Stop shi€£ing all over the place!

I’m gonna apologize ahead of time for this one.

“Weaver’s my name. Dick Weaver,” the tall burly Scotsman told me. “I was a whaler fer 13 year. Been a private eye fer 15.”

The man was covered in hair from head to toe. He wore only plaid. And denim.

His jeans were tight.

I put out an add for a roommate to help with rent. Dick was the only one who responded.

Dick sat down, pulled a cracker out of his toboggan, then started munching.

“Listen here young lad, let’s set some ground rules. Me bein a private dick, I do ne wanchya snoopin around me business. If I catch ya, I’ll kill ya. If I see ya sippin on me Irn-bru, I’ll kill ya. If I catch ya eatin me powsowdie, I’ll eat yur cock for breakfast,” he told me.

“Fair enough,” I said.

After I showed him his bedroom, he grunted for a bit and then slammed the door. I went to bed.

The next morning, Dick was hanging up clandestinely taken pictures of naked women on the wall.

“You said you were a private eye, right?” I asked.

“Aye”

“Is this a special case you’re working on?” I inquired.

“What business is that of yurs? Eh boy? Ask again an I’ll crack open ye noggin!” Dick angerly retorted.

“I was just asking. Jesus!”

That night, I was lying in bed when I heard some stomping around then considerable hootin’ n hollerin’ outside. It was none of my business. Hours later, Dick came stumbling into my room drunk as all get-out.

“Aye boy, I got to bein pissed at the pub an met a nice ol hen behin tha bar. Aye brought er here but she got to slippin digits n me hole. Aye it was a’right first but then I shat me britches,” he said.

“So you were smashing ass and then you shit the bed?”

“Aye. I cannae sleep because the sheets are covered in shite.”

“Well climb on in.”

Dick got under the covers. We shared a shot of whisky and a few tales of his time at sea before falling fast asleep.

The next morning, I awoke to find Dick wide awake and his hair-swirled chest in full view. I was fully clothed.“Top of the mornin’ to ya,” he said.

He climbed out of bed and his buttcheeks were beaten blood red.

“Aye boy,” Dick said. “I s’pose I should be congratulatin ya. You rammed me a new one!”

THE END

Dale’s gonna be okay

So Dale took me hostage at gunpoint in the breakroom. The boss walked in and saw me in a chokehold with a Smith & Wesson to my head and called the police. The cops subsequently called in a hostage negotiator.

I was in no mood to put up with this shit.

“Just shoot me already, Dale. Let’s get this over with,” I said.

The cops had the building surrounded with their weapons drawn and ready to shoot. The negotiator came out over his loud speaker:

“Dale, my name is Philip, we’re all here to help you. Tell us, what can we do for you?”

“Listen you mother fuckers!,” Dale said. “I just want to talk to my wife and kids again, a little respect, and a plane ticket to Columbia!”

“Okay okay. We can get you the plane ticket, but we need you to drop your weapon,” the negotiator replied.

“No! If I don’t get what I want I will blow this dipshit’s brains out! Tell him, James!” Dale declared.

“He will!” I said. “But don’t worry about it. I’m ready to die.”

Then a sniper round went through Dale’s leg, severing a major artery, and spraying blood everywhere. Dale screamed in agonizing pain, begging for death.

I was okay

But facing my own mortality made me ask some difficult questions: should I pay my mother’s nursing home expenses or should I pay my gambling debts?

I visited Dale in the hospital and he appeared to be in better spirits.

“Great news Jim,” he said. “It appears my violent tendencies lately have been due to a bad interaction with my medications! So now I’m on Xanax!”

“Oh that’s good to hear! What about your wife and kids?” I asked.

“Oh don’t worry about that. I’m sure my wife will lift that restraining order eventually.”

“What about your assault charges?,” I asked.

“Welp, I took a plea deal so now it’s 14,000 hours of community service and I have to register as a sex offender. But no jail time 😎”

So I decided to not press charges against Dale for threatening my life and putting others in danger.

After all, everyone has bad days.

Dr. Phil McGraw and Judge Judith Sheindlin

I miss the 80s.

There was this time when I got kidnapped by Marxist insurgents while on a drug run in Columbia. I was starved and sleep deprived for 72 hours, then afterwards came the long and torturous process of Soviet brainwashing. Those were the days!

Despite years of physical and mental therapy to overcome this horrific experience, I almost completely forgot about it until I started watching Dr. Phil and Judge Judy! After I finished convulsing, I suddenly remembered what those crazy commies taught me: the ruling class tries to control the proletariat through the means of “mental production”.

So I started thinking, “who the hell watches this shit?”

It turns out the answer is “a lot of fucking people.”

If the world is anything like me, which I presume it is, then we do a lot of self-loathing. We wake up each day, counting down the days to our inevitable deaths, when our bodies will rot and return to the earth, and we will be quickly forgotten…like we never existed at all.

So what do we do with the time in between? We waste it by interacting with meaningless products and services. One of these services is daytime network TV which feature the long running shows of Dr. Phil and Judge Judy.

Are they a real doctor and Judge? I dunno. They might’ve been one at one time, but they failed their way upwards into getting their own show.

It’s a pretty good gig if you can get it.

But because neither of them are current practitioners of medicine or law, their opinions are practically useless. However networks don’t really care if you were ever a “good” “doctor” or “lawyer”, they just want to know if you can mock and laugh at poor people and their problems. And Phil and Judy are pretty good at their jobs.

Occasionally we watch the guests on these shows and think “at least my life is not as bad as theirs.” But it is. It’s worse, actually. And we’re sadomasochists for watching. Not only are we sick for watching these people get embarrassed on national TV, but we’re disgusting because we secretly want to be chastised by two rich people for being stupid and poor.

That’s the entire purpose of these shows: so that the TV execs and the ruling elite can remind you that they are better than you and you should know your place.

THE END 😘