Revenge

[mustynutz]

First, I had just waved a grateful goodbye to my parents as I walked back through the glass doors at the front of my dorm building. I turned, with my new key card gleaming in my palm, and made a b-line to my new domain. Entering my new living room and making it straight for my bedroom, I felt a ping of excitement jump through my feet, up my spine, and finally out of the ends of each strand of hair on my head. I jumped onto my new bad and kicked back, soaking it all in.

Eventually, 10 minutes later, my new roommate emerged with a grin on his face. We had met during actual orientation right after our high school graduation and decided to be roommates since we live close to each other. We went to rival high schools yet everything was cool once we got to college. He looked over at me and we had the following conversation:

Him: Fucking A! You've gotta go out in the lobby and check out the dude sitting at the registration table.
Me: Why? I already registered this morning.
Him: For real, just go out there and look at the registration table. Our new suitemate is out there.
Me: Fuck, alright.

I jumped off of my bed and made a nonchalant walk across the lobby, glancing around looking for this mysterious fellow. WHAM! Like a fucking brick wall, I saw him. You couldn't mistake him; he was definitely the one.

Me: DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK!
Him: I told your ass. This shit is weird man.
Me: God damn, I can't believe he lives here. Fucking shit.

As I began to rearrange my things from how my mother had arranged them, he entered our suite. I'll never forget the moment.

Him: Hi, I'm Jerry. I'm your new roommate. I'm kinda weird but you'll get used to me.
Me: Hey man, I'm (Insert Name). Nice to meet you.

For the next 5 minutes there is an awkward silence and sporadic conversations.

Now, I have no idea what you are envisioning about this fellow since I can't get his strangeness out of my head, but here he is in a nutshell.

Jerry was the poster child for bad credit. He informed us the first day we met him that he'd declared bankruptcy twice because he had over $30,000 in credit card debt. He told us that he had to declare bankruptcy because he couldn't pay the bills once he was hit the second time by a car. That's right folks, the man was hit not once, but fucking twice off of his bike by two separate vehicles in two separate states. To make matters worse, Jerry was a 30 year old virgin, though not by choice.

He was round, had a handlebar mustache, wore tiny glasses with bifocals on the bottom half, and always wore socks with sandals. Not normal socks though, oh no my friend. Since he was 30 years of age, he had the fortune of developing a nice collection of long as shit tube socks with maroon, blue, or yellow stripes around the top. He was a fucking joke. Also because of his age, the underwear he left laying around our suite was at least 10 years old. He never wore a hat, as he told us later, because hats help your hair fall out and you'll become bald. This alone was intriguing because the motherfucker WAS BALDING. He had the whole Friar Tuck thing going on.

Being a nice guy, I informed the Old Man and the other roommate, Old Man's twin, that they could have some if they want. The next day that fucking thing was gone. I'm talking someone scraped the crumbs off of the bottom of the pan and ate them. I enjoyed one fucking piece and next thing I know, it's gone. I questioned them and their response was astounding:

Me: Guys, what the fuck. Who eats a whole cheesecake in one day?
Old Man: Well we had to make room for our leftover Wendy's.

While I enjoy Wendy's food and think they are the higher class establishment of the fast food industry, this was not sufficient. They actually thought that taking the cheesecake out of our little college size refrigerator and eating it would be OK as long as they were doing it in order to make room for other food. The cheesecake weighed almost 10 pounds, and they destroyed it in no time. I had to have my revenge.

Knowing that Old Man had just ate some cheesecake earlier that day and then went and got some Wendy's, one thing was obvious: A monstrous bowel movement was imminent.

Collecting myself and slamming the door, my roommate and I felt we needed to make a plan. We hated Old Man, but now we had a reason to do something about it. So, we went to a supermarket to collect our ammunition.

It was about 11:00pm and we were all watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and talking about how Indiana Jones never reloaded his revolver in any of the 3 movies. My roommate looked over at me with a devilish grin and informed me he was still hungry. Hearing this, Old Man expressed a similar feeling. He took the bait.

Me: Hey, I've got a leftover calzone and some Chocolate Ice Cream in the freezer. You guys can have it.
Old Man: Sweet. I got dibs on the ice cream.
Roommate: FUCK! Oh well, I want some Ramen though. You can have the calzone too if you want.
Old Man: Oh, alright. Awesome.

He fell into our trap like a blind man in the jungle. His lust for food had betrayed him.

Once he microwaved the calzone, he dove into it. He ate every last greasy bite. He was a finger licker too; this was too easy. Then he grabbed the ice cream out of the freezer and destroyed it. Licking the spoon when he was done, he thanked me and tossed the containers into the trashcan. I smiled.

It took less time than I thought though. I figured he'd have to digest it first and then it would happen. I guess the Castor Oil in the calzone sped the process up. Either that or the chocolate tabs of Exlax we had melted into the ice cream.

It was the scene where Indiana Jones was fighting the German officer on the tank when it struck like lightning. Jerry, seemed to have some beads of sweat on his forehead. Was it our concoctions or was it hot? No matter.

He leaned over and called doorknob as he attempted to spray my roommate with a fart. For those who don't know, you have to call "doorknob" when you fart or people get to punch you until you touch a doorknob. Fun stuff, anyway. When he made that intestinal maneuver, his face changed. He had just shit in his pants.

The smell was horrible, but his face told us that he was about to cry. He got up and ran around our couch to the bathroom. He didn't even shut the door as he flew onto the toilet. The sound alone was worth my birthday cheesecake. It sounded like a hose being sprayed into a bucket. Water was splashing everywhere and you could here him whimper and grunt. I suppose he thought he was done, so he stood up and looked around. I did everything I could not to laugh. My roommate ran into our room and shut the door, acting like the smell forced his retreat. Fucking asshole was just laughing into his pillow.

Jerry kept shitting for the next 3 hours and eventually yelled for some help; we had removed the toilet paper.

To this day I don't know what happened after we shut our door, but I do know that was the first time in 10 years that Jerry went out and bought some new underwear.

We never told him, and he never talked about it. He was charged $250 at the end of the semester for ruining the couch. It still had shitstains on it 2 months later.


In high school, someone did something similar to some kid in the school band. He had to be put on an IV because he was so dehydrated. I don't know if Jerry had that problem, but he did sleep all day the next day.

Fuck him anyway.

 

[mustynutz]

Ah yes, the sweet aftertaste of revenge was still fresh in my mouth. Old man had graduated in December and we received a new roommate once he was gone for the next semester. Old Man's Twin, or OMT, was now on his own and his uppance was yet to come.

We, my roommate and I, called him Old Man's Twin for several key reasons. First of all, he was 19 yet he had the body and face of a 30 year old; the similarity was captivating. He had the makings of a homo-beard, in other words, he would grow out his mustache more than the rest of the beard and would shave his neck completely to the jaw line; it was very odd looking. He also always wore a USS Wisconsin hat and a Redskins shirt from the 80's. To make this incredibly sexy look even sexier, he would tuck this shirt into his high-water jeans, exposing the sexy fat belly he had. And what does any fashion pimp like this top it all off with? You guessed it, some State Trooper/Cop Sunglasses, a grungy Redskins Starter jacket, and of course, some kickass off-brand Walmart basketball sneakers.

Since he had consumed my birthday cheesecake and we already wreaked havoc on Old Man's colon, we had to choose another form of torture and revenge. We didn't need there to be a confrontation.

After coming back from the break rejuvenated in our efforts to never return home again, my roommate and I developed a healthy evil streak. Our new victim: OMT. My roommate was more than happy to help me out with getting OMT back after we fucked with Old Man because he was pissed he didn't get to try the cake and also because of the sheer principle of the matter.

We decided that this time what we had to do was more sinister than simply fucking with someone's intestinal system; we had to fuck with OMT's head.

We formulated a plan that night over a large Chanello's pizza while watching We Were Soldiers. What we were going to do would take time and would require the utmost dedication to the cause.

First, my roommate created a website using some photos of a girl we found on the internet. We created a profile about this girl according to what OMT happened to like and then created an AIM screen name. The name: Sexxygirlie69 or something like that.

We started to IM him asking him all sorts of things like what clubs he's in at school and what his likes and dislikes are. Being the lonely, virgin bastard he was, he took the bait. It was the beginning of January at that point and by mid February we had him thinking we had an "online relationship".

We had this fat asshole telling us all sorts of stuff. At one point he sent us nude photos of himself he'd take in our suite's bathroom. He also described how all the girls he'd known in high school thought he was too perfect for them so they wouldn't date him. He went on to lie to us about how the captain of the cheerleading team was going to go to prom with him but she said she couldn't go with him because "he was so perfect". This fat, nasty bitch thought we'd actually fall for this shit.

Eventually the girl whose photos we had stolen updated her site so we sent him some new pics with date stamps on them that we fabricated on my roommates computer. OMT was actually believing all the shit we were telling him.

We told him we were 18 years old and that we were sexually frustrated and no one would "help us out". We described how misunderstood we are and my roommate even had the strength and fortitude to have cybersex with him several times. Well, he was laughing the whole time and I was just shaking my head.

He began to confide in us, as roommates and not the girl, by the middle of February. You could hear the happiness and excitement in his voice. He confessed that he never felt this way about anyone before and that from now on he's saving himself for this girl. He asked for all sorts of advice and we just supported the relationship more and more. We'd ask him occasionally how things between the two of them and he's say everything was great. This made me smile.

OMT began to request a meeting of sorts. We rejected the idea at first just to draw him in. He pushed his agenda further by saying we could meet at a hotel. Funny thing though, we told him we lived Charlotte, NC. He was willing to drive from VA to Charlotte just to meet this mysterious girl. His final move that caused us to allow the meeting was when he professed his love in a letter he emailed us to our fake address. He told us how much in love with this girl he was and that he'd never found someone so special to him. He also said that he cries himself to sleep sometimes knowing that she's so far away. Ha fucking Ha.

We arranged the meeting to occur over the weekend and he agreed to buy a hotel room with his credit card. It was set.

He left on Friday around noon, he returned Saturday afternoon. Upon his return we could tell he was pretty down. Well actually, he was really down and his eyes looked like he had been crying the whole way back. To make matters worse, he turned on his computer and found an email from the "girl".

The letter was a simple breakup letter telling him that she didn't really love him and only used him as an emotional crutch for the time being. The girl also told him that he looked disgusting naked and the only reason that they didn't meet up is because "she knew that sex was the only thing he wanted".

He didn't come out of his room for a week and we had to get the RA to call someone to help.

Apparently he really was in love with this "girl" and he had a mental breakdown. He lost 25 pounds because he wouldn't eat. He had to see a counselor and go on some sort of medicine. The school asked him to take a semester off in order for him to get back to a level of stable of mental health; his parents came to school and helped him pack his shit up.

I saw him this summer at a State Park pointing at spots for people to park. He's probably making minimum wage. I don't know if that will cover his depression medicine though.

Fuck him anyway.

 

[mustynutz]

Saturday night me and the wife are bored out of our skulls. I get my sister to watch the kids and
we're out of the house. Without making plans, I go to a friends house to invite them to dinner and
he has a house guest. No problem, the more the merrier.

Me: Guys, lets go get dinner and then go see a movie. Yous up for it?
Vin: Sure, sounds good to me. You in Phil?
Phil: I can't go.
Me: C'mon, hang out.
Phil: I.. um... I can't really afford it.
Me: Fugghetabouit (puts arm around him and walks him toward door)

Anybody that goes anywhere with me knows not to get a booth at a restaurant. If it's a table that
doesn't move, I can't fit. If it's a table that does move, we have to move the table aaaallllll the
way over so I can sit it, and the people on the other side are squished and uncomfortable. Anytime
we go to eat, regardless how many in the party, one phrase we all know "Table, no booth".

Me: (pulls up to restaurant) Phil, go get us a table. Make sure it's NOT a booth.

Vin gets off and light up a cig with the girls, Phil walks in to get a table and I go park the car.
I don't smoke so I walk inside and I see Phil sitting at a booth.

Me: Phil, we can't sit here bud. (motions with hand to get up).
Phil: I enjoy sitting in a booth. Let's sit here.
Me: I can't sit in a booth. You know that. (low tone)
Vin & girls walk in
Phil: Is it because you're too FAT to sit here? Don't worry, it's a gigantic booth. (loud)
Me: This isn't funny. I'm going to get that table over there. If you want to sit here, fine.
Phil's cunt wife: Oh come on Tony! You'll fit in the fucking booth.
Me: (turns and walks away toward hostess to get a table)
Phil & Cunt wife: What's a matter FATTY did your feelings get hurt? (laughing)

About 4 minutes later they walk over to our table and sit down. "We didn't know you were so fucking
sensative about your weight. We're sorry". I look at Phil, "I'm not sensative about my weight and
I don't give a shit about my size. It wasn't funny." With that said and the look fron Vin they knew
to zip it. After everyone had a drink or two (not me, I'm still clean) it's time to order. I went
first and the server asked "Soup or salad?" and I said "soup". Phil blurts out, "That's a stupid
question, does this man look like he orders salad?" Both him and his cunt wife laughed so hard they
nearly wet themselves.

We all ate and now it's dessert time. Three couples order three desserts. Time for the check. The
server hands me one check and then hands a one to Phil. It got quiet all of a sudden. I whip out
some cash and leave a 30% tip (when I switched tables, I gave the host specific instructions for
our server, me and Vin one check and Phil one check).

Phil looks at Vin with a very uncomfortable look on his face, "Vin... c.. can you um... I ah..."
Vin wants to say something, but one look from me is all he needed and he didn't even make eye
contact with Phil or his wife again. I wake up, adjust my shirt and put my jacket on. "I'll meet
you in the car, Phil."

Phil: Tone... Um... (laughes) help me out here... (low tone)
Me: What's the matter BROKEY! Don't have any money to pay the bill?!?
Phil: (nervous laugh) Hey um... you knew I um... shit. Please? (low tone)
Me: You came to dinner and didn't bring any money? YOU BROKE SON OF A BITCH! (very loud)
Phil: Listen... I .. shit! I don't know what to do here. Help me, please. (low tone)
Me: You ordered two steaks and a 4 drinks and you didn't bring any money! (very loud)
Phil: Tone, look. I'm sorry OK? Really, I'm sorry.
Me: Open the fucking folder.
Phil: What?
Me: Open the fucking folder poor house. See how much you owe?
Phil: (opens the folder and sees that his check is only for one diet coke, $2.50)

With his head hung low, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five and looks for the server.
"What? You want change? Leave the fucking girl a tip you cheap shit!" and I pull him away. Needless
to say, the movie was cancelled. Phil didn't even walk into Vin's house, just went straight to the
car and didn't even say goodnight.

Vin and his wife agreed with what I did. My wife thought it was shitty, I thought it was a fucking
riot. Two more minutes and he would have shit his pants.

Before you go on with the fat ass jokes, think about this. Would you make fun of a cripple who
has trouble getting up a ramp? Would you make fun of a cancer patient who can't walk more then a
few yards at a time? Would you make fun of a kid who wants to play on the monkey bars but only
has prostethetic limbs? They have their disabilities, and unfortunately I have mine.

I'd make fun of the cripple and the cancer patient. I'd feel sorry for the kid.

Spell check this, kcoc ym kcus

 

[mustynutz]

About three months ago, a friend of mine asked me to join his indoor soccer league. I love playing sports and although I hadn't played soccer since the YMCA league in elementry school I agreed to play.

Since I have very little ball control, I can't pass well, and I have hardly any awarness when in possesion of the ball, I advised the team captain that I play defender. My outlook on this position was to treat it as I was playing free safety on a football team. With this approach to the game, I was able to get a quick grasp on it.

The last game of the session, I found myself gaurding some Brazilian who was really fucking good. The only thing I had on him was that when he did school me, I was quick enough to regain position. However, as the game went on, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to keep up with him. Then I found his weak spot.

This foreigner did not like contact. Every little bump I gave him he'd cry to the ref after stealing the ball away from him. Toward the end of the game, I was really letting him have it now that the ref was sick of his constant bitching and refused to give him a call.

All of a sudden I find us one-on-one as he's on a break-away to the goal. I give him a few bumps, but he maintains possession of the ball. Next thing I know he pulls up and starts dancing back and forth screaming at me, "You want hit? You want hit?" Keeping my eye on the ball refusing to allow myself to be distracted from his harmless threats, I never saw what was coming.

The son of a bitch sucker punched me right in the mouth. It was a real pretty move on his part too. Nobody saw it. It looked like he faked in one direction with his upper body (which in reality was a blow to face) and then went the other with the ball.

"You foreign fag fucker," was all I could think. I was ready to beat down on his Brazilian ass, but, I didn't want to be banned from the league, especially with the next session just about to start in a few weeks. So instead of going Ninja Turtle style on the fucker I kept a level head and finished the final seconds of the game out.

After the game ended the fool approached me to apoligize. I began to chat with him and asked him what his name was. The dumbass told me. The next morning I called the office of immigration and filed a complaint. Apparently my new friend had a few loose ends on his greencard and with an assult accusation on his record, it was time for him to get his ass booted out of the U.S.

Hell yeah. Sucker punch me and I'll get your ass deported bitch. Enjoy making soccer balls for $0.50 a day fucker.

 

[mustynutz]

As I had mentioned earlier I have a new job as a telephone terrorist after being let go from my previous job for calling off because of the Yanks/Sox game seven.

On Tuesday myself and an attractive 18 year old were seated next to each other and chatted it up between harassing innocent people. This went on for a few hours and things were going very well. Then I got called into the "boss hoss" room. They explained to me that talking to your neighbor, no matter how good looking was strictly forbidden. They never called her in which struck me as odd until I found out the truth.

My two idiot bosses are in their mid to late twenties and have made some kind of retarded bet over this girl. Now these two couldn't get laid with hundred dollar bills taped to their cocks at the Bunny Ranch. I laughed when I found out and decided I would make an attempt to get to know the girl a little better. I had also realized that she was still "in love" with her ex but could be a good portal to other hot 18 year olds.

So last night we were again seated next to each other and dumb and dumber made a weak attempt to have me moved. As she and I worked and talked she mentioned the strange looks the two tards would give her. Then I decided to have some fun at my crappy job. I told her to come with me on break so I could tell her something. At break we went to my car and formed our plan.

After break we went back in.

"Stop fucking talking to me." Her to me.

"Lick my nuts."

Then the two nerds almost fell over each other running to her side, perfect. We decided we could finish our shift in silence and they walked away.

They were back every few minutes to "check in" on her. She would make vague references to someone "teaching" me a lesson. This was going to be good. Right before the end of my shift they told me I would need to stay late to finish something.

At the end of our shift she slipped me her cell number and before I went into the office I called her and left my cell on. When I went into the office the two began making it clear violence would be brought down upon me if I didn't leave "their girl" alone. Then they got dumb, real dumb. They started telling me all about their bet and how they were going to both fuck her at some point. How she was "easy" and I stood no chance because they were supervisors. Then we all walked out.

They expected to see an empty parking lot. What they found was half of the employees still there and laughing hysterically at what had just transpired. If I lose my job it will be more than worth it because the looks on these two faces were priceless.

And as an extra kick in the nuts my partner in crime made sure to announce her intentions of introducing me to her friends this weekend.

Supervisors -1000000000
Brendan +1000000000

I rule.

 

[mustynutz]

If there was a day that could be marked as the definition of "vindication", it would be today. Hello all my friends, it's time for another installment of gossip from your favorite uberposter.

We'll start at the beginning. My wife is hot. Seriously. And NO, I'm not posting any pictures for you sick bastards to 'inspect'. She's young, cute as hell, and is, shall we say....rather large in the chest area. She also, until last year, was a teacher at a private CHRISTIAN school.

Now, my wife doesn't exactly fit in perfectly among that crowd. She's beautiful, she's young, she's a modern woman. Yes, she believes in God, just as I do. She also believes in the practical exercise of morality - in other words, you do your best on a day to day basis with the best of intentions in your heart. That wasn't the sort of thing that went over well in a Christian school.

Teachers, people, have it tough, they really do. They have tough schedules, non-educable fucktard students, loads of paperwork, and a paycheck that nowhere near represents the significance of the work that they do. My wife is a rare breed - a teacher that actually care about her students. Literally care. I've lost count of the number of phone calls from her students who needed help with their personal lives, who were crying out for someone to listen to them, who felt that she would understand them when their own parents wouldn't. She was a confidant and a friend as well as a teacher and instructor to those kids. Most of us have at least one teacher like that in our past, and remember it with a unique fondness. When you have administration piling on and making things even more difficult, it makes the job of teaching even harder. When you have the same sort of arrogance and hubris backed by a perverted and authoritarian theology, you have a recipe for shit pie.

Which brings me to Scott Schaefer. Oh yeah, I'm talking 'bout you, you asshole. This man had a problem with my wife from day one, and I called his problem on day two when she came to me crying that this prick was causing her problems.

"Look, baby, this guy, he's got a problem with women. Specifically you. You're hot, you're gorgeous, you're making waves in the science department, reorganizing it and adding material. He's threatened by you and frustrated sexually," I said. I was just running at the mouth like I always do. I never realized how correct I was.

This cockgobbler bitched that she didn't go to chapel when she was preparing her courses. When she went to chapel, he complained that she wasn't up on her work. He reprimanded her for giving out her phone number to students to help with coursework and for giving them help online. Then a student came to her, crying her eyes out. She was pregnant, terrified, had no idea what to do. She took this girl into her confidence, trying to soothe her and give her direction. The kid is humiliated at what has happened and the parents withdraw her. Case closed, right? Wrong. Next thing you know, she's called into the asshole Schaefer's office.

This self-righteous prick is aggravated that she didn't break her promise and go straight to him with this personal information. He's threatening to fire her, accusing her of telling the student she should have aborted the kid. He wants her to resign. She tells him, figuratively to fuck off. The end result is her contract is not renewed. She's out of the teaching profession, thanks to this prick.

But the Bible says, so tellingly, "judge not, lest ye be judged", and indeed there will be some judging going on in the next couple of days. By a real judge, a Florida criminal court judge. You see, Mr. SCOTT SCHAEFER, secondary school principal of Keswick Christian School of Largo, Florida, was picked up last night in a PROSTITUTION BUST. His crimes are 1 count of Lewd and Lascivious(sp?) Acts and one count of solicitation. Translation: he got caught with his dick in a 'ho. His wife posted his $250 bond.

SCOTT SCHAEFER, why were you in the back seat with some dirty Dale Mabry 'ho? Why did you put your peepee in her dirty bathroom spot? Why did you PAY some hooker when you're MARRIED and have children? Wouldn't your wife suck your dick, Scotty? Or were you hoping my wife would and got pissed when you realized you weren't getting near that sweet stuff? You're a pathetic fuck, a sad excuse for a Christian, you moralistic fuck. How are you any different from the Islamic "scholars" that have sex with young boys? You sicken me, but your predicament has reaffirmed that not only is there a God, not only is there a just God, there's also a God with a tremendous sense of irony.

Have some irony, Scott. It's good for your blood.

Everyone, please be on the lookout for this pervert. I'll be posting his court papers and the newspaper article of his bust when they are printed in the paper tomorrow, ala the Smoking Gun.
Everything submitted in this post is absolutely true. Nobody was innocent, so there was no one to protect.

 

[mustynutz]

I was coming home from school the other day. Due to the shittiness of the suburban transit system in my town, I am required to take two buses. One goes from the school to a local mall, and another from the mall to my humble abode. Unfortunately, the genius's at the Toronto Transit Commission increase my suffering by having a complete lack of coordination between the time one bus arrives and the other departs. Therefore, after arriving at the mall with the first bus, I have to wait half a fucking hour for the second connecting bus. What's worse is that even though I am complaining now, it will be 4000 times more terrible in the winter.

Now some of you may be thinking, hey comicbookguy, why don't you just drive to school? Well, there are a variety of reasons my internet friends:

One: parking at school is a bitch
Two: insurance is a bitch
Three: I need to save money in order to maximize the 0.0002% interest I receive on my super duper savings account,
Four: And lastly, I enjoy being inhumanely stuffed into a non-air conditioned vehicle, the smell of urine and homeless men raping my olfactory receptors while being scammed out of my seat by old ladies.

It's a lovely existence no?

Cue to two days ago.

I am at the mall bus shelter, waiting for the second bus with one of my friends. She's busy studying (damn keener), while I'm listening to one of the 4 million songs held by my new lover, the iPod. All of a sudden, my spidey sense starts tingling. My senses are aflame. My eyes dart to and fro.

Doc Oc?
Carnage?
Venom?

Worse. Much, much worse.

Heading towards at me, at full throttle, was a group of pre-teen catholic school girls, looking like identical ditzy robots with their white shirts and black skirts. I knew that in just a few moments, the golden silence would soon be shattered by a million decibels of shrill gossip, giggles, and other things starting with g that I can't think of right now and are needed to complete this alliteration.

The silence was indeed shattered my friends. Shattered like it had never been shattered before. Shattered like the hearts of millions of little girls when Justin Timberlake will announce to the world that he is indeed, a queer.

Fiona (my friend), could sense my tension. She was not a fan of pre-teen ditzes either. However, she was and is a hardcore environmentalist hippie (I called her Captain Planet), so when one of the girls threw an empty bag of chips on the grass when a garbage can was merely a few feet away, I knew there was going to be trouble with a capital T.

"Excuse me," she said. "Would you mind picking that up? The garbage can is right over there."

The girl looked at her, clearly disgusted. "Well SORRY Miss Greenpeace. Why don't you like, go save a whale or something bitch?"

I was going to blurt out, "that's MY job," but then realized I wasn't really Spider-Man (dramatization: may not have happened).

Now, Fiona and I had grown up together and she was like a sister to me, so I didn't take too kindly when someone insulted her. I was about to say something when she gave me a look that said, "don't." She then got up, picked up the bag, and threw it out. The girls just rolled their eyes.

"cunts," I muttered.

Then, out of bum fuck nowhere, a young man on a bike came riding up to me. I looked at him and one word immediately came to mind: retard.

"Hey man! Do you like rap music?!" he says to me, drool flying everywhere.
"Uh....a lit.."
"Do you like Nelly? Are you listening to Nelly? What about Mystikal? SHAKE THAT ASS," he screamed out.
I was a little freaked. "Uh...no. This is older stuff. 80's hip hop."

I don't think he heard me. He drooled with excitement.

"Do you like Starsky and Hutch? That was funny. Do you like Will Farrell? Did you see Elf? Did you watch Dodgeball? That was funny. NOBODY MAKES ME BLEED MY OWN BLOOD!" he screamed again.

I tried as hard as I could to answer his onslaught of questions. I didn't want to be rude to the retarded kid. Unfortunately, the pre-teen hoochies couldn't contain their laughter at his blatant retardness and were giggling mercilessly.


I could see his retarded, drooling smile disappear as his beady little eyes glazed over.

"Are they la..laughing at m..me?" he asked me.

I felt really bad for the kid. I tried to make something up.

"What? No, no! They're not. They're just...happy to be going on a bus, that's all."

His smile returned. "Yeah I would be too!!"

"Uh...actually, we WERE laughing at you" one of the girls said.

Then, in true pre-teen slut fashion, they all held hands, ran a few feet away and giggled uncontrollably in the corner. The retard sighed and sat down beside me. I felt bad for the kid, I really did.

The retard was crestfallen.


"Don't worry about them bud" I said. "They're just being silly."

He stared into his lap. "They all laugh at me," he sighed.

I didn't know what to say. Fiona nudged me, urging me to say something inspiring and motivating. I couldn't think of anything that would lift the kid's spirits. Not until I heard him murmur, "perhaps my pretties will teach them a lesson."

I looked at him. "What?"

The kid reached into his bag and pulled out, I swear to god, a HUGE fucking jar of bees. They could have been wasps, I don't know. They were either wasps, or bees on steroids. He slowly stroked the jar. "My pretties" he whispered.


I grabbed Fiona and moved over several feet. I may not know much but I do know this. When a retarded kid is stroking a jar full of bee's you don't want to be near him.


Shrieking like Xena the Warrior Princess, the kid ran at the girls, twisting off the jar. I watched in horror/amusement as two dozen bees swarmed the five 12 year olds girls.



"STING MY PRETTIES" the kid yelled. "POISON THE PRETTINESS OUT OF THOSE PRETTIES!"


A retard using alliteration is funny.


We ran into the mall and decided to call Fiona's mom for a ride.

*****

I really think those girls learned a lesson that day.


Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not mess with a retarded kid; because of all the retarded kids in the world, he just might be the one who has a swarm of killer bees in a jar ready to attack at will.

 

[mustynutz]

I sometimes find myself thinking about my first love. The indistinguishable flare of the bright flame that couldn't be burned out by the most determined firefighter is indeed interdependent on what society considers two young children.

"I'll never hurt you like those other girls did."

It's happened over and over. Your mind and heart are so weak that you keep falling for the same line over and over. The sincere look in her eyes when she tells you that she'll never hurt you, lie to you-- deceive you.

The deceit only starts there.

Blind deceit.

Blind love.

Blind intentions. But oh so sincere intentions.

"What do you see in this girl?", I'd be asked by the masses.

Much like when someone asks you to recite a poem about a brick on the wall on the spot-- my mind drew a blank each and every time.

I don't know what I saw in her.

From the moment I asked her to be mine, I was in a much better mood than usual. I had a purpose in waking up each morning. The sun glaring through the window was no longer a burden on my face-- but a welcoming unto the new day.

Keeping the mushy details to a minimum, she was incredible. Everyone had a girl like her. Everyone.

At one point or another, you've had a girl in your life that you felt honored to have. You cherished every second she spent wasting away the time with you.

You feel abandoned when you find out she is just as friendly with every other guy as well.

Why am I suddenly now recollecting about this?

Why am I opening up this late about something that happened over a year ago?

You tell me.

Why does the sun circle the Earth in such a perfect synchronized manner?

You tell me.

February 27, 2001.

"Alicia, can you tell me again why you're meeting with this guy?"

"He's the teacher of my palates class. I want to talk to him about some methods I can do to make myself more flexible."

"So-- you have to meet him for dinner?"

"Yea, it's just dinner. It's no big deal Justin."

"No big deal? You're dressing up. I've never seen you dress up like this. The last time you looked like this, I was taking you to prom."

"It's a fancy restaurant downtown. He recommended it and he's paying. I'm just being a courteous guest, that's all."

"Well, does he know you have a boyfriend? Is he bringing a date?"

"I dunno. I guess he knows about you."

"You guess? What the hell? A guy invites you to a fancy restaurant for dinner to ''talk about advanced techniques'' and the fact that you had a boyfriend didn't come up at ALL during the conversation?"

I was flaming mad. Pissed beyond belief. I was always overly possessive of any girl I had ever dated, but this was ridiculous. If you have a boyfriend, in my opinion, you shouldn't be going out to fancy restaurants with other guys.

Not another word was said. She grabbed her purse, took one last look in the mirror, and walked out the door. Why does she not want to spend a Friday night with me?

Because things change. People change.

<ring>

"Hey Daryl, it's Justin. Feel like hanging out tonight?"

"Sure. Where are you and Alicia going? I'll just meet you guys there."

"It's just me."

"What?"

"Yea, shocking. She's never gone anywhere on a weekend without me. Look-- I don't wanna talk about it. I just need to get out to take my mind off of things. Feel like shooting some hoops?"

"Sure. Let's go to the batting cage first. Bring your bat."

As I retrieved my bat, a warm feeling rushed over my body and gave me chills as I pictured myself bashing in the head of whomever Alicia was eating dinner with at this exact moment. I looked in the mirror on my way out, knowing that the person in that mirror couldn't bring himself to do anything remotely harmful to another person, no matter how vicious they were.

"Damn, bro! You hit a homerun on almost every single ball that came your way! What the hell's up? You only hit like that when you're pissed bro."

I smiled to Daryl as I lifted my bat and took another swing at the ball coming my way. I pictured a head. I didn't have a face to go with it. That made me even more determined.

Swoosh. Smack.

Oh, it felt so good.

That night, I got home around midnight, expecting Alicia to be there. After all, she had left at 8 o'clock. It doesn't take 4 hours to eat. Besides, she only gets a salad every time we go out.

"Alicia?"

"Alicia? You here?"

My calls were unanswered.

I checked the answering machine. She didn't even call. She's still gone. I sat on the couch and flipped on the TV. By 1 o'clock, I had already passed out into a peaceful sleep.

I woke up with the sun glaring in my eyes and noticed the TV was still on. I looked at the clock--

7:30 AM.

I walked into the bedroom to see Alicia sprawled out on the bed, sleeping just fine without the confinement of my arms. Unusual. Very unusual. She used to whine and cry when I didn't go to bed the same time she did for the simple reason that she couldn't fall asleep without me holding her.

She was sleeping. I wasn't holding her.

"So, where were you last night?", I asked her as she opened her box of cereal.

"I told you where I went!", she said in a defensive manner.

"What'd you do? Did you eat?"

"Yea."

"What time did you get home?"

"I dunno. Around midnight."

"Try again. I was home at midnight and stayed up until 1. You weren't here."

"Whatever, just let me eat and go to work. I'll talk to you later." She grabbed her keys, stopped at the mirror to give herself another look, and walked out.

My eyes watered up. I was losing her.

Things change. People change.

I walked up to the mirror that we had bought together when we first moved in. I stared deep into the mirror, seeing the reflection of the history of goodbyes we shared in front of its confinements. I saw her dragging me to the door and gripping onto my sleepy body for a good minute or two before finally letting go. I saw a long kiss goodbye and the uttered words 'I love you'.

It was a ritual. She'd wake up early because she had to be to work before me, but she'd drag me to the door anyway and hug me and kiss me right in front of that mirror. The flashback was ruined by the present. The here and now.

I stared at my sad, tired frame. The mirror reflected exactly how I looked.

Things change. People change.

"Jasmine Spa and Healthclub, this is Ann, how may I help you?"

"Yes ma'am, I'd like to sign up for the pilates class."

"Yes sir, it's three days a week. Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We have morning classes and afternoon classes. Which one are you interested in?"

Alicia was signed up for the afternoon classes.

"Morning, please."

"Alright Mr. Justin, we'll see you here tomorrow morning. Thank you for signing up and we'll look forward to shaping you up."

My jealousy was eating away at the inside of me. Alicia was shying away from me and toward someone else. I knew exactly who, but I didn't have a name or face to go with it. The anonimity of the guy taking my girl away from me made the situation ten times worse. I had to meet him for myself.

"Relax. Now lift your back leg up. Great. Hold. 2. 3. 4. And release."

I was one of only two guys in the class. The other happened to be gay, so it didn't help too much with my manliness. But I wasn't here for my masculinity. I was here to protect my love, my future. The man teaching the class had chiseled muscles beyond belief. He was the exact same size as me but way more refined. His long hair was in a ponytail. He had an accent-- he was most likely Spanish.

After class, I planned on walking right out after surveying my competition.

But I'm Sideburns. I'm way too stubborn.

"Hi, my name's Justin. I'm new to your class."

"Yea, hey buddy! I saw you back there. Very good for your first time. I hope to see more of you. My name's Rick."

"Oh you should-- my girlfriend takes the evening classes, so I figured I'd try it out."

"Oh really? Who's your girlfriend?"

"Alicia B--"

Before I even finished her name, the expression on his face was priceless. It was if I just told him that his dog had died. It was obvious he was interested in her by his reaction. It was also obvious she had neglected to inform him she was taken.

He seemed like a nice guy.

But things change. Most importantly, people change.

That weekend, I had every intention of taking my girl out to a nice restaurant.

"Alicia, ready for dinner tonight?"

"Wha-- oh shit! I totally forgot! I'm soo sorry Justin!"

"What do you mean? I asked you everyday this week if you were still going!"

"I know-- it just slipped my mind. Earlier today I made plans to go out with someone."

"Who?"

"Nobody important."

"Is it a guy?"

"Justin! Stop being so jealous."

 

[mustynutz]

She gave herself one last look before disappearing out the door. That mirror held our memories.

She wouldn't let me catch a break. I had been working double shifts and I just wanted to spend time with the girl that I love more than life itself. She won't even give me the benefit. I punched the wall with my fist in a rage as she disappeared out the door, in hopes she'd turn around and ask what was wrong.

She didn't. And now I have a hole in my wall and a bloody fist.

The rage inside me built up. The rare feeling that I get in my stomach was back.

When I'm nervous, scared, or extremely angry, my stomach will suck in over and over again and my breathing will pick up dramatically.

I knelt over the bathroom sink as I bandaged up my fist, looking into the mirror as I did so. I was staring at the nicest, sweetest guy in the world that would do anything for anyone.

But things change. People change.

<ring>

"Hello?"

"Hey Daryl. It's Justin. What you doing tonight?"

"Me and Sarah are going to grab a bite to eat at Applebee's, then probably hit the bars."

"Need some company?"

"Don't tell me she--"

"Yep, two weeks in a row."

"Yea bro, c'mon. Drinks are on me."

This was weird. I had never ridden in the backseat of Daryl's car. Let alone been without a girl when I was with him. At redlights, he'd lean over and kiss Sarah. It reminded me too much of myself and Alicia.

As we drove through downtown toward the bar, I looked at all the happy couples walking down Main Street. Holding hands, cuddling, loving.

Where was I? Tagging along with a friend and his girlfriend. This was a low point.

I eyed each and every couple that we passed.

"Hey, that girl hanging on that guy looks like Alicia", Daryl blurted out.

I looked over to my right, squinting my eyes. There was Alicia. There was Rick.

There was Alicia making out heavily with Rick.

Daryl looked back at me with a worried look on his face.

"JUSTIN! DON'T YOU --"

Before he could even finish his sentence, I was out of the car, gripping onto my baseball bat that I had left in his car the previous weekend. I had no idea what I was going to do or who I was going to do it to-- but someone had to pay for my suffering. Someone besides me had to suffer.

"Hey, Justin!", Rick said as he let Alicia into the passenger seat of his truck.

"Is this your truck?"

"Yea buddy. What are you doing with that baseball bat? You're not--"

I started beating the bat against the driver's side door of his truck in front of the crowded streets.

"JUSTIN! YOU JERK! STOP IT YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!" is what I recall Alicia saying. I'll never forget those words. I'm the jerk? I'M the asshole?

Rick started toward me, "You fucking faggot!"

That Friday night, I lost it. Nobody insults my manhood to my face and gets away with it.

"You might be fucking my girl, but I'm fucking your truck!" is what I managed to get out as I bashed in his driver's window, watching Alicia cower against her side of the door, shaking, scared.

Wait. Alicia is scared of me.

Look at me, what the hell's happening to me?! I'm a fucking lunatic.

I let the bat drop to my side as Rick ran over to check on Alicia.

He glared at me with evil eyes. "What the hell's wrong with you? I'm glad I DID steal your girl you fucking faggot!"

What's wrong with me? I don't know. But I do know that things change.

 

[mustynutz]

People change.

The rage inside me returned as I ran around to the passenger side with the bat in swinging position. Rick's eyes widened as I stepped closer to him--

"I dare you, you pussy faggot!"

Don't dare a lunatic.

I swung with my full force, striking him in the side of the ribs. I pulled back.

I swung again, hitting him in the left leg. He fell to the ground.

Alicia started screaming, crying.

I dropped the bat as reality grasped me. Tears rolled from my eyes as I walked off. I didn't run. I just walked. Nobody dared to stop me until an officer told me to put my hands above my head about two blocks away from the scene.

Community service and a fine is well worth what I did. It's a slap on the wrist for a man who just had his entire life ruined by a stranger.

As I sit here, I can look over my shoulder and see that same mirror sitting in my hallway. The mirror that used to reflect happiness. Every time I walk past it, it's a stale reminder of how my life turned downhill that night. But I'm fine.

After all, things change. People change.

 

[mustynutz]

A couple of weeks ago I was enjoying a respectable breakfast at a local donut shop. I'm kind of a regular there, and I like to wander from table to table and converse with the other members of my community. We are a tight knit group. All was well until Frederick came.

"I see you've got the chocolate bar today", he said as he walked in. "You normally get a maple bar. What's the problem? You don't like Canadians?"

I tried my best to keep my cool.

"Back off, pal. I'm not looking to start any trouble."

"Oh, you never give me any trouble. Just like your mom didn't give me any trouble last night."

"What? Don't talk about my mom."

"Why not? Everyone knows about your mom. She manufactures and distributes her own STD collector cards. I've got the entire hepatitis set."

At this, the entire shop erupted into a roar. I'm still not sure whether they were laughing because they thought it was an amusing comment, or because my mother is a slut. I'll probably never know.

The faces in the room all turned in my direction, waiting for my stinging backhand to slap away this insignificant threat to my leadership.

My mouth opened to say something, but not a single sound flew forth from my lips. I was silenced. I couldn't think of a damn thing.

Instead, I slowly slinked away from the shop and went home, feeling utterly dejected. I couldn't believe I didn't have a single comeback for him! I spent the next several hours pacing the floors of my kitchen, racking my mind for the perfect response. The response I should have used.

Suddenly it came to me! The one card I could have played to blow the minds of the entire room. But I'd never get a chance to use it, now.

Or would I?

I decided that the best course of action would be to go back in time and impart this brilliant line on myself before my donut shop nightmare even happened.

Now, if you're thinking, "Go back in time? What the fuck?" please allow me to explain. You may not be aware of this, but time travel exists. It has existed for many years, but the government keeps its existence hidden to prevent minorities from travelling back in time to murder the oppressors of their ancestors.

How do I know about it? Well, my cousin is dating a mailman.

So, I pulled a few Postal Service strings and got myself a two-way pass back in time until I reached the day before the metaphorical hole was pushed through my donut.

Having extensive knowledge of Back to the Future, I knew that the universe would cease to exist, if I were ever to actually see myself. I didn't want to take the risks Michael J. Fox took with the universe. I decided that the only way to guarantee I'd never see my own face was to walk backwards. After a few minutes of stumbling, I found that it was much easier to moonwalk. So I did. The moonwalking actually wasn't so bad. Since I never put any pressure on my heels, they remained quite tender. And I enjoyed the way the sidewalk lit up as I went from square to square.

I knew I'd be at the liquor store at three, but it was only one. I had plenty of time to kill, so I moonwalked over to Quizno's and got a delicious toasted sub. While eating my sandwich, I composed a note to myself, including the brilliant comeback line. Now I just needed a messenger.

Arriving at the liquor store early, I found him. A bum was sleeping in a corner nearby.

I aroused him from his slumber, and let him know that he'd be earning five bucks if he would wait for me to arrive at the liquor store and pass me the note. Since he was a bum, he felt it socially inappropriate to question my logic.

I hid around the corner and waited for myself to arrive. I was there for only a few minutes when I noticed that the bum was licking my note. I was wondering what the hell he was doing, until it dawned on me that I had dripped a bit of mayonnaise on the note while composing it, earlier.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed.

I moonwalked quickly around the bend and toward him. But it was too late. By the time I'd gotten close to him, my paper had been completely devoured. I kicked him once or twice before losing interest.

Moving backwards away from him, I bumped into something. I turned around to see what it was. It was me.

I looked into my eyes, and then up at the sky. I waited for a second or two.

Nothing happened. Fucking Christopher Lloyd.

I started to freak out, until I explained to myself what had happened. Since I already knew about the time travel, I did not have any trouble believing my story.

We decided to double team my girlfriend. I figured it couldn't be gay, because it was me.

It was a fantastic experience. We operated in complete synchronicity, moving back and forth on both ends in tandem. We unleashed orgasms at the exact same moment. We even executed a perfectly timed high-five low-five. I knew me like the back of my hand, which I could plainly see behind her head.

Until that day, I had never really noticed how big my penis is.

Having taken care of one problem, I turned my attention back to myself. I explained what would happen in the donut shop and told me not to change anything. I read myself the line, and I agreed that it was a fantastic comeback.

The stage was set. I waited outside the shop and watched from the window as I went inside. All went according to the same script until it was time for my line.

"Oh yeah? I bet you just bought them for the disease ridden sticks of gum that come in every pack!"

No reaction from the crowd. Then, nothing but confused murmurs and shaken heads.

Fuck it. I went inside and together, we murdered them all. Viva La dopplegangers.

 

[mustynutz]

First off this story is 100% true. This happened 5 years ago. I never told anyone about it because
for some strange reason I was embarrased. One day I said fuck it and it don't bother me (at least
that's what I tell myself).

My dad walked out on my mom when I was 4. I remember it like yesterday. He told me that he wants me
to look after my baby sister and that I'm the man of the house now. He gives me his ratty ass Rolex
and says be strong. I had no clue what's going on, I'm 4. My mom flipped out for a month then
took charge like a drill sargent. He never called. Never sent a card. Never nothing. I use to tell
my baby sister that he died when we went fishing. Mom took care of everything, we needed nothing.

Fast forward 24 years.

I'm at my shop, they tell me to pickup line 2 and I answer "This is Tony, how can I help you" and
all I hear is "Son? It's me, your father". We say nothing for a few minutes and we're both crying.
Had my mom been alive I'd be a lot stronger, but because she died 8 months earlier it felt good to
be called "son". All he says is "I want to see you boy" I get his information and start to make
flight arrengements.

I fly him from Philladelphia to L.A.X. first class (one way). I'm waiting at the terminal and I
don't know who I'm looking for. That's him, without a doubt, that's my father. We hug, we cry and
he kisses me on both cheeks. I feel good. I feel great. I'm still sombody's "son". We're walking
with our arms around eachother then we're waiting at the baggage claim.

I asked the obvious question. Why no phone call or letter in 23 years and 7 months? In a sorry tone
nothing sarcastic or harsh. I got a really really bad excuse and then he starts to trash talk my
mother. Had he said he's sorry. Had he said I love you. Had he manned up to what he did, the guest
room was ready, the kitchen was full of food and I was willing to accept him. But nooooo. He just
continues to slam my dead mother and give me poor excuse after poor excuse. Had he said he was
an alcaholic I'd even accept that.

I take off the stainless steel divers Rolex he gave me when I was four. New band, fully polished,
new crystal, cleaned and maintained in perfect condition.

Remember this?

How abot that! I didn't think your mother would let you keep it. Nice looking out. (hands it back)

You know you got grandchildren.

I've heard, I've heard. I been keepin tabs on you. Do you have any pictures of them?

You'll get to see them soon enough.

Yea, I can't wait to see my grandson! Woo! I can't wait.

You'll get to see them.....when you're dead. I can't wait to piss on your grave. I take off the
Rolex and toss it in his chest "stay strong"

I'm walking away. I left him stranded at L.A.X. He followed me for a little while, talking some
crap about he did the best he can. In my head I'm saying "just say you're sorry, say it". He then
starts to talk louder and called me a piece of shit. Without looking back I yell out "You're dead
to me"

It was the best money I've ever spent.

Wife, kids, baby sis waiting at the house. I tell them what happened. What could the wife and kids
say? Nothing. My sister looks at me and says "We never needed a father" We sit at the table, enjoy
the food and stay up till 5AM talking drinking and playing video games.

You need a licence if you buy a dog.
You need a licence if you're going to hunt animals.
You need a licence if you're going to catch fish.
You need a licence if you want to drive a car.
You need a licence if you want to open a business.
Any man with a hardon can make a kid.
There should be an application to have kids. Like buying a car, or renting a house.

.

 

[mustynutz]

It seems that my situation with my demonic cat has not gotten better as time has gone by. She still has the fires of oblivion in her eyes and the souls of the damned have turned my living room into their personal cigar bar. Too long have I cowered in my bedroom afraid to show my face to the beast, I have decided to make my stand.

Over the last few weeks she has grown more and more bold. Testing the limits of her powers over me she has decided upon torturing me mercilessly. When I'm sitting down in my comfy chair while on the computer she sneaks up below me and jumps onto the headrest. She sticks to the back of it like velcro and scares the hell out of me. When I have a quilt covering my cold body she will slowly crawl under it carefully evading my ever watchful eye. When I least expect it she claws at my crotch threatening to tear it to pieces, I will not stand for it any longer.

I have devised a bold plan. A plan to finally put her in her place. To show her that the circle is now complete and that I am now the master. See, everytime I clean her litter box she watches me. She follows my every movement and even digs up buried pieces of fecal matter, as if to say "You missed a spot...BIATCH!". I won't stand for it, I am a human being and I need my dignity damn it.

I decided to strike where it most would affect her. The place that above all else, she holds sacred. The one place she KNOWS is hers. Her litter box. The sandbox of all the is foul in the world. I had decided not to change it and let it pile up, that would be phase one.

Slowly she noticed that her fecal matter was not being taken care of and went to discuss this matter with me, meaning while I was sleeping she jumped on my chest and farted in my face. I opened my eyes in disgust to see her staring into them, she slid her claws out and dug them into my flesh as she jumped off me. She ran over to her litter box and jumped inside. She began pawing at the kitty litter, pushing it to and fro making the poop come to the surface. In front of me she took the most foul shit ever, questioning my authority, daring me not to clean it up.

I had decided that I had suffered through enough. Acting purely on drunken rage I did what any man who has been pushed to far will do...I dropped my pants. That's right, I unzipped my fly and let it fall to my ankles. My cat cocked her head inquisitively at me, trying to figure out what I was doing. She momentarily stopped her pawing and just froze.

Time seemed to stop as I did what will forever go down in my cats memories as the most desperate act of defiance ever. I pissed in her litter box. Not a quick little squirt and then be done with it, no a full blown piss, lasting well over a minute. My urine slowly made a little stream in the litter box and wound its way towards her. She bent her head low and sniffed the foul liquid. She instantly recoiled and pounced out of the litter box and to my feet.

She looked up at me as if to ask "Why?!?! Dear God, WHY?!?!". I zipped up my pants and brought her over to the box. My urine had just started being absorbed into the litter when I shoved her face into my stench.

"You see that BITCH, well DO YA! Yeahm this is my house so you best back the fuck off!" I let her be to try and make out the situation. She continued to sniff at it trying to decide if she could still use the litter box, in the end however my powerful Homo-Sapien urine was just to strong for her and she fled the room.

My cat tried to step, but I put her shit in place. No punk ass kitty is gonna run my life for me, friends I have struck a blow that will hopefully encourage mankind everywhere to discard the shackles put upon us by our animal masters and revolt! Viva la revolution!!!!

 

[mustynutz]

I have a few troopies that live in the dorms on base. I have been trying to get them to move down town, but to no avail. They enjoy being dorm rats I guess. The problem is, the more time you spend in the dorms, the bigger the chance of me having to stand in front of the commander for some reason or another. Well, this was the day when all my fears would come true.

The story:

The dorms have not been inspected for about 6 months. This is not a good thing. 18-20 year olds are not to be left un-supervised for 6 months. When the surprise dorm inspection finally came, it was a slaughter. Some airmen were evicted. Some airmen were arrested. ALL the airmen were screwed.

They implemented mandatory weekly inspections, and assigned inspectors. Most of the inspectors were pretty cool guys, but there was one asshole that every one hated. The one guy that would never amount to more than what he was. The guy that took any authority he got and abused it. I guess they made him a dorm inspector cause he was useless for anything else. We will call him "Asshole".

One day asshole decided to hold his inspection when everyone was at work. (we work for 3 days at a time) Asshole took it upon himself to confiscate unauthorized items, break locks, and dig through cabinets. The problem was that he was not AUTHORIZED to do ANY of these things. He was breaking the law.

I took it upon myself to get my troop's shit back. ( a few candles and a ceremonial gift of nun-chucks) I was told to fuck off by asshole. Righty ho, to the commander we go. Commander got our shit back on a technicality. Asshole never left evidence tags, so he had no right to take shit. I was hoping asshole would be taken off of dorm duty, but since he had 10 months till retirement and was useless, he never saw any paperwork, and kept his job.

Well, that simply would not do. I got together with the troopies, and collected some intel. Apparently, asshole had a fear of spiders/snakes/rabbits/girls.. generally just about anything. The plan was set.

I ran a quick donation drive in the dorm, and got all the required items. A Terrarium, a heat lamp, and a snakeskin. We took the terrarium, and set it up on a desk, on it's side. Peeled back the wire grate, and strategically placed pieces of the snake skin in the terrarium and on the edges of the hole. We put the whole thing in a corner that was not visible from the door.

We had a guy stand by the fuse box, and I was hiding under the bed with a walkie talkie and a rattle. (the Mexican gourd rattle kind) The stage was set. The guy at the fuse box was a look out. He notified me of the approaching inspectors, and I hid. I waited for the door to open... I was still as could be... I saw his feet walk toward the corner of the room... I heard "WHAT THE HELL?"

I quickly keyed the walkie talkie 2 times, the signal for the fuse man to cut the juice. The room fell dark, and I started shaking my rattle. I heard a scream, and a couple of thuds as asshole was attempting to make a break for the door. I also heard the "WHAT THE HELL?" again. That was a bit odd. The voice was a bit different... took me a second to place it. When the voice came back with a "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?" It all snapped into focus.

Apparently my talk with the commander had SOME effect, because he was standing in the room WITH asshole. I pondered my options. I could make a break for it, but I didn't think I could make it far. I figured I was fucked either way, so may as well go out with style. I get on the walkie talkie and say: "Abort operation Pelican. I repeat, abort operation PELICAN. Turn on the power." When the power came back on, I was standing at attention beside the bed, a rattle in one hand, and a walkie talkie in the other. Asshole was nowhere to be seen. All the commander said was "My office, 0600 tomorrow, BDU-s." and walked out.

Next day I show up at the office, scared shitless. I couldn't sleep all night. The commander is about 6 foot 7, 280, and all muscle, with a history of violence directed towards NCO-s. I figure I will be walking out with a few less stripes then what I came in with. I knock on the door and report, shaking like a leaf. He waits for me to close his door, stands up, and walks over to me... and busts out laughing. Apparently he thought it was the funniest thing ever. Seems as though he hates asshole as well. He told me to never EVER do that again, and sent me on my way.

 

[mustynutz]

You know, I didn't sign up for the "Do Not Call List" to be interrupted during dinner. I have gotten so sick of those arse holes calling JUST as I sit down to dinner, that I decided that revenge was in order. See if Mr. AT&T will be calling ME back at 6 o'clock ever again! I'll bet they put me on their "Do Not Call" list! This particular call happened a few weeks ago, but this is how I remember it...

- Me: (swallowing) Hello?
- AT&T: Hello, this is AT&T...
- Me: Is this AT&T?
- AT&T: Yes, this is AT&T...
- Me: This is AT&T?
- AT&T: Yes This is AT&T...
- Me: Is this AT&T?
- AT&T: YES! This is AT&T, may I speak to Mr. Byron please?
- Me: May I ask who is calling?
- AT&T: This is AT&T.
- Me: OK, hold on.

At this point I put the phone down for a solid 5 minutes thinking that, surely, this person would have hung up the phone. I ate my salad. Much to my surprise, when I picked up the receiver, they were still waiting.

- Me: Hello?
- AT&T: Is this Mr. Byron?
- Me: May I ask who is calling please?
- AT&T: Yes this is AT&T...
- Me: Is this AT&T?
- AT&T: Yes this is AT&T...
- Me: This is AT&T?
- AT&T: Yes, is this Mr. Byron?
- Me: Yes, is this AT&T?
- AT&T: Yes sir.
- Me: The phone company?
- AT&T: Yes sir.
- Me: I thought you said this was AT&T.
- AT&T: Yes sir, we are a phone company.
- Me: I already have a phone.
- AT&T: We aren't selling phones today Mr. Byron.
- Me: Well whatever it is, I'm really not interested but thanks for calling.

When you are not interested in something, I don't think you can express yourself any plainer than by saying "I'm really not interested," but this lady was persistent.

- AT&T: Mr. Byron, we would like to offer you 10 cents a minute, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

Now, I am sure she meant she was offering a "rate" of 10 cents a minute, but she at no time used the word "rate." I could clearly see that it was time to whip out the trusty old calculator and do a little ciphering.

- Me: Now, that's 10 cents a minute 24 hours a day?
- AT&T: (getting a little excited at this point by my interest) Yes - sir, that's right! 24 hours a day!
- Me: 7 days a week?
- AT&T: That's right.
- Me: 365 days a year?
- AT&T: Yes sir.
- Me: I am definitely interested in that! Wow!!! That's amazing!
- AT&T: We think so!
- Me: That's quite a sum of money!
- AT&T: Yes sir, it's amazing how it adds up. - Me: OK, so will you send me checks weekly, monthly or just one big one at the end of the year for the full $52,560, and if you send an annual check, can I get a cash advance?
- AT&T: Excuse me?
- Me: You know, the 10 cents a minute.
- AT&T: What are you talking about?
- Me: You said you'd give me 10 cents a minute, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
That comes to $144 per day, $1,008 per week and $52,560 per year. I'm just interested in knowing how you will be making payment.
- AT&T: Oh no, sir, I didn't mean we'd be paying you. You pay us 10 cents a minute.
- Me: Wait a minute here!!! Didn't you say you'd give me 10 cents a minute? Are you sure this is AT&T?
- AT&T: Well, yes this is AT&T sir but......
- Me: But nothing, how do you figure that by saying that you'll give me 10 cents a minute that I'll give you 10 cents a minute? Is this some kind of subliminal telemarketing scheme? I've read about things like this in the Enquirer, you know. Don't use your alien brainwashing techniques on me.
- AT&T: No sir, we are offering10 cents a minute for.....
- Me: THERE YOU GO AGAIN! Can I speak to a supervisor please!
- AT&T: Sir, I don't think that is necessary.
- Me: Sure! You say that now! What happens later?
- AT&T: What?
- Me: I insist on speaking to a supervisor! - AT&T: Yes Mr. Byron. Please hold.

So now AT&T has me on hold and my supper is getting cold. I begin to eat while I'm waiting for a supervisor. After a wait of a few minutes and while I have a mouth full of food:

- Supervisor: Mr. Byron?
- Me: Yeth?
- Supervisor: I understand you are not quite understanding our 10 cents a minute program.
- Me: Id thish Ath Teeth & Teeth?
- Supervisor: Yes sir, it sure is.

I had to swallow before I choked on my food. It was all I could do to suppress my laughter and I had to be careful not to produce a snort.

- Me: No, actually, I was just waiting for someone to get back to me so that I could sign up for the plan.
- Supervisor: OK, no problem, I'll transfer you back to the person who was helping you.
- Me: Thank you.

I was on hold once again and managed a few more mouthfuls. I needed to end this conversation. Suddenly, there was an aggravated but polite voice at the other end of the phone.

- AT&T: Hello Mr. Byron, I understand that you are interested in signing up for our plan?
- Me: Do you have that friends and family thing because you can never have enough friends and I'm an only child and I'd really like to have a little brother...
- AT&T: (click)

 

[mustynutz]

While my buds and I were tearing our tents down in Moab this morning, an older lady, late 60's, early 70's is walking her dog, a mini-collie or something along those lines. As they are walking, the dog is letting out a quick little "bark." Nothing loud or obnoxious, just a simple "bark." The lady yells at the dog and jerks the leash hard and yells "Shut Up!" She was louder than the dog.
The dog lets out another "bark." Again the lady jerks on the leash, enough to lift Fido off the ground, and yells "Shut Up!"
A few seconds later, once again the dog barks. This lady proceeds to grab the pooch by the collar and smack the crap out of it, yelling "Shut up! I told you I don't like that!" Like the dog understands that. She really laid into the poor dog.
She finishes abusing the dog and continues the walk. Suddenly this guy comes hauling ass across the camp ground and runs up to the lady.
He yells at her "Shut Up!" and back hands her really hard across the face and says, "Doesn't feel so good, does it lady?"
The lady was absolutly dumbfounded. It was awesome.

My own personal revenge was much more satisfing.

A few years ago I was working for this asshole, we'll call him Mike, in a shithole little hick town in Colorado.
Mike was the owner of a concrete and aggregate company. He was the only show in town and sorta had the monopoly on the business.
The only advantage to working for this guy was that he had the highest paying non-college degree jobs in town, but money is little compensation for the way he treated his employees. No matter what, he would always find some kind of fault with their performance.
After working for a year for this guy, I was getting a bit fed up with his BS and was looking for another job. Sicne it is difficult to pour concrete in winter, there wasn't a whole lot of work, but once April rolled around and the tempatures started to get warmer, we were booked with business and tried to take advantage of every bit of the daylight hours.
I came in on Monday a morning and looked at our schedule for the week. We were booked extremely tight and there was no room for mistakes and running short on the product. If even one of the projects needed an extra yard of concrete and we had to go back to the batch plant and get it, it would screw up the entire week.
I went out and fired up all the mixers and started turning their drums backwards, as it had rained the night before and you need to empty any rain water out so it doesn't cahnge the consistancy, or slump, of the concrete.
All of the trucks used a series of levers located on the rear fender to control the spin and speed of the rotating drum. But there was one that used a toggle switch connected to a cable, and this was the first truck to be loaded for the day. I backed it under the batch plant and hopped out to go to the back to flip the switch to turn the drum the other direction so it would load.
Unfortunately, the guy in the control booth for the batch plant didn't realize the drum was still turning backwards and started loading the truck. Since the drum was turning backwards, all the product came out the chute and all over the ground. Sam, the guy in the control booth suddenly realized what was happening and shut off the loading belt.
Meanwhile, Mike came flying out of the office, yelling and screaming at me to pull my head out of my ass and how I was going to have to pay for the wasted product, etc.
Sam was standing next to me and tried to explain that it wasn't my fault, but Mike wouldn't hear it. As he turned to head back to the office, I reached down and grabbed a steel pipe that was laying on the ground and started going after Mike. Mike was a real pussy. i coulda taken him with my bare hands, but I really wanted to put ahurtin' on him. Luckily, Sam grabbed my arm and said, "Your truck is parked over there, it's been nice working with you." That brought me to my senses.
If the roles were reversed, and I was treating my employees like dirt and one beat the shit out of me, I'd have thought that I deserved it and taken my beating. Mike was not that kind of guy. He was one of the biggest weiners you'd ever meet. If he recovered enough to talk, he'd have been on the phone faster than shit calling the cops and then his lawyer to sue me for assault. Though with his reputation in the town, most people would have said it was justifiable assault.
Ther revenge part you ask? Bear with me one or two paragraphs more.
I walked over to my truck and after saying good-by to the secretary, took off.
Because I left, it screwed Mike because of the fact he had booked each of the pours so close together, now he short one driver, and there was no way he could cover the pours I was going to do. That felt pretty good, because he lost work and money. A few of the contractors then gave up on him and went else were, never to return to Mike's company. Schweeeet.
Because I cost him money, Mike decided that he was going to take that out of my last paycheck. No Bueno. Now keep in mind, this is only but one occasion. This was the straw that broke the camel's back. This type of abuse went on all the time, and to all his employees.
First thing I did was call the labor board. They got me my money, and it cost him.

Then I made a seies of calls that went something like this....

"Hello, Department of Transportation? I was working for this guy and I thought you might like to know that his employees don't feel his trucks are really road worthy. I had to continually adjust the brakes on a couple, some leak fluids like a siv, and there are no fire extinuishers in the cabs. He aslo won't dead-line a truck if something minor need to be repaier. He made us drive them until they broke. I just felt this was unsafe. You'll look into it? Thank you."

"Hello, EPA? I was working for this guy who had trucks that leak fluids everywere and dripped on the bare ground. He also had me do oil changes, dumping the oil right on the ground rather than into a drain pan where it could be disposed of properly. The water from his rock washer epties right into a stream bed which feeds into a major river. We also use the red diesel fuel in our on high way vehicles. You'll look into it? Thanks." Red diesel is less enviromentally friendly than the regular stuff, it's only supposed to be used in heavy equipment. Next came...

"Hello OSHA? I worked for this guy who would not provide hard hats ar other safety equipment. Our garage had only two class A fire extinguishers, one of which was hung behind a pile of tires, the other is barely charged. I had to climb inside a concrete mixer drum to chip out some concrete that had set up and was not provided with a resperator or other safety equipment. He told us to use broken or under rated jack stands. Had us use unsafe scafolding. You'll look into it? Great, thank you."

His plant was shut down for about four month, and he paid over $500,000 in enviromental fines, and all but one of his trucks were put out of commission until they were brought up to standards, that cost him easily another $100,000. OSHA also kicked his ass, but I'm not sure how badly.

But the ultimate revenge on this asshole was yet to come. He was a known womaniser and his wife knew this, as did his kids. He had had several affairs and borderline sexually harrassed the secretary. He had been sued for sexual harrassment in the past and lost some and won others, but he knew where to draw the line so as not get sued again.
I had one of my female frinds, Brandy, call his wife, Becky, one day and explain to her that she was having an affair with Mike. She went into explisit details about what they had done and where, and that Mike was going to leave Becky and marry her.
Being the evil mind I sometimes suprise myself to be, I made sure of when Mike was out on town at night by himself, or when he went out of town. That way Brandy could say that he was with him on those nights.
We even managed to plant a pair of panties in his work truck and left a condom wrapper, knowing that Becky would find them.
Becky left Mike. Actually, she kicked him out of the house. His kids, tired of thir dad treating their mom like crap, went along with her.

Asshole is still divorced, his reputation has been ruined, so no woman wants anything to do with him. While his plant is up and running again, he is struggeling to make a go of it, because the DOT, EPA and OSHA are watching him like a hawk and he's actually having to spend money on the upkeep of his equipment, keep his shop up to OSHA standards, and make sure that he disposes of fluids and other volitile chemicals properly.

Do I feel bad about this? HELL NO! All he had to do was treat his employees with a little respect and none of this would have happened. Was it a bit extream? Maybe, but my logic and thinking has always been to teach a person a lesson if they do wrong. Don't tell them they did wrong, that won't work, but if you make them suffer the consequenses of their actions, it sticks a little better.
If in a physical confrontation with somebody, I don't just punch the guy and say, "Have you learned your lesson?" No, I'll incapasatate him so that A) He can't retaliate and B) even if he could, he would not want to.

by the way thanks for not replyin you ungrateful shits

 

[MEXCOM]

Old Man and the other roommate, Old Man's twin

FUCK THESE TWO!!!

 

[mustynutz]

i knew you fucks were illiterate....

 

[mustynutz]

AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT REMEMBERS THIS