Stupid Fucking People

I hate people...I mean I hate stupid fucking people. If a banker becomes the CFO of a successful company and starts making really fucking stupid changes that causes all sorts of issues to a perfectly profitable fucking company and cause headaches to the employees at all fucking levels and he is fucking stupid enough to ask you where you think he gets his financial knowledge from...what the fuck does he expect me to say?!?

-Professional Answer: "From your Ivy League education and years of working for and running financial institutions."

-Army of Ones Answer: "You wake up at 2:17a.m. every morning to saddle the neighbors dog and fly to a secret island in the middle of an enchanted lake to get your financial advice from a magical musk rat named Francois."

He should have seen that one coming. Bankers...they should all be in jail.

-Army of One

Grosser than gross...

Chancroid...google image it.
Necrotizing fasciitis...google image it.

Know what I'm looking forward to? That nasty, fat bitch that comes in with a perianal cyst that I'm going to have to excise. Awesome. I hate dirty fucks that don't know how to take a bath. Yeck.

Being Dangerous When You Get Older

Things change the older you get. Like running a yellow light sends shivers up your thirty-something spine while you check all three mirrors for flashing lights.....pussy. Standing up to your boss with 100% validation and then worrying all night about whether you will be able to go back to work the next day....pussy. Caring how you spell the words in texts and emails....p-u-s-s-y.
What happened to living like a rogue and not worrying about the future. Why didn't I name my cat "Coon"? It's funny and a great name for a cat....pussy. Why do I decline shots at the bar instead of welcoming the cold embrace of the porcelain gods as I kneel to say my late night prayers through the furry yellowish-white ring of salvation?....pussy. What the fuck happened to saying fuck in front of any motherfucker in the fucking room and the only fucking time you fucking say fuck is through a stupid fucking keyboard....fucking pussy. Why am I still wearing the same shoes and blue jeans I owned 5 years ago???....pussy. Why do I think watching Ghost Whisperer is the same as going to a titty bar?....pussy. When did going bed early become a priority?....pussy. Good night fellow pussies.

-Army of One

Tools

You ever try prying open a crate with a banana? How about hammering a nail with a screwdriver? No? Well, for the last year, that's what I've been given. Anecdotally, anyway.

I've been given the banana....to pry open a crate. I'm still being given the banana, too. *** NEWS FLASH *** It fucking sucks!

I'm leaving my current job in less than 60 days and I feel like a complete failure. I've left nothing enduring behind that will leave the next person who assumes this position an easier job at handling the workload. Why, you ask? Because I've never been given the right tools. Because I've been under-resourced and overworked. Because I've been given a banana to pry open a crate.

It's what we do in our line of business and it's why thousands leave in the droves. It's sad, really. Because I belong to an organization that has kicked ass and taken names for the last 200 plus years. We take the objective by force and relentlessly close with, engage, and destroy the enemy by overwhelming fire, maneuver and effects. Unfortunately, the guys in the big comfy chairs at the top sit and pontificate and rally behind their GFIs (good fucking ideas) and press it on overwhelmed sub-organizations.

The only thing that keeps us motivated is good leadership at the sub-organization level. It means late hours, late phone calls, driving to the office to take care of someone and weeding through the bullshit to make mission.

I'm tapped, guys. School can't come quick enough.

Things that sound dirty, but aren't

Boiling my nipples.

Adding some RAM to my motherboard.

Plug-n-Play.

Backdoor Trojans. (Army of One came up with this one, props)

Come again.

Over-Under.

Rear-ending.

The names Jack, Dick, Gay, and Lester.

Rubber nipples.

Petting my Chihuahua.

Anything described as Cream-Filled.

JERK OFF DEMON

THEY SAY EVERYBODY HAS A GAURDIAN ANGEL BUT WHAT ABOUT A DEMONIC INFLUENCE. EACH DAY I WAKE UP AND JERK OFF BEFORE I GET READY FOR WORK. RIGHT AS I FINISH UP A SERIES OF WOMEN RUNS THROUGH MY MIND AND AS I ... WELL YOU KNOW I ALWAYS SAY, "I HOPE YOU GET CANCER!"
THE WORDS COME OUT IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT ACCENTS FROM MIDDLE EASTERN TO ORIENTAL BUT ALL WITHIN THE SAME EPISODE OF JERKING OFF. SOMETIMES I SING IT BUT ALWAYS WITH AN ACCENT. WHEN ITS OVER THERE IS A ROSCOE FROM DUKES OF HAZARD LAUGH FOLLOWED BY AN EVIL WUUUHAHAHAH.... IM PRETYY SURE EVERYBODY DOES THIS TO GET THE DAY STARTED. DEMONIC INFLUENCE OR JUST AWESOME?

Post

Here's my post: Today, in the gym, I was changing and there was this fat-ass old guy with his distorted ass on the locker room bench, naked. That's it. Draw you own conclusion.


- Saul

What happens if...

Finish that title!

What happens if...

you take a 1000 mile guilt trip to a pity party?

Regrets

All right you fucknuts, here are some of my regrets:

I regret forgetting my roots.

What are my roots? Here are my roots:

Crawling under the house to find the puppies.

Standing in the front yard pissing off the porch with the coyotes and wild dogs howling, me and Nate and my drunk-ass Pop.

Running scared-ass out to Pop's truck to fetch his cigarettes. Knuckers, I tell you, it takes a lot of ballsack to run through pitch dark one-hundred yards, worrying about stepping on copper heads and rattle snakes, hearing the dogs howl, to fetch some cancer sticks for a man who's gonna fart on you when you get back.

Devil went down to Georgia. Yeah. I've met the Devil. I beat his ass, left him crying on that hickory stump.

Standing in the back yard shooting AA batteries off a fence post with a .22 rifle.

Standing in the back yard shooting cans of beer off the fence post with a .22 rifle.

Metal spears, sharpened on a grinder, the real-mutherfucker, pierced into the tin on the shop and the barn and trees trees trees. Never killed a rabbit with one, not that we didn't try. Sharp mutherfuckers.

Dad beating our ass for shooting his beer and stabbing holes in his barn and shop and chasing the hogs with real-ass spears.

Dead hogs, hung up and bleeding.

Dead calves.

Shorty the bull. Frankie, the stunted cow. Pop was gonna butcher her, but Bro & I named her. Mom said, Keep the cow. The boys love her. She bore us a calf every year. We ate the calf. Her face was God's own.

Slopping the hogs with restaurant slosh.

Trading in Pop's beer cans for about $2,000,000 bucks.

Dead bunnies.

Cow pattie fights.

Fish fries.

Pellet gun wars. Man. Those fucking rocked. I don't mean those Red Rider one-cock jobs, either, I mean pellet guns. Rabbit killers. Squirrel killers. No pads. No helmets. No goggles. You dodge or get fucking shot. One pump rules got dumped when one asshole pumped it ten times. If you don't understand that comment, then there's no sense explaining it to you.

Running across the round bales.

Climbing the barn.

Hay forts.

I could cross a barbed wire fence as easy as you can open your bedroom door.

Dogs under the porch.

Brush hogs and round bailers and square bailers.

My roots.

God, I miss em. I'm in a suburb in Dallas.

And God, He's laughing and shaking His head. I'm a boxer dancing ballet, a fisherman cleaning fish tanks, a writer banging out emails. I'm nothing I was meant to be.

I forgot my roots.

- Saul

How do I...

So how do you un-become someone you never meant to become?

- Saul

So I...

So I took a Tylenol PM and then drank a half bottle of wine and watched ZOMBIELAND.

And I'm STILL wired so tight I feel tethered to the moon.

What the hell's wrong with me.

I need a mancation, bros, bad.


- Saul

Pointless Rant

All right, I just got kicked in the knickers for sending out a terse email.

In a nicer way I said: DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!

Yeah, they didn't like that one. For six months I've been saying that, nicely.

Please do your job, I'd say.

Isn't this something you should be more worried about, I'd say.

Who owns this? I'd say.

Well, you're just telling me what the problem ~isn't~. Can anyone tell me what the problem ~is~?

Silence.

Okay. Fast-forward to March 2010.

DO YOUR FUCKING JOB! I said.

That got their attention.

Bossman, he call me into he office and he say, Dude, what the hell you doing? Why you so mean in your email?

Did it gets they attention? I say.

Sho nuff, he say. All the way to the top.

Good. Missions FUCKING accomplished.

(And the crowd roars!)

Methinks they's a beer in my future at lunchtime. Not really. That's a rumor. I'd never be drinking on work hours. That's illegal, yo.


- Saul

More mixed cliches

- There was a fox in the henhouse. So the chickens flew the coop, and later, after the cows came home, the chickens returned to the roost.

- I'm looking forward to my next Freudian Slip.

- Dot your Is, cross your Ts, mind your Ps and Qs, and remember to err is human.

- Hold your tongue. Shut your trap. Silence is golden.

- Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power.

- I beat him like a red herring stepchild.

- Low man on the totem pole has an ass above him.

- Patience is a virtue. Time is of the essence.

- You know what gets my goat? Goats.

- He was out on a limb, and up the wrong tree.

- It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play. Winning is everything.

- Midstream, I changed to a horse of a different color.

- He jumped her bones of contention.

- Let sleeping dogs lie like a rug.

- Mark my lips: No death and taxes.

- Your two cents aren't worth a dime.

- He's a kiss-ass of death.

- I'm gonna keep a stink-eye on you.

- I knocked it out of the park, but couldn't get past first base.

- Saul

Firing the Ol' Mud Cannon

-Shanghai Steamer

-Taking the Browns to the Super Bowl

-Bombing Tokoyo

-Making an Executive Decision

-Releasing the Kraken

-Giving Birth to an Ethiopian

-Making a Contribution to the Obama Campaign

-Blowing Chunks

-Serving the Corn Cassorole

-Chunky McFlushy

-Votin' Democrat

A Case of The Fuckits

You losers.

Yall just don't know the art of Fucking Around.

First off, get yourself a good case of The Fuckits.

What are The Fuckits?

The Fuckits are those little voices in your head that put you to sleep in the bathroom stall while you're taking a shit.

They're the little bastards who skip meetings, delete emails, sabotage your co-workers, and park in the restricted area at work and slam the car door into that blue convertible gay-ass Porche that fat-bastard bushy mustached exec tools around in.

They're the fucks who spit on your hand and rub it on your boss's office door.

They're the little nags that say, Hey, dumbfuck, that was a great workout, you owe yourself a black-and-tan!

But it's two in the afternoon. I have a staff meeting at three o'clock.

Fuckit, they say.

Fuckit, you say.

And now, my friend, you have a full-on hard-on raging boner throbbing fuck-em-dry case of The Fuckits.

I suffer from The Fuckits. I suffer pretty bad.

This morning I arrived late.

I then typed an email that took me two hours. Yes, two hours. One email. And it's not even work-related. It's about my son's soccer team. I drew up a pretty little diagram and mailed it to my parents. It had sharks in it, because that's the name of my boy's soccer team. I spent quite a while getting the shark images just right.

I'm a perfectionist, you know. That's a syndrome.

Now I'm posting on Pointless.

I'll eat soon, and then do a couple of hours of work -- yes, I have to do ~some~ work, to maintain appearances. Usually, I work between the hours of eleven and one or two o'clock.

After I scrub out some good-looking work, I'll head to the gym and work out for an hour.

Did I say, An hour?

What I meant was, Two hours. Give or take.

I may even stop on my way and take a nap in the car.

When I get back to work around three o'clock, I'll do a little more work. Usually, this is in the form of sending emails that bounce toward the boss, and touch on high-visibility projects. The other shit I blow off. Someone else will pick up the slack, you know. They always do.

Who are these people? I often ask myself.

Well, they used to be me. I used to be that dumbfuck who picked up the slack. Dumbfucks like you.

After I send some strategic emails, I'll work on my website. I'll tend to my after-school job, the one I actually enjoy doing. I'll write 2,500 words with my headset on, listening to Korn and Seether and Everclear.

Then I'll leave early, explaining I have basketball practice.

And I do have basketball practice for my son.

But it just got cancelled, one voice says. The basketball coach is sick.

Fuckit, the other voice says. You owe yourself a black-n-tan.


- Saul

Watching out for the Self

What happens when your success depends on the end result? When the end result is bastardized and so unbalanced that even a trained monkey could have set the ball rolling. But, in the end how will we look if our mission is a failure????? And how will we sleep at night if our mission was a failure and we knew we could have saved it...is it payback, revenge, spite....? But when we save all those stupid fucking coat-tailing wannabes and I wish that they all get cancer and die, it is still necessary for the self. BUT, without the stupid fucks how do we move up? We succeed or fail as a whole. So, how do you progress the self among selfish peers and keep your sanity? You always finish the job, doing an above average performance...........when you are the last motherfucker left that finishes, and turns in your shit then you know...deep down that you are the best. Even if people still continue to get accolades for your hard work. We finish long and strong, they finish early and wanting. Such the cynic...yep, that's me.

-Army of One

Punish the performer

Today was one of those days. One of those days where I wanted to reach through the phone and slap the shit out of an incompetent field grade Army officer and let him have it.

I mean seriously. Everybody in the command sees it and this asshole gets to get a second command. That company is sooooooo fucked.

In the meantime, I'll continue to be punished by his incompetence. Because everybody knows that MC makes shit happen. Oh, for fuck sake! I can't wait for PA school. Academia for two years. After that, it's the old barrell rod for the kids with drippy dick and tissues for the sniffles. No more wiping other field grade's asses or hand holding senior NCOs so they can do their fucking jobs.

Other than the usual take a shit in a ziplock bag and squeeze it through his car window, does anyone have any good suggestions?? I'm game.

Lemme sniff your crotch

If you could see black with shades of gray, would you say you can see? Or would you call yourself blind?

If you could hear a single note at a single tone, would you say you could hear? Or would you call yourself deaf?

That's how we smell, compared to a dog, that is.

See, a dog's sense of smell is 10,000 times more acute than a human's. For instance, if this were sight, then you'd be able to see one foot away, a dog would be able to see two miles away.

Get it? Still think you have a sense of smell? You're and idiot if you do.

A dog can smell an ounce of cocaine anywhere in your house, yet seventeen cops overlook it.

They can smell a person buried a dozen feet beneath a building when it's crawling with workers and their dead-ass noses full of snot from this season's allergies.

A dog can smell if you're pregnant, smell if you're sick, and they can even smell cancer.

Yes, a dog can smell cancer. Look it up. They do all this without an x-ray, MRI, catscan, or one day in medical school.

Two day trails through the woods, no problem. A deer can smell you from two hundred yards away. So can a bear and so can a hundred other animals. A shark can smell blood in the water, can't they.

And what can we smell with our little shnoz? Not a goddamned thing. And yet, we count sniffing as one of our senses!

Please tell me you're not still thinking you have a sense of smell!

We're such idiots. We don't have a fucking sense of smell.

Watch a dog next time you meet one. What's the first thing that dog does? He sniffs your ass! Puts his face right in your bunghole and takes a good whiff, doesn't he?

And if he sees some shit on the ground, what does the dog do? He stops and sniffs it out.

Why do they do that? Because that's how the world smells to them, that's how you smell to them. That's why a deer turns its head in the woods, why a dog runs when you fart, and why animals the world around shit to mark their territory.

You smell like shit. I smell like shit. We all smell like shit!

Believe me, that's the most odoriferous part your nasty-ass body, yes it is, yes it is.

Maybe that's why God took away our sense of smell.

So we can all walk around and act like our shit don't stink.


- Saul

Things to do with a dead iguana

o Mail it to your boss
o Find a cracked window in the parking lot and drop it into someone's car
o Freeze it and use it as a fetish sex toy
o Give it to a blind kid and say, It's real gentle
o Drop it in any mailbox, scare the shit out of the mailman
o Throw it over the top of the stall in the restroom
o Take it to a scary movie and throw it into the audience during a creepy part
o Hang it from your front door beneath a sign reading, This is the last bastard who tried to break into my house
o Feed it to the neighbor's dog
o Hand it to the drive-through clerk
o Take it to the doctor and ask her if she thinks iguanas can give you herpes
o Use it as a target in a skeet toss


- Saul

Squeezing the Penguin

Slapping the salmon.

Peeling the potato.

Rolling the dough.

Petting the Pomeranian.

Thinking of Megan Fox.


So I'm in the shitter taking a shit and playing Midnight Bowling 2 on my cell phone. I can't hit a strike, but by God I can hit a split every freaking time!

It's quiet, just me and Mr. Plop Plop and my game I can't fucking win.

Then I hear this tink-tink-tink-tink-tink from the stall next to me.

I listen for a second. Then I cough.

Tink-tink-tink-tink-tink-tink-tink-tink-tink. It's the jingle of the guy's watch, tinking over and over in steady rhythm.

I cough again, maybe he didn't hear me. I snort. I blow my nose.

Tink-tink-TINKTINKTINKTINK TIIIIIIIIINK... tink tink tink.

Ah fuck, I heard him splooge his wad in the toilet. You know the sound. You were teenagers once. No mistaking that happy squirt and grunt.

Fuck fuck FUCK I heard it.

He wiped once and stood up. You know the drill.

I wanted to bang on the stall and tell him to stop but I had a good shit going and I didn't want to give it up.

I saw him washing his hands. It's this guy about 60, white hair, Caucasian, pot belly, wearing a tape measure on his belt, one of our facilities guys.

Ack ack ack! Shit.

My girl said, Good for him. Impressive for a man that age to still be able to get it up.

I said, It ain't so impressive if you're sitting in the stall next to him.


- Saul

Global and Domestic Complainers

It really fucking pisses me off when everyone criticises the U.S. for being first on the scene to EVERY FUCKING PROBLEM ON THE PLANET! Domestic and foreign (including Haitian) critics are saying we are sending too much military presence into Port-au-Prince in response to the earthquake. Who the fuck do they think is going to set up and control distribution of food, water, and medical aid/supplies?!?!?!?!? The US military has always responded to humanitarian needs around the globe. It's the largest volunteer organization on the planet. Red cross hardly ever goes anywhere without a military force with them. Who do they think is setting up the temporary hospitals, supplying the heavy equipment and engineers to clear and rebuild that rat-hole of a fucking country to begin with?? And weren't the people in Haiti starving before the earthquake? Wasn't the Haitian government barely functional before the earthquake? This is gonna be New Orleans all over again. The US military and emergency response departments are going to be labeled as brutes and idiots using the "wrong" tactics to respond to a disaster. I think we should pull our military out of Haiti, fly the finger and wish them luck with the U.N. and watch the chaos. Stupid fucking critics.

-Army of One

Smoking the Ham

Rubbing the Magic Lamp

Wrestling the Silverback

Left-Handed French Curl

Cranking the Hedge Trimmer

Training the Spartan

Squeezing the Charmin

Slapping the Monkey

Honking the Horn (beep-beep)

Tanning the Hide

Greasing the Pig

Ringing the Liberty Bell

-Army of One

What the hell is a half marathon?

A half-marathon?

Are you kidding me?

A HALF marathon?

Come on. That's like a HALF blow job.

"Hey, baby, here's a half twenty for your half blow job. It wasn't half bad. My lower half offers you half a thanks."

"You're half welcome, now get half the fuck off me and quit half humping my thigh."

A half marathon. What the fuck is that, anyway, and who'd want to half run one of em...

In fact, if you half run a full marathon, is that a three quarter marathon? What if you run 50% faster on you half marathon, or walk a third and run the rest? Can you get a five-sevenths marathon?

And don't get me started on half triathlons and half iron mans (aka aluminum mans).


- Saul

Things that should be disposable after one use, but aren't.

Number 1 on the list is toilet plungers. Who the fuck wants to keep that thing in the house after you just did what you just did with it? It doesn't matter if you hose it down with Lysol, bleach, or set it on fire, it still is and always will be the big fucking wooden spoon that just stirred a giant steaming pot of shit chili with corn in it. Fucking nasty.

Number 2 is bath loofahs. Loofahs go places where NO ONE wants to go. They actually frighten me when I'm visiting someone's house and see one hanging in the guest bath a few feet from me. Where has it been?...what horrors has it seen?..did it just move? And I know...you know...we all know that loofahs never see soap unless its about to scrub someones ass, balls, and armpits. Then it's hung up wet awaiting the next round of abuse and humiliation. Gross.

Number 3 is kitchen sponges. Come on, you know you look at that gnarled blue or green scotchbrite with food embedded clear to middle of the fucking thing and think "that's nasty". Then you wash your plates and glasses with it and put them in your cabinet to ferment for a few days before you eat or drink from them. Then you put that germ filled petri dish back on the sink feeling soiled and guitly for doing what you just did. Honestly, I don't even like to use new sponges, because they're just fucking gross.

-Army of One

It's beginning...

It's beginning to feel a lot like Fuck Nuts...

The snow

and ice

and the rat

Wheeling around behind me on his treadmill

The Pom

is in

my lap...


- Saul

Flavored Lubricants

All right, who the fuck thought of flavored lubricants?

What fucking genius was sitting around watching porn, smoking the ham, when he said, "You know, I bet this stuff would taste great!"

He licked his palm. Didn't taste great.

"I'll add some cherry flavor!" he said.

So he rubbed some cherry-flavored NyQuil on his palm, greased up, and fed the bull by hand.

By cherry-flavored hand.

You ever tasted that shit? It tastes like tinted baby oil.

And don't get me started on the dumb shit who invented edible panties. I mean, how fucking sick can you be.


- Saul

You are my frustration

You are my frustration.

I hate you. I detest you. I want to rip out your lungs, stuff them up your ass, and make you sing to me while I press my thumbs into your eyes.


- Saul