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Strove to find a way to punch people in the face by using the Internet.

10/24/2003

DIARY OF INDIGNITIES
More guest indignities! Hot damn!

This first indignity is from Cardin:
When I first moved to Florida in 87 or something (this would be 5th grade), I was going to school in sweatervests because it looked good on Mac from Night Court). I attempted to fit in by buying surfing and skating clothes.. went to "Penny's" and talked my dad into buying a "B.C. Surf" shirt with a surfing caveman on it, and a "B.C. Skate" shirt with a skateboarding
dinosaur on it.

I soon learned what "Bobo" meant.. I would have been better off wearing a sandwich board with "Retard" written on it.

Cardin, I too have rocked the bobos. In conjunction with the hotbottoms. I feel your pain. But speaking of retards, our next guest indignity is the result of martial-arts enthusiast and well known sociopath Yankee Scum Craig having a run-in with someone even more "challenged" than the people he usually has to deal with:

There's this local 'tard who is notorious for disrupting things everywhere. You'll see him in a McDonald's cutting to the head of the line, jostling and pushing people, then slamming his palm on the counter and doing this weird noise (he's also mute) while pointing to the menu board, until he either gets served or ejected. Somehow, no one has killed this guy yet.

I've seen him in stores and restaurants for years, demanding service in that voiceless "mmm-mm-mmm" sound he makes, frequently grabbing or shoving an employee in his frustration, knocking shit over, etc. I work days in a stock room in a large bookstore, so I have (thankfully) little public contact, but I was helping a woman stock out magazines yesterday when in walks the tongueless wonder. He has a reputation for fucking with new employees in this place.

He strides up to me, WHACKS me across the shoulder with a magazine, and points to the magazine ("do you have the newest issue of this" in mute tardspeak). I say "Don't hit me that" while shaking my head to make him understand, he strikes a standoffish pose and WHACKS me in the face with it.

I guess I'm getting old. For about one second, I was looking at a dead retard, then the higher mind kicked in. First thought was I need to keep this job, second was my sifu's reaction if he found out. THEN I realized just how.....low it would be to respond. I mean, when a little kid kicks you in the balls, you don't kick him back, you know?
Anyway, they banned his ass from the store, so all's well that ends well.

I'm told the manager's reaction upon hearing was closed eyes and a resigned "He didn't hit him BACK, did he?" Nice to think people think I'm not above punching mute retarded people.

I'm calling my eventual memoirs "Bitch-Slapped By A 'Tard".

I'm pretty sure Yankee Scum Craig's latest antagonist wasn't Chupacabra Craig, but perhaps we should review this tale just to be sure:

Drove a girlfriend at the time to her life guarding job at a public pool. In town that week was the Special Olympics (My Moms always asks, "What's so special about being retarded?"....anyway). We walked in and there was an "olympian" sitting outside the Men's locker room. I started a conversation with him and he said that he was told it was OK to come down and use the locker room before he went to practice his softball throw/frisbee toss/scribble contest warm-ups. He told me his name was Craig....same as mine (yup. I go there...wait for it). I ended it there 'cause the conversation was getting boring.

Inside the pool area, the girlfriends boss walked over to me and introduced himself. I said, "Hey there. My name's Craig." His eyes widened and he started talking to me ve-e-e-e-ery slowly.
"Oh. We talked earlier. Listen, it's OK for you or anyone else from the home to use the facilities if you want. Just let us know ahead of time or have your caretaker call us,"
"Uh, no guy," I tried to explain. "I'm not..."
"It's OK. I run the place," he interupted. "Any time you want. OK? Any time. Just have someone call ahead."
Then the girlfriend showed up and introduced me as her boyfriend. The boss looked at me...then her... then me and started stuttering about the "Olympics" and "visiting athletes."
"Wait a sec," she said. "Does he LOOK retarded?"
"Well, uh," he stammered. "He looks like an athlete."

I got that going for me.

FANTASTIC! Suddenly I feel much better about myself. Readers are encouraged to contact me with their own indignities for future special guest editions.

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