real women shower with babywipes.

June 18th, 2010 | Author: jells
if there’s one thing ive learned about humans, it’s that over 80% of the population is made up of people who have never given thought to the idea that they might be a complete piece of shit. it’s always everyone else’s problem. much like the fat lady who almost killed me and my kids last week, some people dont find compassion or respect for people you dont know very high on their list.
now before i get rolling, im not saying that im always the perfect representative of the preferred human being, but id like to think that im concious of how i act in public so as to offend the least amount of people possible.
so this morning i witnessed, in line at dunkin donuts a woman take a babywipe container, put in on the trunk of her car, and proceed to take a fucking shower.
no, she wasnt under any water, and no she wasnt attractive by any means, no.
this broad started by carefully taking off her flip flops and stepping onto a paper bag behind her car, SHE DIDNT WANT TO TOUCH THE ICKY GROUND.
she then shimmied out of her cut off jean shorts, which were about the circumference of a 50 gallon drum (EACH LEG), and proceeded to yank out multiple babywipes. thankfully her smooch & chute were out of my view, but she used about 8 babywipes and threw each of the used babywipes near her feet on her “shower mat”.
i ordered my coffee at this point so im not sure if she put on new shorts or if she just yanked up her old ones thinking that if a babywipe is good for a baby, a babywipe is good for where the baby could probably walk the fuck out holding the placenta like a bowling ball bag.
so i turn my attention back to this lovely human specimen as she reaches to her hip and grabs the sides of her tank top, which were more of a roll top if you can pick up what im layin down, and pulls up as she sashays back and forth to get it around each layer of love and her gargantuan sasquatch terts. these terts werent bare, no. but they couldve been for the transparency of her undergarments left little to the imagination and resembled an armpit stained undershirt worn by beetlejuice over a victoria’s secret little diddy.
so she’s standing there, on a paper bag, wiping her arms, her armpits, in between each finger, her neck, behind her ears. then she grabs maybe 4 or 5 new wipes and proceeds to lift up rolls of fat and wipe under them. alternating sides and never using the same wipe thrice.
so she finishes her rolls and grabs a lime green little number from the backseat, stretching her legs out straight so as not to have to step off her papermat.
just as she gets the shirt over her ginormous yams she looks straight ahead and sees the entire line of cars facing her.
she has to realize that about 2 dozen people just saw her change and shower with babywipes right?
no.
she just realized theres a fuckin dunkin donuts over there! wooooo!
and she walks towards those of us in line pondering just what she’ll devour in front of some other poor soul.
i didnt lose my appetite this morning, but i lost a bit of my innocence.
if you are ever considering giving yourself a babywipe shower, please do so at bonaroo or some other outdoor festival so as to stay away from the rest of us.
now im going to go put on “lady in red” and have myself a nice glass of ether to forget the whole ordeal
love,
dad
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the guy with the 13.1 stickers aka toolbox mcassface

May 28th, 2010 | Author: jells

everyday, monday through friday, i take the same 2 or 3 ways to work depending on the time i leave the house, if i have to drop off some kids at day care, if i want to take the scenic route, etc.
everyday, monday through friday, i see this same fucking jeep with the 13.1 stickers. not just two or three. im talking every other week this fucking jeep gets a new 13.1 sticker. meaning, the guy that drives this thing is obsessed with people knowing how many kilometers he runs on the reg.
everyday, monday through friday, no matter which way im taking to the pharmacy, this jeep is trying to pass me
everyday, monday through friday, before i had kids, i would challenge this pissant for lane supremacy for no other reason than to shove my position in front of the semi with the manure in his taught and well manicured FACE leaving him to ponder why i have an artichoke sticker on my truck. (WHY DO I HAVE AN ARTICHOKE STICKER ON MY TRUCK? because artichokes are fucking delicious.)
everyday, monday through friday, since ive had kids, ive been off and on with my fuckery and this jagbag. sometimes i fuck with him for the thrill of causing road rage, sometimes i let him pass and make the jack off motion at him from the safety of my truck.

this morning everything changed.

for.
ever.

today is like any other day, except that is fucking gorgeous outside. today is a day where i appreciate everything from my family and friends in real life, to my internet friends, to the tiniest ground squirrel that im pretty sure is burrowed under my concrete stoop in my back yard.

so as im driving to work this morning, windows down, sun roof open, some black keys on the manpod, the sun is shining, the sky is blue as a married man’s balls, the clouds are wispy…
WISPY!

so i see this fucktard creepin on a come up in me rearview. i sees hims.
i notice that my grip on the steerin wheel tightens and i get that feeling in my stomach like i just saw a hot chick in jr high and my skater haircoif is in my eyes.

today im not in a mood to fuck with anyone so i stay at my usual 2 or 3 mph over the speed limit cause i have nowhere i need to be besides work and who gives a fuck if im 5 or 15 minutes early or late?
im in the left lane, approaching a semi in front of me in the right land, when i hear him PFFFFFRRRR up on my right, YANK his jeep into the left lane in front of me barely missing me, step on the gas hard as hell, and accelerate and then YANKING his jeep back in front of the semi
the semi guy with the CB radio, the trucker hat, the mustache, the cigarette and the orange vest (completely fulfilling all of my trucker stereotypes) (im lying, i didnt see him) kind of gets freaked out and slams on his brakes and swerves to the right
im directly on his left and see the little curly q of a cable between the trailer and the truck itself wobble at me in my right window
i speed up to avoid whatevers about to happen and get into the center lane to avoid getting smashed up by the ensuing catastrophe that jagface created with his 13.1 stickered yeep yeep.
the semi is now REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEing with a potential jackknife and all traffic behind me is now braking hard and urched forward on its front wheels.
i quickly cross two lanes of traffic and pull to the right side of the road and take a breather as the scene calms down

this fucking jag bag almost killed an entire population of early morning drivers for no good reason, and the light is fucking red up ahead, the dude is fucking STOPPED and has saved no time but has completely freaked a shitload of people out!

as i pull back onto the road in front of the semi who was driving like 20mph after the whole thing, i see two cops wizz past me with their lights on headed towards assface

the feeling of community with people i dont know was awesome for a few minutes here. we all approached the intersection where the cops had cornered him going about 20 in a 45mph zone.

have you ever seen about 20 cars all flick off some asshole at the same time WHILE there are cops there? im fucking INSPIRED! i want to find more jagbags (without the near fatal collisions) and publicly chastise them too!

the moral of the story?

dont be a fucking asshole when you have nothing to gain but potentially hurting innocent people. and slow the fuck down you fucking assclown, what the fuck is the fucking rush you fuck?

and if you have a 13.1 sticker on your car, your penis is fucking small or your breasts are fucking nonexistent and youre compensating by showing off something that noone fucking cares about, you pickle tickler.

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fatty packs

May 21st, 2010 | Author: jells

i’ve had it with people today.

i know i know, who wants to hear someone complaining about their day on a friday of all days?
well, ill be quick, and who knows, i may even be funny.
today i had the pleasure of being bombarded, cornered, gangbanged if you will, by a sweaty couple who came in to to ask about constipation. now ive dealt with constipated people, kids, my wife after her c-section, myself after my appendix came out – i know a shit load about helping people shit without the use of drugs, because let’s face it, the majority of constipation issues have to do with drug use, especially pain meds given for post-op recovery.
so as this delightful pair started telling me their story, (when in my line of work you say the word “constipation”: i point at one product, a story isnt needed) i noticed this rattling sound coming from the male’s hand. yes, in his hand he held a fanny pack. a fanny pack that no longer had the energy to be affixed around his waist, the ripped straps told a tale of a progressive losing battle with obesity.
i couldnt stop staring at it. its rattle kept me transfixed. i was hypnotized by this rhythmic maraca held by the bear claw in this man’s bear paw.
he stopped talking and said “what?”
i pointed “what’s in there man? you got some tic tacs? some skittyskittles?”
“these are my medications.” he said as he puffed out his chest and stuck his chin up at me.
“medications for what?” im thinking this guy has some shit goin on so i should be a bit more careful and perhaps get a pharmacist to talk about doctors to visit or something. but this is POOPING. not blockage or infection, just a steady constipation issue. happens all the time.
he mouthbreathed like i was inconveniencing him and unzipped his fannypack and it vomited up at least 2 dozen pill bottles and foil packs of pills.
as he took out each bottle he listed off what each was for, but that only lasted about 5 bottles, then after that he just said how many he was taking and when, as if when has anything to do with what, but ok. this gentleman had no idea what over half of these drugs were being prescribed for.
when he was done his wife plopped her ladysack on the counter and started unloading HER medicines.
i wanted to take a picture with my blackberry (but it probably wouldve given me the spinny hourglass that i love so much) because there were so many bottles scattered around my counter that it looked like a commercial pharmacy had actually shat right here in front of me.
it was disgusting.
fast forward 45 minutes. i had said 4 words to these people around them telling me their ailments and their specialists’s’s’s ideas on what the matter was, never once did a question they asked get answered because every time they would ask a question they would pause and then, out of breath already, they would continue fucking talking.
fast forward 30 more minutes and im ringing them up at the cash register for one bottle of something that costs 26 bucks when the guy hands me his motherfucking insurance card to pay.
yes ladies and gentlemen, this motherfucker tried to pay for something with an insurance card that has no magnetic stripe, no cash value, and in a pharmacy that doesn’t take insurance it does nothing to pay for anything anyhow.
after almost an hour and a half of me trying to start explaining why this guy couldnt take a shit because of all the shit he’s taking, he wasn’t even going to try and pay in cash or credit card for the products that might end up allowing him to have a bowel movement.
i wont tell you how the story ends, but i will tell you that i saw him throw one of his wife’s pill bottles in his man sack. hopefully everything turns out ok and he doesnt develop anything larger than a d cup that he’s already sporting.
joel’s lesson for the day? humans were not made imperfect. if you suffer from a disease, medicine is there for you. if you suffer from merely being you and flashing an insurance card around makes you feel important or worthy of someone’s time only to waste it, you might not realize it, but your lack of self responsibility is what is fucking wrong with this fucking world right now.
drink water. take vitamins. eat meat. walk more. laugh more. and fuck your motherfucking fuck fucking insurance motherfucking card you plastic waving cockflower
love,
dad
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dead bird watchings.

May 14th, 2010 | Author: jells

i almost ran over a dead bird with my handmedown johndeere tractor last night while mowing my tree-less, fence-less, landscaping-less yard.
i threw me tracter in neutral, threw on the brake of park and hopped off my trusty rusty steed and kicked that dead sumbitch onto the sidewalk in front of my neighbors house.
i thought nothing of getting the bird out of the way of my blades yo. who wants to see a red stain on their yard and crunchy remnants strewn aboot?

STREWN ABOOT!

NOW YOU SAY IT!

STREWN ABOOT!

so i go back about me mowins and im about 75% of the way done when i notice a crowd developing across the street from said dead bird dude, dude.
whatever, im busy, i dont need any haberdashery to make my evening complete, ill finish my yard and go in and watch the sandlot with my son and then we can both say YOURE KILLING ME SMALLS! at the same time. itll be keen.

about 30mins later im hosin down my deere (it got quite grassy because of the rain we got the night befer, i dont often hose down me steed that often, please dont assume im a hoser all of the time) and i notice the crowd dispersing and my neighbor, who now has the dead bird on her sidewalk, walks right by me and wont look in my direction.

whatever, polish people can often be estranged and seemingly aloof when it comes to the social constructs of a middle class american neighborhood.

so i put the tractor away, break out the push mower, mow the strips i cant mow with the tractor, put that away, and then go get a grocery bag and head towards my dead friend on the sidewalk. i wasnt even 5 feet away from the bird when i hear, out of a fucking window across the street “GOOD JOB JOEL”
who said that?
“good job.”
good job with what?
“the bird”
what about it?
“you’re going to pick it up.”
yeah, wait, why wouldnt i pick it up?
“i dont know”

i see what’s going on here – the people that were crowding around outside on the opposite side of the street were conspiring over whether or not i would pick up the avian carcass that landed in my front yard. they werent commenting on the storm from the night before or the lovely weather the weekend is supposed to bring, no, they were all taking bets to see if i would dispose of the lovely gift bestowed upon me from the heavens.

i feel like a kid all of a sudden. is a dead bird moved onto someone’s sidewalk for all of an hour while somebody mows their lawn an insult? so i google while holding the dead bird in the plastic target bag, yes, technology makes even the lowliest dead bird disposal agent connected to the internets.

here is what i found out:

Birds are often omens of bad luck. A bird accidentally flying into your house indicates that news is on the way. If it cannot get out, it is a certain sign of death. A woodpecker tapping on your house means bad news. Newlyweds receiving a wedding gift with designs showing birds can expect their happiness to fly away.

but this bird was on my lawn? do i assume that my sister’s sister in law’s favorite television star of sister kate currently out of syndication fame, stephanie beacham’s sister’s friend Brenda is going to sue my cousin’s foreign diplomat exboyfriend over a construction deal gone south? ONLY TIME WILL TELL!
but in the interim, i will continue to not run over dead birds and if i fucking have to, ill kick that sumbitch onto your sidewalk while i finish mowins. BITCHES.

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Lawn Care

April 30th, 2010 | Author: jells
you lazy fucks:

yea yea yea, alot of you folk are city dwellers and aint have no need nor essperience with the idea of lawn maintenance, but im here to tell ya a few things about yer lawn ok ese? even if you aint have one, its important to realize what goes into one should you ever have the need to cut yer mammies lawn while she’s out biddin on alpacas at some ranch auction down mexico way.

so when you’re in yer 20s or 30s, you buy a crib and start to realize all the shit that goes into making the house, not necessarily look awesome, but look unnoticeable. you dont want to be that chauncey ass chauncey with the weeds waist high or the shutters peeling or the basketball hoop with no basketball hoop – just a rusting black festivus pole.

the easiest way to not have your neighbors think you a chauncey ass chauncey is to fucking MOW YOUR SHIT on a regular basis. on top of that, if you actually have GREEN grass, you’ll get a cool nickname too like “ol green grass over there” or “mowie mcmowsalot” or “john deere greene, on a hot summer night, he wrote billy bob loves charlene, in letters three foot high” (I LOVE YOU JOE DIFFIE!)
ive come up with a quick lesson for all the dumb fucks who think the lower you mow, the less frequently youll have to do anything to the lawn
if you dont have a lawn and want to skip this, please skip to the area below where it says **********************
** raise that mower deck bitch: i learned from an amazingly green lush lawn having neighbor at my first house the following mantra for lawn care:
the longer the blade
the deeper the root
the deeper the root
the greener the grass
the greener the grass
the lusher the carpet
the lusher the carpet
the more ass you get cause your lawn look BANGK INS!
** weeds n shit yo: weeds dont need water to grow. weeds need sunlight. so another reason to have tall grass is to choke the fucking chauncey ass chauncey ass weeds out from their food source. the worst thing you can do is mow short (for most types of grass in my area at least, so fuck you zyosa having bitches with your 1/2inch mowhawk grasses) cause the weeds be like “yo open baaarr! let’s crash this chauncey ass chauncey’s lawwwwn yo!”
** fertilizer: unless you bought a 30 year old house with an established weed-free lawn, you actually have to apply fertilizer about 4 times throughout the year. early spring is the first one, then about 6 weeks later do another one, then during the hot months dont put shit down cause that shit burns the mothafuckin grass like a chauncey ass chauncey. then put the shit down just as it starts getting tolerable again (in chicago this is late august/mid september). then do one more application when you’re wearing a coat. like end of october. that makes the following spring BANGIN as you have green grass when all those chauncey ass chaunceys have brown shits.
** infestation: if you got more weeds than grass you need help. but dont get weird and start digging everything up. thats when you call true green or some lawn company to do their weekly treatments for a season. it takes time for shit to get back to homeostasis and look good, but you gotta work at it once it gets back from the brink by fertilizing and mowing high.
** seeding: i do this once a year right when summer actually starts. buy the small bag and mix that shit with dry soil. then spread with a taco bell cup with a hole in it.
** incidental weed control: buy a fucking WEED HOG. go head, google that bitch. you should be pulling the occasional weed every time you get ready to mow. some people throw them pulled up chaunceys in a bag to get picked up as lawn waste, but i just toss em into the lawn and mow over em. chauncey ass chaunceys.
i wager i spend about 3 hours a week on my yard throughout the week. before it got it all pimp and chauncey free it was about triple that. now i just mow and sing journey songs as i ride my john deere. i get so much ass its pathetic.
************************* go forth to love and to kick some serious chauncey ass chauncey ass ass
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the greatest song in the world…

April 30th, 2010 | Author: jells

http://carlosknight.bandcamp.com/

i had the pleasure of delivering the razor-like guitar solos for this particular song, and i am proud to be considered a Bay City Boy.

i have never been to a bay before, but im sure because of my testicles, that i fall into the boy category quite easily.

i pray you visit this site and listen to the song. for it changed my life, and it may change yours.

love,

dad

p.s.

new rule.

all songs must be 80’s throwback songs.

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tha zoo yo.

April 16th, 2010 | Author: jells
so wifeys about to get back to work finally after having been on bedrest from skanksgiving until the birth of the monsters in january and followed up by a nice maternity leave (6 paychecks worth of no paychecks YAY!). we wanted to award our 2 year old with a little mommy/daddy time by taking just him out to the zoo for some giggles and LOOKIT!’s.
we went this past thursday to chicago’s brookfield zoo. beautiful day. huge rhinoceros balls. you name it. it was bad ass.
but i noticed something that maybe alot of my guy friends dont realize when i say “we’re at the zoo dude”.
they think “ah shit, that sucks.” and it might, had i not had sunglasses on.
see, the zoo is where moms take their kids when theyre still in strollers. when moms are comfortable taking their kids out in a stroller, it means theyre becoming more comfortable with their bodies after childbirth.
which means theyre pushing their wardrobe to the limit.
i cannot tell you how many luscious mammaries were flaunted in front of me at the seal & sea lion tank, how many flowing white skirts jiggled in front of me on the way into the Swamp exhibit, how many tanned shoulders and breasticle crevasses cooed in my direction outside the lemur encasement. if you were wondering, lemurs are cute. which means that mommies get low with their hands on their knees and point, causing an erotic show of scrunch and release which to my non-sex-having-ass was pure delight.
so im recommending the zoo with sunglasses on to all of my friends who just had kids and their wives are still moody all the time. you can stare and oogle the sights without getting slapped by your wifey figure.
there is nothing wrong with being a creep, so long as you keep your inner creep bottled up where you cant offend anyone, be a poor role model to your kids or get arrested.
long live the creeps.
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