Monthly Archives: September 2005

What is it about General Conference and Idiots?

Conference weekend is coming up, which got me thinking, “What is it about General Conference that causes all the bugs, worms, and other nasties to come crawling out from beneath their rocks?

For the non-Mormons who live outside Utah, General Conference refers to the semi annual conference held by the Mormon Church.

These bugs, worms, and others which are commonly referred to as “idiots”, occassionally called “protesters” by the media, come out every six months like clockwork. Coincidentally, their mating season coincides with the time and place of the Mormon Conference. Weird, huh?

I’ve done some extensive scientific studies on these creatures, and have conferred with several entimologists on this matter, and I have concluded that these “idiot bugs” serve no useful purpose. So I thought of gathering a group of people who wish to make the world a better place and exterminate these so called idiot bugs.

My group and I will be offering up training on how to recognize the truly useless idiot bugs from the ones that are less harmful, and as of yet have not been determined to serve no purpose.

Those bugs who shout and scream, use megaphones, hold deragatory signs, and so forth need a good spraying from a mix of xanthine and oxypurinol (thanks to Clark for getting me the chemical combination used to disrupt the growth and reproduction of cockroaches).

But seriously, remember the numbnuts that was desecrating Mormon garments? What did that idiot expect? He got off easy as far as I’m concerned. Try doing that with a prayer shawl in front of a mosque and you’re likely to meet with a 7.62mm round to the head (coicidentally, the same diameter of the bullet used by the famed AK-47).

So for other idiots, keep desecrating those things which we consider to be sacred. Yeah, that’s a great way to get converts to your church, which by the way, if you haven’t read the Book of Mormon lately I’m obliged to tell you that if you’re not with us (the Mormon Church), you’re WITH SATAN!

I Said “Thanks”

So I arrive at work carrying my lunchbox cooler and gallon of water in my hand. As I approach the building entrance, I’m thinking of how I’m going to get the door open. Shouldn’t be too difficult. I had it figured out.

As I approach the door, the girl ahead of me stopped and held the door for me. I almost vomitted from shock!

After calming myself down, I told the young lass, “Thank you!”

As it turns out, the girl works on the third floor. I work on the second. Now getting the door open to enter the second floor is actually a pretty difficult task for me if I’m carrying anything. I usually have to set whatever I’m carrying down, open the door and hold it with my foot, then grab my stuff back up.

Lo and behold; as the girl reached the second floor she turned to look at me, and realizing that I work on the second floor, opened the door for me before continuing on her way.

Well that did it. I started puking everywhere. Luckily it was a sweet smelling puke, very much like the sweet aroma of a tropical beach.

And yes, I said, “Thank you. I appreciate your help!”

The “Other” One-Armed Guy

The building where I work has several other companies in it. One of those companies has another one-armed fellow working for them.

Ok, I know I’m technically not one-armed. But being that my right arm has been paralyzed for the last 10 years, I have a pretty good idea of what life is like for those that truly are one armed.

Anyway, I pull up to work this morning and see the “other” one-armed guy pulling a computer tower out of his truck and carry it to the building entrance.

As we pull up, my wife says something to the effect of, “Whoa!”, to which I respond, “He’ll get no sympathy from me.”

To begin with, I know he doesn’t want my sympathy. And secondly, I’m a bit of a computer geek. I’ve attended many LAN parties that have required me to haul my computer around town and carry it through doors and what not.

I could have easily opened the door while carrying a computer tower. This fellow, however, didn’t appear too experienced in the ways of the “oned-armed computer carry”. He struggled at the doorway. Given enough time, I’m sure he would have managed to get through the door.

However, I’ve learned that life is tough enough. It’s fairly rare anybody offers to get the door for me, even when it’s painfully obvious that I’m struggling to get through. Sometimes I feel certain that there are some sickos on the other side laughing at me. Then after what seems to be several hours (time slows to a crawl when you feel like you’re making an embarassment of yourself) I get through the door and realize they’re not laughing, but rather just ignoring me. After 10 years, you get used to it.

Anyway… understanding that, although this gentleman would’ve eventually been able to figure things out himself, I know that it would just be a whole lot easier on him if somebody just offered to get the door for him. So I ran up to the door and grabbed it for him. The guy actually said “Thank you.”

Not really a surprise, but nice to hear considering the number of times I’ve held the door for somebody, only to be nearly run down and sneared at by the very person I’m holding the door for.

I give this prediction now. Because of the utter rudeness of able-bodied persons, my one-armed comrade and I will undoubtedly see the fall of the two-armed race and we will come to RULE THE WORLD!!!

Okay, maybe that was just a dream I had once. Don’t think that I hate you just because you’re able bodied. I only hate the ones that I don’t like.

And no, I didn’t lie when I said, “He’ll get no sympathy from me.” I just got the door him. A common courtesy that is being lost in the world.

The point of my big long post? Next time somebody holds the door for you, have the courtesy to say “thanks”. Otherwise they might do what I like to do, which is release the door when the person is part way through so it slams them right in the butt! BWAH HA HA HA! Arrr… that’s entertainment.

A Confederate Impresses Me

So I’m on my way to work this morning when I pull behind some kind of little SUV looking thing. It had a nice little Confederate flag stuck to its bumper.

“Hey, a champion of state rights!” I say to myself.

Sure to his defiance of federal law, he sped right through a school zone doing about 30 mph. Sure he put the lives of little children in danger, but it’s well worth it to stick it to the feds!

If only I were as brave as this man… I simply care too much for the lives of children (having three of them myself), so I slowed down.

I caught back up to the proud Confederate at a stop sign a few blocks later. That’s when I noticed something a bit strange. This guy was driving Suzuki!

Now tell me, what kind of proud American that bleeds Confederate blood would be driving around in a foreign piece of garbage I ask you? Then I noticed something else that allowed me to forgive him for his blatant display of antipatriotism. The following was written on his back window:

Four 4×4

“Four Sale”??? As in the number “4″? Okay, the guy was obviously a southerner, thus mentally retarded or something. Probably had an IQ somewhere around 12. This was later confirmed by several “questionable” maneuvers he made while driving. You can’t really blame a southerner for being stupid, so I allowed him a pass for driving a foreign vehicle.

The “Bandit” Strikes

I play online poker every once in a while. Mostly just to keep my skill in playing against stupid people, since online poker is packed with ‘em (stupid people that is).

One thing I can always count on is that the stupidest people are playing in the Omaha rooms. Whenever I have a bad string of luck, I just pop into an Omaha room for awhile until I’ve won enough to make me feel better. Never fails!

As it turns out, last time I went online for some poker, I went straight into an Omaha room because I was down a couple hundred.

So I picked a room which, unfortunately, had two or three other players that actually knew what they were doing. Well, most of the time at least.

After a bit, I manage to win back my losses, and then some. I’m thinking to myself, “Okay, I’m back on top, time to quit now.”

Winning or losing, a good gambler knows when it’s time to quit. Well, I talked myself into waiting until I won another hand. That’s when it happened… SHAZAM! Like a brick to the head…

If you’re having a hard time seeing what’s going on there, click the image to see a bigger picture.

And here’s the best part. In the image above, the pot is around $300. I managed to get three other fools to push the pot up to over $900

Not one, not two, but THREE fools just kept on calling my raises until the betting was maxed out.

A little pointer for the poker-o’-philes out there. If you’re ever down on your chips, hit the Omaha tables… unless you’re one of the idiots. Otherwise You’ll just end up giving your money to smart people like me.