A Brush With Death!

First time? Start here. Read "The Primer" and follow the link at the end. Chronological order makes more sense for the stories.

So I'm driving down the freeway the other day with the windows rolled up and the A/C humming so that my intake of stupidity is pretty minimal. This is a common concern of mine, the inhaling of fumes that people with low IQ have been scientifically proven to emit, but not really like smoke. It is my belief that smoke, smog and the like that our cappuccino skies offer only make my lungs stronger.. but taking in any amount of dumb from ppl, that god knows where they've been, that just creeps me out.

So while driving in my steel cage insulating me from the infection of idiocy around me I get to see some classic smarts at work. I am not a fast driver, I tend to coast around the speed limit or 5mph over, steady as she goes. I am passing a car that if I saw in my kitchen I would have mistaken for an egg.. then it happens.

The truck in front of me, typical mexican immigrant hauling system strapped with about 14 items too many and stacked up about 6 feet higher than a highway underpass, lets fly a plastic bag that was covering some sort of trinket. I am about 200 feet behind this guy and right along side the egg. Plastic bag takes flight and swoops over to the egg's lane. The egg slams its breaks, I kid you not. We went from neck and neck to me seeing him in my rear view about 150 feet back in 2-3 secs. The plastic bag found its target and latched on to its prey.

Now I am sure you are thinking that maybe the bag got caught on this fruit's windshield wiper or something. Nope. No. It was caught underneath the front bumper. Now ok, maybe this fuckin idiot got scared and his cat-like reflexes that scream out flight in today's gene pool laden with way too many pussies took over and made this guy fear the plastic bag as if it was a jackknifed 18 wheeler careening across the freeway, but no. The guy continues to slow and slow and slow. Before I know it cars are slowing down behind me and this guy is becoming a speck on my mirror. The egg stayed in sight for about a minute or two and then vanished as I took a slight bank to the right on the freeway.

So no, there was no logical response to this. There was no reactionary prowess to be discussed here. No mental acumen, no cautionary take, not even worthy of a gold star from a kindergarten teacher. This was just 100% retardation. The best part is the jackholes behind me are the ones that pay for this guy's irrational behavior. This is one of the reasons that traffic is so insane. You put a fair amount of stupid ppl on the road and there are gonna be plenty of problems. You put a shit ton of stupid ppl on the road you have the Los Angeles traffic. I don't need to say anymore than that.

Can O' Hot Dogs

First time? Start here. Read "The Primer" and follow the link at the end. Chronological order makes more sense for the stories.

This is a slight deviation from our regularly scheduled Angry Time post. Its an ode to a good friend of mine. A recording of an event that is worth its re-telling through the generations. Its something that Angry Time will eventually switch over to if I ever leave this job and run out of the typical Male and Female Boss stories. This is one of the happenings in my life that I am most proud of and its definitely an homage to one of my best friends who happened to get married this last weekend here. With all the nudging and urging I received for me to roast this guy during a speech at his wedding, I decided it better not to do during the dinner and all due to the length of the story when told properly and well.. you'll see why. His brothers and friends wanted to hear it bad but hey, why not make an indelible mark here on the ol' internet. So, for all the people at the wedding that wanted the story.. you can now read it here. Enjoy!

Let's take shit back a good 15 years to high school. The year is irrelevant and the grade escapes me.. but what doesn't is the scene. Here my friend and I stand in his kitchen, we'll call him Meilla (pronounced May-Uh). Two young lads that take down a good 5,000 calories a day are scrounging thru the kitchen pilfering whatever goods we stumble upon and turning his parents' hard earned cash into energy to fuel our minds and bodies to come up with ridiculous situations like this.

The typical meal for Meilla and I was an entire loaf of Roman Meal bread and a fist size helping from a canister of Country Crock. Sure, why not. It was cheap and did the job. Not that day, tho. That day was something special. There was a wind of promise in the air and it swept fortune down upon us. Indeed, it was the culmination of Grocery Shopping Day. With cabinets freshly stocked Meilla and I had our choice of what to take down before the armada of his 3 brothers and 1 other sister got home to steal what was rightfully ours. So plunder we did.

We ate like Spaniards. Goodies and taste treats abound. Before long, Meilla stumbled upon processed gold. A can of hot dogs. A 12 count can of hot dogs, "in water." I think the liquid soak resembled something more of a brine or a pint of hog squeezin' than it did water, but what a find nonetheless!

As Meilla opened up the can of hot dogs the stink breached the kitchen air. The all too familiar smell of over-processed hog anus sprung from the freshly opened can. The room seemed to become more humid as the bouquet soaked into our pores. Mind you, we had taken down about half of the food supply his mom, aka Mommers, had brought home for the entire week, but despite the odds being firmly stacked up against any chicanery, my natural ability to instigate didn't let me down.. and genius struck.

"Before you choke down one of those hot dogs like a stork would a mackerel, let me present to you a gentlemanly challenge. I propose to you, dear friend, for the rewarded sum of $20.. well let me be frank, I think you haven't the moxie, gumption or tenacity to take down all those hot dogs in a timed trial."

Perhaps I didn't speak half as eloquent and maybe I wasn't wearing a pair of suspenders to push forward with one thumb nor had I a long enuff mustache to twist between the thumb and index finger of my other hand when I was fifteen but I think its pretty damn close to what really happened...

Meilla squinted his eyes at me after challenging his manhood and spat, "Name your terms."

My response was simple, "Five minutes, the entire can."

Meilla leaned back against the formica counter top staring down the can of plump pre-cooked wieners soaking in man-sweat and pig urine. His stomach was already distended from the 30 minutes of gorging prior to the challenge. His eyes took a pass at me, I stood stoic, staring him right back down taking the $20 out of my wallet and putting it down on the table. His eyes went back to the wieners, back to me and back to that god damn can that seemed to mock his every breath.

Meilla took a deep breath and said, "I'll do it."

In my heart of hearts I knew he was finished. I handed him a shovel from the word go and he had already dug half of his grave with the myriad of chips and dips and crackers that pushed and stretched his stomach walls to the breaking point. He slammed both of his hands down on to the table, one on each side of his opponent. The can did not waiver, it just stood there churning the cesspool of multiple layers of fluid around like a bilge on some long abandoned houseboat.

"Well then, how are you going to take on the challenge, standing or sitting?" I asked him.

"I'm gonna stand."

"You tell me when you're ready."

Meilla took a few deep breaths. His lanky frame hovering over the can, readying himself for the battle. Seconds turned into minutes and all of a sudden the call was out.

"Okay," he said.

"Go!"

Before competitive eating was a thought in the mind of some all too bored idiot, I became witness to dining etiquette completely foreign to me. Meilla reached in with each hand plucking out one wiener per and then switched his grip on them to how one would hold haunch of mutton. They were plumper than he had anticipated but took the first two out quickly. Two more were pulled from the depths of the commode, the hot dog bouillabaisse dripped down his arms, off his elbows and on to the vinyl floors forming a slick stain challenging his footing. Two more! He forced them into his maw and with great discipline continued to chew.

With his chin slathered in drippings he had at it again, two more! This time the chewing had slowed. It was a battle of wills, I could see it in his eyes. Oh and the smell.. good lord that smell.. it started to get to him. Nuts to the olfactory center, must stay focused. His esophagus dissented next, pleading with him to cease and desist making it harder and harder for him to take down the hot dogs little by little. He had about 2 minutes and change left with 4 dogs to go. With his mouth not completely emptied he took a breath and had back at it.

The call came out, "Two minutes!"

Meilla steeled his will. Taking down the first dog and with it still not completely chewed in his mouth, Meilla broke the next dog in half and shoved them into the corners of his mouth. His gumption waned. His chewing had all but stopped.

"Do it!" I shouted at him, "Take them down! You have a minute and a half!"

He leaned over his foe trying to breathe and chew and swallow all at the same time.

"Come on!" I yelled, "Finish them! You gotta have em all down!"

Another 30 seconds fell off the clock, "One minute!"

Meilla stood there with dog giblets resting on the corners of his stuffed mouth. His saliva had broken them down to thick paste and they started to fuse with his skin. Meilla did his best to try and remain focused, he desperately tried to chew and chew. There were still two left in there. What was he to do? With no room left in his mouth, he reached back in with one hand.

"That's it!" I responded with gusto.

He broke it in two and they disappeared into the half eaten flesh within his mouth forming a soggy meatloaf that you might be served whilst dining in the 4th ring of Hell.

"Thirty seconds!"

Meilla lurched back exhausted. He reeled and reeled but my heckling.. I mean encouragement would not fail him, I was determined to get him thru this!

"Sack it up you have twenty seconds! Chew damn you, chew!!!"

His slumped posture and defeated eyes stared back at me. His mouth was unable to even move. I had to do something...

"Additional minute for half the pot! Ten bucks, You have another minute. Finish the job!"

Meilla's eyes lit up and his mouth started to work again. Chomp, chew, grind. His saliva had broken down the fatty walls of the dogs but even still he could not swallow the meat pudding filling his gullet. The gag reflex was in effect.. he kept it down tho it wanted so badly to escape. Still poised, Meilla gathered himself and took down a bit more. A little more still. Despite his best efforts, his mouth was still stuffed.

"Thirty seconds, come on!"

He cocked his head back and took a deep breath. I could see the spittle mixed with hot dog juice spurt out like a broken water gun against the sunlight that shone thru the kitchen window. His cheeks were stretched like a water balloon, the pain was immense. He was all but done for.

"Another minute awarded, $5, finish that last dog!"

Meilla struggled to clasp the can of dogs and out came the last wiener. His hand shook as violently as a crack addict reaching for his foil pipe anticipating the morning's first hit. He took a bite out of the dog, tho I do not know how. His mouth was so full that he couldn't actually close it but somehow used the pressure of his jaw lined with hot dog porridge to break away a small chunk.

"Breathe, damn it breathe!" I instructed him.

Meilla could take no more, he rested his lazy bones on one hand that leaned against the table.

"Finish the job, damn you!"

The saliva building up in his mouth began to spew forth like clear gullet milk, thick and putrid. I winced at the sight of it spilling down on to the tabletop. He kept trying to chew but he couldn't make a dent. He started to wave his hand at me as if to say I am done. No, Meilla! Failure was not an option.

"Meilla, you listen to me! Sack up and finish that shit off! You're right there! Fuckin finish it!"

I turned from heckler to motivational speaker. Meilla didn't respond to my provocation the way I would have wanted. He was losing grip of reality and the last hot dog. It started to slip with from his grip and his face was losing its color. I couldn't have that.

"Fuckin chew that shit! Chew it and take it down! Put the god damn hot dog in your mouth and be done with it. Its the last one!"

His entire body quaked with an emphatic no but Meilla raised the hot dog to his parched and cracking lips. In it went, he coughed and gagged, spittle flung from his mouth and he still couldn't chew.

"We're going on ten minutes here, man. Let's go!"

Meilla placed his hands on his hips straightening out his posture and began a slow, steady and methodical mincing of the mouthful. He halved the load to the point where his cheeks weren't puffed out like a trumpeter. Meilla saw the light at the end of the tunnel, the trial was nearing its end, he wanted to finish strong and save any last shred of dignity he had left and like any good friend I snatched victory from his grasp and told him, "Two bucks man, two bucks to finish this off, drink the damn juice!"

Meilla scorned me with his eyes and grabbed the can. He nodded at me angrily, still unable to speak and lifted the can to his lips. The lukewarm slurry hit the back of his throat and Meilla leaped for the sink. He spit out the last of the dogs in his mouth and poured the juice from the can down the drain. The towel was thrown in.. Meilla was humbly defeated.

In his defeat he was met with uncontrollable and mocking laughter for much longer than he should have.. not to mention during the ENTIRE challenge. My stomach was as tight as a drum and cramped from the heckling. And there Meilla stood, slumped over, sick of sound of my laugh sicker even still of the taste in his mouth, yet he did not reach for anything to wash the flavor out cuz he was completely up to his eyeballs in pre-digestive food.

Meilla just stood there for a good ten minutes in a daze.. the look that he gave me forever seared into my brain. Completely disgusted, with his loss and with himself in general, Meilla gathered his wits and shook his head at me. Poor, poor guy..

However, this was not the end of Meilla and his competitive eating career. He went on to out-eat just about everyone I know very handily that stepped up to the plate. From backyard hamburger barbecues to In N Out competitions Meilla has proven to be a formidable giant in the eating department and why not, he is about 6'6" now and having gone thru the rigorous training of growing up with the likes of me, he is prepared for any challenge that may come his way in the future.

To Meilla and his wife, I wish them the best, they had a beautiful wedding and it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy to find a hell of a gal. Meilla, this one's for you. Cheers, man! May you have many happy decades together and I'll see you when you get back to the States.

A Missing Mr. Foot

First time? Start here. Read "The Primer" and follow the link at the end. Chronological order makes more sense for the stories.

Hmm, where to start on this one. I guess let me describe the back yard for the dogs. Its not a large property as I have mentioned before and over the last few months Female Boss has started buying a number of dog houses to put outside. These dog houses vary from Dog-loos to standard wooden dog houses. With the 3 dogs there are now 7 houses out there. What? You want me to explain the mind of a dim-witted sloth with downs syndrome? Just stay focused.

With the number of dog houses out there, our friend Mr. Foot has made finding him quite the challenge as of late. Finding him, you ask? Yes, finding him. You know cuz all of the "dog training" and all the "practice" Female Boss has done with them they still aren't on the whole responding to your own name deal yet.. in time, I'm sure.

So about once a week the office here goes thru the Pigfoot Scare. Its this whole series of shenanigans that involves Female Boss freaking out about not finding Pigfoot after checking 2 of the 7 dog houses and thinking that he ran away even tho there is no possible means of escape for him.. and seriously, why the hell would he leave? He has it made, he's as feral as a dog gets AND he is treating like a king second only to The One. He's not going anywhere but this doesn't stop Female Boss from going thru the weekly meltdown.

This particular instance Male Boss volunteers for the task of finding where Pigfoot is hiding. About three minutes later I see Male Boss come in to the house rather stealthily with Pigfoot in hand. He puts the dog into his jacket concealing him completely and arousing some suspicion to his new 12 pound goiter bulging from his right love handle.

Male Boss walks in to the office where Female Boss is nice and flustered, "I think he's fucking gone, Female Boss."

Just so you know, Male Boss' right side is showing to me and not to her. Upon any type of observation you can still tell I'm sure but I just want it out there that Female Boss isn't completely oblivious.. only extremely. Male Boss' first line elicits no response from Female Boss so he goes on.

"Did you hear me? He's gone! The fucking ppl came today and signed away the papers for adoption. They took him, Female Boss. He's gone."

Female Boss leaps from her chair. She is flush and her eyes are like saucers, "What the hell are you talking about!?"

"You heard me, he's gone. Under new ownership, right Northe?"

Male Boss turns to me and winks. I figure that Female Boss may have caught that and figured out the joke. I assume too much..

"You what? What!?"

Female Boss is seriously erratic. She knocks over her stapler trying to get around her desk to go check out if the people are still in front of the house.. or something. As soon as she brushes past Male Boss, Taadaa! He reveals Pigfoot from his hiding place holding him out towards Female Boss.

The room turns icy cold.

"How dare you! How dare you," she scolds Male Boss.

She takes Pigfoot from a smiling and giggling Male Boss and continues her lecture.

"Oh, you want to stress me out? You want to give me a heart attack? This is the last thing I need and somehow your fucked up brain thinks that this is appropriate to do! I can't take it. I can't fucking take it. How dare you do this to me!"

She presses Pigfoot against her bosom. I can see her eyes welling up. I can't believe it. She is completely flush.

"I am taking the dogs with me!" she screams.

She leaves a few minutes later and didn't come back till the next day. Yeah, I'd say thats pretty rational. If you google pet owner's greatest concerns you'll find out that it indeed is drive-by adopters coming to ppl's houses and getting custody of dogs right under ppl's noses. She has every right to lash out at Male Boss for playing on this common fear. Male Boss just better hope that it doesn't happen for real now since he put it out there. Karma just may bite him for this...

Dunkirt the Unclean

First time? Start here. Read "The Primer" and follow the link at the end. Chronological order makes more sense for the stories.

Well the pig has grown up to be a big fat bastard. He's pushing upwards of about 200lbs now and they are saying he is about 2/3 grown. This means this feed pig will make plenty of carnitas for all my readers when I either gun him down or he passes due to natural causes.

By that last statement it seems that my opinion of little Dunkirt has changed over the last half year or so. Indeed it has. He's not a pleasant pig. He is quite the ass. Stay tuned for further examples on this. For now, I want to share with my Angry Timers a pretty sticky tale.

During the summer, this pig does next to nothing. He is constantly in the shade and sleeping. That's fine, I don't blame him. Its hot as fuck out. If he only did that it wouldn't be something news worthy; however, Dunkirt finds it suitable to shed his skin like a snake during these hot months.

"Shed like a snake?" you ask. No, I guess not like a snake but the mother fucker sheds. He sheds these large slices of bologna off his back. I am not kidding. I guarantee you I could set up a condiment table next to that fat fuck and get school kids to line up with wonder bread in hand to make sandwiches for their sack lunch. Its fucking repulsive. The smell? It is very reminiscent of the ol' football locker room.. just dirty and hot. Fuckin' foul.

So during these glorious summer months Dunkirt and his stench is beginning to attract flies.. likely due to the basketball size piles of feces he leaves around and that whole unpleasant odor thing. This particular day, Dunkirt has posted up shop next to the front door.. outside of course. When I come in to work, Male Boss is having some sort of fit. Female Boss is doing her usual shun and ignore technique but this doesn't stop Male Boss from insisting on what he saw...

"I seen it, Female Boss! I fucking seen it! Come look, they crawl thru and in, thru and in," says Male Boss with that child-like glint in his eye.

"Leave me the hell alone, Male Boss."

"Get the fuck up out of your chair and clean that fucking pig. That is not right!"

"Oh grow up."

"Northe, have you seen it? The flies crawl thru and in his ass! The flies are coming out of his ass!"

Ohh, that's good.. so Dunkirt's ass has now become a brood home for flies. The sad thing is that I don't think Male Boss is exaggerating when he says this. I believe it.. tho I am not sure how exactly flies are crawling "thru" and then "in" the pig's ass. I guess you'd have to see it and I am not ready for that quite yet. Unreal how much I dislike Dunkirt now. I mean, that pig is something foul.. unholy even. My once proud little piglet has become a disagreeable swine. There can only be one lesson learned here today, kids.. yeah you guessed it.. wash your ass.

Too Much Spare Time?

First time? Start here. Read "The Primer" and follow the link at the end. Chronological order makes more sense for the stories.

Before I spark off my most recent stint of gumption to begin posting the Angry Time stories again, let me describe what exactly it was that ignited the flame of hate this morning. On the way to work, I spy with my little eye a frikkin 65 year old whore sitting at the bus stop. Just so you know, whore is being used accurately in this vignette. Let me describe.. picture if you will, a 65 year old woman with a white wig on that climbed to the clouds like Peggy Bundy after sticking her finger in an electrical socket. She was wearing a pink, plastic outfit that was tailored for someone about 40lbs lighter and a foot shorter. Upon closer inspection, this monstrosity was sporting some fishnet stockings that would cause the most stalwart of Scotsmen to dry heave. So there she sat, at the bus stop, facing the direction that the bus would ultimately arrive yet was bobbing her head back and forth with her eyes closed, fighting off sleep, as if to say, "I had a long night of turning tricks," which is just disgusting but it also made me wonder how the fuck does one get from birth to that. How many more cases need I come up with till you are on board with Systematic Population Thinning?

On to the tale! Angry Time has been on major hiatus but I dare you to deny that this post isn't worth the wait! Since pictures are worth a thousand words I will just give a brief synopsis of how these photos came about. I was snooping around and found a memory stick. I popped it in to the computer and Great Caesar's Ghost did I find a gem!

Here's the first one.



Curious photo.. That's gotta be Male Boss, I recognize those pants anywhere. Hmm, but I have no clue where he is, that flooring is completely foreign to me. Furthermore, I have no clue whose dog that is. I click to the next photo.



There's no fuckin' way, right? This can't be what loyal Angry Timers may have already suspected is it? The look in the pup's eye.. determination.. it can't be! With my mouth slightly ajar I go to the next...



Oh hell no... this is shocking and completely predictable at the same time. Shocking cuz he's taking photos of it but predictable cuz Male Boss is enjoying it. Also, note the amount of movement going on here.. tile.. to rug.. to hardwood flooring.... ....from the windows to the wall? Next!



Now the pup is in to it. Face smushed up against his pant leg.. full force. Who is enjoying it more is up for debate.. discuss among yourselves.



This one even makes me feel dirty. Its a pretty fitting finishing look. The reassurance that Male Boss is satisfied, cuz this pup is about done. Oh and if you didn't notice with this flooring and the last, its a different pattern of tile.. hence, a new room.



Aaaaaaaaand... I'm spent.

For those of you who have forgotten, here's a link to remind you. For those of you who remember but want the easy click to re-read the past behavior, here you go. Bottom line is Male Boss is one sick fuck. Its one thing to have a dog going to town on your leg.. its another to have the presence of mind to take photo after photo after photo... in someone else's house! I think the only thing I could have asked for is a time stamp on each photo.. to see how long this crazy fuck was entertained for.

Update: After Commissioner Phelps' comment I dug up the original source. Lo and behold he was right. Basically checking out the time on which the files were created I now have a time frame. Now there are 9 original pictures, of which I used six. The first photo was taken at 8:14:12 PM the last photo was taken at 8:31:52 PM. Do the math yourselves.