Part III

[read part 1] [read part 2 (1st act)] [read part 2 (2nd act)]

A shot of the letter I sent Larry!

Larry never had the chance to call or email me about the letter Mitchell Richards had sent him. Two days later at 5:45 in the morning, his wife began calling me over and over. She called 3 (maybe 4) times in a row. For someone who had no idea that I was behind the letters, I was shocked at her lack of courteousness. My wife was eight months pregnant at the time and we both had full days of work to attend that day.

I never answered the phone that morning and as soon as I arrived at work, my office phone began ringing off the hook. Once I did take a call she threatened to sue me and said she had called the police for giving out Larry’s name and address; she called me a few bad names, said I was guilty of libel and was outrageously rude to the girl answering the phone for our office. It was a fabulous spectacle.

It was now time for me to implement part 3 of the prank.

Originally I had no idea how this prank would end. I almost planned on Larry receiving the letter, calling me in disbelief then we both having a nice “GOTCHA!” laugh. But his wife had elevated it to a new level.

Suddenly thoughts of my last visit to Larry’s home came to mind. I remembered his wife telling me I’d be a worthless parent simply because I couldn’t get her baby to stop crying. I remembered her cussing poor Larry out in the bed room while she left her two young children with me in the adjacent living room. It was no wonder her poor baby screamed in anguish. It was easily one of the most unsettling situations I had ever been in during my lifetime. But if there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you have to suck up the wrath of a bitchy wife for your friends. My wife has shown her ass a few times before too. The bro code requires a bro hold no hard feelings against his buddy’s sometimes not so better half.

This time was different. The bro code had been superseded. She had attacked and threatened me personally. This was war; and it was now as much a war I fought for Larry as me. I was going to prank her good.

That night on the eve of Halloween I gathered a few poster boards and some magic markers. I created 5 posters that I’d post up on Larry’s property. The plan was that they’d come home and find them, thinking that the GARP animal activist nuts were mounting an offensive against them for the horrible things Larry had allegedly done to the poor groundhog and deer.

The posters were amazing. I stuck them all along his front door and porch. Hidden below the two on his front door I posted a huge poster of a Jack-o-lantern, reading Trick or Treat, smell my feet! I figured they’d peel them off in disgust, revealing the Halloween poster then suddenly they would realize the whole thing was a big joke.

Larry called me later that afternoon from work. He told me his wife had discovered the posters. She told him that protesters had spilled deer blood on the porch and that the posters were graphic and gory. The prank had finally climaxed.

I revealed to Larry that I was behind it all. There was no deer blood, no vandalism, just funny posters. And I’ll let you judge whether they were gory or not.

Larry sat on the other end of the phone call nearly speechless. I had totally stumped him. Later he revealed that they suspected it may have been me but never actually thought me to be the true culprit because the letters were so well written and free of grammatical errors. I’m not sure whether that was a compliment or insult.

Regardless, it was best prank I have ever seen anywhere. I’ve not failed to amaze anyone who has heard or read the story yet.

In retrospect I’d like to say sorry if I’ve made your life hell, Larry. But admit it, if this had happened to anyone else, you’d be praising me for pulling off one of the best pranks ever. You guys swallowed this story, hook, line and sinker. This practical joke transcended just being funny, it was a masterpiece, a true work of art.

Check out the posters! Click to bring up a larger shot in a lightbox, hover over the right side of the image to move to the next image in the collection:

Part 2 continues…

[read part 1] [read the first half of part 2]

To elevate the situation, I told Larry that I edited the correspondence he sent me above and sent it to Mr. Richards, mocking him.

After the initial emails, I decided to muster up all the patience I could and sit on the prank a while, letting it develop and ferment. Halloween was coming in a few weeks and I wanted for that day to be the day of my grand finale.

In those few weeks before Halloween I drafted up the ultimate letter. I embodied the soul of an animal rights activist freak. As Mitchell Richards, the senior board member for GARP Atlanta I pledged to bring Larry to justice, but also to assist him in finding treatment for his sickness. I even topped the letter with an official looking GARP letter head, included the genuine GARP return address, and then drove 25 miles to the actual postal district that GARP’s address was located in and mailed the letter, ensuring that it would have the correct post mark when Larry received it in the mail!

Read the official GARP letter Mr. Richards mailed to Larry below:

PO Box 2042
Roswell, GA 30077
October 22, 2008

Larry Glavoltz
30 ##### ##
Dallas, GA 30132

Dear Mr. Larry Glavoltz,

There are fewer things more precious and dear to American’s than justice and equality. These two simple yet elegant ideas demand fair treatment for the sake of our right to co-exist. These ideas bind our country together. They are the fabric of the patchwork quilt that blankets this country in warmth and unity. It is what makes the United States great.

Georgia Animal Rights and Protection and PETA feel that the rights extended and crafted from the very heart of justice and equality are unalienable not only to Man, but to all the living creatures of the world. It is my mission as a lifelong member of both of these reputable organizations to uphold these standards to the greatest of my ability.

Recently I was made aware of a website article that outlined the brutal murder of an innocent creature. The website article told the story of a deer that became wedged inside the driver’s side window of a vehicle passing along the animal’s path as it made its way through the woods. Instead of remaining calm and assisting the creature in becoming free, the operator of the vehicle dashed his brains out with a hammer.

I contacted the administrator of this website and received a very distasteful response. This response served as a direct admission of guilt and also made light of another act of blatant animal brutality involving a groundhog. The administrator of the website then named you as the culprit involved in these acts of violence and malevolence.

Further correspondence with this gentleman has only served to tease and undermine the mission of my organization. As a result I have requested the assistance of various animal rights and law enforcement organizations in our communities to resolve this issue. I have also conducted an interview with the foreperson that oversees the development of the construction zone concerned with the new Trump Tower off 14th St. Atlanta, while investigating the story I was told concerning the groundhog. I am sad to report that he recollects seeing more than a few carcasses of dead animals. I can only hope that you are not responsible for all these.

I request that you cooperate fully with the local authorities in their investigation of these acts. Please do not take these allegations lightly. I hope that you will take a serious look at yourself and determine if you have a problem.

In closing I would like to say that I am a firm believer in rehabilitation. If you should discover that you have a problem with animal abuse, I would be more than happy to connect you with a support group. GARP offers group therapy sessions free of charge to those afflicted with personality disorders of this nature. Our animal sensitivity focus groups have an extremely high success rate in rehabilitating those who have a history of animal abuse. As the program teaches the individual how to respect those who are members of the animal kingdom, it enriches the student with a healthier respect for their community, their common man and most importantly, themselves.

I invite you to contact me directly with any questions at 770-###-####.

Thank you for your consideration.

Sincerely,
Mitchell Richards
Senior Board Member, Georgia Animal Rights & Protection

Now that you’ve read the letter, prepare yourself for the climax of The Greatest Prank of All Time!
Read Part III!

Part 2

[read part 1 first]

About a year had passed since the introduction of the stories, everyone seemed to still believe them and occasionally I’d be asked to re-tell them when Larry was brought up by anyone at work. They were a huge hit, and no one ever hinted at the fact that Larry or I may just be full of crap, or at least playing a joke on them.

Halloween was coming up and it was time to introduce a new joke. This time Larry would be the victim. I typed up the story of The Deer Killer with all the wonderful and gory details it had grown over the year and let it sit online for a few weeks.

While planning the joke, I knew that if there was one thing Larry despised, it was the ultra liberal, candy ass hippies. At the top of this hippie hate list are the out of touch, environmentalist nut jobs from Greenpeace and the meat hating, vegan freaks from PETA. Obviously, exploiting his dislike of PETA was the golden ticket to a great prank in this case.

In the Atlanta area there appears to be no local chapter of PETA, but there is an organization called GARP. GARP, or Georgia Animal Rights and Protection are a non-profit group who, like PETA, act in the interests of animals. I decided to use GARP as the foundation of my prank. GARP’s website is www.GARPAtlanta.org.

I kicked off the prank by purchasing www.GARP-Atlanta.org and redirecting it to the legitimate, very similar GARP URL. Next I invented an identity, a big shot at GARP who would work to deliver justice for the animals Larry had killed! I changed all the Who-Is registrant info for my fake domain to match the name of this new person I made up. I used the phone number from an old pre-paid cell for the contact phone number and used the same registrant mailing address that existed from the real GARP organization address as my address. Then I created a GARP-Atlanta.org email address for my fake identity.

I wanted to be sure that if this prank were being played on me, even I’d fall for it.

Next I sent myself an email from the fictitious GARP official, Mitchell Richards, stating that PETA had made him aware of the alleged animal abuse taking place in his community. The email proclaimed GARP and PETA’s distaste for my story and demanded I take it down. Read the letter below:

Read the rest of this entry »

Part 1

Roughly a year ago, my good friend Larry was in a car accident. On his way to work he was side swiped by a deer, leaving a huge, gaping dent in his car door. Upon hearing the news I had an ingenious idea for a prank. I quickly fabricated what would become one of the most ridiculous stories of all time. The story of The Deer Killer!

In my wife’s family there exists an inside joke amongst some of us about a certain family member who one time claimed a deer collided with the side of his truck, became lodged in the window and thrashed him, leaving him bruised and black eyed. In reality, this person had simply received a beating from some co-workers for having a big mouth. The story was fabricated to save face.

What person would ever believe such a ridiculous story? Well, turns out a few people in the family did (his wife and maybe one of the daughters). This got me thinking, did they actually believe the ridiculous tale simply because they wanted to, or in their eyes was it a legitimate, believable story.

I took the family member’s fabrication and adapted it to Larry’s story, but instead of Larry being the victim, he would become an epic character, a killer of beasts! I came to work and told the grand, tall tale style story to all of Larry’s former co-workers, creating the details on the fly. I told how the deer thrashed, kicked and gnarled and how Larry, clinging to life and in total desperation, reached for an auto hammer and dashed the creature’s brains out!

I traveled from office to office telling this tale, it became grander each time. Eventually the tale became a legend, an epic like Homer’s Odyssey. Over the course of a month congregations formed to hear the tale. I was asked to re-tell the story easily a dozen times those first few weeks. No one could believe that Larry, someone who appeared so quiet and strait laced, was capable of this. Despite all the ridiculousness, everyone did believe. I was amazed. Larry had become an office hero.

Months went by and eventually Larry told me another animal story about a groundhog he had captured, that was burrowing under the foundation of his home. His story included a little tidbit about his wife complaining at him to catch it. I ran with the new story to build onto the legend.

I still remember the morning I introduced the new tall tale. I burst into the office that day and told the story of an over worked and stressed out Larry, who couldn’t catch a break from his overbearing, nagging wife. Larry was now working 60 hour weeks at the big office down in Mid-town Atlanta and his wife grilled his ass day and night about this pest.

Eventually Larry snapped, he lured the groundhog into a cage, threw it in the back of his car and toted it down to the office with him. That day he parked at the top of the 4 story parking garage, walked to the edge and threw the furry fiend off the side of the building into a neighboring construction site! Larry had gone postal.

The office erupted in laughter and shock. They lapped up the story like a thirsty dog on a hot summer day. It was a huge hit. Now everybody knew one thing was certain, Larry was a certified badass, even more badass than ninjas, lumber jacks or Chuck Norris. They even all started referring to him as Badass-Larry.

In reality, Larry had simply released the burrowing creature down the street from his house.

Continue on to part II of The Greatest Prank of All Time!

Join in on the fun!

Do a Google image search on midgets and you’ll find tons of disturbing, mini, fun sized filth. Click the link and check it out for yourself!

A while back I received a forwarded email about the great bar sport of Midget Tossing. The game captivated me. I found myself wishing I could become a midget for one night (but only one since midgets are scary looking) so I could participate in the event. I wanted to get hammered, drape myself in a Velcro Superman costume and be thrown onto a big, fuzzy wall.

Like every other junk email reading American in the world, I fired up Google and immediately did a search for images of midgets. Turns out that was a badchoice. Immediately tons of midget porn shots popped up in the results. Page after page, I found images of midget women indulging themselves with penises as long and tall as their tiny bodies. A search for dwarf tossing returned one result of a little hot midget chick licking butt hole (get it, tossing as in tossing salad!) As intrigued as I was, I left my viewing to a quick peek show and closed the browser after a few page views. The last thing I needed was to get fired for looking at midget porn at work.

So a few days went by, nothing was said and I figured no one noticed what I had stumbled on to at work. Then Friday afternoon came… my boss buzzed my phone and asked me into his office. I immediately began freaking out inside.

Most people appear to have very one sided relationships with their boss. Anytime mine has ever called me (or anyone I suspect) into his office, it’s not to congratulate me on a job well done or give me a pat on the back, it’s rarely to outline a new project he wants me to work on and seldom is it to discuss a new idea or pass a proposal by me. Every time my boss has ever called me into his office, it was because I was in some kind of trouble. And getting called into his office on a Friday afternoon could only mean one thing, my ass was grass. My goose was cooked. I was being fired.

During my first year in the work force, completely green, inexperienced and literally right out of college, I had to learn a few rookie lessons.  Innocent comments and small jokes made in emails (even emails you didn’t necessarily write) can be damning. Even a personal website like this one can be damning, which is why it’s ever important to never name your work place, or write directly about anyone you work with in a negative light!

I learned quickly as a rookie employee that 1st Amendment rights, comedic satire and baseless accusations take a backseat to an overweight female with low self esteem and too much time on their hands. Baseless accusations still have to be pursued when they arise, which is why if I walked into my bosses office today and said Jimmy down the hall sexually harassed me by the coffee machine, he’d have to reprimand Jimmy. It’s a sad fact of life.

Needless to say, I’ve since decided to wise up and start flying under the radar. I ceased all email correspondence to co-workers that was not business related and limited water cooler talk to a simple hello and goodbye. I am sad to say that I have learned the corporate world can be a cold, humorless place.

Now here I am, Friday afternoon sitting in the chair directly across from my boss. He’s on the phone with someone and I am fidgeting with my wedding ring, anxiously wondering why I’m here. I quickly ran through the various scenarios mentally as I waited to be addressed:

“What could I have done,” I thought, “Did I sexually harass someone? Did I tell another bad joke or send a bad email? Nope, none of that is possible. I’m never late. I’ve made all my deadlines… Oh crap! MIDGET PORN!” I had figured it out. I was getting fired for looking at midget porn.

My boss hung up the phone, “Peavey, I was looking over your performance review and I noticed a few things that needed to be changed a bit. Sign here so I can turn it into HR.” I looked at him almost dumbfounded. “Oh, I’m not in trouble? Alright, where do I sign?”

Whew! Disaster averted. Peavey lives to fly another day.

I must admit though, later that night I did masturbate to some of those midgets. Just kidding, those little Oompa Loopas freak me out.  That one pic I uncovered of the midget tossing salad nearly made me toss my cookies.

The women in my family are at best neurotic. In fact, the entire existence of this web site is a direct product of the incomprehensible amounts of stress and damage afflicted on to me by my mother, sister and indirectly, the other women in my family, as a child. The cuts so deep that in deciding to pair up with my wife, I unknowingly sought out the antithesis of every female in my family.

Recently my sixty something year old grandmother came down for a visit. I decided to be the decent grandson and went to the airport to pick her up. Before even agreeing to the deed I warned my wife that it would be a disaster.

“Why is it going to be a disaster? All you have to do is go pick up your grandmother from the airport.” My wife asked, smirking and amused by my typical exaggerated emotional outpouring. I reassured her, pacing around the living room, arms waving up and down, my tone heightened and excited “Nothing is easy with these people, something will go wrong, someone will freak out about it and I’m going to get pissed. You don’t want to go with me. Just let me do this alone.” At the time she laughed at my sincerity, assuming I was making something out of nothing and insisted she ride along.

Shortly after the conversation outlining how this entire ordeal would turn into a disaster I called my mom to tell her I’d go pick up the old lady for her. Immediately the barrage started. “Now Peavey, you know she can’t walk well and you’re going to have to carry her bags for her,” also adding, “and Peavey, please don’t say anything stupid to her, you know she believes everything you say about anything.”

Immediately the sarcastic eye rolls began. A mere minute later my aunt called, word travels fast in our family. “Peavey, listen to me. I need a huge favor from you. Can you do me a favor?” “Yeah, sure.” I replied flatly. “Now listen Peavey, this is serious. You’re grandmother is in very bad condition. She can’t walk. I need a favor from you; can you do me a favor?”

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Every little girl dreams of working at The Varsity!

Today is Halloween. Kids are dressed up everywhere, a feeling of mischievousness is in the air and candy is abundant. My little cousins, nieces and nephews are dressed up like princesses and ghouls, and a few are even Varsity workers! Others have their faces painted or are wearing funny wigs and masks, and at this moment in life everything seems great… except for one thing.

I look down into one of my little cousin’s Trick-or-treat bag and find nothing but cheap-o Dollar Tree candy hell. I see an assortment of hard candy, pixie sticks, sweet tarts and crummy sub-fun sized candy bars. Masses of assorted candies bought for 99 cent a bag at the local dollar store. Having not gone Trick-or-treating for over a decade now, I had forgotten how bad the innocent Trick-or-treater can really get burned on Halloween. In working for a better tomorrow for the children, I propose we reform the Halloween season.

To begin with, I declare that there should be a new unspoken rule for all those deciding to hand out candy in observance of this grand tradition. If you can get a certain type of candy free somewhere else on any of the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year, don’t hand it out on Halloween. Every time a child visits the bank, they’re given Dum-Dums. Every time the kids visit their old great uncle, aunt or grand parent at the nursery home, they’re given crusty, decade old, hard candy. Go to a receptionist’s desk, there will be assorted mints or life savers available. Therefore, all these types of candy are off limits Halloween night.

Secondly, don’t be one of those people who give out tooth brushes, floss or fruit as treats. If you do so, you wholly deserve a trick in return! What kind of a monster promotes healthy dental hygiene and eating habits on Halloween? The fight against tooth decay and childhood obesity can wait for Easter. But for God’s sake, today is holy. Today is a day of gluttony, mischief, tomfoolery and naughtiness.

I also beg of all you cheap asses to stop handing out the Pixie Stix. Let’s agree to retire this horrible treat, if you can even call it a treat. Does Pixie Stix even qualify as candy? It is sugar packaged up in a paper tube. It’s like a redneck junkie’s equivalent of methamphetamine. You don’t even have to buy Pixie Stix; you could grab a bag of sugar out of the pantry, mix it with Kool-aid and start bagging up your own little hits of the sweet stuff. Last Halloween I saw some diabetic kid trying to free base a Pixie Stick out of a Pez Dispenser. Holy Shit kid, get a hold of yourself! He had already busted up and snorted all his Pez, and for some odd reason opted to try and smoke the Pixie Stix. See, that’s what this poison does to our youth. They don’t even know how to property ingest their drug… err, I mean candy. RETIRE THE PIXIE STIX!

Next, we have to ban overly sticky, infinitely chewy candy. This mainly refers to all the off branded, unfamiliar caramel type candies that generally only show up around Halloween, but could also include Milk Duds and Laffy Taffy. Personally, I enjoy eating these types of candy, but they are too much trouble. Normally I’d be all for something that glues a kids mouth shut, but at the same time these candies are so sticky they’re ripping out fillings or even teeth, and there is always that fat kid who stuffs five too many pieces in his mouth then grows tired of chewing and tries to swallow the entire softball sized wad of goo. Last year we had a little chunker pull a stunt like that and I decided to let him choke to death. Just kidding, I Heimlicked that little gordito so hard his genitals receded up into his body. He now has a vagina and we changed his name from Michael to Michelle.

Lastly, lay off the ultra fun sized candy bars. The cheap-o people out there love these things. It’s a nice cop-out used to appear to be giving away the good candy when really, you are giving so little of it away at once that a single bag stretches across a hundred little costumed bastards. These minis are generally the delicious, chocolate candy we all know, love and crave so much on this wonderful night, only they’re extra fun sized (a euphemism for extra tiny)! I think they are best described as a fun sized candy bar sliced into quarters.

If you decide to give out candy, do it the right way. Either go for gold, handing out full sized candy bars (and ensuring your house not only avoids being rolled and egged, but also protected) or give out two or three of the fun sized chocolate bars. Other wise, turn off your porch light and do not bother insulting us with your sub par, Dollar Tree selection of goodies.

Thank you and I hope you all will assist me in making Halloween great for many more generations to come.

My Artistic Rendition of the Bubble Girl

I love to hate people who think they are allergic to everything. These sad little peons fear all types of microorganisms. They use their hypochondria to attain special treatment and sympathy and more times than not, we all suck it up like a thirsty dog lapping up antifreeze on a hot summer day.

These people refuse to use public restrooms or touch stair case railings. Some of the more extreme wear face masks while out doors. Others install special lenses in their glasses to protect their fragile pupils from the sun and constantly apply lotions with sunscreen mixed in to prevent melanoma. These pansies are never comfortable, something always ails them and they are always sure to announce their discomfort to the entire room. I refer specifically to the woman at the office who is always cold in the summer and hot in the winter, the old man who constantly complains of aches, or the over cautious parents who disinfect every aspect of their children’s lives.

I feel ill myself over the over reactions and restrictions these people place on themselves. The only cure to my ailment is to go behind them and do everything they see as hazardous to their fragile health. I take big dumps in nasty gas stations, eat food off the floor and the only time I use disinfectants is when cleaning up fecal matter.

I frequently eat seven day old food long forgotten in the fridge, and consume eggs and milk that are long out of date, I dine regularly at the local Mexican joint nicknamed la coucaracha and I have used the same coffee mug for the past year without washing it once! I don’t wash my hands after taking pisses unless I splash some on me and if my chicken is a little raw in the middle, I keep on chomping.

Despite all this, the only time I use sick leave at work is to take in ball games with my buddies or to do something else kick ass.

I write about this in response to a news story I just read about a woman from Pennsylvania who actually lives in a chemical free bubble most of her day. The poor thing claims the outside world just makes her sick. Oh bubble girl, you poor, poor victim.

But please, do not worry about bubble girl; she is cared for by a highly trained doctor. The news story goes on to report that her local physician is an expert in the highly specialized field of pseudoscience. After all, every hypochondriac needs a good pseudo scientist to endorse their misconceptions and feed their fears!

Turns out, we have a bubble girl here at work! I have worked with her for two and a half years yet I could not tell you her name. We simply call her Bubble Girl. Bubble Girl enjoys sitting at a desk in the common area/hall way between all our offices. She used to have an office of her own, but some kind of strange odor or smell in the air activated violent allergies making it impossible for her to work. Despite the fact that she worked in this office for nearly a year before and the entire building was cleansed using a series of super, giant HEPA-filter equipped air purifiers that resembled Transformers; the air in that office still makes her ill.

At Bubble Girl’s desk is a personal fan, an air purified, a space heater and even a special foot rest that allows her to keep her feet propped up at all times. She has a special ergonomic keyboard and mouse and extra thick, padded wrist pads too. Despite having two, $10,000, high powered laser printers less than 25 feet away from her, she has her own personal, less efficient inkjet printer on her desktop. Despite having a community coffee pot (which she also sits only a few feet from), she has her own mini coffee pot.

In front of Bubble Girl, in the pathway of us office dwellers, is her own personal file cabinet covered in pictures of her children, and conveniently, four days a month is Bring Your Kids to Work Day (but only for Bubble Girl) because at least one day a week she brings her son to work with her! And all of this takes place in our office hall way.

Thanks to Bubble Girl we enjoy hot days in the summer and cool days in the winter. Bubble Girl is always uncomfortable and always sickly and the thermostat in the office is always set to a temperature suitable to meet her needs! When it gets too warm in the office during the summer, Bubble Girl turns on her personal fan. When it gets too cool in the winter, Bubble Girl turns on her space heater. Meanwhile, I’m either applying extra deodorant and wiping the sweat from my brow or wearing gloves with the fingertips cut off so I can keeps my hands warm and still type.

I love you so much Bubble Girl, you are the best!

But seriously, what’s the deal with the unfairness in all this. It’s simply a cultural injustice. We love to accommodate these candy asses. An even more important question, what is the deal with all these pussies. Are you all not ashamed to be pussies? Quit being pussies.

Say it with me everyone:

“QUIT BEING PUSSIES”

I wish I could kick Bubble Girl in the ovaries. A sharp shot to the baby maker; that would fix her. And God help me if I were to ever meet a Bubble Boy. I would be a little less inclined to keep my thoughts restricted to a blog no one reads if that were the case.

Please, say it with me again:

“QUIT BEING PUSSIES”

Thank You.
Read more about the real life bubble girl.

Only Jackasses Work At Wal-Mart

My very pregnant wife called me a moment ago to tell me about yet another abysmal Wal-Mart experience. Some might wonder why we would ever go back to Wal-Mart after so many bad experiences. Well, more times than not that’s all there is within close range. This was one of those times.

Today my tubby, expecting better half made her way over to Wal-Mart on her lunch break to buy a maternity shirt. She wore a blouse to work that seemingly became too small for her over night and her big belly kept poking out from under it! So she made her way back to the women’s clothing and started rummaging around.

After a few moments of unsuccessful browsing she went to the fitting room where two female employees lounged. My wife said she stood before them for a moment before they suspended their conversation when one cocked her head towards her and asked, “Can I help you?” in a sassy voice. My timid wife asked, “Do you guys carry maternity clothes?” “Uh, no” the lazy, fitting room attendant replied back.

At eight months into pregnancy a woman becomes very volatile. A few weeks ago the woman working drive-thru at the local Wendy’s got an attitude with my vwife and she called the girl a bitch and told her to shove a Jr. bacon cheese burger up her ass. Today my wife was on the opposite end of the spectrum. It upset me a bit to hear her story today because I think the lazy ass at Wal-mart really got to her.

After hearing all this, my attention was brought back to something that happened to us this past Friday. Microcenter, a local technology store had an unbeatable deal on a Philips 32 inch, LCD TV over the weekend. I planned on buying the TV and giving it to my wife as a family Christmas gift, perfect for the bedroom.

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Only sod gets the nod!

Every time a new homeowner association comes into power, Satan ejaculates onto his chest. Genocide is taking place in Africa, countless are dying at the hands of religious fanatics around the world and the banks and politicians are raping us all from behind but despite all this delightful evil, homeowner associations are the icing on Mr. Lucifer’s cake.

Why? Because the sanctions and power these whiny ass bitches have over the hard working man is the purest form of injustice in the world. In all other cases of injustice it’s nearly always the big guy picking on the little guy, the powerful or radical dominating the passive. In cases of homeowner associations, logic is turned upside down. The peon with no life now has dominion over you. They have more power than the Supreme Court. They own you.

Is there anything pettier than the sanctions and rules these organizations are able to enforce? It’s a case where the spoiled, brat child whose parents always lets them have their way is suddenly allowed by law to bully you and steal your Kool-aid and lemon cookies, and when you go to retaliate the teacher puts you in time out then gives you silent lunch.

Indeed, every time someone signs a covenant agreement I believe whole heartedly that Satan busts a big nut on his bare, fire truck red chest! And that goo sticks a long time. He knows he is now off the hook for making your life hell. His right hand man, Mr. Homeowner President will do his dirty work from now on!

An older gentleman living in Bayonet Point, Florida was recently taken to jail without bail for contempt of court. His contempt arose from not attending a trial in which the local homeowner association was coming down on him for not laying fresh sod in his lawn. He had fallen on hard times, could barely afford to pay for his home and knew he couldn’t afford to lay new sod in his brown yard so he skipped court. Not a wise decision but a sign of hopelessness. The association broke him down like the mob breaks your knees for not paying up. They hauled him away to jail without sentencing or bail.

The local jail, whose prisoner population is 350 people over capacity welcomed the man, a true dredge on society with open arms for an indefinite stay. That’s what you get when you don’t lay new sod on your lawn in Bayonet Point, bitch! Now rot with all the other homeowner association violators and minor drug offenders. I’d be willing to bet that the whopping 3.16% of the population in this town that isn’t white is all in jail with him!

Even sadder though is the fact that this mans grass is GREEN! The article confirms that the picture above was taken the day the man was sent to jail. They were indeed going after him over this lawn. Where I’m from you’re satisfied if no one throws any empty beer bottles in your lawn or takes out your mail box with a baseball bat.

Injustices like these exist everywhere. Homeowner associations are full of Nazis. Their only objective in life is making sure they keep up with their pathetic, shallow facade and dominating the personal business of others. Who cares if you are working day and night to make ends meet, that shrubbery better not get too tall. Who cares if there is a fuel shortage, that grass better be cut. And if the entire state is plagued with drought and outdoor watering is forbidden you still better find a way to make that grass green and lush. If not, the little bitches from the association will fine you and place liens on your home.

The lawn rules are just the tip of the iceberg. If that’s all you’re dealing with you’re lucky. Other rules I’ve seen range from rules forbidding children to play outside to not being allowed to wash your car outside your home and worse.

In the world of homeowner associations its the whiny, bitch ass brats who get their way. It’s a world that rewards tattletales. It’s a source of power for those too weak and pathetic to grab it any other way. These people want to control you, they want to boss you and push you around. If you were a kid again and you saw one of these punks on the play ground you’d probably punch them in the nose and tell them to kiss your ass.

If the poor old man from Bayonet Point were my grandfather or father, I’d hire an African American, homosexual thug to ass rape the person or person’s who made the complaint and took the issue all the way to court. Black and gay because that’s what these sort of people fear worse, blacks and gays in their neighborhoods!

Rot in hell assholes.

Check out the article about the poor old man from Bayonet Point