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fatty packs

jells — Fri, 21 May 2010 20:43:08 +0000

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.

jells — Fri, 14 May 2010 20:51:06 +0000

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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dadmath

jells — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 18:19:13 +0000

yesterday i had a wart surgically removed from the bottom of my foot. his name was reggie and im going to miss scraping him on the coffee table to annoy my wife. i cant walk very well today, which is weird cause the real Reggie cant walk really well in real life either since the state awarded him that Rascal moving chair. the circle of life indeed huh reggie?

so RIP reggie.

but this morning i had the utmost pleasure of celebrating my son’s first actual shit on the toilet.

all 5 of us were in the bathroom as he shat upon his froggie shitter and awarded the crowd with his toddler aroma and sound effects.

if i recall correctly, we all clapped a number of times. he won three pieces of pez from his Shrek pez dispenser. 1 for number 1 and 2 for number 2.

so why is a kid shitting such a big deal?

diapers are fucking expensive and ive got the dual shit machines trying to oust my oldest as king of daddy’s wallet in the who can shit the most category and if i can get one kid off the dipe and onto the pot, ill be able to buy that bottle of johnny walker ive had my eye on for a few weeks now.

lets do some dadmath shall we?

48 diapers for a 2 year old: 26 bucks. you gotta figure he gets changed every 3 hours or so while awake. so that’s 8 potential changes if he never slept. but that’s in a figurative existence, some kids cant shit in a wet diaper, so double two of those visits and pencil in the two or three dipes he rips off screaming “I GO POTTY”. Either way you cut it, a kid who doesnt sleep or my kid in his training phase, we’re at about 10 diapers a day. that’s rounding-up, 6 bucks in diapers a day.

the big bottle of johnny walker red is 32 bucks and i would only sip from its teet filled with its nectar of yum maybe three times a week, about three fingers each time. comparing my last big bottle of jw’s lifespan, i can make a big ass bottle last about three months.

which seems about right. if i have three drinks a week that bottle will last about 10-12 weeks.

one box of dipes: lasts 5 days and is 6 bucks cheaper than my booze.

one bottle of jw: lasts 12 weeks and is delicious.

84 days in 12 weeks.

16.8 boxes of diapers in 12 weeks at this rate

that’s 436.80 dollars in shitswaddles

minus my booze with tax: 36.80

thats 400 bucks more i spend on poop and piss than on liquor

meaning i can actually afford to drink more if my kid holds his shit and waits to erupt or spout off until he’s actually on the shitser.

love,

dad

dadmath is a post from sexy ass GagDragon, are you going to the mall later?

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sammies & teh fucks

jells — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 20:37:53 +0000

man, this one time me and wifey were comparing schedules to see when we could fit in a hot and sweaty fuck and realized we only had 17 minutes before i had to leave for a meeting and she had to pick up my son & nephew for a tball game.
so i dropped trow and readied myself, she grabbed the lube and i took care of myself while she made sandwiches.

PEANUT BUTTER AND BANANA SAMMIES FTW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111111111111

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the raccoon, the dried condom & the threesome that could’ve been

jells — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 15:34:12 +0000

so i swerved in traffic this morning to avoid hitting a raccoon that had already been struck by the homosexual prius in front of me. normally im not into striking animals or harming things, but as soon as i got back on the road i immediately regretted not finishing the fucker off.

im not talking euthanasia out of a respect for the creature in pain, no, im talking, i have a history with these masked creatures that dates back to my late teens.

when i was 19 years old i was attending western illinois university in macomb, il (where is that you ask? imagine the state of illinois as a pregnant lady facing west. my school was in the middle of nowhere, near the tip of the belly). i lived with 4 friends in a house that was used primarily as an ashtray, a brewhouse and a place to wipe ejaculate.

one morning i returned from an afterparty with two chicks in tow. i was planning on filming a sexual romp that would make rick james blush but instead we stayed up a few more hours polishing off a bottle of apple pucker and playing strip connect four. i was the first nude and the first to say “you guys hear that?”

the girls giggled and caressed each other a bit and then turned to me simultaneously and said “hear what?”

i stood with my suspicious face and nothing else on. wagging the dog, if you will.

i approached the back door and peered out but couldnt see into the darkness with the lights on in the house. all i saw was what looked like a grey and white dog doing summersaults away from my position. now we lived on a kind of hill that we had to drag our trash cans down weekly for trash collection, but this was the day before the trash day, so our 4 cans were chock full of food, beer bottles and used condoms up against the side of the house. the view from the couch was in between two full trash cans.

disgusting? yes. college? yes.

well a few more rounds of strip connect four and i was getting closer and closer to movie star tang but i kept hearing this hullalaboo that was like a scratching mixed with sinister snivelling. like mister burns was outside my door fucking with me.

i got up a few more times and looked out the window, only to see this grey and white blur pass by my field of vision.

so i kept returning to my mini-orgy but kept getting back up to peer out the window, cause back in these days i supplemented my brain power with ample amounts of the reefer of schwagness and had the paranoia factor of a nam vet, a kid with his dick in the cookie jar and oj simpson combined into one naked white college sophomore.

if this was just a story about the penetration, i will tell you that it was plentiful and swol, but no, this is a story about something else entirely.

as im laying pipe like a trucker at a rent by the hour motel i see a head pop into view at the window by the trash cans. i immediately unsheathe the female from my rubber enwrapped schwanz and head to the door. this time i opened the door and burst out as loud as possible to make myself seem bigger than i actually am (im a grower not a shower, its cool) and i see the tail end of, uh, the tail of what can only be a raccoon.

my enemy has a face, a genus, a species. i shall not rest until this beast is tamed and my property is protected. but first i better get back to the snatch.

so i return to the snatch to see one girl watching Friends reruns on tbs and the other writing out a grocery list. it seems our sexy time has devolved into “wow. dude left us for a squirrel”

i spent the better part of the next 20 minutes describing what it was that i saw and as the girls got dressed they answered me with “mmmhmm, great. uh huh, sure” as i put my plan into action.

i was going to snag this fucking coon and make an example out of it. fuck this.

i sprang into action, still nude, with a whimpering condom flapping against, and occasionally sticking to, my thighs. i opened the fridge and took every take out container we had and dumped it into a tin foil baking pan that served as a wet shoe receptacle. pretty soon i had chinese food, a few smooshy burrito halves, grilled chicken breasts and some rotting bean sprouts that i had gotten into putting on my sammies in place of lettuce.

i took this platter of shit and took it out to the porch, slid it inbetween the two trash cans previously mentioned and ran around to the side of the house where the landlord kept some of our random shit in a lean-to like shed. gas can, bug spray, fertilizer… ANTIFREEZE! i grabbed the antifreeze knowing that its got a sweet scent to it that dumb animals love.

i poured a good half of a bottle onto the food platter and used an empty beer bottle to give the mash a little stimulation. the sucking sound of a beer bottle pushing into and out of a pile of soggy food soaked with antifreeze and its own juices kind of reminded me of what i gave up to protect my house from this critter. i just had two broads spread eagle in porno mode, but i chose the path that im on and i needed to finish this once and for all.

so i replaced the beer bottle in the trash and went back in the house, cut the lights and crouched by the window, still naked, still sporting a droopy condom on sir wiggles.

the next thing i remember is being kicked by my roommate brian, the sun was shining directly on my condom clad mazda 6, which had now dried and hurt to touch, and there were people laughing. i get the fuzz out of my eyes and see about 12 freshman pledges to brian’s fraternity all staring down at my fetus curled body.

i got halfway to my feet and said aloud “is the carcass out there?”

silence

i just asked 13 or so people if there was a carcass out there as i lay naked on the floor with a condom drying on my mike tirico. i wasnt going to get an answer. i should probably get this condom off my dick cheney before its permanently attached.

i ended up showering and going to class that day, but all i thought about was the varmint that got away. i saw those two broads at the student union later on, and i went over to talk to them like nothing had happened but i guess they werent into talking to me. so the day dragged on and all i could do was think about this fucking coon that had been fuckin wit me propatee.

that night i went back to work, i was a bartender so i drank for a job, and then came home drunk again. i passed out on the very couch i had not 24 hours earlier auditioned for college fuck parties and failed.

about 530 i heard a scratching noise and my eyes shot open. i looked to the window to see the masked animal himself staring at me.

i didnt dare move. he must be back to die on my porch the fucking shit.

as i attempted to sit up, i shit you not, this mother fucking ass fucking animal put the back of his paw up against the window and fucking flicked me off.

this fucking coon just put up his middle claw and gave me the bird.

i erupted from the couch in a fury normally reserved for after school specials and i went after him, this time fully clothed, only to see his little fucking tail disappear down the hill, across the street and under the foundation of a house belonging to the rugby team

i had been beaten, outsmarted, hoodwinked.

but that fucker has no idea how crazy rugby players are, and i knew just who to call. i called crackmonkey, the rugby captain, and i told him my story.

that night when i got home from work i could see the shadows of a bonfire across the street and men with pitchforks, shotguns and fireworks.

fuck you raccoon. and fuck all of your rascally friends. we are mortal enemies. i will kill all of you.

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