Daily Archives: November 21, 2015

Things That Really Frost My Ass – Thanksgiving Edition

By:  Uncle Hardass, Grumpy Old Man Correspondent

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Hardassimo J. Scrambler

Hello Degenerate 3.5 Readers,

I see none of you have taken my advice to give up on all this writing horse shit and get a job at the salt mines yet.

Salt Mines Inc. is waiting there, ready to pay you good money for every chunk of salt you pull out of the ground but are you clowns interested?

NOOOOOOOO!!!!

“Look at me!  I’m a blogger!  I’m super smart and special and the whole entire world needs to know!”

Baaah!  Who needs ya’?

Wait, wait.  Come back.  Don’t leave yet.  I have to bitch about Thanksgiving first and then you can go.

This is a holiday about “giving thanks” but if you people have been paying any attention (and why would you because this blog sucks with the gale force wind of a thousand Dysons) then you know I don’t give any thanks whatsoever for anything.  EVER!

So instead, I’m going to rename this holiday, “Complaintsgiving.”  Here are my complaints about this bogus excuse for a holiday which, lets face it, was invented by no good lazy as hell hippies just to get out of a day of work.

In fact, it has been the hippies’ goal for as long as I can remember to declare every single day on the calendar to be a holiday so that no one has to work anymore.

That’s fine.  I know that’s the way this socialist nation is headed.

One day I’ll be the last asshole doing any work at all and the government will just tax me at a rate of 10 bazillion percent.  I’ll take on the entire country’s debt myself so the rest of you losers can have a jolly good old time on my back.  It’s ok.  By no means feel bad about yourselves.  I’m just an old man committing micro aggressions against your safe space.

But I digress.  My complaints:

  • Pumpkins – This is the dumbest vegetable I’ve ever seen in all of my days.  They make everything taste like ear wax.  Pumpkins are universally unseen the entire year BECAUSE they taste like ear wax but for some ungodly reason every fall every dumbass lines up around the corner for pumpkin spice lattes and pumpkin pie.  I hate pumpkin pie.  You might as well empty your dirty ear holes straight onto a pie crust and serve it up.
  • Cranberries – Similar to pumpkins, unless you’re an unwashed broad with a urinary tract infection, nobody gives a shit about these berries all year long except for Thanksgiving.  Then suddenly everyone’s a friggin’ cranberry lover.  Love it all year long or not at all I always say.
  • Biscuit Cans – Whatever the science is behind how they make biscuit dough pop out of cans with the force of an oncoming train, the government should take it and use it against the Al Qaedas.
  • Parades – Who in the hell is the butt faced rube that decided Thanksgiving is the day of all days to throw a damn parade?  A bunch of jerks walking around in arctic temperatures carrying balloons of cartoon characters used by the media to manipulate children into becoming hippies.  The only thing a Thanksgiving Day parade does is block traffic, thus making it harder for responsible Americans to get to their jobs at the salt mines.
  • Stuffing – Allow me to share with you the exact quote that led to the invention of stuffing:

“Oh!  Hello!  I’m an idiot and I think it might be a good idea to shove a shit ton of bread crumbs up a dead game bird’s ass, cook the whole shebang, then dig it all out and serve dead bird ass bacteria covered bread crumbs to my guests!”

  • Football – What an idiotic idea to have football games on Thanksgiving.  All it leads to is a bunch of drunk morons gathering around the TV to live out their fantasies vicariously through people who are better athletes than they ever were!

WHAT FOOTBALL FANS SAY ON THANKSGIVING:  Go!  Go!  Go!  Yes!  Touchdown!

WHAT THEY REALLY MEAN:  I wanted so badly to play for the NFL when I was 17 but no college would draft me because I ran around like I had a sack of doody in my pants so now the only joy I get out of life is pretending like my cheering for the group of mercenaries hired to play on my geographic location’s behalf is actually accomplishing something.

  • The Pilgrim Story – Yeah yeah.  A million years ago, the British settlers couldn’t figure out how to farm and shit so the natives helped ’em and they broke bread together.  Beautiful story.  Lovely.  Oh and then ALL THE NATIVE AMERICANS WERE KILLED AND POISONED AND BLOWN UP AND SHIT AND ONLY A FEW OF THEM ARE LEFT NOW AND THEIR SOLE MEANS OF SUPPORT COMES FROM CASINOS THAT LURE YOUR AUNT GERTIE INTO DROPPING HER ENTIRE SOCIAL SECURITY CHECK ON PENNY SLOTS EVERY MONTH!!!
  • Overeating – You feel like this holiday gives you an excuse to eat like a pig.  Fair enough.  What’s your excuse for the other 364 days, tubby?  Yeah.  I know.  I could stand to lose a few too.  Well, I never said I’m not a hypocrite, did I?
  • Turkey Pardons – Every year the President of the United States pardons a turkey, declaring that it will go uneaten and be sent to a turkey preserve.  The press eats it up like its so adorable.  What they don’t tell you is that these turkeys are tax dodging, drug dealing, gun running, murderous lowlife criminal turkeys who have just gotten away with all their crimes thanks to an unjust pardon.
  • Gravy – Thanks, but if I wanted a sticky liquid on my meal I’d just sneeze on it.
  • Passing the Dishes – Pick a direction and stick with it.  Pass left.  Pass right.  Doesn’t matter.  And keep up with the pass flow.  There’s always one pathetic excuse for a human being who a) is passing the dishes the wrong way so that the other side of the table doesn’t get anything or b) is taking so long that the dishes start to pile up in front of him like a 20 car pile up on the Interstate.
  • Your Kids’ Artwork – Look, just because you traced your hand and glued some googly eyes on it doesn’t mean you’re the next Picasso.  Get an application for the Salt Mines, kid.  Can you dig up salt?  Can you collect money for digging up salt?  Congratulations.  You got the job.  Get to work.  Stop drawing shit.
  • Black Friday –Why is it that despite being a geriatric, I’m the only one who understands you can get on a computer, go online and have all the useless shit that you’re wasting your money on sent directly to your door?  Why are you wastes of space giving up your part of your holiday to wait in line with a bunch of bozos just to fight over a discount gizmo just so you can wave it around in the air and act like you just bagged a trophy?  Why don’t you just stay home, jam another heaping helping of earwax pie into your dumb face hole and give those people who work at the stores a day off?  You ever hear about this “work” thing?  You should try it sometime ya’ lousy bums!

Finally, I’d like to end this column by sharing the one thing I can’t stand above all else when it comes to Thanksgiving:

  • Dealing With Judgmental Elderly Relatives – I can’t stand ’em, can you?  Always blah blah blah-ing about how good shit was a hundred years ago and criticizing everything you do, calling you lazy and stupid and if you ever stand up for yourself you get accused of being mean to an old person.  So you just have to suck it up and bite your tongue but you feel a little piece of you dying inside every time they say something nasty to you and you realize its pointless to do anything but nod politely.  Ugh.  I hate them.  They complain so much that I can barely get any of my complaints in edgewise and what…what are you looking at?  GET A JOB, HIPPY!

Uncle Hardass is BQB’s Late Uncle.  Although he passed on many years ago due to a pastrami induced heart explosion, he still haunts BQB HQ in ghost form, informing our noble blog host about everything he does wrong in excruciating detail.

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Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 18

“GUZAFFO SARKI

MERCANTILE LICENSE #775-4198B210Y”

So read the words stenciled across one side of the metal container my compatriots and I were hiding in.  Over a hundred joja birds kept us company.  Filthy, stupid, chubby fowl with big googly eyes.

They’re good eating though.  Better than chicken.  I didn’t want to tell Mystery Woman that though.  She found one of them to be particularly likable, picked it up, and was stroking it like a pet. 

Jones and I stood near the door, straining over the constant clucking sounds to hear what was going on outside.

My old pal Guzzy was a pseudo-intellectual, the type of being who never fails to use ten words when two would do.  He laid it on thick.

“Officers!”  I could hear him saying outside.  “You honor this humble star wanderer with your presence.  Oh how I thank you for your brave, fearless service.  To what twist of fate do I owe this auspicious pleasure?”

“Cut the shit, Sarki,” one officer said.  “We’re looking for a two humans, one male, one female, and a Vek.  You seen ‘em?”

“A Vek outside the Rakan Collective you say?”  Guzzy asked. “Unusual.  Unheard of even.  No I should say I have not encountered this dastardly trio you speak of, but know I shall be praying to the heavens that you find these reprobates and bring them to justice immediately and without delay.  Why, to think such ruffians are out on the streets, offending decent citizens with their odious mischief makes me so…”

“Shut your hole dirtbag,”  the officer interrupted.  “What you got on board?  You got documents for all this shit?”

“Why of course, officer,”  Guzzy replied earnestly.  “I am certain a thorough inspection by a highly trained security professional such as yourself will determine that everything is in order.”

“Yeah?”  the officer asked.  “Maybe the boys and I’ll will just have a little look see…”

“Of course, officer,”  Guzzy said.  “Let it be never said that I stood in the way of law enforcement.  Oh and while you are here, will you accept this donation to the Paragon Security Officer’s Charitable Giving Fund?”

A brief pause.  “A cred chit?”

“Yes,”  Guzzy said.  “In the amount of a hundred thousand credits.  Untraceable liquid cash.  Oh, I hope that’s acceptable.  I left my Sen-Pen on the flight deck so I can’t access my personal account at the moment but I have unwavering faith that a respectable individual such as yourself will get it to its intended destination posthaste.  Surely you’d never do something deplorable as pocketing it to utilize for your own selfish purposes.”

“Huh,”  the office said.  “All right, boys!  We’re done here!  Move out!”

“Yes,”  Guzzy said.  “Perhaps that is for the best.  While there is no end to the joy you bring me with your visit I would feel utterly reprehensible were I to monopolize your time any longer.  Go forth and shine the light of justice on…”

“Quit while you’re ahead, dumbass,”  the officer said.

“Quitting, good sir, quitting,”  Guzzy replied.

I heard the sounds of footsteps clanking across the metal floor, then silence.  Moments later, only one set of footsteps clanked our way.  Then there was a knock on the door.

I opened up the slit.  One and only one enormous eyeball peered in.

“Voss?”  Guzzy asked from the other side of the door.

“Yes?”  I answered.

“The coast, as they say, is clear.  Wait until we’re past the orbital shield  and then you and your fellow vagabonds may feel free to roam about the vessel at your leisure.”

“OK,”  I said.

“Oh and Voss?”

“Yes?”

“Consider my debt repaid.”

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