasy cloud that surrounds your work area.

I really like you. You’re a great boss. You pay me well and gave me a chance. But this has to stop before I burst a blood vessel in my eye from holding my breath when I come close to you. See a gastroenterological specialist already; I’ll even make the appointment!

I found this and wish to share. I myself am not a father but have three wonderful sisters and 5 lovely nieces. I have been accused of being overly protective but why else would God give me big muscles a menacing stare and a great knowledge of the legal system if not for their safety.  Did you know that the phrase ” I  repeated hit  him in the face with a flat iron because I was in fear for my safety” will let you walk free in most states?

http://www.smilespedia.com/10-simple-rules-for-dating-my-daughter-2/

When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend’s father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his daughter’s chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds.

Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my best to make my daughter’s suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt them in the living room and they’ll stay wilted all night.

“So,” I’ll call out jovially. “I see you have your nose pierced. Is that because you’re stupid, or did you merely want to APPEAR stupid?”

As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.
Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

Rule Four:
I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early”

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
- Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.

- Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.

- Places where there is darkness.

- Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.

- Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.

- Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay.

- Hockey games are okay.

- Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car-there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

Copyright 1998 W. Bruce Cameron
Please do not remove the copyright from this essay

Hurry, I’m lowering my standards faster than I can violate them.

Its a crazy blowout sale of hygiene/moral/personal or religious standards.

20 years older than me? Not a problem!
Morbidly(not just chubby) obese? Great!
Missing a few teeth? Who isn’t?
Sores and lesions? OK!
No job? You’re a free spirit baby!
Sit around all day watching TV? Broadening your horizons!
Schizophrenic/OCD/ just plane loco? I say crazy in the head crazy in the bed!
5 children from 6 guys? I know you’ll put out!
No social graces? Graces/smaces!
Sleep around? Hoo Raa
Never cook? Double Hoo Raa
Never clean? Awesome!
Break a sweet walking to the kitchen? Let me bring that big mac too you!
Ugly at a post? Beauty is only skin deep!
Use sex as a weapon? Gotta use what God gave you!

Read the rest of this entry »

Why do I keep going there? I loath Walmart. I loath the people there and most of all I loath myself for stepping foot into that backwoods carnival. Yet I go, I try to go at 1 or 2 in the morning. Not that don’t want to be seen there just that the orcs and assorted Nair-do-wells are huddled in a RV doing meth and singing Sweet Home Alabama.

Dear reader if I haven’t mentioned it before I would like to state for the record that I have a very strange phobia about Walmart. I cant be in there longer than 10 min’s or I freak out. Ask anyone that has gone with me and they will tell you I have a Darwinian shot clock. I guess that the melange of inbreeding and the lack of teeth or footwear just spooks me and 10 min’s is my hair trigger. No matter what I’m doing, at the 10 min mark I just walk. Yet again I digress.

So I am shopping for my useless goods and it hits, I need to tinkle. Lets just say that I have a very industrious bladder and when I have to go I really have to go. So I’m in Walmarts door-less bathroom, I say door-less not to give the impression that I’m peeing in view of everyone its just that the configuration of the entrance is like a corn maze. You have to walk around a few corners and such. As restrooms go its pretty nice, clean and spacious. Modern looking with subway tiles all over. So I’m at the urinal doing my thing when I fart. Not your normal fart. The kind that makes you look behind you to see if there are any casualties. Like when you fire a sam missile and you are worried about the backwash of stage 1 ignition. Well as a well-versed bathroom farter I spun my head in search of someone to blame this on. This is a technique I developed years ago and it has served me well. You fart then let someone else exit the bathroom before you thereby taking the brunt of the scorn. I forgot, it is 1 am and there is nobody.

Now this was no ordinary flatus. It wasn’t the most violent one that I have laid down but definitely in the top 10. What made it worse was the fact that someone decided to model the acoustics in there after the Sistine Chapel. After I got past the initial fear(yes my own farts scare me, they remind me of the evil spirits leaving the Ark in Indian Jones). I thought that it might be ok as the din of all the Hee-Hawwers coming through line might hide the blast. Then I remembered the hour and as I exited my gaze was met with 3 employees looking at me with disgust. I was embarrassed and scurried for something to say, preferable something monosyllabic so that they might understand better.

I just told them that somebody might want to check on “that guy in there” and made hast for the door.

My 10 minutes had just elapsed.

From yahoo news http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080424/ap_on_fe_st/odd_blind_defense

Thu Apr 24, 5:54 PM ET

INDIANAPOLIS - A legally blind man beat up an intruder and held him at knifepoint until police arrived at the man’s eastside home, authorities said. Allan Kieta, 49, told police he was at home Monday morning when his small dog began barking and he encountered the man.

“I opened the door and just ran into him. I had him pinned in the laundry room and just kept pummeling,” said Kieta, a former wrestler in high school.

He said he grabbed the intruder by the belt and dragged him into the kitchen, where he put a knife at the man’s throat and tried to dial 911.

“Being visually impaired, I couldn’t get the buttons because I was using my left hand,” he said. “It took me about 20 tries.”

Police arrived within minutes and arrested Alvaro Castro, 25, on an initial charge of residential entry, Sgt. Matthew Mount said.

Lt. Jeff Duhamell was impressed with Kieta’s feat.

“Its pretty remarkable for anyone thats blind to be able to defend themselves, let alone make an apprehension,” Duhamell said. “To be able to grab this guy and hold him down until police got there is pretty remarkable.”

Castro, who was initially taken to the Wishard Memorial Hospital detention facility, denied trying to burglarize the home and said he was a former boyfriend of Kieta’s daughter and was trying to visit her, said Mount.

Kieta said Castro told him he was looking for his cat.

“I go, ‘Your cat? You’re in my house!’” Kieta recalled.

Castro was transferred to the Marion County Jail on Monday night.

Kieta said he suffered swollen hands and a sore back, but no serious injuries.

“When my wife was cleaning the blood off, she said, ‘I think it’s all his,’” Kieta said.