Obnoxious Jerk

My coworkers need a different outlet for their pent-up douchebaggery.

June 21st, 2018

My coworkers are desperate to be assholes to someone. They can't go on about Combover Caligula's Concentration Camp Cavalcade, because they don't want to sound like the shitgobbling Nazis they really are, so they've got to quibble about something. Enter everyone's favorite Obnoxious Jerk. Having nothing else they can shit out their mouth, everyone has felt the need to whine about my clothes.

For reference, I wore my orange shorts today, since they're the last clean pair that I have handy, not having run laundry yet this week, and a comfy orange shirt. Apparently, my orange clothing, something I have worn time and time again over my last six years while working in this death trap, is so objectionable that just about everybody has had to flap their jaws about it. All day long.

I literally lost count of all the times someone has had to come up to me and say "Hey, I couldn't see you there!", "Going hunting?", or Turn it down, already!". I eventually gave up on quiet chuckles and quick comments in an effort to keep the peace, and was reduced to simply saying "HA. HA. HA." as it occurred. And despite me making it clear that I'm tired of their shit, they just kept at it.

Sorry my wardrobe doesn't meet your exacting standards, lady who wears twenty year old classic rock tour shirts four times too large for your shriveled up frame. Apologies that my shirt isn't as cool as yours, guy who's been in the same cargo pants throughout the entire month of June. And I'll try not to wear these shorts again, lady whose ass is about to explode out of those pants that are way too small for you.

Weird how that works.

June 19th, 2018

It's been quiet in the break room this year, especially after the MAGA honeymoon ended. Time was, I couldn't get near the joint without hearing some gibbering about how great things are going, how awesome it is that 'the liberals' were getting their panties in a bunch, and how much everybody seemed to want to wrap their lips around Cheeto Jesus' shriveled up cock.

Strangely enough, nobody at work wants to talk about how they gleefully voted for the guy currently engaging in crimes against humanity lately. Nobody here wants to admit that they are complicit in the work of a self-admitted rapist, blatantly ignorant bigot, and unashamed traitor who is doing everything he can to tear the country apart at the behest of his Russian handlers.

Someone more forgiving than I might think that, maybe, these barely animate shitpiles were slowly crawling out of their fascist information bubble. But I've been here almost six years now, and I know better. No, they're keeping quiet because they know that Combover Caligula isn't doing anything they can brag about without sounding like cut-rate Nazis from Central Casting.

Until then, all I'm hearing in the break room is crickets.

Misfire

June 8th, 2018

Me, Brenda, and a friend who was in town went to see Deadpool 2: Electric Boogaloo after work, which was a special treat because a) we rarely go to the theater of late, b) I typically have to wait for super hero movies to come out on disc before I can watch them, and c) because I couldn't stop laughing throughout the film, aside from the part where they kick you in the feels.

Right after, I had to take care of some vital business, in the form of unloading all that soda I imbibed before, during, and after the viewing. So I went into the restroom, and there were two dudes looking extra shifty, as always seems to be the case when I have to use public facilities. So I assumed a spot at the urinal against the wall, looked straight ahead, and let go.

Out of the corner of my eye, I immediately saw the guy next to me wrench his head towards my equipment. I already have problems doing my business around other people to begin with, and knowing this guy was transfixed on my junk amplified my normal restroom anxiety. I resisted the urge to say something obnoxious, and did my level best to ignore the guy.

So he left, I finished what I went there to do, and then realized what had happened. Apparently, my aim was off, and as I panicked before the urinal, I didn't look down in time to see that I'd dumped a quart or so of fluid on the floor! No wonder the guy next to me couldn't help but look, because after six surgeries to fix a blocked urethra, my bladder expels fluid with a truly frightening amount of force.

And it has a frightening amount of storage capacity for that fluid.

So, uh, apologies to whoever had to clean that up. And, in hindsight, for this rant.

Note to self: fix the aboce link sometime!

But Wait, There's More

January 15, 2018

As I've mentioned once or twice, I work in a lawsuit waiting to happen. The lead maintenance guy head janitor hall monitor loves to get indignant when I mention, repeatedly, how much of a death trap the building is, but yet I keep tripping over safety hazards. And this after they canned the last emergency, health, and safety person and replaced her with someone from corporate.

But these poor simulations of humanoid creatures keep insisting that the place is perfectly safe. Which is why, of course, I saw this parked in front of the door as I left work today. Every single time the management proclaims that they've rooted all the 'dangerous' asbestos out of our building, a crew inexplicably arrives a few months later to extract more. Funny how that works.

But then, the hall monitor loves to hook his buddies up with contract work for the company, when he isn't roaming around flexing in the halls, or trying to get on my last nerve by tattling on me to my boss for my posture being unprofessional or whatever it is that's so clearly vexing his tiny, tiny brain. I wonder if he's just sitting on piles of asbestos to have his pals come clean up.

He's such a flagrant scumbag that I wouldn't put it past him.

My BUTT

January 14, 2018

So two weeks ago, I fell on my posterior and hurt my tail bone a bunch. By and large, however, it has slowly been knitting itself back together, the pain diminishing in almost imperceptible amounts over time. Well, that all changed yesterday, because someone dumped a huge load of snow on us with their Weather Dominator, and I had to shovel it all out of the driveway.

I was actually feeling okay before shoveling, but during, and then after, my butt was on fire. It got to the point that it was throbbing madly and painfully, and I could barely walk. Naturally, I had to head to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things afterwards, so I was walking through the Kroger looking like I was ninety years old. Which is about how I felt at the time.

The pounding, pulsating pain slowly eased off, leaving me just a whole lot more sore than I had been only that morning, right around the time we left the sto'. However, things were even more amiss than my broken butt, because at least one of the things we purchased seems to have gotten lost between the cash register and the house... and it's not lost in my car.

Mumble grumble.

So really. Who puts barbed wire fencing around a church?

September 10, 2008

I went down to the Sprint office earlier today to upgrade my phone deal, at the urging of a certain someone I know (well not just, mind you; I'd been thinking about it for a while now) and of course I cheated on my diet and had me some Bronco's. I've talked about them and their delicious heaven-burgers before but, well I was right there and decided 'what the heck?'

But I now have unlimited texts! All ... two of you with my phone number can throw me texty goodness anytime!

So I was driving from there to the comic book shop since hey, Wednesday, and I saw something both intriguing and horrifying. I was up on 126th and Pacific, one of the more 'meh' parts of west Omaha, when I passed a church. Which is sort of a non-event out in west Omaha, since those stupid things spring up like tumors every half block out there. Lousy Jesus freaks. But the point.

Oh, the point. I had honestly never noticed this before now, as this particular building has been extant for some time. But this church was surrounded by a very large yard. And get this, barbed wire fencing. Now why on earth would a church need barbed wire fencing? Are they keeping priceless solid gold crosses in there? Is that where they hide the kids they molested 'too much'?

I mean, the whole point of a church is to get people in, so clearly the barbed wire isn't intended to keep people out. You can't get donations from people (to avoid having to live in the real world and work for your food) if they can't make their way into the place after all. So it makes me wonder. Is the barbed wire there to prevent parishioners from escaping?

I know church is boring and unpleasant, from the first-hand experience of having a single mom working for Catholics that thought 'bring your kids on Sunday, it'll be a scream!' Not to mention one of my best friends getting married at a Catholic church in mid-July, with no air conditioning, for a grand total of a four hour ceremony - complete with insipid, artificially posed photos.

But come on. If you need to string the barbed wire around the place to keep the gullible from escaping, maybe you should tweak your message just a little. Nitwits. I apologize for not getting a photo, however, to document this. I need one of those and the new Dodge street (mentioned in my last Sprint rant), but have not been quick on the uptake with the camera. Will try to get some 'soon'.

As an aside, it's now 12:30 AM (CST) as I write this. I am oddly motivated to go to the Gym today, for reasons I'm not quite ready to go into just yet. But I've been feeling it for a few days now and am going to go ahead and go. I figure that should wear me out enough to sleep, and if not, I gots some drugs for that. Even if they taste like an ear wax meringue.

Lousy Razor.

September 9, 2008

So I'm at Wal-Mart at 3:00 AM in the morning, and this incredibly wrinkled old lady is staring at my junk.

Wait, let me back up a bit.

This all started when I went to finally shave my horrible overgrowth, and stop looking like a cave man once and for all. Or at least for a day or so. The idea there was, perhaps if I at least looked like I cared about anything, perhaps the notion would be a bit contagious. Or something. So I start hacking away at the horrible tangle on my neck and... krapow!

My razor died. And you know, it waited until I had trimmed away exactly half of the thicket I needed to shave. And the most irritating thing is, this isn't the first time this has happened to me, either. So there I am, needing to wake up in five hours for work (yeah, my 'get my sleep sorted out' thing is still a work in progress) and I have half a jungle on my face.

Just like the last time this happened, I had to go to the one place you'd find open at that time of morning, which happened to be Wal-Mart, to get a new one. Now, anyone who knows me knows how much I loathe that place, what with its creepy employee policies, predatory pricing, and everything else. But hey, at 3:00 AM when you need a new electric razor, what are you gonna do?

Of course once I got there, I kind of gained an appreciation for why the company treats the people there like dirt. It's like those 'mall mutants' that clean up at food courts, Wal-Mart's night shift attracts a certain type of worker. Like the 80 year old Asian lady who, upon walking up to me and saying HI! looked down and planted her eyes on my junk.

Being the generally self-conscious sort, I panicked for a minute. I mean, did I pee my pants and not realize it? Or did i drop something on my pants earlier that looks amusingly inappropriate? So I look down and no, I am not hanging out of my shorts, uh, again. Nor am I stained. So I look back up at her and she's still staring. So at a lack for any other amusing response, I just nod and say HEY.

Which seems to be my universal 'she's looking at my bits and I can't think of anything to say. Think, damnit, think! Ah, to heck with it' reply. I've had to do this one other time in my life, but then I was actually naked at the time. This was, of course, at 24 Hour Fitness, whilst I was toweling myself off after a shower during one of the then-grueling workouts I used to do.

Still working back up to that, too, but that's a different story. But here I am, drying my business off and I hear someone coming around from the locker room's pool entrance, and it's this... girl. Drunk off her ass, and looking totally lost. Somehow she didn't drown in the pool or hot tub or whatever, and went to the locker room to change. Only in her stupor, I guess she picked mine.

And upon seeing me, did about the same thing the raisin mentioned above did.

At leat that time I managed a grin before I said Hey. Of course she ran away, which is you know, a testament of my manly man-ness and what-have-you. But what the heck am I supposed to do when this sort of thing happens? It's not like people ogle my junk when I want them to these days so... I guess I'm out of practice. Or just don't realize I'm being eyed up.

'Course, I work with a gang of apparently horny grandmothers, so who knows how much I've already been mentally undressed while being yelled at by the cops. Brr.

So I ultimately did find a razor, though I had to settle for the one I didn't want 'cause it was like the one I had until it self-destructed. One of those low-dollar Norelco ™ things. But what I really wanted was the BRAUN ™ thing I saw there, that they kept behind locked doors. I guess it uses a freakin' VIBRO BLADE to unhair your flesh. What the heck!?

All About Chris.

September Deux, 2008

So it's finally C-Day ™. What the heck is C-Day ™, you ask? Well strap in, Buck-o, 'cause I'm gonna tell you.

See for a while now, I've been plotting a drastic revision of my 'life style', a sort of overhaul of Denny in its entirety, in order to accomplish four specific goals. The first of these is of course to get my act together. A large portion of my junk is sitting in here in vast piles that need sorting out. I went to the trouble of organizing them into like piles, so it's not a big frightening 'mass' of stuff, but it'd be a lot better if it was, oh, not here. I'd like to donate some to Goodwill but the one here likes to throw our stuff away.

Even when it's brand new and in the package. Because they're snobby self-entitled 'Millard' (read: annexed douchebags in southwest Omaha that believe they're better than their neighbors) that think they're the bee's knees and that they really work at a Macy's or something. I think they get confused since the two are so similarly spelled or something. The trick is driving... way downtown to drop off some stuff to a thrift shop or actual useful Goodwill that might have a use for the stuff. Or at least appreciate people getting off their butt to make an effort.

So part one is to get, at the very least, my personal living space in order. To have everything sorted and immaculate. I am not filthy by any means, but for Marduk's sake I am horribly disorganized (as I've discussed with all two of you in the past)... and you've seen some of my efforts bear fruit in previous photographs. Well, once I'm done with that I can share imagery of all the rest of my place, and say hey, part one is now complete. Woo woo! The motivation here is to get to part two of my four plot Plot to get my life all unscrewed.

Part two, of course, is to get Money, and to get Money, I need to get my second job working properly. To this end, I will be finally getting my web site for my web marketing business going. It's not really much of a business yet, but the idea is once I get the site functional and sexy, I'll be able to grow it from a 'leisurely side line' to a 'primary source of income', and thus relieve a metric-ton of stress that I get daily from my primary job, dealing with censored censored censored that I swear pay us just so they can scream at me. ME.

Part three, which will take a whole lot more time, is getting my body back in order. The series of medical calamities that have stricken me down over the last two years have really done a number on me - which sucks hard core since about three years ago my tubes was finally working properly. And not just my dick, I mean, but my life. I was on the verge of getting my own house and having some privacy and happiness and you know, mail order sex and the works. But then my body, it betrayed me! ME! To that end, I'll be noting progress here.

Now, I'm not about to say how much I weigh, because that's a point of sensitivity on my end. However, I am going to begin with a 'control' for you, which is Zero (0). What this represents is the physical mass I am at now. Our number will (if all things go according to plan, and that plan is to make myself work out every other day to start, at least until my body is used to it after the month-ish of being all laid up doing nothing) slowly sink, over time, and I will demonstrate this in the form of negative digits. Hopefully it will sink faster'n I think. But we will see!

As for the fourth goal, that is the most important. It is to get out of debt, paying off all my medical bills that have accrued over the last few years, along with all the incidental other emergency bills I have stumbled into since all this started. I have two (2) credit cards and they are near-critical, and that's before this third wave of surgery that I have. I am going to try and 'work' something out with them to make payments, 'cause I don't think the cards can hold all those fees this time around. They're full of old dick operations, y'know.

But as preparation of sorts for this Lifestyle Change ™, I have been enjoying a few things that I am, as of today, about to cut out of my life. Again. This include all the 'expensive frippery' that I enjoy which isn't going on my cards but probably isn't helping me pay things off faster. Like 'movies' and 'Reese's Peanut Butter Cups' and 'lunches that cost more than three dollars'. My last feature film I'll be seeing for a very long time (unless someone is buying) was over this Labor Day weekend, when my friend Chris (Acers) dragged me out the house.

This film that we saw was Death Race. Now if you've played any of the 'Twisted Metal' games for the Playstation, you know what you're in for, and need to go see this now. But that's Acers there on top, in case you were wondering what the picture of this complete weirdo up there was about. Now that picture wasn't taken over the weekend, but while we enjoyed a bit of Godfather's pizza a few months back. You can see what horrors await a pizza whenever Acers gets around one by looking at that second picture. I took that, well, because.

What that man does to a pizza is simply ludicrous. He's the kind of guy that would revel in the whole Atkins 'pizza in a bucket' craze if it hadn't died off a slow death out west. Now a pizza in a bucket sounds delicious to me. It's all the stuff that they would normally top a pizza with, glopped into a bucket, and then sold like that - sans crust and the like. Of course, it puts one in a mind of those horrible KFC chicken bowls, which are ridiculous and the ultimate epitome of lazy stupidity, but... it's pizza. In a bucket!

Anyway, we went to go see Death Race over the weekend, and when we stepped out of the theater we found that someone had Dicked up his car. And by Dicking it up I mean they drew a gigantic dick on his driver side window. This is the sort of thing that would have likely set me into a rage if it were anything else but for some reason I couldn't stop laughing at it. And Acers couldn't either. The oddity was nobody else's car was Dicked up, so I used my keen Detective brain and deduced (correctly) that it was his ex-girlfriend that had done the Dicking on his car.

She was the only person besides my family that knew we were there, and you know, I can't imagine my sister hobbling up to the theater and Dicking up someone's car. Especially since you know, she'd probably get the wrong car. Or forget to stop at one and wind up just painting Dicks everywhere and eventually get arrested or something. Which would be hilarious, since lately she's a high school lunch lady. Now there's a story the kids would love to spread around the school at faster than light speeds. "HAY GUESS WHAT THE LUNCH LADY GOT ARRESTED FOR?" Ah, good times.

For the sake of completion, I have included a photograph of the Dicking girl. I assure you that today is not, in fact, a stealth exercise in cleaning out my camera, despite what you may be thinking. Oh I know you are, all two of you, but just because this one was in there since Halloween 2007 when I caught Acers and the Dicking girl all boozed up in their 'A Ghostbuster and random hooker' (?) costume team, doesn't mean anything. It's just that I didn't really have a need to feature the Dicking girl on the site until, well, the Dicking occurred.

DICKING.

But this whole Dicking episode was part of the deal leading up to C-Day ™, being, of course, Calamity Day, which is now Today. Well, it will be once i wake up in the AM, but it's the AM now so I can talk about it. The idea is (well, in the next few days at least) to sort out the sleeping issues or just drug myself so I sleep at night so I don't sleep all day. Like, for instance, today. And to totally realign everything I do in order to Un Junk My Self (which I do thanks to the blatant inspiration of my friend Siryn - the one who sent me ze books.

But sorting out the sleep at least minimally is Step Zero, really. I was talking to people late last night and I don't think half of what was actually being said was going into my brain. When somebody says something that may be hinting something but it takes me 3 hours to figure it out, it's time to start sleeping again. Because I'm tired of feeling like an idiot all the time. I may be clueless in the whole human interaction thing but damn, I like to think i'm not stupid. And lately... I feel that. As well as tired. And sick.

And you know, sick and tired of life. But blahblah. I will start posting Numbers for you as I get them. I weigh in when I wake up when I'm working on that for the 'fresh start' aspect, and I don't have one yet anyway. I am writing this at 3 AM (CST) so ... I haven't woke up for work yet. I haven't in fact gone to sleep yet, 'cause somehow the Codeine Sleep Enhancer has not yet kicked in. And I don't think it's going to at this rate. But eh. C-Day ™ is now on, and we'll see if I survive. I dunno if I can handle an hour on the treadmill tonight but we'll see.

If not, you'll hear 'lazy clown died on the treadmill at 24 Hour Fitness - Film at Eleven!' on the news.

Marduk, did I write a book this morning?

P.S.: Killed the 'numbers' idea for now. Sorry. I am a worm.

Attack of the killer FEMA.

August 22, 2008

So I go to Taco Bell to gets me a simple bit to eat since I can't sleep and I order three simple things. Three. The astounding thing is they actually managed to get all three things correct, since all of the twerps working there are apparently short-bus rejects from local Coke-head High.

This being 'Millard South'. There is no such town as 'Millard' any longer, having been annexed by the city back in the seventies, but they like to keep calling themselves 'Millard' because, hey, they think it makes them a bit more 'important' that us lowly folks that live in Omaha proper.

They even like to claim my neighborhood, full of its pot heads and wife beaters, but this street was never a part of that tiny little town that got ate, much like another one out further west, Elkhorn, who was such crybabies about it that they took it to the Supreme Court.

Yes. Your tax dollars spent by an elitist little Nebraska town because, despite the law specifically saying them being annexed was legal, they didn't want to be. Well all I say to that is tough, you're Annexed now, and pretty soon you, too, will enjoy the joys of no police in your area.

I see cops here every six months. Tops. And a snowplow usually after the snow has melted. This is sort of why I was surprised to see the huge government turnout when we got blasted by tornadoes here a month or so back. Not just locals either, we had FEMA here stalking the streets.

And that, my friends, is a scary prospect. The last thing I want trolling around my neighborhood is a bunch of dickhead entitled government-salaried turds that are inclined to run people over for having the temerity to tell them to, say, obey the LAW when they're in the area.

Of course, they weren't as bad as the disaster tourists. Lousy gawker rednecks that like to think they're big city boys, saddling up the kids in the SUV and haul ass to see the houses messed up by the tornado that tore through. So many that the cops had to physically block the neighborhood.

And thus, the fire department looking around for people trapped in rubble. So this, this is my Hate Letter to you, the people of Omaha, Nebraska. I hate you, I hate your inbred spawn, I hate your closed-minded churches, and most of all, I hope you die horribly in a nuclear meltdown.

But I digress.

I took a few pictures here recently of the lingering rubble and destruction. Oddly both of those buildings are so close to that stupid billboard of that smarmy butcher I took a photo of that you could see them by turning your head. Which means you can see them (barely) from my place.

I didn't take pictures of the houses though, 'cause those obnoxious tourists left a sour taste in my mouth and I thought that was a private thing. The news-jockey dicks didn't, but you know, they have no souls anyway, so the last thing I'm about to do is say 'if they did it...'

The first photo is obviously a 'dramatic re-enactment', unless FEMA has indeed started dressing like Special Counter-Terrorist Group Delta (colloquially known as GI Joe). But then I can imagine FEMA roaming around my neighborhood with a hatchet and waving the Flag like a badge.

The others are 'totaled' structures within a mile of here, that took it a bit less than most of the houses did, but way more than the immense meat packing plant that tends to make the air smell awful hereabouts on the hottest days. Though not as bad as Sioux City's. Argg.

ANYWAY. So I goes to Taco Bell, and one of the items I ordered was a 'Pintos 'n Cheese'. For those of you not in the Know, this is a cup, full of beans, a 'red' sauce, and cheese. It used to have green onions, until the scare about those that seems to have removed them from America.

And the douchebag at the booth gives me a fork. A fork. If you remotely like beans, I recommend you try this, for at the very least you'll get an idea how patently stupid this is. They have sporks. Sporks! For the one thing on the menu that needs it. Guess what that is?

Yep, a Pintos 'n Cheese. One of these days I'm going to go there and kidnap everyone in a Taco Bell and sit them down with a bowl of of Pintos 'n Cheese and a fork, and i'm going to tase them every time they make the slightest mess trying to eat that soupy gloop.

It makes me want to give up on them and just go eat at the other Mexican restaurant near my house, which happens to be Burger King. Yes, Burger King. The last ten times I've been there I have not encountered anyone speaking English. Not that this is a bad thing, just an observation.

Except that I never get barbecue sauce when I ask for it. Sigh.

PS: My stomach still itches. And the stubble still stabs me through my shirt.

5.

August 1, 2008

So this '5' gum out now is like, better than sex.

And I should know, as I used to have sex. What happened to the sex?!?