The DBC Roommate writes all day, and gets more readers than I do. That makes him a superhero. Like all superheroes, he has an arch nemesis. In this case the arch nemesis posts retarded comments on as many of DBC Roommateīs articles as possible. Heīs a 4ī 7", African American, supposedly high school educated dwarf from Chicago that goes by the handle a-hole. Only he spells it ahol888.
Whatever, the point is that since Chicago is dropping the police officer entrance exam to allow more minorities to qualify, a-hole can badge-up and waddle down the street chasing other minorities.
"Dropping the exam would bolster minority hiring and avert legal battles, according to one source, while others confirm that the exam could be scrapped to open the process to as many people as possible." - NPV
Hopefully Chicago doesnīt decide it needs more minority doctors anytime soon.
I donīt want to call attention to this story, so if you read it, youīre a true member of the Dirtbag Mob. The thing is, women insist on telling men whatīs in their best interest. It literally happens to me everyday. But the events of today are such a grievous example of my torment that I had to post it. And it has potty humor.
A once-trusted woman is adamant that I eat a precise regimen of rabbit food and soy products. Normally I wouldnīt give a fat shit what someone tells me to do, but Iīm completely helpless when it comes to preparing meals so I end up suffering through whatever is put in front of me.
Today she lustfully placed a plate of pasta and salmon in front of me for lunch and demanded I eat it. I donīt like to eat, I only do it to not be hungry.
I called attention to the fact that the salmon, which was originally prepared for a meal three days earlier, smelled a lot like a certain female body part is reputed to smell, and that I wasnīt going to eat it because I didnīt want to get food poisening.
The once-trusted woman and the DBC roommate (an accomplished chef and restaurant owner) scoffed at me and shared a variety of derogatory chides about my sensibilities. Needless to say, the once-trusted woman took it upon herself to eat all the salmon. And then some more.
I went for a 7 mile run around the lagoon with the once-trusted women and then we settled in to watch the Loose Change documentary (10th time for me) which proves that 9/11 was an inside job.
"Oh God, Iīm going to be sick."
After a 30 minute workout on the toilet, the once-trusted woman returned and declared that she must have eaten something to turn her stomach. And this is the best part...
She THEN proceeded to lecture ME about how I donīt know anything about what to eat or how to go poop on a regular basis and that I need to do whatever she says. So now Iīve committed to eat an orange before bed every night to be more like her, and poop more often. True story. And I changed my mind about not sharing it with thousands of readers.
Festivus is the holiday allowing those of us that aren`t lumped in with Christians, Jews and whoever wants to kill them both, to celebrate too.
I`m actually a day late in celebrating, but I bunkered myself in my bedroom the Dirtbag Jungle Command Center all day yesterday. Tonight I`m attending a seasonal party with Catholics and Arabs, so there`s a strong chance my celebration will be worth the wait.
The two cornerstones of Festivus are "Airing of Grievances" and "Feats of Strength". The Feats of Strengths should be a cakewalk this year, because all that`s required for it to be a success is a wrestling match, whereby the party host is pinned by a party attendee. The party hosts this year are an 80 year old Alzheimer patient and her 105 pound daughter. They`ve never celebrated Festivus, so a flurry of hammer drops to the neck should be totally unexpected. I`m focusing my preparations on the Airing of Grievances ritual.
My first grievance is that my roommate has adopted a neighbor dog that is now sleeping in our house. My roommate is always talking trash about how the dog doesn`t protect the house well enough, and how he habitually tries to bite his arm off in psychotic episodes. But when he thinks I`m not looking, he cooks entire meals for the dog and mumbles disgusting sweet nothings. I eat off the same plates that the dog does these days.
My roommate also has a new passion: playing a tribal goat skin drum. In the morning. And he tried to kill me the other day by asking me to remove a Brazilian Wandering Spider from his tub. He said the spider was already dead so it was no big deal. It wasn`t dead. And neither was the spider`s pissed-off mate
My second grievance is that the IRS drained one of my accounts a few weeks ago for no reason other than I apparently owed them money and didn`t respond to their massive campaign of written threats. Mostly it upsets me because the pride that comes with avoiding income tax only works until your bank hands over a stack of cash on your behalf. So I feel like a chump, but I`m able to air grievances to all my ex-pat mates, because I`m funding the next Senatorial cluster fuck and they aren`t. Free loaders!
My third grievance is that a once trusted female friend has been forcing me to go to the local Brazilian beaches every Saturday and Sunday. Since my experiences at the beach don`t include sessions of multi-player Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, I must insist that she take full responsibility for my enjoyment. Given my northern European complexion and the tropical intensity of a summer sun, that means a thorough application of albino grade sunblock.
The last two times she has massively fucked up said application, to the point where I have blistering red tiger stripe patterns across my face, arms, torso and legs. She smirks when denying any sort of plan to disfigure me so that other females are repulsed by my otherwise magnificent body. She also says that it probably doesn`t even hurt and that I`m being dramatic. Which means that when I get cooked on Saturday, I`m still obliged to go again on Sunday.
There are dozens of other grievances I intend to air tonight, I just don`t know what they are yet. But I`m fully expecting someone to: touch my food without wearing a new pair of sanitary gloves, deny all requests to show my newly pirated copy of Avatar during dinner, frown on any attempts of drinking myself into a drooling stupor, or express disappointment in my reluctance to engage in any level of small talk.
Not only is tomorrow Thanksgiving, but a bill called House Concurrent Resolution 155 was proposed by some Democrat congressman Iīve never heard of. It stipulates that the Wednesday before Thanksgiving be recognized as "Donīt complain day". Seriously.
And I shant complain! In fact, Iīm thankful that there are boneheaded representatives that produce these golden nuggets for me. Iīm also thankful that the native Americans didnīt put up much of a fight when the round eye arrived, because I wouldnīt want to live in western Europe. Iīm thankful that I donīt.
Iīm thankful that no one I care about has ever died. Iīm also thankful that there arenīt many people I care about. Interactions with people are as pleasant for me as Ebola. So Iīm thankful I donīt have to do it much.
Iīm thankful that those free internet IQ tests identify me as genius. Iīm thankful that you arenīt (not YOU of course, the other people reading this), because you know, itīs a scale of relativity. Itīs nice that monkeys live in my yard and that my room mate cooks every meal for me.
But most of all, at this moment, Iīm just thankful that you read this.
I must have missed the announcement that Nancy Pelosi has switched her stance and is now aggressively campaigning AGAINST the viability of a government run health care program. No matter, Iīm all caught up now.
"After months of struggle capped by a final wrenching compromise over abortion, Speaker Nancy Pelosi predicted, "we will pass health care reform," and likened the events to the creation of Social Security in 1935 and Medicare 30 years later." - AP
Medicare will be bankrupt by 2017. Social Security is underfunded by $13.7 trillion. Iīm glad that Nancy has made the logical leap to comparing the Health Bill to two other mega nanny state failures. It takes courage to reverse course on...standby, my roommate is yelling from downstairs and...she what? This is part of her sales pitch FOR Obamacare?!?! Dumb bitch.
Pepsi is being criticized for releasing an iPhone app that helps randy guys pick up chicks and upload their conquests for others to share.
The app, released last Friday, purports to help men pick up any one of 24 types of women, such as the "sorority girl," "cougar," "rebound girl" or "punk rock girl." Users can choose the type of woman they have their eye on, then get coached on facts that might be useful, such as computing a carbon footprint to impress "the treehugger."
Suggested pick-up lines can be risqué. To pick up "the artist," the app recommends the following line: "You know the Mona Lisa has no eyebrows. I wonder what else she shaves." - Foxnews
In the spirit of consumer research, I asked my roommate to beta test the app, but he crashed the server while uploading his conquests. Iīm waiting for the new "Roofie Dosage Guide" feature or the "I Just Ate Taco Bell, How Long Before I Shart My Pants?" calculator before I load up on Pepsi stock.
Last week there was a guy in our local ex-pat pub that subtly accused my roommate of lying. My roommate threatened to strangle him unless he took-it-backsies. I defused the situation and restored peace to our table. And when I say "defused the situation", I mean I sat motionless with bulging eyes, waiting for the guy to get beat down like a narc at a biker rally. So obviously it came as a shock when the Nobel committee called to inform me that I had been passed over for the Peace Prize.
They told me (in confidence, shhhh!) that the criteria for the prize isnīt about deeds so much as selecting a winner that guarantees them the maximum publicity. And since the prize is funded out of guilt by the fortune that Nobel amassed for inventing Dynamite, it also helps if the winner is conducting global warfare and blowing lots of shit up.
The Vatican has yet to counter the Nobel Prize by announcing the anointment of Barack Obama to sainthood. We are standing by.
My roommate remains a black man in good standing, and he authorized me to use the term "Wigger" as needed in this post. So spare me your mock sensibilities.
Officer Strain got demoted by the Philadelphia PD for wearing corn rows, while other black police officers continually violate the fashion policy without consequence.
"The Philadelphia Daily News reported Monday that Officer Thomas Strain was put on desk duty this month because of the braids, even though the paper reported dozens of black officers wear cornrows."-
MSNBC
Iīm not saying Officer Strain made a good hair decision. It didnīt work for Axl Rose and it ainīt working for him. It worked for David Beckham but heīs pretty enough to make me reconsider my personal "output only" policy that applies to certain of my sensitive areas.
Officer Strain fought as a hero of the Iraq War twice over. He twisted his hair into some knots like the black guys do. Let him protect the fine people of Philly.
