October 29, 2011 by C.Getting food from fast food restaurants can be a frustrating experience. You can’t understand what they are saying over the speaker system. They repeat it back to you and it sounds as if you have ordered a side of beef, cheese curds and a back massage. As you pull away glancing in your bag you realize they have given you a “McRib” sandwich instead of the “Filet-O-Fish” you ordered.You were already running late getting back to work on your lunch hour so you just go with it. Three hours later the McRib is kicking you in your ribs and elsewhere. If you call to complain they always seem to question if you are telling the truth or not. They don’t stop to think for a minute, why would anyone waste two minutes of their life on a phone talking about a McRib sandwich?Yes, sometimes fast food dining is extremely frustrating but what else are we to do? God forbid we actually have to cook a meal for ourselves. Well, we can get revenge I suppose like a man in Albany, GA did.An angry Taco Bell customer called up the manager to complain about there not being enough meat in his XXL Chalupas (wasn’t there a report recently that Taco Bell doesn’t use real meat? Why would you want more fake meat? Besides the shell is the best part…geez). The manager explained she would love to fix the issue for him but they were closing. She said he then used racial slurs and told her he was going to “redecorate” the building.At 5am police discovered a small fire under the drive through window of the Taco Bell. Mr. Chalupa firebombed the restaurant in the middle of the night. The police recovered a plastic bottle that was melted and held a substance they believe to be gasoline (Is it just me or is this person completely stupid for making a Molotov cocktail using plastic?).The police are still on the lookout for this person because they were not able to identify him through the surveillance tapes due to poor quality. Unfortunately their police work was of poor quality as well. Why not just check the phone records and find the man that way? Do I have to do everything? Entertain millions, clean my house AND solve crimes. Ok, one out of three isn’t too bad.
October 24, 2011 by C.
What are people thinking??? Sure, I will give you a $1000 computer for a box of crayons and a bag of ranch corn nuts…sounds like a fair deal to me.
October 21, 2011 by C.I hate mice. If I were Superman, mice would be my Kryptonite. They are extremely fast, sneaky and just disgusting. I have been known to vacate my home for weeks if one was seen. I send in people to set traps and when they notify me something has been caught I will go back in. After spotting one I will have re-occurring nightmares of a posse of mice climbing up my bed and crawling all over me while I sleep. So you can imagine I was less than thrilled to have a confrontation with a mouse this week.My mom had surgery and I had to get her home from the hospital. She was in quite a bit of pain when she walked so I needed to get her as close to her garage door as possible because entry to the house was much easier through the garage. So I parked my car across the steep driveway as close to the top as I could. Just as I reached out for my door handle I saw a mouse crawl out of her garage. Oh HELL NO!Immediately I began to plan how long we can live in my car before we starve to death. Then I remembered she has been carved on and will probably need to change the bandages. I frantically dug through the glove compartment. My McDonald’s napkin stash should do the trick. That last drive-thru twit gave me a month supply.“What in the hell are you doing?” asked my mother. Apparently, when someone saws on your leg it makes you a wee bit crabby.“Um, well don’t panic or anything but there is a mouse in the driveway blocking us from getting into the garage” I replied.“Have you lost your mind??? It is a mouse… a baby one at that. It will probably run off the second you open the car door,” she said. She so deserved all those extra painkillers I slipped in her food that evening. They made her as quiet as a…well you know.I slowly opened the car door. It was just sitting there staring at me. I saw one of those little cartoon bubbles over his head that said something like, “You there, yes you, the fat one. Come on out…I am going to chase you all over this front yard.”Getting out of the car was difficult enough but Ms. Crabby Butt in the backseat is yelling at me, “Go towards it, you will scare it away! Come on you sissy!”Two loud steps later, the mouse is running at me, heading back into the garage. There was clearly something wrong with this mouse. It had a death wish and it had found the only person in the world that preferred avoiding mouse confrontations at all costs.To my right in the garage was a snow shovel. I grabbed it and scooped up the mouse, flipping it airborne about halfway down the driveway. It rolled down the drive a ways kind of like how they teach you to drop and roll when your house is on fire. It came to a stop and just kind of looked around like what has this crazy person done to me??With it being stunned I knew I had to start moving the patient in and quickly. I grabbed her by her jacket hood and started yanking her out of the car. She was screaming and complaining but any minute that mouse was going to realize what I had done and bring his posse to crawl all over me.“Hey Mom, the faster you get in the house the faster you can get in your own bed! Doesn’t that sound good? So kick that walker into turbo and get this show on the road,” I said.The whole time I am peeking over her shoulder to see how much longer we had. It was still just sitting there. This was by far the strangest mouse I had ever encountered.I lugged the cripple up the two stairs in the garage and punched the button for the door to drop and protect me from the mouse. Phewwwwww that was close. I then realized that I still had to unpack the car. All the bouquets of flowers, her luggage, her ice bucket and her drugs were left to be unloaded. As much as I needed to steal some of her drugs to calm my nerves, they would just have to wait until I could call in some people to deal with this suicidal mouse. I had had enough mouse excitement to last me a lifetime.
October 17, 2011 by C.
I am a sports fan. A big time sports fan but I don’t think I would ever even think of going this far for tickets to a game.
October 16, 2011 by C.
I was reading an article that basically said God puts a dream/vision/purpose in your heart. You may get sidetracked and forget about it for years but it is there and it will be brought forward at the right time.
This made me think about how on and off throughout my life I have always wanted to be a writer. I wrote this story when I was around ten-years old with my grandpa, Clarence Burgraff. He owned a chain of tire stores and most of this story will contain some names of folks that worked at the home office at the time. We printed this off and sold copies of it to the employees to read…I got $.25 for each one I sold. I thought I was super cool. So I would like to share the story with you today.
“The Rigonni Papers”
This story you are about to read is a true story, only the facts have been changed to alter the outcome.
Once there were five robbers. Their names were Larry, Jerry, Russ, Gippy and Mike the Arab.
There was a man that they hated with a passion, Clarence E. Burggraf. Mr. Burggraf had some papers called the Rigonni Papers. These thugs had a great desire to obtain these papers.
Mr. Burggraf had a spy network in Kansas City, headed up by Bob Banks. The spies informed Mr. Burggraf that the thugs were coming to Quapaw with guns to take away the papers. When the group drove into town from the north, Mr. Burggraf spied them from his window. He got his shotgun and stepped into the restroom.
The thugs parked their hippy van northbound by the Michelin sign. One of the thugs went in the driver’s entrance and sealed off that room. One of the thugs held the office girls at bay. One of the robbers went in Joe’s office. It was not necessary to put one in Dorothy’s office because she fainted.
The other two robbers ran up the stairs with guns in their hands. Mr. Burggraf had very wisely taken the October issue of Playboy magazine and inserted it in a brown legal envelope and marked it “Rigonni Papers”.
The one thug burst into Mr. Burggraf’s office, ran to his desk and grabbed the papers from his desk and started to run out the door. Mr. B. stepped out of the restroom and shot him in the back. As he fell in the hall, the other thug came out of the accounting office, grabbed the so-called papers and ran down the steps yelling, “Let’s hook ’em fellows!”
They ran to the van and jumped in with Mike the Arab at the wheel. The world’s greatest race car driver revved his engine wide open. Thinking that “R” on the transmission stood for race instead of reverse, the van lurched backwards with such speed that it hit the Michelin sign post. It threw two of the thugs sliding down the sidewalk like greased pigs, only stopping after their heads hit the fireplug in front of the Bank of Quapaw. They broke the fireplug off at the ground, spraying water 100 feet in the air.
The driver regained his composure and put his van in forward gear with the engine still wide open. Jumping over Fred Smith’s station wagon, the van raced wildly northward out of town with Gippy in the passenger seat picking his guitar and singing “I’m a Movin’ On”.
Just south of the state line, the van pulled in the chat pile to divide their loot, thinking they really had the Rigonni Papers. They started a fight over the centerfold. They pulled their guns and fatally shot each other, dropping the “Rigonni Papers” to the ground. With a north wind blowing, the papers scattered all over Lincolnville for two or three days.
If there is a moral to this story, it would have to be:
If you want a Playboy, buy it at a book store!
Big and little C.B.
October 10, 2011 by C.
Coffee Table of the Gods
Date: 2011-07-21, 1:18AM CDT
This coffee table is perfect for someone with a cocaine habit or shooting a porno movie.
As you can see from the photo, the majestic beauty of this coffee table rivals earthly treasures such as: the color of the sky at sunset, the laughter of a small child, and infidelity.
Qualities of the table:
-The muthertrucker spins
-Doesn’t have any weird splotches under black lights
Due to the assumed large demand for this table, all inquirers will be subjected to a quiz to determine their level of badass-ity.
The price of the table is firm: $7.83, four cans of Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli, and a framed photo of Betty White.
- Location: Minneapolis
- it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
October 8, 2011 by C.I was in 2nd grade and Aaron Gregory walked into class one Monday morning with a cast on his arm. Everyone gathered around touching it and asking if they could sign it. After watching this go on it became clear to me that I needed to break my arm. I could have a cast too by God.Two years earlier I had broken a collarbone. They gave me this ugly bra-like contraption to wear under my clothes. I couldn’t get it signed and people stared at me. They assumed I had some sort of deformity going on under my clothes and gave my parents that pity-smile, like I am so sorry that your kid is deformed…must suck to be you.My plan was to break my arm and become the 2nd grade celebrity I deserved to be. That night I hopped on my Terry Bradshaw bike (yes, I had a boys Terry Bradshaw bike) and scanned the yard for something to hurl my body into. That huge oak tree in the front yard was perfect. I pedaled hard and fast. My body went sailing through the air at impact. After picking myself up, I saw I was pretty scraped up but my head hurt more than my arm. Mom spotted me and threw me in the car, driving as fast as she could to the emergency room. I was screaming the whole way, “Mom, my arm is broken!” I was having visions of the crowds gathered around me at school the next day fighting to sign my cast. Perhaps the visions could have been caused by my concussion though.X-rays were negative for a break in my arm. The thought of going back to school the next day without a cast was just too much. I needed a better plan. How hard could it be to break a bone??A week after recovering from that accident, I tried again. My dad had a carport built off his tool shed to store his precious El-Camino (if you are so young you do not know what this is…Google it). He had gone out for a joyride so the carport was empty and full of bone-breaking potential. I started at the street and rode as fast as I could towards the carport. It had four metal beams holding it up. My plan was to ride as close as possible to one and stick out my arm while riding by. I hadn’t really planned on being thrown off the bike backwards once my arm whacked the beam. This was far more painful than hitting the tree. The good news was my arm had a decent size knot on it right away. I had finally done it!Yet another trip to the emergency room… another effort to obtain a cast gone to waste. I guess it wasn’t a total waste…a nurse gave me a sucker.I tried to break my arm two more times. The last trip we made to the emergency room, my mom met with the doctor out in the hall. She had spoken to my teacher to see if I was jumping off desks and monkey bars to break my arm during the day. The teacher told her she thought I might have decided I wanted a cast because of Aaron’s. Mom explained this to the doctor and asked him to help her stop the insanity.The doctor came in the room and told me I had a horrific sprain that would require me to wear an Ace bandage. I couldn’t wait to rub my super cool bandage in Aaron’s stupid face. No one could sign it but at least it could be removed when my arm got itchy.Looking back now, I feel pretty horrible. As an adult, I realize the costs associated with all my trips to the emergency room. If I had a child that pulled something like this on me, she would be forever locked in the attic or sold on Ebay. I am the reason I chose not to procreate.
October 5, 2011 by C.I have been holding back. I worry too much about what people will think about my writing. Often, I ask for opinions from my friends and family if I should write about certain topics that come to mind and 90% of the time, I am told no. Am I really that sick? I guess we will find out.In reading “Writing Down The Bones” by Natalie Goldberg, I have discovered that I have to just let it go…put it out there. My professor told me she thinks I feel I must be perfect when writing. Well, that is about to change. Sure, there are a few things that I won’t write about…the one that comes to mind is negative things about my job. Since that job is the one that pays the bills, I will have to avoid that topic until someone else wants to fund my car payments and M&M addiction.So, you have been warned. You might see posts about men with feet fetishes and women that have orgasms while they poop. If you start reading and decide something is too much for you to handle, then by all means stop reading that one but whatever you do don’t give up on reading what is going on here. I am like a diamond in the rough…the more practice I get, the better I become and one of these days this blog will be a bright and shiny object you would want to show off to your friends and family.
October 3, 2011 by C.
Here is another great ad that was actually posted on Craigslist. I can relate…that is exactly what it would take to get me to go for a jog.
Date: 2011-05-26, 9:09PM CDT
I am looking for a person of athletic build to help me get in shape.
I hate exercising with passion so the plan of action is this: I ingest Rohypnol [you supply the roofies as I don’t know where to purchase them] and you strap my body to yours [limbs to limbs using velcro] and take me along on a jog. Three nights a week. If you’re capable and interested, E-mail me so that we can discuss the fee.
- Location: Des Moines, IA
- it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
October 1, 2011 by C.
Mark Bradford, 46, of Plymouth, England lost it when his character from “Call of Duty: Black Ops” was gunned down by a 13-year-old kid. The two were playing online and chatting through headsets. The teen also called Bradford a name after killing him off. Well, boo-hoo.
This father of three raced across town to the kid’s house (this is why you don’t tell people you meet on-line where you live) and started choking him with both hands around the neck. The teen’s mother came to his rescue. He suffered a few scratches but other than that was fine.
“It wasn’t malice. I just grabbed him. I’ve seen him since and apologized. The injuries weren’t that bad but I do regret it,” Bradford told the court Thursday.A sentencing is planned for October 24th.