To Live Again

 Some of you may have heard that Sissy and I had a falling out, and I'm here to confirm that when I find out who on my staff leaked this information, there will be consequences including one or more of the following: Lawsuits, firings, physical violence, vicious rumors spread, fake porn photos posted, extortion, home and car egging, threatening late-night phone calls, burning bags of poop left on porch, workplace bullying, and whatever else I can think up. Just know that your actions brought these things upon yourself, not me.

Anyway, the truth is Sissy and me did separate amicly amiacly amiacaly in a friendly manner. While I'm not going to air our dirty laundry in public, let's just say Sissy's laundry was anything but clean, especially that purple thong, which in itself would qualify as an EPA Superfund Site. Combine that with her pathetic lack of patriotism, and it's no secret why I moved out last week.

Living by myself after being with someone for so long has been hard. Each day is a bottomless abyss of despair and loneliness, marked by frequent sobbing, drinking to forget, and the inevitable accompanying episodes of flagrant self-abuse. The good news is I'm once again finding myself - sometimes four or five times a day - and the backyard shed is surprisingly homey if you don't mind sleeping with a Ryobi cordless grass trimmer up your butt or using a toolbox as a toilet.

Ultimately, I finally felt I was strong enough to move on with my life, so I made the decision to start dating again. After my last relationship, I was determined to do things right - no more picking up women in park bathrooms or drainage culverts. I was more than a little apprehensive about using an online dating service, but so far, Craigslist has not disappointed! My current girlfriend, Mystee, is very exotic-looking and rocks a gigantic, gelatinous pooper that makes Kim Kardashian look like an anorexic 10-year-old boy! Plus, Mystee understands me like Sissy never did, and outside of having a small penis (which could easily be surgically removed), she's twice the woman Sissy could ever hope to be. Mystee, you complete me (picture me pointing to Mystee, then making two halves of a 'heart' with my hands that I slowly bring together while softly weeping). 

Life sometimes throws us curveballs, and this last one hit me in the nuts so hard I nearly puked. I will always have feelings for Sissy, but it's time for her to also spread her wings, and thanks to whoever that black guy was that moved in minutes after we separated, it sounds like those wings are being spread like nobody's business. As for me, it's time for me to be me and for me to start living for myself and myself only - finding my own way, forging my own path, setting my own course in life as I finally put myself first for a change. With Mystee's guidance, that's exactly what I'm going to do, so help me God.

New girlfriend, Mystee

Job 2

 Everyone's been hitting me up for discount auto treatments since I wrote bout my excellent new job in the Automotive spa industry. Unfortunately, for a number of personal and professional reasons, I recently felt compelled to step down from that position. Like many famous celebrities, my rise to the top was so quick that I had a hard time adjusting to the success. I started at the bottom, drying vehicles as they exited the spa, and in no time had attained the pinnacle of success, managing the prestigious TVLP Division* and its workforce, Maria Sanchez. It was too much, too soon.

Within weeks, the demands of the industry and my position were soon taking a toll on me physically as well as mentally. The long hours and stress left me exhausted, and the fabulous tips made it easy for me to succumb to substance abuse. Before long, I was doing five and sometimes six "Five Hour Energy" drinks in an eight-hour day, subjecting my body to nearly three times the daily amount of energy. The fame and drugs led me into a downward spiral of immoral behavior, such as inappropriately rubbing up against Maria during steamy IP (Interior Protectant) sessions that sometimes lasted minutes. I was flying high. Too high.

Then, my whole world came crashing down. Last Thursday after work Sissy caught a glimpse of me preparing to shower. Her steely gaze at my crotch area preceded the following exchange:

Sissy: Why are you so shiny, and where did the wrinkles go?

Me: What?

Sissy: You're so smooth and glossy.

Me: What?

Sissy: Have you been Armor Alling yourself?

Me: What?

Sissy: Did Maria do that?

Me: Who?

Sissy: That slut, Maria Sanchez.

Me: It was an accident - she thought I was an armrest...

Sissy: You have no idea how much I hate you.

Me: What's for dinner?

Needless to say, I was forced to resign from my position the next day. Sometimes the price of success is more than we're willing to pay. Next time, I'm going to pace myself.

*Tire, Vinyl, Leather Protectant

A Cry For Help

My girlfriend Sissy's little sister, Spud (I don't think that's her real name). has been acting a little strange lately. As many of you know, Spud is mildly retarded developmentally challenged, but not to the point where she's like an out-of-control monkey or anything like that. She acts like any normal person who's been struck by lightning or maybe hit on the head with a falling sandbag, and looks pretty normal, although her hairdo is definitely retarded.

Anyway, we had Spud over Saturday to do some odd jobs like removing a bunch of mold in the shower and the monthly cleaning Mr. Jangle's litter box. Although it took her over three hours to do what should have been a two-hour job, she did okay on the mold, but later I noticed Spud using her hands in the cat box instead of the little plastic rake thing. I lectured her on how the oils on her hands will leave a human scent on the kitty litter. This makes animals not want to have contact with it, likely prompting Mr. Jangles to poop even more often on us at night. Spud, as usual, acted like she didn't hear me, so I went and told Sissy, then went to the garage to hone my technical skills.

Even in the garage with the vacuum cleaner running, I heard Sissy yelling. I entered the house just in time to see Spud running out the front door naked with Sissy in hot pursuit. I went into the bedroom and found the obvious source of Sissy's alarm: There was kitty litter and cat poop everywhere - especially on my pillow. Even worse than that, either Mr. Jangles had a couple of double beef burritos last night, or Spud had pooped in his cat box! (The fact that the poop in question wasn't buried exonerated Mr. Jangles in my opinion, as did the fact he lacks an opposing thumb, making it unlikely he was the one who wiped their butt on my favorite tee shirt nearby.

When it was all said and done, the damage Spud did was far worse than soiling a shirt or destroying a perfectly good cat box. What Spud's actions did was forever soil my perception that she's like the rest of us, only "special" - she's clearly more like an out-of-control monkey.

Job

 No doubt a few of you think this is a story about the guy in the Bible, but that would mean you are pronouncing "job" with an "e" on the end, which would be bizarre. More likely, you are excitedly anticipating a story about rolling papers - something probably 97% of you are intimately familiar with. As much as I hate to disappoint you, this story has nothing to do with either of those, but is simply about my new job, or work - something most of you are likely not familiar with.

Unfortunately, with this site's revenue streams, if there were to be any, lagging of late, I've been forced to get outside employment to make ends meet. Naturally, I was seeking an executive management position where I could implement my personal mission statement: "To productively and efficiently utilize my life skills, experience, and training to successfully achieve excellence with integrity, responsibility, and moral uprightness employing boldness and confidence with an unwavering focus on the goal of obtaining superior profitability regardless of prevailing economic conditions." Luckily, I found a perfect fit with a nearby prestigious, market-leading auto salon - "Danny's Family Car Wash."

While I'm obviously being groomed for a top management position, it's important that I learn all areas of the auto salon industry, so right now I'm pretty much in charge of the entire DSD (Driver side dry) department, one of the most sought-after positions (because of the tips). In just a few days, I enhanced my department and income level by utilizing a spent VDD (Vehicle Drying Device) as a little welcome mat in front of the door when the client takes possession of their vehicle. The trick is to deploy the VDD in front of the client so they want to reward you for going to such elaborate lengths to keep their shoes dry. 

Frederico says I'm really showing leadership skills, and at the rate I'm going, I'll be a DRT (Debris Removal Tech) within possibly a few weeks. Meanwhile, I'm honing my skills by vacuuming my own car at home almost every night. I'm still working on the "pattern" (insider lingo for vacuum lines on the carpet), but my girlfriend Sissy says I'm already doing better than the fat chick who presently has the position, and that's with me drinking beer while practicing. My ultimate dream is to become ambidexteras two-handed, so I can do the DR in half the time, not to mention how cool I'll look while doing it. As soon as I get enough tip money, I'm going to buy a second vacuum so I can really perfect this exciting new technique.

I want to invite all my local readers to come by and see me. Just mention you read this site, and I'll give you a special bonus - I'll actually dry the lower half of your vehicle (we usually don't do that because it means bending over). As a special offer, for extra-large tips over a dollar, I'll also dry your wheels*!

*This offer is good for a limited time and may not be combined with any other bonus or offer. Wheels larger than 17" are not included, nor is individual drying of exposed lug nuts, whether real or decorative. Offer includes only surface area - side surfaces or any area on wheel barrel is not included. Some moisture may remain.

Fan Mail

 I received an angry email over the piece I recently posted about my girlfriend's sister, Spud (I don't know her real name). Apparently, a reader felt I was making fun of Spud and other transgender individuals - something I would never intentionally do. Here's the email:

Dear Scooter or whatever your stupid name is,

People like you make me sick. I suppose making fun of transgender individuals makes you feel somehow superior. I guess you don't care what transgender kids or adults think when they see your cruel words, but I sure as hell do. My nephew Ronnie is trannied to the max, but let me tell you something - he may have killer tits and throw like a spaz, but he's ten times a better person than you'll ever hope to be. I hope you rot in hell for the hate you're inflicting on people like Ronnie.

Please go f*ck yourself.

Ronnie's Uncle

Have you written to me before? It seems like it. Anyway, relating my family member's struggle with "identity" is hardly making fun. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I believe in loving all people*, at least to a certain point.

The only issue I do have with this whole transgender thing is, where does it end? I had a friend in college who took too much acid and, for six hours, "identified" as a Kirby vacuum cleaner. Seriously, a couple of us grabbed his feet and pushed him around the dorm until he passed out from choking on a candy bar wrapper and some hair. Because Jamie thought he was a Kirby, should we have cut off all his appendages that didn't look like a vacuum cleaner? Of course not, because anyone with the intelligence of a barbecue grill knows he wasn't a Kirby, despite the fact he had excellent suction and a large bag (that's a joke - we weren't homos).

When it's all said and done, God made my retarded roommate a guy, Spud a girl, and your nephew Ronnie whatever the hell he/she started out as. My suggestion to you is to stop writing these stupid emails and get Ronnie to a center for some serious electroshock therapy before he really gets weird.

PS: For medical reasons, I'd appreciate a photo of Ronnie's uncovered chest area.

*Excluding homos, Puerto Ricans, and clowns

Transgendermania

 I read with interest today's World News Bureau story on transgender Girl Scouts, shortly after writing it. This subject really hits home with me - not just because the whole country has seemingly gone gaga over sexually confused mental cases, but because this weirdness has infected our own family more than once.

Most of you remember that as a kid I had an uncle who unexpectedly switched teams, and more recently, my girlfriend Sissy went trannie after a brief relationship with her cellmate, Mungo. Now, Sissy's little sister, Spud (I don't think that's her real name), using picture cards and sign language, suddenly made the epic announcement last night that she's "identifying" as an elderly Korean man named "Chin Lee." Oh, good God.

As I've mentioned before, Spud is a little mentally challenged, so this normally wouldn't have been that big of a thing - at least if she were a guy from this country. You see, Spud can't speak English now, and none of the rest of us speak Korean. Also, she's taken to peeing standing up, so the bathroom's an absolute mess. As if that weren't bad enough, this morning we caught Spud trying to put Mr. Jangles on a pointed stick, presumably to cook him on the hibachi she had going in the family room (What is the deal with Asians eating cats, anyway?). That's it.

I'm going to get a hold of the Girl Scouts and see if they can take custody of Spud Chin Lee for the summer, as we have enough to deal with without this crap.

I sure long for the good old days when boys were boys and girls were girls and people like Spud were electroshocked until their pubic hair caught fire...

"Chin Lee"

Prophetess Sissy Spews Anointment

 I mentioned the other day about my girlfriend Sissy's inspiration and training to become a prophetess. Well, all I can say about her appearance last night at the Refreshing Holy Ghost Pentecostal Church is "wow."

Outside of almost getting carjacked, the trip downtown to the church was uneventful, and we arrived early so the Prophetess could warm up. The Refreshing Holy Ghost is a large, well-kept church in a miserable part of town. Nearly all the congregation is black and low income, so we were a little concerned how we'd be received. Well, we shouldn't have been, as they made us feel right at home. 

After a great introduction by Bishop Jackson ("We're honored to have God's anointed servant sent to bless us tonight with Holy Ghost favor, healing, and the prophetic word!"), Prophetess Sissy ran onstage to thunderous applause wearing a tight purple dress, fishnets, sequined stilettos, and draped in nearly $70 worth of gaudy costume jewelry that made the whole ensemble really pop. 

In a dynamic and powerful move, she made a beeline for Bishop Jackson and before he could get away, she launched into some of her best tongues yet ("SHAMBALA EQUINOS DAMBALISA RAMBASHAMA!!"), then slapped his forehead with her big beefy palm, sending him careening backward into the drum set and onto the floor, where he vibrated and convulsed as the Holy Spirit tased the crap out of him. The crowd went absolutely wild! 

A prophetess was born.

Feeding on the energy, Prophetess Sissy jumped to the floor and approached the front row where the sick and afflicted were waiting for their miracle. Obviously going for it, she went straight to an old black lady in a wheelchair and ordered her to stand in the name of Jesus. The woman struggled with all her might as Sissy screamed for the devil to let loose of her. Slowly, the woman lifted herself off the seat by her arms, and with a flourish, Prophetess Sissy kicked the wheelchair into what appeared to be an autistic boy and a couple of crack whores.

Apparently lacking faith, not to mention both legs, the woman went sprawling. I was worried, but Sissy didn't miss a beat as she stood over the woman, commanding her to grow new legs. The woman started jerking around on the floor, then yelled that she felt legs growing! Hallelujah! Everybody started dancing as the pianist hammered out some lively "overcoming all obstacles" music. Prophetess Sissy hopped around praising God and ordered her assistants to drag the woman backstage so her legs could finish growing.

Dispensing with needless chit-chat, the Prophetess went down the line punching one person after another in the forehead while shouting "FIRE ON YA!" Bodies went flying faster than the handlers could catch them, and in one incredible display of Christ's gentle mercy, Prophetess Sissy sent half the choir flying from the risers onto the pavement below with merely a sweep of her Holy Ghost-wielding arm! It was incredible!

By the end of the night, at least 6 people had been cured of cancer, and another 30 - 40 were cured of everything from arthritis to Jimmy legs. Even a blind man experienced significant improvement, only to suffer an unfortunate loss of coordination that resulted in him breaking a leg that Sissy will heal later. The climax of the evening was me wheeling the first old lady out on stage, wearing my tennis shoes I'd stuck on her stumps. It was a real crowd pleaser and the kind of big finish that only God could inspire.

All in all, the night was a rousing success, with Prophetess Sissy receiving a love gift of over $230 for only two hours' work, not counting the $20 tucked into her cleavage by the grateful guy she cured of sexual addiction, praise the Lord! The good news is that by noon today, Sissy already had four more requests for appearances - some even out-of-state! Apparently, God wants us filthy rich, and that's fine with us.