OMG, Stupid Stupid People
This add appeared in my Neighborhood Watch website:
Doesn’t it get your goat when this sort of thing happens — careless mail handler roughs-up your package and contents get damaged. Certainly one gets madder the more valuable the contents are. Hey but, wait now — let’s get a closer look at the contents that had this sister so riled:
IDK, my eyesight is not so good sometimes, am I seeing… pickle M-Effen relish jars smashed in a package? Pickle relish. Don’t they sell that pretty much… EVERYWHERE in stores that you just go to and they let you walk out with as many GD jars as you want? We’re talking about this $hit right here:
I mean it’s Heinz stuff that you put on hotdogs and the like, it’s not some specially select Fabergé relish imported from Coventry England. Ladies and gentlemen, I implore the hell out of you — what the actual hell is going on here? My trained eye sees panic buying during a time of national crisis. In this case, this woman, Margaret L., heard the threat of food stores falling below demand so she switched on her crisis-thinking mode and:
“Oh-no… we’re low on Heinz M-Effen relish; if the kids run out of relish for their hotdogs they’ll get ever so cranky! I sure sure sure don’t want that to ever happen!!” So she got busy and put in an order for a shipment of relish, followed immediately by an order for a pallet of those little cocktail onions that make her husband so $hitty when they run out.
TSA Agent at Chicago O’Hare International Airport: “Margret L., why do you have 36 jars of Heinz relish packed in your Samsonite?”
“Ummm… well the kids just really… relish it.”
“Ok, Margaret L., you’re coming with me to secondary — can I get a female agent over here!”
Yes ‘um, Margaret L.’s family is going to ride out the pandemic on a wing, a prayer, and a staple of relish and onions — they’ll be tremendous fat pigs coming out on the other side of this disaster. They’ll probably be frothing for something to eat that’s not, you know, a condiment.
Speaking of revolting swine, this couple of abortions in his-n-her’s matching gray sweat pants and white T-shirts that double as REI camping tents go full Millenial when they are not allowed to panic-hoard over 500 cans of Mountain Dew. Just out of the frame is another basket of theirs filled with Heinz pickle relish and cocktail onions.
This next thing just really is a thing that makes you go: “hmmmm”. Ima jus put this out there and let you folks look it over and you can hit “like” when you see it. This came from a police SWAT video on YoozTube claiming it was filmed simultaneously from different sources as the scenario was unfolding. Ok, go ahead now…
Caveat: I’m not fully read in on SWAT Long Gunner Tactics, Techniques, and Procedure or the lates gat operation and configurations so I could be off-kilter here. Am I so irrelevant these days as to be unaware of the new bolt gun that fires from the open bolt position? I’m kind of an old-school fogey of sorts. IDK, I just have the druther to take my shots from a closed bolt position — I’m a bit of a maverick though, me!
I have theories on this event:
Steven had a plan. He wanted to break into a life of crime but he was under-resourced. He needed a gun to pull off his robberies, but to buy a gun he needed money, but to get the money he needed a gun — the chicken, the egg, chicken, egg. It was full Catch-22 at the Berlin abode so he tried his hand (no pun) at having his hand impersonate a pistol. Seemed legit.
A second theory is that he had a gat — a real nice gat — but he just forgot to bring it and didn’t even realize he was pointing his finger and thumb at Tokyo Rose the whole time he was into his spiel: “Myeah see, myeah… don’t be wise-guy and nobody gets hurt, see? One false move and it’s curtains for ya, see toots — curtains!” He gets away with over $500 skins. He must have done a pretty convincing James Cagney.
I’m put in mind of a Unit Sniper — T-Bone — who showed up to fire a precision timed shot demonstration for a crowd of VIP visitors. He was sitting in his firing position waiting for the countdown when he was suddenly aware that he had left his rifle back in his team room. He shot back to the compound in his van and barely made it back to his firing point to make the shot. He made it and was on target, but he failed miserably at just one thing… he failed to escape the wrath of the Unit Cartoonist — may the Creator have mercy on his blackened soul!
More about why we can’t have nice things
Highway robbery, price gouging, scalping… this is a deplorable practice. In New Jersey, it is illegal for a vendor to raise prices over 10% during a national crisis. How is this any different than those crooks who show up to a hurricane disaster site selling gasoline for $30.00 per gallon. There is no such regulation on eBay, but then eBay is predicated loosely around the assumption that as long there are people shitty enough to sell it, there will be people stupid enough to buy it. eBay unites shitty with stupid in such a way that it fosters the cornerstone of economics — supply and demand.
Florida man is just worth a double tap this week.
Poor Wesley housed such a large consignment of miscellany in his ass that he became hopelessly incapable of inventory management. He tried using the Sequel Database Management application to track his inventory but it too was overwhelmed by the number of floating decimal point operations per second (FLOPS) that it crashed:
“Mom… did you hide my syringes again??”
“No, I didn’t hide them, but you need to stop injecting that poison into your body — and clean your room!”
“Damnit mom, where are they?!?”
“Well if they were up your ass you’d know!”
This all seems to be a recurring theme among drug addicts of all ages — failure to take ownership of items discovered in their rectums. Addicts routinely deny ownership of drugs found on their person and in their car claiming that they don’t know how the drugs got in their car, they loaned their car to someone, or they had other people in their car recently. The bottom line is they are charged with possession no matter what their pathetic excuse is.
Guys especially claim that the pants they are wearing with drugs in the pockets are not their pants; they are rather borrowed pants from a friend. Possibly sure, but I don’t remember a baker’s plethora of slack-swapping in my non-homosexual upbringing. I’m not insisting trouser trading is gay, but I just say let the breeches fall where they may, make the best of those you have, and when the music stops playing just hope you are left wearing a pair.
But Wesley, you can’t effectively loan your ass to your cousin for the weekend:
“Yo, cuz… I loaned you my ass and you left it a mess — filled with food wrappers, beer cans and a bunch of other shit (no pun) — don’t ever ask to borrow it again, yo!”
Police Officer: “Sir, why are there three meth syringes in your rectum?”
“Yo man, this is not my rectum; it’s my friend’s rectum, yo!”
“Well, you’re wearing it now so that makes you responsible for all of its contents. You’re under arrest for possession of illegal narcotics — turn around and put your hands behind your back. You have the right to remain silent…”
Wesley claims the syringes were not his and that he had just found them. Sounds legit — folks routinely scoop used medical waste up off the ground and immediately stick it in their rectums. Wesley isn’t a monster you know, his only fault was to lose track of the fact that he had them up there when he had a run-in with the police. Methinks he hath learned his lesson though; next time he’ll tie a length of string around his finger.
And finally, this whole unpleasant situation begs the question: “Were the syringes capped?” because if they weren’t, they had to have been a major pain in the ass to retrieve.
By Almighty God and with honor,