The Factory

It’s been a busy day here at the asshole factory. We’ve been punching out douchebags by the billions; putting the finishing touches on pricks by the peck; shipping out shitheads by the sheet. It’s simple work but it’s proud work. But for as many dirtbags that we turn out we just can’t seem to fill the jerk needs of every idiot out there.

The day was just a septic tank full of our usual dregs. As hard as manufacturing worked the guys in sales kept writing up orders which is good because the guys in receiving kept taking in all those rude, thoughtless and downright evil parts that are the cornerstone of our business.

If there is a downside to working at Acme Asswipe, it’s that you start to miss the thoughtless and pigheaded behavior that surrounds us every day. I don’t even notice the guy in the next cubicles habit of taking off his shoes and chewing off his toenails then spitting them into his corkboard any more. As a matter of fact, I might even long for it after he gets fired. Oh oh! I hope he doesn’t read this we’re not through putting together his severance package.

Because we’ve become so used to shitty behavior we sometimes don’t know if we’re actually doing any good here. Are the insults and middle fingers we churn out making an impact out there for the average Joe? You know what I mean? We put all this time into making sure the person in front of you is texting while driving or the guy in the elevator smells like a microwaved marmot. But are we making an impact?

Then, every once in a while, something happens and I know that we are still putting the F in fucktard!

It was a quick call. He seemed to know exactly what he required so he asked for it directly.

“Do you have any Dickwad 1157’s?”

It’s an older model but it’s still useful for beating a pregnant woman to the last seat on the train and other classics. After a quick search in our exhaustive database I noticed that the Dickwad model 1157 was on backorder. I gave him the bad news which caused him to mumble some half-assed profanity and hang up the phone.

I guess he was in a hurry to call our major competitor, Up Yours Industry, but, come on! If we don’t have a Dickwad 1157 in stock do you think those chuckleheads will? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Please don’t. Laughing and being courteous are frowned upon in the industry. I’ve already been written up this week for holding the elevator for a co-worker.

I didn’t give the call a second thought. I shrugged off his rudeness as the bread and butter of the industry. I went back to filling an order for a case of fuck yous and a twelve pack of stopping in the doorway at a grocery store. They’re on sale this week and have been flying off the shelves.

Not unusually the phone rang again. It seems as if bastards just can’t wait to get their way.

“How much is a Dickwad 1157?”

I haven’t had a call on those for over two months so you can imagine my surprise. I did think maybe it was the curt fellow from before matching our every day low prices with the gouging he must have got from those grifters at Up Yours but I gave him the information he asked for.

I was about to inquire as to when he’d need the item and inform him that, at this time, we had nothing in stock but he abruptly hung up the phone. Those of you outside the industry may have thought that impolite but to us at Acme Asswipe we think of it as not having to spend the time saying good-bye! It’s such a time saver!

As you can see, the day was busy because the phone chimed in right away.

“Acme Asswipe. What the fuck do you want?” I begin with our official company greeting.

“I just called you.” One of the more annoying habits of the barbarous is they’re often quite stupid. Of course he just called me. We’re conversing at this very moment. “I disguised my voice and went to a different phone and you gave me the price of a Dickwad 1157.”

“Yes, you asked for a pri. . .”

“. . .but I called you earlier and said you didn’t have Dickwad 1157’s in stock.”

“Yes, that time you asked. . .”

“. . .you’re a fucking asshole. You can go fuck yourself you fucking fuck.” And then he slams down the phone.

I gently hung up the phone thinking that it may be nice if his nose got infested with a family of rabid raccoons but I was also proud.

Proud because I was certain he was using our Pompous Schmuck Family Pack! And with the load of bile he’s tossing around it’ll be no time until he’s back at our order desk!

Cha-ching!

Off The Rails

I was out and heard a phrase three times from three different people in a space of thirty minutes. When I heard it the third time it finally dawned on me why
I seem so different from the rest of humanity. In my life I have never said,

“I’m highly offended.”

When I heard it for the third time I knew it had to be that. I hear that phrase so often and can only deduce that is why so many people seem like such bland, face painted puppets.

Things ranging from something someone does or says, a picture or a concept, hell, I’ve heard people say they were highly offended by the way someone drove, can not only offend but highly offended them.

What makes that the go to emotion for people? Is it their sense of entitlement? Sense of anguish? Cause it sure as shit ain’t their sense of humor.

Whenever I’ve seen someone be highly offended they tend to be the same type of people. Burnished to a fine shine, highly opinionated yet vacuous in their
solutions, and loud and proud of their offended personality.

I know I’m generalizing here and am sure that will offended someone on the highest level and to that I say, go fuck yourself. Do you really think I care? I guess you do. Just like you think people care that you we’re highly offended because one judge totally underscored some ‘celebrity’ who was one week away from starting at Arby’s before they got that casting call.

The truth is being offended just means you’re weak. Most times when I find someone highly offended by something I’ve done (and trust me here, I offend people at the highest levels. Just a few posts ago I highly offended quite a number of people with my ‘Michael J. Fox Bobble Hand Doll’ idea) it’s because they are uncomfortable with the concept.

It could be a simple concept or complex. It could be something they love that someone else makes a joke about. We’ve become a society that will not tolerate a differing opinion. Be it something as trivial as a TV show or vast as the state of the world. If there is the smallest of division of thought the potential of someone being highly offended is enormous.

So stop being a pig faced troglodyte and letting every little thing set your asshole to pucker. There was a time when jesters were admired because they could
speak up and say what everyone else was thinking.

I remember the days when people didn’t threaten a boycott because someone dared utter a truth because they and a group of like minded people (you ever noticed it’s always the ‘like minded’ who threaten boycotts? You know why? Free thinking people have shit to do. Besides, who else would hang out with them?) didn’t like it. I remember when comedians weren’t used as fodder for newscasts because they’re afraid to cover actual news. But let Louis CK joke that he’d punch a baby in the face and it’s an hour long special and he loses a week at the Peoria Chuckle Hut.

Hey! News people! Look over here! There are a few of wars going on!

I have many friends and I disagree with many friends. And do you know what? I’d have it no other way. You know why? If I only hung out with people who only
had the same opinions and likes  as me I’d miss out finding out about so many other cool things. If you live with other mushrooms the world around you is a fungus.

Huh. I didn’t see this coming. That wasn’t funny much at all. Hmmmmmmm. I can’t let you people down. You don’t come here for meaningless diatribes from some yahoo. You have so many other options for that these days. Let’s see, I gotta close this out with a joke. Something for everyone! How’s that sound? Hmmm. Oh, good, got one.

A priest, a pedophile and a drunk were sitting in a boat. . .oh wait, wrong joke. That joke only has one guy.

A guy is talking. . .

. . .to me and mentions that his 60th high school reunion is coming up.

“It’s tomorrow between two and four.”

I look at him for a moment before saying, “You know you’re old when your high school reunion starts before the early bird specials do.”

A Polite Question Ruined

And it was my doing (not that I have to tell you that). A woman comes up to me and says, “Peanuts?”

To which I ruined her day (if her reaction was any indication) by responding, “No. Urine like everyone else.”

Vanity Plate

I was standing outside talking with some people. I sort of drifted off because the conversation wasn’t all that interesting to me. I glanced at the cars parked around and saw a license plate with letters. I’m looking at it thinking,

‘Damn, I WILL read anything.’ When a female voice says,

“Are you looking at my plate?” I look at her then point to the car. She nods in a smiley fashion. “That’s my car.” She takes me by the arm and leads me over. The conversation has stopped and everyone’s paying attention to whatever this is. “Do you want to know what it means?”

Yes and no.

Yes, because, who wouldn’t? But no because she’s just a little too pleased with herself over this. I look at the plate and, for the life of me, can’t figure out what
I T M A P means. Maybe it does means IT MAP but that makes no sense to me. I look at her, forlorn that I do want to know. She squeals and says,

“It means I’m The Most Awesome Person!” There is no one on earth more pleased with herself right now than this woman. And we can’t have that happen now, can we boys and girls? I nod at her for a few seconds. My expression is not utter derision (proving just how damn good an actor I am) it’s one people could take as benign bemusement.

“Oh, that’s what it means?” She’s gleeful. I hate that. “Huh. I thought it meant I’ve Totally Mastered Ass Play.”

Ahhh, the world’s such a better place now.

Don’t go outside!

Someone who heard a very disturbing weather report felt she had to share it with me. I found it so distressing I felt it was my duty to share it with you.

She said, “I heard later today there’s going to be tarantula downpours.”

To which I could only reply, “You don’t even hear of that shit in the bible.”

A jaunty gentleman. . .

. . .gleefully saunters up to me and asks,

“How’s your day going?” The gentleman looked at me for a second while I stood Plymouth Rock still.

“It sucks the quills off a porcupine.” The gentleman blinked once or twice or thirty times before saying,

“I think I will  refrain from asking you any more questions.”

Smart man.