Tag Archives: old people

Things That Really Frost My Ass – The Beach, Defective Pistachios, Itches In Bad Places

By: Uncle Hardass, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent

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Hello degenerate 3.5 readers.

Still working on your writing careers I see?  Good for you.  You know, I just wrote a poem.  Let me know what you think:

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

Get your ass a job at the salt mines.

Yes, I’m talking to you.

Ah, but we all know you won’t.  That’s ok.  Just keep being a major disappointment to your parents.  I don’t have time to complain about your lack of a work ethic anyway, because I have the following complaints instead:

#1 – The Beach 

Do you know some slack jawed buffoon who, every summer, walks around like a schmuck saying, “I love the beach!”  Well, do the world a favor and slap that idiot about eighty or ninety times in the face with a wet noodle, will ya?

Holy crap sandwich, how I hate the beach.  It’s hot.  It smells.  It’s filled with assholes who are just sitting around like a bunch of fat, bloated iguanas, splayed out under the hot sun burning themselves to a crisp because they think getting tan will somehow make them look better.  I’m sorry, but tanning doesn’t remove ugly.  If you were ugly before, you’ll be ugly after.

Here’s an important quote to remember:

“Well, I thought you were ugly before but now I really want to have sex with you now that you sat out on the beach and got burnt to a crisp all day like a stupid dumbass.”

– Literally No One Ever

And who wants to swim in the open ocean anyway?  Really.  Who wants to put their bare feet down in sand they can’t see.  Sand filled with God only knows what.  Used hypodermic needles.  Pinchy crabs.  Snappy lobsters.  Sea lice.  Sea cucumbers.  Sea horses.  Whale shit.  Narwhal boogers.  Seal urine.  Chopped up pieces of mobsters who turned stool pigeon.  The ocean is one giant, disgusting shit stew and you don’t want to be one of those morons who jumps into it, trust me.

Nothing good ever happened at the beach and nothing ever will.

#2 – Having An Itchy Butt Hole

You ever get a real deep itch, about twenty thousand leagues below the surface of your butt crack?  Damn, those itches get in there deep.  And let’s face it.  There’s no way to get rid of it other than to take out your pointer finger and point it straight up the deepest, darkest part of your nether regions.

The thing I want to know is why is it not socially acceptable to do this in public?  I mean, seriously people, it’s 2017 for crying out loud.  Itches are a normal bodily function and a man ought to be able to scratch himself wherever, and whenever, the mood to scratch strikes.

By the way, I’m no sexist.  Women ought to be allowed to scratch their lady business whenever and wherever they want too.  That’s right.  Your old Uncle Hardass is a virtual Gloria Steinem.

#3 – Defective Pistachios

Kids, I love a good bag of pistachios.  They’re the best food because you work up a sweat eating them, what with having to break them open and throw away the shells and all.  But I hate it when I get a shell that won’t open.  Sometimes the shell completely covers the pistachio and there’s no way to open it.  Or, sometimes there’s like a little tiny opening but I can’t get in there.  (Ahem.  That’s what she said.  I hear you kids like that joke, so there you go.)

I always collect all of the defective pistachios, put them in a plastic cup, then take them back to the store and demand a refund equal to the amount of pistachios I was not able to eat.  I mean, I’m not a greedy son of a bitch.  I don’t want the full cost of the bag.  I did eat most of them, after all.  I just don’t think I should be charged for defective nuts.  This isn’t Communist Russia, after all.  If people have to keep paying for unbreakable nuts then it’s like we lost the war.

#4 – That I Still Have to Buy Batteries and Keep Them Around

I’m old as shit and even I think this is ridiculous.  Why can’t everything, from my TV remote control to that automatic dildo my ex-wife Gertie left behind that I swear I do not use whatsoever, just be plugged into the wall and charged?

Maybe it’s because…

#5 – Charging Cables Are Either Lost or They End Up Tied Up Together Like Spaghetti.

I swear, these technology companies make a mint off the fact that I’m a doddering old bastard who can’t keep track of his charging cords, so I have to constantly buy new ones.  Plus, if I throw them in a drawer in an effort to keep them safe, they end up looking as if a bunch of gnomes snuck into the drawer and tied them all together.  “WTF?” as the whippersnappers say.

CONCLUSION

Those are the five complaints on my mind lately, 3.5 dummies.  If you have anything that frosts your ass, leave it in the comments, or better yet, get a job and stop sponging off the system, you lousy layabouts.

 

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Things That Really Frost My Ass – People In My Way at the Store

Hello 3.5 Readers.

“Things That Really Frost My Ass” with Uncle Hardass

Uncle Hardass here, reporting from the afterlife.

It’s been awhile since I’ve written on my good for nothing nephew’s blog.  I don’t want to encourage him with this writing horse shit.

You’re a writer, BQB?  Woopitty doo.  You can string together words and sentences.  GUESS WHAT?  You’re not special!  Get a job!!!  The salt mines are always hiring!

Anyway, where was I?  You know what really frosts my ass?

When you go to a store and you need to get one thing.  Just one little thing.  It’s all you need.  The trip should be quick and simple.

But when you get to the store there’s some goddamn jackass right in the way of the product you need.

And it’s never something that a lot of people need thus it makes sense that someone’s there.

It never happens when I need milk or bread.

But if I need my limited edition hemorrhoid cream with kung-fu grip applicator tip, sure enough there will be some old broad with her ass parked in front of the hemorrhoid cream with kung-fu grip applicator tip display, just whiling away the hours trying to figure out which brand of the stuff she should get.

I never know what to do in such a situation.  I know exactly what I want.  Do I say, “Excuse me” and barge past her and take it?  Do I be a gentleman and wait for her to make her selection?

Do I perform some hybrid move where I stand there but cough so as to remind her that other people are waiting and the world does not revolve around her, so she should either hurry up and make a choice or move her fat ass along?

It’s shit like this that makes it so I never want to leave my house.

That happened to me all the time when I was alive but I should also mention that it happens in the afterlife too.

The afterlife is just like being alive.  Seriously, no one is enlightened or more intelligent for having experienced life on Earth.  Everyone’s just as big a dumbass as they were when they were in the physical realm.

And here’s something else that really puts the cheese on my wiener.

I won’t bother a person when they’re in the store making a selection, even when the odds against a person needing the same obscure product that I require are unlikely and yet there the person’s stupid ass is, blocking my egress to my product of choice.

YET, God forbid I might ever need a minute to make up my mind about something because if I take more than two seconds, some numbnuts will be up my ass like a runaway colonoscope, acting like I’ve committed a treasonous crime for not getting out of the way.

Here’s a list of some of the other things that put a bur in my britches:

  • When I’m driving down the road and some dipshit bicyclist in tight shorts cuts across my car and assumes I understand what his moronic hand signals mean.  Here’s a hand signal for you, assface!
  • People who talk in the movie theater.  Specifically, dirtbags who ask “What have I seen that guy in?” as well as the shit heads who then proceed to rattle off said actor’s entire filmography.
  • People who post pictures of their kids on social media every five seconds.  People, your children are ugly mutants and the quicker you stop deluding them into thinking they’re special the better – not just for you and them but for the rest of society as well.
  • The knowledge that whenever I wash my car, a damn bird will inevitably dive-bomb a juicy white turd spray all over it 3.5 seconds later.  My pristine car is like ex-lax for winged creatures.
  • Idiotic parents who insist on giving their little girls names as if they were cowboys in a frigging Louis Lamour novel.  I’m sorry, but the only time your name should be “Dakota,” “McKenzie,” or “Hunter” is if you’re either driving a herd of cattle across the great plains or you’ve just been deputized and ordered to track down a dangerous stage coach robber.
  • When I call for customer service and I can’t speak to a person and I ask for help and the damn robots are so advanced that they try to help me.  It gets worse when I finally end up speaking to a real person only to discover the robot was an improvement.
  • That miserable degenerate who will honk at you if you take more than 2 seconds to move after a red light.  I’m not joking.  Green – HONK!  I’m sorry, your majesty.  I didn’t realize I was in the way of your coronation procession.
  • Whenever I get a roll of lifesavers and there’s only one red one and one orange one and then a million other differently colored ones that NOBODY WANTS.  I swear to Christ, if some rat bastard where to ever make a bag of hard candies called “Just Orange and Red Lifesavers,” not only would they make a goddamned fortune, but the entire world would be fat as hell because no one would be able to stop sucking on those delicious red and orange candies.  Shit.  Maybe that’s why they don’t do it.  You need a pineapple one to slow you down once in awhile so as to prevent an obesity epidemic.
  • When a woman has a dog and refers to herself as the dog’s “mommy” or worse, to her husband as the dog’s “daddy.”  Gertie did that shit to me all the time when I was alive and I’d tell her, “Listen, Gert.  Unless you can provide me with scientific evidence that that dog popped out of your cooter then stop calling yourself its mother.”

That about does it for this list of things that really bend me out of shape.  3.5 readers, if you can think of something that twists your knob, share it in the comments below.

And remember – stop encouraging BQB with this writing crap.  Dreams are for losers, unwashed hippies, and other assorted lowlives.

Real men get jobs at the salt mines and that’s all there is to it.

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