Airplanes? Fuck.

I had the occasion as of late to take an airplane to and from our national western coast. I could say and talk a lot about the city of Los Angeles but that is for another blogging at another time and place. Right now what I want to blogging about is the airplane ride.

First, to parachute a great American comedy: What is the deal with airplane peanuts? I say this because they lack a hard shell and I am reduced to spitting the plastic wrapper on the floor, which then attracted the attention of a stewardess. She said to me "Sir I am going to have to ask you to not spit those wrappers on the floor." I thought maybe she liked me so I asked her if she wanted to go to the bathroom and join a certain special club. But it turns out she did not like Mickey Mouse and wasn't even sure if they still had a functioning club, so my advances were scurned!

I will make a long story less long now. These airlines really fucked with me. After bringing me off the plane after an amergency landing after some unkind words and gropings with the stewardesseses, they told me of the harsh penalty the were going to grant me. I said "Put me on what ever list you like, fuckers! I'm putting you on my "do not FUCK WITH GREG list! Oh wait, you just violated that, ex post facto!"

Now comes the dilemma to end all quandaries. How do I make the airlines find out? If you recall from previous blogging postings, I am very patriotic and I will not do a terrorism on the airplanes. But I have to make them find out somehow, as they most certainly did a fuck with me.

How about you, gentle reader? How would you make them find out without killing and terrur? Please bear in mind as you answer that I am now not allowed on an airplane or within 1500 feet of an airport or female airline employee.

Fuck With My Co-Workers, You Also Fuck With Me, Too

The other day at my work I had a very sad day at my office. It was not of my own design, but instead designed by some fuckers with who I work for. Usually I have a pleasant working relations with these "bosses," who after all when all is said and done, give me money for my time, effort and blackmail. And I do not resent those who earn more money than I do because I believe in a free range market and I am not a socialism, un like the new president. (By the way, Barrack Obama is not eligible to be president because unbeknowned to most, he was not born in America! His birth was on the island nation of H'awaii!)!

Still, it made me mad and caused me to be fucked with when these bosses made the announcement that they would be "laying of" many people due to our current economy downturning (thanks again, president Obama). Hey, these are good hard workers with pleasant smelling chairs who now will make less money than they did before because they will be making no money at all!

I saw one woman, Jeanette, whose name for privacy I will change to Julia. She was crying and packing up a card board box with her belongs. She said to another man that it was good working with him and that they should stay in touch. I said "do you want to stay in touch too?" I also said "Julia, you look good even though you are sad and weak." She did not say anything but I could see that her eyes for me were full of tears and sex.

Then there was another woman, let's just call her by her social security number, 324-74-7364. I told 324-74-7364 as she was walking to the front door to look on a bright side, that it was a good thing she had that abortion last month because babies cost money and she will be poor from now on. The tears that she had been crying did not subside from this good news, but I am hopeful that they had turned to tears of joy.

But my sadness for my work friends did not delete the angry sense that I had for the bosses. Let me tell you how I made them found out. I got up on a table in the middle of the office and decided to make a speech using the words of my favorite actor Mel Gibson. "You've come to fight as free men!" I yelled. "And free men you are. What will you do with that freedom? I love you, always have. They'll never take our freedom!"

There was a long silence that seemed to last for milleniums. Then a man said that they had given him his freedom and that was sort of the problem. He then walked out of the building with his head pointed downwards at a 45 degree angle, which denoted sadness and great miserable.

One of the bosses came to the table where I was standing on top of the table and told me to come into his or her office. When I was in the office they explained that such outburstings would not be tolerable to the management. And that they had a good mind to fire me also, but they decided against it due to my long tenure at the company and also the aforementioned blackmail. This made me very jolly and rotund like Santa and I forgived their fucking. I said ho ho ho and left as nicely as you please! It was a good holiday, then, and no one had to find out. Except for the fucker who hadn't liked my Mel Gibson speech. I strangled him in the parking lot with his jumper cables. He had a bowel movement during the stranglage, which made me smile. And smiling? I guess that's the reason Christmas is all about.

Malamud? More Like Malpractice of With Writing

There are so many different ways of fucking with me. So many different ways, my friends, that I cannot count them on my hands. There are at least eight ways, and the most rare is actually the very worst. This when I am fucked with by an author.

Allow me to explain at you: Have you ever read a book, novel or tome, or perhaps a stapled pamphlet, which made you unhappy? Made you feel cheated? Made you feel unhappy? 

Is there any doubt that the author has fucked with you? If you are like me, I have no doubt. Which brings me to today's tale of being fucked with. 

One of my favorite movies is called "The Natural," which was directed by Barry Levinson and starred Robert Redford, the man from the American movie classic of the silver screen, "Sneakers." In this movie, a young baseball genius is killed by a crazied fan, but then survives to come back 15 years later and be genius again. Then in the end, he hits a home run that goes over the wall and knocks out the lights so that it rains sparks as he runs to the home plate. This made me feel good about myself when I was a child because I was obsessed with breaking light bulbs.

Well you will only imagine my joyousness when I found the discovery that this movie had been adapted to a book by an author named Bernard Malamud. I was so excited that I ran out and bought a brand-new unsoiled paperback version! I had never heard of this author but I knew won thing: He had great taste in movies!

Let me tell you this. Mr. Malamud has no idea what he is doing. First of all, Robert Redford wasn't even in his book. Second of all, the book is in smaller print than I would prefer. Thirdly of all, and this is the worst part -- worst of all, in the ending there is no home run or satisfying demolishing of light bulbs with a gleeful crack that made me get a boner every time I smashed one with my foster dad's hammer. Instead of this, in the ending of the novel, the man strikes out, is thrown out of the baseball club and ends up crying while talking to a newspaper boy.

Careful readers of this "blog" will not be surprised at my response to this tragedy of justice. Mr. Bernard Malamud went straight to the top of my "Must find out" list, which is written in my head. First, I looked up the telephone number of his book publisher, Harcourt Brace. They answered the telephone and I changed my voice to become very high pitched. "This is Mrs. Malamud, Bernard's mommy," I said, wanting to act like a realistic mother, "Can Bernard come to the telephone? I want him to come home and let me dress him up like a beautiful girl." The phone seemed to see through my clever plan and hung it up. So I looked Mr. Malamud up on an internet, and that's when I came to a shocking discovered that he had already found out!

According to the internet, he had found out over two decades ago, because that was when he was dead. It would seem, then, that I have an ally; an "ally" if you will, in the field of making fuckers find out. I can't help but wonder: who is this hero who is so good that he can make a bad man who just recently published a new book become dead a long time ago? My mind plays boggle at the possibilities. Whoever you are, sir, I salute you with my hand on my forehead, touching horizontally.

Mike is a dick.

I meant to tell you all about this guy Mike. He is a man who fucks with me on many occasions in the past and present. The sad thing to say is that he has never, yet, found out.

My friends who are ladies and gentlemen, listen to me write this: He will find out. Mike will find out like crazy. He is a dick and to tell you this with proof, I will tell you a story of his cunning.

One time, before I knew that he was a dick who fucked with people like me, Mike and I were friends. I was taken in by his dapper looks and the elegant British accent of his parents when I planted a hidden microphone in their house. Little did I know he would be a fucker with me. I decided one nice autumn day to give him a gift, and he refused the gift, even though I had worked very hard to get the gift, because he said it was unclean. I became enraged and got a reddened face, and spit the dead mouse at his mean visage.

That was the end of the friendship of Mike, and that was the beginning of Mike being a fuck with me man. As I said before earlier, he has refused my attempts to have him find out through his wiles. But now I have a compadre -- an ally, if you will, in my hunt of this jackyl. So be sure to check out Mike Is A Dick and maybe together with the black haired German who is the blog runner, we can take down Mike.

By the way, up top is a picture of Mike, probably when people were just trying to be nice people to him and give him fresh gifts. We will have this dick find out.

Just One of Those "Days"

Sometimes we have those days where everything seems to be going a wrong turn. The elevator is broken so you have to walk on the stairs, it rains when you are without an umbrella, and also you get gonorrhea. It's like God is fucking with you. And God? He never finds out. I am just not that strong enough so that I could have God find out. He's all the way up in heaven, which is in the clouds, in the sun or a similar locations. 

But then thinking about God got me thinking about that very popular Mel Gibson movie. You know that movie, don't you. It was really violent, where all these people were fucking with a very good guy, putting him through a real difficult time and things, and it was called "Ransom." A bad guy wanted money from Mel because Mel had a lot of money, and he kidnapped Mel's son and asked for Mel's money from him (Mel). So I realized that if I wanted to fuck with God like he fucked with me, I would have to fuck with God's son. I knew from Sunday School and various prison chaplains that this son's name was Jesus, or Jeez for shorter.

I went to the church that lives near me, because that's where Jesus is. There was a priest there talking to a none, and I went up to them in a calm and debonair way. I said "Hi I'm Greg." I then said "Hey father do you have any statues of Jesus?" and he said "Yes" and pointed to a statue that was of Jesus. I said "I need to borrow Jesus." He asked why and I realized that I had no good plan to explain why I was taking the statue! I should have thought of a plan first, but hindsight is a moot point, so I had to do it there. Unfortunately I am not always good under pressure so I told him it was to show Jesus in a science project. This was a bad idea as I am clearly not young enough to be a school student and am covered in thick layers of matted hair. Thus the priest did not want me to take the statue from the church. So I told him that I had a better story, and I needed to repaint the statue. He said that the statue was made of stone and not painted. I told him "hello" because I was not able to think of anything else. He and the none began to back away with a lot of trepidation. I saw my chance and ran at the Jesus. With sadness, I realized that He was stuck in the floor because of his heaviness. The priest ran at me and tried to stop me and while I was trying to take the Jesus from the ground of the church, I accidentally elbowed him in the chin. He fell to the ground, exclaiming unhappily all the while. I was worried about the policemen, so I ran from the church and went back to my home.

I thought I had failed to have God find out via his Son's being fucked with. I was sad and melancholy. But then I turned on the internet and I saw that a priest is the representative of Jesus on Earth. So in other words, so to speak, the man who I hit in the chin is like the friend of God's son. And I had that friend find out. I had that friend found out hard.

To celebrate, I watched Ransom, which I realized starred Lieutenant Dan as the kidnapping man. He was unprecedentedly good at that role.

Finding Out

Today, in honor of December 10th, I thought I'd issue a list of the top 10 people I'd like to have find out. These people are folks with whom I am seriously not happy with, and I'd want them to find out in many different ways that are terrible and horrible-inducing.

10. Jim

9. Paulina Porizkova

8. Martin Landau

7. Robert Loggia

t7. Robert Loggia's assistant

5. Parole Officer Ellen Plessett

4. Neighbor who has intercourse

3. Colonel Clink

2. Bob Barker

1. Ann Landers

Give me advice, will ya, you jerkette. I'd like to write her a letter and say in my letter "Dear Ann, I have this problem, you fucked with me and I'd like you to find out. Can you help me? Sincerely, Fucked With in Queens."

How did Ann Landers fuck with me? The answer to this question is an answer that is also a question again: How didn't she?

A Little Politics For You Politics Fans

This guy fucked with me. He fucked with you. He fucked with all of America when he went to war with a President of us, George Bush II. I know he looks like a nice man, what with his waving, smiling, mustaching, and his firm, proud hat. But as my grandmother used to say, sometimes looks are different than what they seem like. And that is the case with him. 

So, our main streamed media seems to have decided to give this clown a pass over the last couple years, but I haven't forgotten his criminal mischief. I plan to make him find out, and find out hard. I can't tell you, for national security purposes, what my plans are, but they involve mental and physical anguish on the part of his brain and genitals. 

I'll be all like "Ooh, you like finding out, huh?"

He'll say "No, I don't like that! Ouch! Ow! Agh! Aagghh!"

I'll reply "Yeah, I know, it was a sarcastic question! It's a very American thing -- too bad you'll never understand because you're not that awesome enough to be an American!"

And he'll have just one response: a cry of pain, an anguished moan, and a prayer to Jesus. I will only chortle. "Well, I hope Jesus has mercy on you, pal, because I won't! By the way, I didn't mean that you were my pal -- that's more American awesome sarcasm!"

Ladies: Not Immune to Finding Out

This lady is quite attractive. Look at her; behold her sleek features, featuring an aerodynamic nose. I also used to work with her. On a recent day, I asked her out on a date, to go to Applebee's and then the opera. She said no, and told me that she was "seeing someone." I said "I am seeing you too, right now, in front of me, using my eyes." I meant this as humor but she did not laugh. Meanwhile, I could smell which way the wind was blowing, so I let her off the hook. "You mean to say that you are already nailing someone else," I said with great kindness and empathy. She agreed that she was nailing someone else and quickly left the room from which we had started the conversation.

I was disappointed but I was not going to let romantic letdowns take away my productivity at work, or my general élan for life. But a little while later however, as I crouched in our office's coat closet chewing my lunch, I overheard her speaking with a fellow co-worker with whom we also worked with. To my shock and horrored dismayal, she was telling this co-worker, who I don't mind saying was a male, of my recent offer to her, and that she was not nailing someone at all, but had rejected my date because she didn't like my demeanor, attractiveness level, odor, et alia.

Needless to say, I considered myself fucked with. I decided I was going to have this little woman find out.

In the above picture she's very sad because she did, as I foretold, find out. I also peed on her.

Welcome to Fuck With Me And Find Out

I am excited to be here. Do you feel the same way? I trust that you do. Don't fuck with me.