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

"I can not keep my face away from those swollen, handsome udders."

Last week my wife and I took a tour of the hospital she is birthing our child at. It was an insanely painful ordeal. We were caught in a group of 5 families, all of different walks of life and all including a very pregnant woman, each unknowingly torturing me in her own way.

I begin with the 16 year old having a child with her black boyfriend. I do not point out that her boyfriend is black because I object to her having a child with a person of different ethnicity, I am simply painting a picture of the situation and this was certainly the stereotypical low class white girl coming strait out of the trailer park and the ghetto ass looking black kid boyfriend with the seat of his pants sagging to the floor.

The poor girl could not have been any more inexperienced in life if she wanted, in fact at one point in the tour the guide asked if anyone was considering having their baby boys circumcised and the youngster asked her mother what circumcision was. To make the situation even more mind numbing, the tour registration form explicitly requested only the mother and father and a third guest attend the tour and to not bring children under twelve unless they were a sibling. These two brought most of their extended family including three children under twelve. I assume they had not yet learned to read, they were too busy having sex in the bathroom on that day in literature class. I am thrilled that we, the tax payers most certainly will be footing the bill for their child to be born! Medicare FOR THE WIN!

Next we had the all natural, holistic, don’t let a vaccination come near my baby, mother to be! No group of pregnant women would be complete without one of these fear mongers. This hippie nut job was obviously insane. She was to be made certain that her child would not be exposed to any chemicals, vaccines or anything else. In fact, I would not be surprised if she didn’t bring in her own wheat grass and soy protein supplements to grind up into the child’s formula while enjoying her stay at the hospital. And of course she opted to give birth naturally in a birthing pool. Let’s not neglect to mention that since she wished to use the birthing pool, we had to add another fifteen minutes to the tour to learn all about this special contraption that really looked like nothing more than an over priced hot tub.

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Deer Killer

It was a cool, crisp fall morning. Dew covered the grasses and trees, the air was moist and the day shaping up to be promising indeed. Larry awoke that morning with a bounce in his step. He had recently taken a new promising position with a prominent energy company downtown and was eager to show off his awesome talent and worthiness to his new employers.

Larry had become very pleased with himself as of late and felt that he now had a true purpose in life. He had finally made it to the big show. Eager not to be late or cause any rifts with his new employers whom he wished to please so badly, he wisely adopted the habit of leaving for the office extra early. This day was no exception. Larry grabbed his suitcase, kissed his wife and baby goodbye and rushed out the door of his country home.

A thick dew covered Larry’s windshield. As he sped down the old country roads that would eventually lead him into the big city, he continually wiped the glass with the sleeve of his shirt, the defrost running at full blast and the windshield wipers pumping at full speed. Despite all his efforts, the fog would not cease and visibility continued to be very limited.

Still Larry continued down the road, barely able to see anything in front of him and eventually gave in to the fight. He sat back in the driver’s seat, sighed and decided to just drive with the fog all over the windshield. When suddenly…

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My Badge of Shame

Today a very sweet and upbeat co-worker of mine came into my office just to say, “Peavey, you’re so good.” My face was buried in my lunch and I barely looked up to acknowledge her. The left over Mac & Cheese tasted too delicious to look away from!

“Why do you say that, because I don’t molest children or rape women?” I replied dryly.

“No, you’re just so good at your job and you help us do things so much better around here.” She replied kindly in her Daisy Duke southern accent.

“Oh, cool.” I replied with my mouthful, slurping and gnawing away on the chow.

“You know, you just don’t seem manipulative and you don’t bully or boss people around.” She gushed with glee and optimism.

I replied even more dryly than before, “That’s because I don’t care.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“I mean I don’t care what other people do, so why would I manipulate or boss them around.” I explained.

“Peavey, you are so darn funny. You do to care, you’re tender. I know you, Peavey.” And she wisped off down the hall.

And now I’m left here wondering, how did this woman who I only briefly know from the office see past this rough outer façade I display day after day and peer deep inside my soul to discover the warm, fuzzy and affectionate man that I actually am? She has drilled a hole right through my defenses as if it were a delicious candy coated shell on an M&M and branded me as TENDER!

And what now, do I tell the world “Yes, I do care about you! I am interested in you! I want to know you better!” Do I tell them that I am in fact tender, or do I continue to wear this mask of indifference? I fear that very soon word of my goodness will spread and I’ll be forced to bare the badge of shame, the badge of the Tender Hearted Care Bear.

Yes, I will bear this badge, I’ll wear it with pride and my head held high. I’ll wear it as I work harder to do nice things like hold the door open for people or help elderly ladies carry their groceries to their cars at the store or even apologizing and owning up after letting a huge bomb of a fart in a public place.  This is going to change my life…

Eh, what am I saying. This isn’t me at all. Screw you for messing with my head and making me think I was tender, giddy girl from the office.

You suck.

The Target Hand Soap of Death!

On a recent trip to my local Target retail store I encountered what I believe to be one of the dumbest non-retarded people I have ever seen. I am not even sure how this guy, my cashier, was able to count money back to customers he was such an moron. He reminded me of a mindless bullfrog, croaking, staring at me blankly all bug eyed and blinking excessively. A slimy little turd I secretly wished I could smash under the heel of my boot and watch his green slimy entrails splat all over the ground and stick to the sole of my shoe!

I visited the store that day to pick up a few toiletries for around the house. Bar soap, toothpaste, some hair gel and maybe a stick of deodorant were all that I required. I remember the weather being quite nice that afternoon, I had taken the day off work to wait for the termite inspector to come by so he could take a hundred bucks from me in exchange for a letter stating that I still did not have termites. I was happy to be at the very un-crowded store by myself and decided to rummage around.

If you read my past post about the hell I have endured at the local Wal-mart, then you already know I am a pretty big fan of the big Target with their red and khaki color scheme so it is never difficult for me to quickly amass an armful of junk I probably do not need while milling around the store.

I had grabbed my bar soap, toothpaste and so on along with a few other items. Amongst these other items was an enormous bottle of soft soap. My wife adores wasting money on pricey little items that smell good and look pretty. Our home is littered with little wall plug-in air fresheners, candles, dozens of bottles of lotions and yes, little cutesy bottles of hand soap. Being the clever dude I am, I figured I may save a few bucks by buying a gigantic bottle of creamy smelling hand soap and refill the old bottles of over priced Bath and Body Works soap before she could buy new ones!

Being a man’s man I naturally frown on the use of a shopping cart or hand basket and always opt instead, to rummage around uncomfortably with my arms overflowing with items, today was no exception. I made my way up to the cash register taking great care not to drop anything and was glad to finally be able to dump all the items on the conveyor belt. My cashier, a nice looking kid who I can now only assume is a complete failure and high school dropout flipped the switch and began scanning the items.

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I have a Fat Man's Belly!

The title says it all. I am a man who is never quick to be nauseous, but right now I want to puke. I have just finished watching a video of me having sex… and I want to die.

A few months ago I bought my wife a remarkable little video camera, the Flip. By stating that I bought the camera for her, I really mean I bought it for me. The Flip is pretty amazing. It is not too much larger than a clunky cell phone or hard drive MP3 player but still manages to shoot pretty decent videos and has a surprisingly acute microphone. In fact, the microphone is so effective that it manages to capture even the most minute of sounds even after being strategically placed in a closet…hidden, under two sweaters, a scarf and an old pair of socks.

Since getting the camera a couple months ago I had been bombarding my wife with requests to videotape sex. I probably asked easily four times a day, usually at the worst times like immediately after taking a dump or right after I just got home from the gym when I reek like road kill possum. Today I decided to take matters into my own hands. I decided to conceal the camera and embrace voyeurism.

As soon as I got home I called my wife to find out how long it would be until she got home. Next I immediately took to the bedroom, scoping it out for the best location to place the recording device. The closet worked out perfectly. I placed the camera on a hanging canvas shelf alongside the thick folded up clothing making sure that the small red indicator light was not visible. Then I waited.

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My Future Child, "Peter Parker"

I am proud to say that when I knocked my wife up, we knew no one else directly who was pregnant. We made the conscious and responsible decision on our own to have a child. We got our expenses in a row; made sure our jobs and health insurance were fairly secure and I quit pulling out at the end of sex.

Shortly after my wife turned up pregnant and the word started to spread I noticed an uncomfortable change forming around me. Women began oozing with delight, happiness and dare I even say… envy in some cases. I was constantly flooded with a barrage of questions about what we wanted to have, what we would name the baby and even where we would have the baby and what doctor we would use.

I initially blew off the annoying questions with my witty (well I thought it was witty) and extremely sincere response, “I want to have a little boy and I’m going to name him Peter Parker after Spiderman, my favorite super hero as a child.” In fact, I was so sincere when I told people that I planned to name my child Peter Parker, after Spiderman that I actually talked myself into believe that was what I planned on doing. Well not to worry; we are having a girl so that plan is out.

As time went on I became more and more astonished to see women I barely even knew teeming with joy over the news that my wife was having a child. They gushed with glee to the point that I felt nauseous. Only a short month and a half after the pregnancy was announced I witnessed the first victim of the disease. The first to catch the baby bug was one of my co-workers. As she broke the news to us, I was a bit surprised when she inferred that her decision to get pregnant was a result of the news that my wife was pregnant. Please do not make the assumption that I really care one way or the other, but this is a life changing decision. It is not like I went out and bought a flat panel TV and you saw it and decided you just had to have one too. These little brats cost their parents tens of thousands of dollars and let us not forget everything you have to give up for your children. It is not something to enter into lightly.

Soon after the impregnation of my co-worker a few of my wife’s coworkers turned up pregnant, then a friend here and another friend over there. Suddenly my wife’s sister wanted a child too; only their current debt and employment situation keeps them from catching the bug.

It even turns out that women are not the only ones catching the baby bug! My best friend, Shat and his wife suddenly had the deep desire to have a child as well, only they are both under employed and have no insurance. Only after a long session of pleading and explaining that without health insurance (or welfare) you would be nuts to have a kid did they decide to put their plans on the back burner. At one point my friend even likened paying the medical bills from having a child to paying off a large student loan. I guess he forgot the part where college degrees make you money in the long run and children just keep costing more and more. I could not believe how bad he caught the bug, and this is a male we are talking about! What a bitch. But perhaps the worse case of the baby bug disease I witnessed, the case that inspired me to write this article is the instance I witnessed this past week.

A few weeks ago my wife and I attended a wedding. It was a joyous reunion of many old friends. It seemed every body was lined up to take photos of my wife and her big pregnant belly. At the wedding was a couple we had not seen in some time. Work had taken them away to another state. Upon seeing my wife they both began the usual gushing. Seeing the big baby belly made their cheeks red, their eyes dilated and the pitch of their voices heightened. It was both startling and remarkable. Two weeks later I received a text message from my old friend:

“My wife is pregnant.”

I estimate that in order for my friend to impregnate his wife that quickly after seeing and touching my wife’s pregnant belly, he would have had to of impregnated her that very evening… in the car… on the way back to their hotel! Yes, they literally had to of gone home that night and conceived their child to become pregnant less that 14 days after catching the baby bug. That is simply astounding.

If you want to have a child, have it but for God’s sake, use a little foresight and common sense before doing so. My friend who impregnated his wife just a few weeks ago was telling me that very evening about his plans to leave his very stressful job that pays well but requires insanely long hours for another career that pays substantially less but is also something he loves. Do you think he will be taking that dream job now? I doubt it.

How many other people leap into these kinds of decisions based on emotion alone? A life absent emotion is a life devoid of happiness and joy, but a life led by emotion alone will surely lead to just the opposite of happiness and joy. You can quote me on that, I just made it up and it’s totally bad ass.

In conclusion I would like to say, please quit being dumb asses. This isn’t about keeping up with the Jones’ down the street and it is nothing like getting a new cute puppy or kitten. I have deduced that those two things appear to be the bulk of the reasoning used by many of the people around me having these kids. They do it because so and so did it or because they are so overwhelmed by the idea of having something cute and cuddly to hold that they take the plunge with little thought.

Please, think before you plunge.

The jingle for the new Mercenaries 2 game is officially the coolest commercial jingle of all time. While I gain nothing from promoting this product and honestly could care less about even playing the game, I still have to give it props! Actually, the more I hear the jingle the more I want to try to game. It’s working it’s magic on me!

Check out the link to the left to download the jingle as an MP3. It makes an awesome ring tone!

Wal-Mart's finest merchandise!

For my mother in law’s upcoming birthday she asked for a trashcan. It may sound lame, but she didn’t ask for just any trashcan, she asked for one of those immaculate stainless steel models with the kick pedal. The kind of trashcan you desire to polish up like a nice piece of silverware and put on display for all to see. A trashcan you actually care about cleaning the dried up spaghetti sauce and cereal out of the bottom of, a trashcan that only a person with ridiculous amounts of expendable income would buy.

I’ve always wanted one of these badass trashcans but unfortunately the specific one I want, the same one my mother in law happens to want cost around $80 and there’s no way in hell I’m dropping 80 clams on a trashcan. After all, you throw trash in it.

Because my mother in law is such a special person (how many men can admit that) and even more importantly, because my sister in law offered to go in half with us we decided to spring for one of these awesome trashcans and give it to her for her birthday this year.

Yesterday afternoon we decided to venture out and retrieve the overpriced waste receptacle. The day was shaping up to be awesome! The weather was perfect, sun was shining and I actually wasn’t upset that I was about to spend $40 on a big beautiful household item that I wasn’t going to keep for myself. Things felt right in the world. Our destination was the local Target retail store.

As we were driving down the highway on our way to Target, I noticed we were coming up on Wal-Mart. Normally I’d keep on driving as I hate Wal-Mart but today something was different. I was feeling too damn optimistic.

“Hey sweetheart lets see if they have any of those trashcans at Wal-Mart, they’re usually cheaper on stuff like that.” I said to my wife.

She smiled at me, her eyes full of joy and sunshine and agreed to my plan. We were so happy, so relaxed and so pleased to be buying a trashcan.

So we made our way to the local Wal-Mart and ventured in. This Wal-Mart was a newer store. It was well lit, clean and everything looked fresh. Unlike the Wal-Mart in our home town, the floors were not yet plagued with shopping cart scuff marks and the sidewalks not littered with smashed chewing gum.

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It was a sunny, mid-summer’s day. The birds were singing and bees a buzzing! There was harmony in the office that day. My co-worker, Larry and I were going about our normal business, toiling here and there and making clever, insulting remarks towards each other as always when some time shortly after the lunch hour Larry slipped into my office with a brilliant idea!

“Peavey, check that out.” Larry said in a rather giddy voice pointing to an old electric pencil sharpener sitting in the back corner of the office on a bookshelf. The contraption looked to be an office remnant of the 60s. In fact, I feared it might be better suited for eating fingers than sharpening pencils. It appeared to have not been used for sometime as a thick layer of dust clothed the old piece of machinery. It would have remained practically forgotten if it had not been for Larry’s insane boredom and acute observation.

Larry, being a man of comic genius and ingenuity had just thought up a brilliant game for us to play! He told me his plan and I rushed away to gather as many unsharpened pencils as possible from the supply clerk. With the help of the office central supply I was able to secure quite the impressive lot of new unused yellow writing utensils!

“Alright dude, here’s how the game goes.” Larry’s voice was draped in enthusiasm. “I’m going to take this rackety old pencil sharpener and sharpen pencils outside MDM’s door until he tells me to stop! If I get through 20 minutes without him saying a word, you’ll buy me lunch two times. If he mentions it to me or complains, I’ll buy you lunch two times!”

I keenly took the bet figuring no man could ever stand to sound of a rackety old pencil sharpener running for nearly a half an hour strait without at least acknowledging the annoying whirling and spinning of that little motor as it so furiously hacks away at the brittle wood of the oh so classic #2 pencil! But then again, very few have challenged the gumption of a man we like to call MDM! At the very least, I figured the motor would burn up and we’d call the bet off.

To help you, the readers better understand the man that is MDM I will say a few words to help convey who he is but sadly you can never really truly know without meeting him.

MDM, is a man of extreme nerve. Some have said that if a courageous soul were to take a sledgehammer to the will of MDM, that sledgehammer would simply crumble in their hands. The source of power that fuels MDM’s extreme nerve is unknown and will surely remain an enigma For-EV-ER! In a war between the will of MDM and the world, back MDM. He will out last anyone in an argument regardless of being right or wrong. Many have visited the office of MDM to argue their points, some have argued for hours late into the evening but MDM always prevails. MDM is a living, breathing filibuster.

To start the contest, Larry took a stack of fresh pencils, plugged in the rickety old pencil sharpener and pulled his chair to the door way of his office which sat adjacent to MDM’s, and so entered the first of many virgin pencils that would be deflowered that harmonious afternoon. The motor fired up making the unpleasant whirling sound, dissimilar to that of an average pencil sharpener. No, this was a much more intense version of the typical hissing and swooshing coupled with a constant grind.

Hisss- swoosh-shhh-shh-shhh- grrrrrrrrrrrrrr

The first pencil met its end quickly with MDM’s stone cold stare never diverting from the mammoth 20 inch CRT monitor dominating his desk. Then another and another and another! MDM’s cold hard stare into the computer screen was quickly becoming the thing of legends, a tall tale that office workers everywhere would someday speak of. In fact, it would later be known amongst some circles as THE EVERLASTING GAZE!

After 15 minutes of intense sharpening action Larry rolled his chair back to his desk, still sharpening away. His assurance of victory was painted all over his face. I began to panic. After all, how could it be that a man could sit through the nonstop, constant whirling of that old pencil sharpener without ever blinking or even looking up?

The sharpening continued. So many pencils had already met their doom, so many trees cut down as sacrifice to our sick, sick sport.

I decided I had to take the loser’s way out. I retreated to my office and shot off an email pleading with my boss. It read:

Get up out of your chair, walk into Larry’s office and ask him, “Man, what the hell are you doing in here?” Then turn around and go back into your office like nothing happened.

A force greater than myself must have been watching our for me because a few seconds later MDM emerged from his throne, walked into Larry’s office and executed the request in the email just as I had asked! It was as if he were a robot.

The sharpening abruptly ceased. A few seconds later Larry entered my office and said, “Well crap, I guess I underestimated MDM. I owe you two lunches.”

The free lunches were mine, but at what cost? I had cheated my friend and lost the opportunity to see a man of intense density sit through 20 minutes of constant racket.

MDM would have sat through 20 minutes of endless noise and many more if we had the pencils to supply our devious game. I still sit and ponder at times, wondering just how far we could have gone. We could have cleared an entire rain forest’s worth of trees shaving pencils down before he diverted his stare but because of my cowardliness no one will ever know the true depths of THE EVERLASTING GAZE.