About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Thursday, November 20, 2008

And Now, The Official "Tangent" Of The Domain...

(This one is for one of the finest writers I've encountered (hopefully she'll get the joke)...Also, check out her blogs on my 'roll..."Oh Pshaw" (originally I Put "Oh the Joys", which is good, too...screw it...let's move on!)as well as "So Not The Bradys". Good stuff, kids).



Hello...I am going to talk about stuff that happen to irrtiate me as each day happens to begin...you see, I have noticed certain things that have taken place each day I open my eyes, and continue to mount each day until it begins to itch like an unwiped butthole with hair, getting stuck together due to un-removed poop and dingleberries....first off, why do we have eye crust in the morning, glueing our eyes shut, causing us to stumble blindly into our bathrooms/outhouses/trailer crap dump areas looking for some water to wash our faces? How about that nasty ass taste in your mouth, making you wonder if this is what women in porn feel like at the end of each scene? I don't know about you, but I spend a good 10 minutes trying to get that crap off of my tongue. This is why I could never do man on man sex...and then, and this is just for the males...ball funk...you know what I am talking about...when, if you choose to hold off your shower until the next morning, your sacks smells like cat crotch and baby poop, gagging you like there's no tomorrow? Hell, you can't run away from your own testicular funky-tude. And ladies, it happens to you, too...that, well, food that spoiled at Red Lobster funk that Massengil couldn't eradicate. Just sort of sucks. So ya turn on the shower, right, to hopefully handle that bidness...in the meanwhile then, after you like scrape the nasty film from your oral cavity, soak your nuts in Dawn Dishwashing liquid so you can get it detached from your right leg (or for you ladies, dip your tampons in vinegar and hope for the best), and wash that glue that is keep your eyes shut off, you take a shower and, when done, go downstairs (or, once again, if you are a trailer dweller, you...hell, I don't know, move the tin foil walls out of the way) and go to your kitchen, where if you are employed (or trapped if you're not the boss; nobody gets rich if you work for someone else) eat stuff that is so not healthy for you (sugar cereals when you know your butt is like 50 with diabetes, or 8 pieces of bacon as you can hear your arteries cracking due to the pig ass you're eating) and the undertaker is standing over you, shaking his head at you as you consume what you KNOW isn't good for you...you then jump into your vehicle to head for work...hold on, I got more on this friggin point...when you have to really let out a helacious, kick ass, would raise the dead to start dancing to "Thriller" farts, and you're trapped in your car with it...I mean you are like in traffic, minding your business, listening to your favorite lite rock/you've lost any semblance of cool station, and "brrrrrrrip!"...you feel this really hot air escape your Hershey Highway, and you hope that it isn't followed by warm syrup topping-like poop-goo in your shorts/panties/thongs...ugh, wait, in thongs, not much "catcher's mitt" room in those...not cool...Then, after you fart and the funk has permeated your clothes, making you smell like your uncleaned port-a-toilet you call a bathroom (we all know friends that have lavatories like this in their homes), you have to spend 1/3 of your existence each day in some sort of mini Rubik's cube from hell, getting paid slave wages while you stare at a computer all day...and wouldn't you know it, you probably have a boss with afterbirth breath in your face, asking you where your assignment is...then you're watching the clock and shit, as each second feels like your eyebrows being plucked by a pitbull with a lashes fettish...and damn, it ends up being like lunch time, and you are trying to get to like Taco Bell and whatnot, even tho u melted your car seats with that ass expulsion on your way to the daily prison sentence you call a job, but u get like the nachos bellgrande with an extra side of beans, and you eat it, drowning it down with 200 empty calories (most people call it soda), and as you walk out, you lift your left butt cheek, and you let a "greatest hits" bit of flatulence out, thinking you are going to cute...and this time that syrup that you avoided earlier spatters against your undie-walls (or, if you ladies are doing the thong thing, a brown splatter pattern not seen since last week's "CSI:Compton" episode begins to be visible on those white slacks that you know that you shouldn't of worn, cuz it's like 2 months past Labor Day)...so you are making that squishy sound as you walk away, cuz you are like rushing to the bathroom to use the sink to spray off the corn chunks from your cheeks, and those groovy "Old Navy" slacks (and hell, a guy could be wearing those, since your mother gave you those pants, and she's controlled you all your life, you wear them once a week to make her feel good) that "Grissom" from Las Vegas is taking forensic evidence from the forming crust due to air-drying...and you have 10 minutes to get back to work...


Whew...thank God this isn't a long, useless point that isn't going anywhere...dude, pass me the bong, man...
(cough, cough)...damn, that's some good shit...
wow...is that Mr. Snuffleupagus over there...
Holy Crap...I think Big Bird is doing Elmo...what's in this bong, dude...
wow, ok...what was I saying...oh yeah...

So you get back into your ride, with your car now reeking like an unwashed Vegas Hooker, and you are like, so, so late...your bad breath-havin' boss is gonna yell at ya, the reports are going to be 2 days behind, and now your little soldier (or your love canal) is swinging free/taking in air, causing the odors that you had earlier this morning to return, cuz you had to dump your soiled drawers in the Taco Bell bathroom waste basket (you know, the kind with that lid that you have to step on that damned pedal to lift open)....then, like someone cuts you off, and you swerve, and you end up running over someone's dog, that sort of looks like Toto from "The Wizard of Oz"...and you are like "Ah Damn, I killed Toto!"...forgetting that you are now 45 minutes late, and your getting out of your car, right...the "Toto" look alike is all flat and stuff like a thin crust pizza from NY, and the little girl whose dog it was like is crying and stuff...and her 275 lb Dad is running towards you, looking like Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson...now you're like "Oh Poop", not cursing like an adult because you're about to get beat like a stepchild by this little girl's dad (note: if this is a female with that thong I mentioned earlier, replace "The Rock" with "Chyna")...then you get smart, run for your car, and speed off as quickly as your sticky, naked tail can take you..I hate when that happens, you know...so you get back to work (52 minutes and 30 seconds late), and your boss is in his office doing his mistress, and you take a deep breath, knowing it's a good thing the boss is being done, and you're still employed (since you were the one who wrote the memo about anyone who is more than 15 minutes late would be terminated)...then it occurs to you that since he is "occupied" (or is "occupying" his mistress), you better sneak your stank ass out of the office before someone smells what's afoot (or a-ass)...you begin sneaking down the steps, trying to get out of the building...when you slip on a used condom that your boss left the other day during the "Bang and a hot dog for 1.99" personal lunch special he had with Nadia, the 38EEE mistress on Tuesday, and now it's Wednesday...which explains where your bonus went last year...you slip, crack your head open, blood gushing everywhere, and Grissom comes up the steps and says to you...

"Wake up, you're dreaming."

The alarm rings, and as you try to look at the clock, you cannot see it, because your eyes are glued shut due to that eye-goop that formed overnight.

"Shit," you say to yourself, "where's my toothpaste?"

3 comments:

David said...

This is so effing funny. Thanks

So Not The Bradys said...

Hah, I got it, and well done.

One thing, though, it's Oh,Pshaw. Yes, yes, I know...always with the constructive criticism, right?

Ellie said...

Not only did I crack up at this one, but Hubster laughed like hell!