Yes folks, it has been a whiles since my last blog, and yes, Stained does suck. But I'm back, and this time for good.
Six months ago, I abruptly stopped writing blogs. Why you may ask? Well, quite frankly, I hate the act of sitting down, and typing out my thoughts. I feel as if I cannot fully get out all of the sarcasm, crudeness, and complete and utter bullshit that goes on in my circus act of a mind. Typing slows this process down and thus, you, the reader, do not get the full helping of Newk that you deserve. Someone needs to buy me a "Dragon Speak" or whatever the hell its called.....
Anyways, it has been in fact, 6 months, and in that time a LOT has happened. Much of which I wished to have blogged about for your enjoyment. But, welp, I didnt. So I will sum in all up in the next few bullet points, and that will be followed by a new, complete blog that I hope will be the first of a long string of new articles for your enjoyment.
*I now am in a committed relationship to an absolutely wonderful girl
*I started shitting blood from my ass (I realize this is a complete U-turn from the first point, but hey, its my blog so shut it and read on)
*I went to the doctors to investigate stated bloody shit
*I was diagnosed with ulcerive colitis (If you hate someone, you should hope they get this someday)
*I watched an amazing Bruins' Stanley Cup victory
*I was suspended from UPS 2 more times
*Summer ended
*I decided to write a blog on how much I LOVE Halloween!
Halloween is one of those holidays that never gets old, no matter how old you get. Girls use it as an excuse to be a "Slutty........." Where the 'blank' represents an occupation they'll never hold due to their intelligence level (gender).
Slutty cops, nurses, lawyers, doctors, indians, cowboys, pirates, ninjas, fairies, construction workers, etc. They all take to the streets every Halloween. And men? Men love the holiday for the simple reason that they get to go out, get smashed and watch all of the slutty girls, in all of their spooky garb get drunk, and puke on themselves. Ahhh, the day of the dead.
What was my costume? Well, for your information, I am the same thing every year: A UPS guy. Yes, that's right. You all may know that it is my profession, but that doesnt mean everyone does. My "costume" is a hit every year at bars in Boston. Every shithead who puts on a Bruins jersey, a stupid wig/mask, or a T-shirt that says 'Hollister' on it as a costume looks at me and commends how awesome my threads are.
"Yo man, sick costume! A UPS guy! Hey Lance, come check this guy out!"
"Yes! That is ill, where did you get that?!"
I dont answer them, instead, I simply remind them that if they plan on successfully bringing home a girl tonight, they are going to have to do it illegally.
Working on Halloween night is a treat also. Driving around a brown truck through neighborhoods while kids and parents are trying to go house to house and get candy? Sounds like a smart business decision huh? Well, its not. In fact, its god damned impossible. You know how many kids I ran over this year?
Regardless, on Halloween night, I managed to consume 14 Kit Kats, 11 Snickers, 6 Milky Ways, and 8 Starbursts. That of course is the 'fun size', but still, enough to shit my pants for the next 12 hours.
Speaking of pieces of shit, kids on Halloween act like shitheads for no reason. They think they can just throw eggs at whatever they want just because of the holiday. And folks, my big brown UPS truck is always a desired target. But this year, I came prepared....
I took my break at my apartment around 2:30pm. I took this time to clean, test, and load my paintball gun. I then took to the streets, hoping to just successfully complete my job, and be on with my life. But, the kids in the mean streets of Bridgewater had other ideas.
I was driving down my last street of the night, 2 stops to go. As I began to slow down, I heard a 'thud' on the side of my truck. At first I thought I hit a branch, or perhaps ran a child over. But nope, it was worse...I had been egged.
I opened the bulkhead to my truck and grabbed my weapon. I slowly opened the side door to inspect the damage. As I turned the corner, there stood the culprits. A kid in a "Scream 3" (starring Nev Campbell) mask, and his partner in crime a kid in a jason mask. My first thoughts were "real original costumes douchebags". But my second thought was "let them make the first move".
And of course, they did. The shorter one made a pitiful attempt to throw an egg at me. It struck the ground probably 6 feet from where he threw it (pussy). His friend aimed for the truck, something he knew he could hit. He failed. They then reached for more ammunition. But it was WAY too late. I brought the paintball gun up to my hip and let off a few rounds. BOOM! I nailed the shorter ones stash of eggs and they explodes all over himself. I then took aim at his taller comrade. I hit him directly in the balls, bringing him to his knees. As the pussy, short one began to run, I fired off about 12 rounds, lighting up his back like a pink Christmas tree. Splat, splat, splat! He was screaming and crying as he ran. The kid who I shot in the nuts began to slowly get up, pleading for me not to shoot him again. I laughed and starting walking towards my delivery. After 2 steps, I turned and shot that kid again, with 5 shots or so nailing him in the side and shoulder. Victory.
Dont fuck with the UPS guy.
~ I realize that I have not written in a while, and there are probably numerous grammatical and spelling errors throughout this blog. Oh well, and if you dont like it, suck it.
Til next time comrades, ship it.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I Got Fired From UPS. And You're Still a Fatass.
My people! It feels great to be back and filling your mind with garbage that I call "The Gospel According to Newk".
It has been quite some time since my last publication, but of course I have an excuse. This one may actually be valid too....maybe.
Recently UPS turned its back on The Show-Stoppa, Jon Newcomb. I got fired, for 2 weeks. I wish I had some story of blood, tears, and glory to tell as to why I served a "termination", but I do not. In fact, the story is extremely lame, and for all of you avid readers who do not work for Browntown, it may make little to no sense to you. So in simple terms, I'll give it a shot.
It was a Friday. The air was crisp, with a chill in the air, but the sun was shining and I had a half smile on my face. I fed my cat Steven and headed out the door ready for what would be undoubtedly a hungover Friday at work. I arrived to find that I had not even been staffed on a route! Jackpot, right? WRONG. I was instructed to fill and empty truck with "splits" from 8 different drivers, covering 6 different towns. (A split is a "chunk" of work, usually 10-20 stops, that is a small piece of another route) So without needing to be said, my Friday was going to suck huge balls.
The day progressed, and it was nearing in on 9 pm and I still had well over 20 stops to do in Middleboro.
For those of you unfamiliar with Middleboro, there are some criteria one must have to live here. You must own no less than 16 firearms. You must vote Republican in every election. You must have a Confederate flag within plain sight of the street. You must own and domesticate an animal that is neither a cat or dog, and does not fit in a cage. And finally, your front yard must be the resting place of no less than 5 disabled automobiles. Thats how awesome Middleboro is.
Now, I wish I could say this is where I ran over a whiney 5 year old, or delivered a box with a monster dogshit in it, or ripped an 8-ball to my "domepiece" with an elderly man, but no. I simply said "fuck it" and drove back to Browntown, throwing in the towel. I was greeted there by my boss, who could very well double for "King Hippo" from NES' Mike Tyson's Punch-out, and he fired my ass for not completing the work. Asshole.
So that's that, and now its time to rant.
There is only one thing I hate more than "New Year Resolutions". And thats people who do NOT practice ANY form of religion at all, and yet they still insist on "giving something up for lent". Do they even know what "lent" is? Probably not. I wish I could educate you, but I truly don't know much about it either. I'm pretty sure it involves something along the lines of Jesus kicked some serious ninja ass, and he smoked up all his apostles to celebrate. But regardless, Lent promises are usually a mirror image of peoples' NYR, and involves something like: "I'm going to stop giving blowjobs for meth!" Or, "I'm going to stop drinking to the point where I beat my wife and kids". And my all time favorite, "I'm going to get serious about not being a lazy fatass!"
Last week, I was driving down a development, or neighborhood if you will; some may actually call it a "culdasac". (I hate that word for 2 reasons, 1: I dont know how to spell it, and 2: I'm too lazy to look up how to spell it.) Anyways, I'm cruising down at a blazing 15 mph. Some dumbass kid thinks he's hysterical by trying to outrun my truck. If only my truck wouldnt leave tracks on the lawn, I would have without a doubt run his ass over. Next, I stopped at the given house where my delivery was, and I was greeted by a woman, who was shaped like a large house. The following conversation ensues.
"Sir, dont you think you're driving a bit fast through a neighborhood? My son should be able to keep up with your truck, if not, I think you could slow down a tad."
"Haha, (fake laugh) well ma'am, no problem, just trying to do my job!" [Well Rosie O'Donnell, it is in fact a TRUCK, its supposed to go faster than a walking fetus you call a son. Not to mention, your son is a little bit on the 'fatass' side, dont you think?]
Fat people truly drive me insane. They always are in a bad mood. I want you all to pay attention to this for an entire week. Truly pay attention. Every fat person you encounter, gauge their mood. Its usually sour, usually due to the fact that they've gone through 76 computers because they keep crashing from jerking off to internet porn, or because they accidently bought low fat butter, to put on their butter, which then goes on their buttered steak and cheese sub.
Here's an idea for your next bullshit New Years Resolution or Lent fasting, give up telling the UPS guy how to do his job, and actually give that treadmill I delivered 4 years a shot. If not for your third stomach, for your attitude's sake.
It has been quite some time since my last publication, but of course I have an excuse. This one may actually be valid too....maybe.
Recently UPS turned its back on The Show-Stoppa, Jon Newcomb. I got fired, for 2 weeks. I wish I had some story of blood, tears, and glory to tell as to why I served a "termination", but I do not. In fact, the story is extremely lame, and for all of you avid readers who do not work for Browntown, it may make little to no sense to you. So in simple terms, I'll give it a shot.
It was a Friday. The air was crisp, with a chill in the air, but the sun was shining and I had a half smile on my face. I fed my cat Steven and headed out the door ready for what would be undoubtedly a hungover Friday at work. I arrived to find that I had not even been staffed on a route! Jackpot, right? WRONG. I was instructed to fill and empty truck with "splits" from 8 different drivers, covering 6 different towns. (A split is a "chunk" of work, usually 10-20 stops, that is a small piece of another route) So without needing to be said, my Friday was going to suck huge balls.
The day progressed, and it was nearing in on 9 pm and I still had well over 20 stops to do in Middleboro.
For those of you unfamiliar with Middleboro, there are some criteria one must have to live here. You must own no less than 16 firearms. You must vote Republican in every election. You must have a Confederate flag within plain sight of the street. You must own and domesticate an animal that is neither a cat or dog, and does not fit in a cage. And finally, your front yard must be the resting place of no less than 5 disabled automobiles. Thats how awesome Middleboro is.
Now, I wish I could say this is where I ran over a whiney 5 year old, or delivered a box with a monster dogshit in it, or ripped an 8-ball to my "domepiece" with an elderly man, but no. I simply said "fuck it" and drove back to Browntown, throwing in the towel. I was greeted there by my boss, who could very well double for "King Hippo" from NES' Mike Tyson's Punch-out, and he fired my ass for not completing the work. Asshole.
So that's that, and now its time to rant.
There is only one thing I hate more than "New Year Resolutions". And thats people who do NOT practice ANY form of religion at all, and yet they still insist on "giving something up for lent". Do they even know what "lent" is? Probably not. I wish I could educate you, but I truly don't know much about it either. I'm pretty sure it involves something along the lines of Jesus kicked some serious ninja ass, and he smoked up all his apostles to celebrate. But regardless, Lent promises are usually a mirror image of peoples' NYR, and involves something like: "I'm going to stop giving blowjobs for meth!" Or, "I'm going to stop drinking to the point where I beat my wife and kids". And my all time favorite, "I'm going to get serious about not being a lazy fatass!"
Last week, I was driving down a development, or neighborhood if you will; some may actually call it a "culdasac". (I hate that word for 2 reasons, 1: I dont know how to spell it, and 2: I'm too lazy to look up how to spell it.) Anyways, I'm cruising down at a blazing 15 mph. Some dumbass kid thinks he's hysterical by trying to outrun my truck. If only my truck wouldnt leave tracks on the lawn, I would have without a doubt run his ass over. Next, I stopped at the given house where my delivery was, and I was greeted by a woman, who was shaped like a large house. The following conversation ensues.
"Sir, dont you think you're driving a bit fast through a neighborhood? My son should be able to keep up with your truck, if not, I think you could slow down a tad."
"Haha, (fake laugh) well ma'am, no problem, just trying to do my job!" [Well Rosie O'Donnell, it is in fact a TRUCK, its supposed to go faster than a walking fetus you call a son. Not to mention, your son is a little bit on the 'fatass' side, dont you think?]
Fat people truly drive me insane. They always are in a bad mood. I want you all to pay attention to this for an entire week. Truly pay attention. Every fat person you encounter, gauge their mood. Its usually sour, usually due to the fact that they've gone through 76 computers because they keep crashing from jerking off to internet porn, or because they accidently bought low fat butter, to put on their butter, which then goes on their buttered steak and cheese sub.
Here's an idea for your next bullshit New Years Resolution or Lent fasting, give up telling the UPS guy how to do his job, and actually give that treadmill I delivered 4 years a shot. If not for your third stomach, for your attitude's sake.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Roll Back This...Bitch
Its not a mystery. WalMart sucks. Everything about that place make me cringe. The smell, the trash that shops there, the morons that work there, the smell, the shit on the shelves, the endless isles, the smell......
There is however, an allure that cannot be described. An incomprehesible feeling that is endured. What exactly IS WalMart? Yes shithead, I am aware that it is America's home to low prices, the smiling yellow face stickers, and 98% of employees without a high school diploma (dont hold me to that figure). But what exactly IS that place all about? Well, besides the endless "rolling back of prices", allow me to enlighten you...
As a UPS driver, I sometimes am forced to deliver to WalMart. A lot of what I see, is not easy on the eyes; LOTS of "baby-mamas" walking around, not a lot of "baby-daddies" however...I wonder why that is? (Sarcasm). A ton of people forced to work there, and by the looks on their faces, would rather enslavement on a deserted island. And to top it all off, endless isles of just SHIT...tons of SHIT. I mean, the place is just a landfill of America's garbage, items and humans, through and through.
Everyone however, including myself, must realize that Walmart has a special place in all of our hearts, especially college students, rednecks, Taunton trash, and the elderly. With all the dirt cheap prices, and incredible quality of product (shit) within the store itself, what's not to love about the place?? The answer, A FREAKIN' LOT.
Please, allow me the honor of taking you on a virtual tour of America's taint, more commonly known as WalMart.
Picture this now. You are pulling up to a faint blue building in your 86 Chevy Nova (you degenerate). You are about 17 and a half miles away from the front doors. You are surrounded by screaming children (we all know children are the plague of the world), the elderly (we've been over this), and rednecks (not real people). Nine out of 10 of them (me being the tenth), have a smile on their face as they approach. They are so excited to roll back prices on dogshit.
Upon entering you undboutedly encounter an incapacitated, 197 year old man or woman leaning on a walker. It is important to note that these lumps of shit are getting paid upwards of $15 per hour to say hello. Literally, THAT'S IT. Christ on a bike....It cannot be fathomed by me to understand that they make more money than most teenagers, spitting on Big Macs, get paid. And ALL they do is say the words hello and goodbye. It is ALSO important to note that 8 out of 10 times they cannot muster up the strength from their voice boxes, or even get the oxygen out of their respirator in time to do this task anyways. And what happens next? They place their gnarled, pale, wrinkled, old hands on your chest as they apply a smiley face sticker on you. It would be to my liking if every child bearing that sticker to be thrown from aircraft.
Next, you see his name everywhere, and on everything. Sam. I want to know who the HELL Sam is. Who is this guy? Well the REAL answer is he is some extremely rich dude, named Sam Walton, and he's off sipping on filtered placenta on his 785 foot boat somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle while umpa lumpas attend to each of his needs. But why is the Sam all we see on the Walmart products? Why is everything his choice? Sam's choice cookies, Sam's choice soda, Sam's choice pillows, Sam's choice vagasil, "Let SAM get the itch out!" Gross....
OH! And don't forget your McDonalds on the way out, because sure as shit, there are fast food restaurants within WalMart itself, holy shit! And your medication, right up at SAM's pharmacy! AND your eye-glasses? Yep! Got those too... Picture this now, grab yourself a Sam's choice happy meal, and from the pharmacy, your Sam's choice BIRTH CONTROL! WELL ladies, may as well name your kid fuckin' Sam, because I would NEVER put my sex life in the hands of a guy who sells cans of soda for 17 cents. Agreed?
OK, so you're all ready to check out. You've grabbed yourself some Sam's choice KY jelly, a box of Sam's condoms, a pair of Levi's default blue jeans (that smell just as bad as the guy who put them on the shelf), a prescription of oxi, and a Barry Manalow CD, (it is important to note that Walmart would rather sell guns and ammunition to 14 year olds in Marilyn Manson T-Shirts that hate jocks in school than carry good music). Next, you approach the check-out counter and are greeted by a red headed bitch who looks like someone threw a pizza at her face. After scanning your items, the 15 year old slam-pig (not an assumption) needs a manager to approve your check, Whatever....
So half an hour later, her "manager" walks over. This is not who you envisioned a manager to look like. Instead, you will most likely be greeted by a 18 year old, tool-shed of a kid wearing a dirty, ripped Metallica T-shirt. He is also sporting a "How may I make you smile today?" apron (eat glass, that would make me smile). Your check is obviously approved and you are free to go. Finally, get me the eff out of here...
Oops! Not quite! You are again greeted by, and told to have a good day by the corpse at the front door. He takes 17 breaths and eventually says "have a good day", you think...., and then proceeds to keel over and die. (It is also important to remember he broke his hip on the way down).
So, now you are miserable and would rather have sex with Rosie O'Donnell than ever enter that store again, and yes I said Rosie O'Donnell, I know. Just when you thought your luck could not get ANY worse, you are struck and killed by a Honda Civic being driven by a 20 year old Landscaper (that's his "career"). A gracious death if you ask me, considering you just came from a human wasteland.
And that folks concludes our tour, and I thank you for allowing me to be your virtual guide as we voyaged through Walmart! Now get out of my face. I need to shower just thinking about that place.
I am eating Sam's choice cookies while writing this, they taste like styrofome that had been up a donkey's ass for centuries
There is however, an allure that cannot be described. An incomprehesible feeling that is endured. What exactly IS WalMart? Yes shithead, I am aware that it is America's home to low prices, the smiling yellow face stickers, and 98% of employees without a high school diploma (dont hold me to that figure). But what exactly IS that place all about? Well, besides the endless "rolling back of prices", allow me to enlighten you...
As a UPS driver, I sometimes am forced to deliver to WalMart. A lot of what I see, is not easy on the eyes; LOTS of "baby-mamas" walking around, not a lot of "baby-daddies" however...I wonder why that is? (Sarcasm). A ton of people forced to work there, and by the looks on their faces, would rather enslavement on a deserted island. And to top it all off, endless isles of just SHIT...tons of SHIT. I mean, the place is just a landfill of America's garbage, items and humans, through and through.
Everyone however, including myself, must realize that Walmart has a special place in all of our hearts, especially college students, rednecks, Taunton trash, and the elderly. With all the dirt cheap prices, and incredible quality of product (shit) within the store itself, what's not to love about the place?? The answer, A FREAKIN' LOT.
Please, allow me the honor of taking you on a virtual tour of America's taint, more commonly known as WalMart.
Picture this now. You are pulling up to a faint blue building in your 86 Chevy Nova (you degenerate). You are about 17 and a half miles away from the front doors. You are surrounded by screaming children (we all know children are the plague of the world), the elderly (we've been over this), and rednecks (not real people). Nine out of 10 of them (me being the tenth), have a smile on their face as they approach. They are so excited to roll back prices on dogshit.
Upon entering you undboutedly encounter an incapacitated, 197 year old man or woman leaning on a walker. It is important to note that these lumps of shit are getting paid upwards of $15 per hour to say hello. Literally, THAT'S IT. Christ on a bike....It cannot be fathomed by me to understand that they make more money than most teenagers, spitting on Big Macs, get paid. And ALL they do is say the words hello and goodbye. It is ALSO important to note that 8 out of 10 times they cannot muster up the strength from their voice boxes, or even get the oxygen out of their respirator in time to do this task anyways. And what happens next? They place their gnarled, pale, wrinkled, old hands on your chest as they apply a smiley face sticker on you. It would be to my liking if every child bearing that sticker to be thrown from aircraft.
Next, you see his name everywhere, and on everything. Sam. I want to know who the HELL Sam is. Who is this guy? Well the REAL answer is he is some extremely rich dude, named Sam Walton, and he's off sipping on filtered placenta on his 785 foot boat somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle while umpa lumpas attend to each of his needs. But why is the Sam all we see on the Walmart products? Why is everything his choice? Sam's choice cookies, Sam's choice soda, Sam's choice pillows, Sam's choice vagasil, "Let SAM get the itch out!" Gross....
OH! And don't forget your McDonalds on the way out, because sure as shit, there are fast food restaurants within WalMart itself, holy shit! And your medication, right up at SAM's pharmacy! AND your eye-glasses? Yep! Got those too... Picture this now, grab yourself a Sam's choice happy meal, and from the pharmacy, your Sam's choice BIRTH CONTROL! WELL ladies, may as well name your kid fuckin' Sam, because I would NEVER put my sex life in the hands of a guy who sells cans of soda for 17 cents. Agreed?
OK, so you're all ready to check out. You've grabbed yourself some Sam's choice KY jelly, a box of Sam's condoms, a pair of Levi's default blue jeans (that smell just as bad as the guy who put them on the shelf), a prescription of oxi, and a Barry Manalow CD, (it is important to note that Walmart would rather sell guns and ammunition to 14 year olds in Marilyn Manson T-Shirts that hate jocks in school than carry good music). Next, you approach the check-out counter and are greeted by a red headed bitch who looks like someone threw a pizza at her face. After scanning your items, the 15 year old slam-pig (not an assumption) needs a manager to approve your check, Whatever....
So half an hour later, her "manager" walks over. This is not who you envisioned a manager to look like. Instead, you will most likely be greeted by a 18 year old, tool-shed of a kid wearing a dirty, ripped Metallica T-shirt. He is also sporting a "How may I make you smile today?" apron (eat glass, that would make me smile). Your check is obviously approved and you are free to go. Finally, get me the eff out of here...
Oops! Not quite! You are again greeted by, and told to have a good day by the corpse at the front door. He takes 17 breaths and eventually says "have a good day", you think...., and then proceeds to keel over and die. (It is also important to remember he broke his hip on the way down).
So, now you are miserable and would rather have sex with Rosie O'Donnell than ever enter that store again, and yes I said Rosie O'Donnell, I know. Just when you thought your luck could not get ANY worse, you are struck and killed by a Honda Civic being driven by a 20 year old Landscaper (that's his "career"). A gracious death if you ask me, considering you just came from a human wasteland.
And that folks concludes our tour, and I thank you for allowing me to be your virtual guide as we voyaged through Walmart! Now get out of my face. I need to shower just thinking about that place.
I am eating Sam's choice cookies while writing this, they taste like styrofome that had been up a donkey's ass for centuries
Monday, February 14, 2011
Who Let the Dogs Out!? (You did, douchebag)
Happy Valentines Day assholes! Seriously, what an absolutely absurd holiday. And, I know what you are all thinking... "you just think that JON, because you don't have someone to share it with" "you're just bitter because no one loves you", or "you heartless asshole, if it wasn't for your brilliant blog, I wouldn't know or care if you even EXISTED!" Although all 3 of the above are correct, EVEN if I did have someone to "share" Valentines Day with, I'd still think that its an asinine holiday. Candy, flowers, teddy bears? WTF. All day long at UPS for the past week, all I've done is deliver endless boxes of 1-800-FLOWERS, Pajama-grams, and stupid candy boxes. All of which I undoubtedly took dumps on, and FIFA World Cupped (kicked) them to your door step.
Well, now that I've gotten the shit off my chest, I think its necessary to talk about something that has recently become a huge problem for me at UPS. As the spring time approaches, I have short-shorts on the mind, and am actually pretty horny about the thought of warm weather. This winter and all this snow has sucked Sasquatch's penis and I'm sooo ready to sport my UPS socks. But, with warm weather, comes peoples' inability to use their brain when it comes to controlling the actions of their dogs.
As you all know, I am for the most part, a fearless ninja. However, nothing brings my blood to a cold chill more than going about my UPS business, approaching a house, packages in hand, and hearing the jingle of dog tags, a barking dog, or the voice of a entirely overweight house wife. All of which bring my good mood to a grinding halt.
I love dogs, don't get me wrong. Dogs are great. Chocolate labs, golden retrievers, boxers, and even muts, are all cool dogs to deal with. They are fun, usually excited to see the UPS guy, and even sometimes stall me from working by having me throw the occasional frisbee or tennis ball a few times. But if you own any of the following dogs, please parachute naked off the golden gate bridge:
Pit-bulls: Why? Why is owning these pieces of shit necessary? "To protect my family!" False. Sir, you live in the suburbs of Massachusetts, not the ghettos of Brooklyn. It is quite obvious that you own one of this breed to compensate for your lack of father growing up, or perhaps, lack of inches in the crotch-al region.
Rottweiler: (see pitbulls) Honestly, same thing. These dogs are almost as bad if not worse than pit-bulls. "But Jon, I rescued one of these from Michael Vicks basement!" Good for you, a real model citizen. Your dog just ate your infant son.
German Shepherd: Some of this breed are exceptions to the rule, but for the most part, these are a mean breed and very territorial. I have had to outrun more than one of these assholes as a UPS guy, but I have also been licked to death by many as well. 50/50 on this one, but for the sake of an argument, I'll have to say trade this model in.
Chihuahuas: What a bitch to spell, and you're even more of a bitch if you own one. Every Paris Hilton wannabe owns one of these douchebag dogs. But do not let the size of them fool you, they'll bite you if given the chance, as will their owners.
Those stupid dogs that look like clumps of fur: I don't even know what they're called, nor do I care. And the truth is these things are absolutely harmless, but why the hell would you ever own one of these things. The ridicule alone is enough for you to hate yourself.
Now, with dogs comes a certain degree of responsibility. A simple "beware of dog" sign is super, but honestly, if you have this sign nailed to a tree, 3 feet from your front door, its really not going to give me enough time to run.
See, God gave each of us one of two traits needed to survive. Darwin recognized them as "fight or flight". If you've even seen my stature, you know which one I'm using. I look like Pinocchio, and can most likely outrun a Volkswagen Jetta (but then again, who cant), so needless to say, give me enough time to run away if your dog's gonna attack me. Or, just be like any other normal person, and if your dog is an asshole, PUT HIM ON A FRIGGIN CHAIN!
Lastly, if you see the UPS guy at your door, and you consider yourself to be at least half smart, DO NOT open the door and let your dog see me. I cannot stand the idiots that do this. Or some stupid, freakin' idiot kid who just opens the door like a shithead, only to watch his dog attack me....asshole.
"Oh dont worry, he doesnt bite!" -Every dumb bitch
Sure lady, he wont bite me, but what he WILL do is completely embarrass me by shoving his nose directly into my ball-sack, as I'm checking out your amazing rack. Awesome....
Well, now that I've gotten the shit off my chest, I think its necessary to talk about something that has recently become a huge problem for me at UPS. As the spring time approaches, I have short-shorts on the mind, and am actually pretty horny about the thought of warm weather. This winter and all this snow has sucked Sasquatch's penis and I'm sooo ready to sport my UPS socks. But, with warm weather, comes peoples' inability to use their brain when it comes to controlling the actions of their dogs.
As you all know, I am for the most part, a fearless ninja. However, nothing brings my blood to a cold chill more than going about my UPS business, approaching a house, packages in hand, and hearing the jingle of dog tags, a barking dog, or the voice of a entirely overweight house wife. All of which bring my good mood to a grinding halt.
I love dogs, don't get me wrong. Dogs are great. Chocolate labs, golden retrievers, boxers, and even muts, are all cool dogs to deal with. They are fun, usually excited to see the UPS guy, and even sometimes stall me from working by having me throw the occasional frisbee or tennis ball a few times. But if you own any of the following dogs, please parachute naked off the golden gate bridge:
Pit-bulls: Why? Why is owning these pieces of shit necessary? "To protect my family!" False. Sir, you live in the suburbs of Massachusetts, not the ghettos of Brooklyn. It is quite obvious that you own one of this breed to compensate for your lack of father growing up, or perhaps, lack of inches in the crotch-al region.
Rottweiler: (see pitbulls) Honestly, same thing. These dogs are almost as bad if not worse than pit-bulls. "But Jon, I rescued one of these from Michael Vicks basement!" Good for you, a real model citizen. Your dog just ate your infant son.
German Shepherd: Some of this breed are exceptions to the rule, but for the most part, these are a mean breed and very territorial. I have had to outrun more than one of these assholes as a UPS guy, but I have also been licked to death by many as well. 50/50 on this one, but for the sake of an argument, I'll have to say trade this model in.
Chihuahuas: What a bitch to spell, and you're even more of a bitch if you own one. Every Paris Hilton wannabe owns one of these douchebag dogs. But do not let the size of them fool you, they'll bite you if given the chance, as will their owners.
Those stupid dogs that look like clumps of fur: I don't even know what they're called, nor do I care. And the truth is these things are absolutely harmless, but why the hell would you ever own one of these things. The ridicule alone is enough for you to hate yourself.
Now, with dogs comes a certain degree of responsibility. A simple "beware of dog" sign is super, but honestly, if you have this sign nailed to a tree, 3 feet from your front door, its really not going to give me enough time to run.
See, God gave each of us one of two traits needed to survive. Darwin recognized them as "fight or flight". If you've even seen my stature, you know which one I'm using. I look like Pinocchio, and can most likely outrun a Volkswagen Jetta (but then again, who cant), so needless to say, give me enough time to run away if your dog's gonna attack me. Or, just be like any other normal person, and if your dog is an asshole, PUT HIM ON A FRIGGIN CHAIN!
Lastly, if you see the UPS guy at your door, and you consider yourself to be at least half smart, DO NOT open the door and let your dog see me. I cannot stand the idiots that do this. Or some stupid, freakin' idiot kid who just opens the door like a shithead, only to watch his dog attack me....asshole.
"Oh dont worry, he doesnt bite!" -Every dumb bitch
Sure lady, he wont bite me, but what he WILL do is completely embarrass me by shoving his nose directly into my ball-sack, as I'm checking out your amazing rack. Awesome....
Monday, January 24, 2011
At My Peak Performance
Hello people. I understand that its been quite some time since my last post, but hey, I'm a busy guy. I do however thank you for your patience and without further due, lets get to the garbage, disgusting humor, and flat out debauchery that is this blog...
As many of you know, I become completely MIA from Thanksgiving through Christmas Eve. This is because people do not go to malls, or stores any more. Nope. They are lazy, and order things by a click of a mouse, spending thousands of dollars on bullshit items that have made companies like Amazon filthy rich, and UPS drivers like me, completely miserable.
I could bore you with my "stats" from peak season. But to save the boring stuff you dont give a shit about, I'll just say roughly, I delivered over 5000 stops, and well over 100000 packages over the course of the one month. I ran over 2 squirrels, 1 chipmunk, as well as 1 unidentified animal, which very well could have been an infant child....I can only hope. And I had no sexual relations with any MILFs on my route. Shit. Topps should make collector cards with pics and stats of UPS guys, that would be awesome...or lame. Dont judge me. Sure beats the hell out of Pokemon cards though, no?
I know its been a month or so since my last post, so I have a LOT to rant about, so much in fact that I do not even know where to start. But, I will say, out of all the notes I have compiled, nothing stands out more than my complete and utter hatred for kids between the ages of 0 and 22. So that's where we will begin...
Kids generally rank into one of three groups. The show-offs, the shitheads, and the ones who will probably shoot up a school.
One such incident occurred while I was making a delivery involving a show-off. You know, "Mom, look, MOM LOOK, MOMMMMMMM!" Shut the hell up kid! No one gives a shit that you can shoot a basketball (and miss), ride a razor scooter, or operate a hula hoop.
Anyways, I was approaching a house on my route, and next door there was a woman chatting with a guy, probably her neighbor, or guy she bangs while her husband is at work. Her kid, was riding a bike around in circles, demanding attention from his mother. She, like me, could give a shit that her son could ride a bike. So, of course, he continues screaming for her to watch, until finally she succumbs . "Mom watchhhh!!!" Seconds after she says "Ok, go!", the kid hits the curb, and absolutely FACEPLANTS onto the sidewalk....awesome. I'm assuming he broke his face. But you could barely hear his screams of agony because it was muffled by my extreme laughter from across the street. The woman, glares at me as if to say, I want you in my bedroom right now. Kidding, she wanted me to die for mocking her kid. Show-off.....
Shitheads come in all shapes and sizes. Most are just sitting in plain sight and almost always will do something so idiotic to bring out their true colors. I passed what appeared to be two innocent children building a snow fort outside of their house one day as I drove down a dead end street to make a delivery. They waved as I passed, and I flipped them off. Kidding, I ignored them. Kidding again, I flipped them off. I made my delivery and as I returned to the end of the street, I got absolutely lit up with snowballs. Me, my truck, everything....assholes! So what did I do? Did I drive out of the street and continue on my way? Hell no. I exited my truck, grabbed 2 fist fulls of ice from the berm of the street and fired back. The kids thought it was hysterical and we were all having a great time...until I drilled one of them in the face. He cried.....pussy. I, however, laughed hysterically and took off down the street. Maybe next time they'll fuck with a FedEx guy instead...
We all do it. Even though we'd rather not. We all at one point or another have entered a 7/11 and made a purchase. I know, I feel like I need to shower after I leave there too, but we all have to do it sometimes. But anyways, that's neither here nor there. What 7/11 ACTUALLY is, is its a breeding ground for every "lost" pre-teen and teenager on the planet. They hang out at 7/11, usually trying to get people to buy them cigarettes, or just loitering attempting to be the next Tony Hawk skateboard king. The fact is this, they are the shit of the earth. One kid asked me to buy him a pack of "Mahhhb Reds". I think this is moron talk for "Marlboro" cigarettes. You can always trust the UPS guy, right? So the kid hands me a $20 and I enter the store. I buy a 32 oz. Gatorade, a $10 scratch ticket, and a Snickers bar. Oops, I forgot his smokes! So, I exit the store and get into my truck, smirking as I pass the future school shooters. "Hey! What about my cigarettes!?" I just thanked him for saving me some cash and took off. I saw what appeared to be a middle finger in a fishnet glove aimed in my direction, the black finger polish is what gave it away...
Til next time folks, I hope you enjoyed today's rhetoric. In the future we will discuss sex toys! As well as the fun topics of alcoholism, dogs, MILFs of course, and oh, Hootie and the Blowfish! I promise less time in between blogs, now that I actually have time in between work, video games, beer, and the occasional sexual encounter (usually involving just myself).
Fin.
As many of you know, I become completely MIA from Thanksgiving through Christmas Eve. This is because people do not go to malls, or stores any more. Nope. They are lazy, and order things by a click of a mouse, spending thousands of dollars on bullshit items that have made companies like Amazon filthy rich, and UPS drivers like me, completely miserable.
I could bore you with my "stats" from peak season. But to save the boring stuff you dont give a shit about, I'll just say roughly, I delivered over 5000 stops, and well over 100000 packages over the course of the one month. I ran over 2 squirrels, 1 chipmunk, as well as 1 unidentified animal, which very well could have been an infant child....I can only hope. And I had no sexual relations with any MILFs on my route. Shit. Topps should make collector cards with pics and stats of UPS guys, that would be awesome...or lame. Dont judge me. Sure beats the hell out of Pokemon cards though, no?
I know its been a month or so since my last post, so I have a LOT to rant about, so much in fact that I do not even know where to start. But, I will say, out of all the notes I have compiled, nothing stands out more than my complete and utter hatred for kids between the ages of 0 and 22. So that's where we will begin...
Kids generally rank into one of three groups. The show-offs, the shitheads, and the ones who will probably shoot up a school.
One such incident occurred while I was making a delivery involving a show-off. You know, "Mom, look, MOM LOOK, MOMMMMMMM!" Shut the hell up kid! No one gives a shit that you can shoot a basketball (and miss), ride a razor scooter, or operate a hula hoop.
Anyways, I was approaching a house on my route, and next door there was a woman chatting with a guy, probably her neighbor, or guy she bangs while her husband is at work. Her kid, was riding a bike around in circles, demanding attention from his mother. She, like me, could give a shit that her son could ride a bike. So, of course, he continues screaming for her to watch, until finally she succumbs . "Mom watchhhh!!!" Seconds after she says "Ok, go!", the kid hits the curb, and absolutely FACEPLANTS onto the sidewalk....awesome. I'm assuming he broke his face. But you could barely hear his screams of agony because it was muffled by my extreme laughter from across the street. The woman, glares at me as if to say, I want you in my bedroom right now. Kidding, she wanted me to die for mocking her kid. Show-off.....
Shitheads come in all shapes and sizes. Most are just sitting in plain sight and almost always will do something so idiotic to bring out their true colors. I passed what appeared to be two innocent children building a snow fort outside of their house one day as I drove down a dead end street to make a delivery. They waved as I passed, and I flipped them off. Kidding, I ignored them. Kidding again, I flipped them off. I made my delivery and as I returned to the end of the street, I got absolutely lit up with snowballs. Me, my truck, everything....assholes! So what did I do? Did I drive out of the street and continue on my way? Hell no. I exited my truck, grabbed 2 fist fulls of ice from the berm of the street and fired back. The kids thought it was hysterical and we were all having a great time...until I drilled one of them in the face. He cried.....pussy. I, however, laughed hysterically and took off down the street. Maybe next time they'll fuck with a FedEx guy instead...
We all do it. Even though we'd rather not. We all at one point or another have entered a 7/11 and made a purchase. I know, I feel like I need to shower after I leave there too, but we all have to do it sometimes. But anyways, that's neither here nor there. What 7/11 ACTUALLY is, is its a breeding ground for every "lost" pre-teen and teenager on the planet. They hang out at 7/11, usually trying to get people to buy them cigarettes, or just loitering attempting to be the next Tony Hawk skateboard king. The fact is this, they are the shit of the earth. One kid asked me to buy him a pack of "Mahhhb Reds". I think this is moron talk for "Marlboro" cigarettes. You can always trust the UPS guy, right? So the kid hands me a $20 and I enter the store. I buy a 32 oz. Gatorade, a $10 scratch ticket, and a Snickers bar. Oops, I forgot his smokes! So, I exit the store and get into my truck, smirking as I pass the future school shooters. "Hey! What about my cigarettes!?" I just thanked him for saving me some cash and took off. I saw what appeared to be a middle finger in a fishnet glove aimed in my direction, the black finger polish is what gave it away...
Til next time folks, I hope you enjoyed today's rhetoric. In the future we will discuss sex toys! As well as the fun topics of alcoholism, dogs, MILFs of course, and oh, Hootie and the Blowfish! I promise less time in between blogs, now that I actually have time in between work, video games, beer, and the occasional sexual encounter (usually involving just myself).
Fin.
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