Fore, Fat Fucks

Several days ago I was partaking in one of my favorite outdoor activities for the first time in far too long. This activity being frolf - not to be confused with disc golf, its bastardized commercial whore of a cousin. Anyhow, this had been the first time my partner and I, who shall only be referred to as "Big Play," had played in some time. So despite the fact that we were both self-admittedly rusty, we were still enjoying ourselves... initially. Now I consider the both of us quite considerate when it comes to frolf etiquette. If a player or group behind us is constantly on our tail or waiting for us, we'll let them play through and just hang back for a moment to give said party its necessary space; accordingly we hope to have this same attitude "payed forward" toward us. Unfortunately - mostly for the other party involved - this was not the case on this given day.
We didn't get more than three holes in when a group of the most insidious nature started to "throw us off our game," pun intended. We were constantly being bombarded by the sounds of several fat, loud and annoying individuals. In all fairness one of them wasn't fat but he was equally obnoxious so I don't feel particularly bad lumping him in with the rest of the swine.
Just before we eclipsed the half-way point, hole 9, we'd noticed that the aforementioned group was constantly on our tails. It's worth noting that even Helen Keller couldn't have missed this group coming. I have no issue with people playing quickly - just getting up to the tee and chucking without a second thought. However that usually means you're either really slick or really terrible, oblivious and/or apathetic. Given the placement of the swine party's discs I noticed, terrible and oblivious are the superlatives that best apply. Big Play and I had talked about letting these guys play through just so we wouldn't have to hear their every stupid word with every terrible shot they took, however we both decided that in principle they didn't deserve any special treatment. Ironically enough, one of them would later receive some anyhow.
Around hole 13 one of them finally decided to halt his ongoing nuisance of a soliloquy to ask us if they could play through. The verbal exchange that proceeded probably didn't go as he had expected...
Annoying guy: "Hey, would y'all mind if we played through?"
I immediately shouted back a fairly curt "YES!"
"Yes we can play through?" the annoying faggot asked.
"No!" I shouted back. "Yes I mind if you play through you dumb fuck."
"What the heck man there's no need for that kind of language," he retorted.
Said idiot and his swine brigade began to talk amongst themselves, clearly trying to formulate some kind of plan of action. Big Play and I took the opposite route and continued to play in the most nonchalant manner we could muster whilst totally ignoring them. I notice the one non-fat guy emerge from the group and start walking toward us, near the end of the hole. We of course continued to ignore him, never once turning our backs to acknowledge his presence until he was within touching distance. My favorite part of his impending approach was that just as he had finally reached us I made a fairly bad-ass long range putt. The chains rattled as my disc hit the disc-catcher utterly perfect - in trajectory and timing - and interrupted his initial attempt to open his maw. Afterward I turned around like it hadn't been the best shot I'd made all day to face him.
"So what's your problem man?" asked the swine party representative.
"My problem is that you faggots have been loud and annoying the entire fucking time you've been here," I immediately replied.
"Wow man, who uses that kind of language, think about the integrity of the game," he said.
"I do." I instantly replied, with a smirk. It was already abundantly clear that my totally unnecessary normal level of rage had intimidated him.
"Well whatever man, I'm not trying to get the police involved out here," implying that he was going to fight me.
"You wouldn't have to worry about them anyway, you'd be dealing with people in a hospital. Would you like me to remove my sunglasses so you can see my eyes?" I asked him with great anticipation. I, of course, had found the perfect opportunity to rip off my sunglasses - a la The Rock, the Great One, The People's Champ, the Most Electrifying Man in Sports Entertainment - and then deliver one of my own favorite trademarks: the stare-down. Unfortunately, he indicated that I should leave my glasses on and my heart subsequently sank. However when he proceeded to turn around to walk back to his group without saying another god-damn motherfucking word, I cheered up a little - and then burst into laughter with Big Play, who had been playing it cool as the silent, distant enforcer lurking in the shadows several yards away throughout this entire exchange.
As we continued to play through the rest of the course, we never heard nor saw the swine party again. Imagining what this guy said when he went back to his group of friends after venturing out so boldly pleases me in a way that can only be described as a Chasexual climax. Reality Checkmate.

Son of Anarchy Online

Earlier today I happened to be driving on a fairly high-traffic boulevard at probably the worst time of the day. There is no getting out onto this road without some give-and-take, to quote a skilled Nascar orator. Essentially unless you're a huge pussy and/or you feel like being an inconsiderate asshole and holding up anyone who may be behind you indefinitely, you're going to pull out in front of someone. This isn't to say that you have to cut someone off but if someone behind you doesn't lay off the gas a little or show the least bit of courtesy and perspective, you're going to have someone on your ass. And since apparently the Southern population of the United States is largely comprised of god fucking awful drivers, you're always going to have someone on your back-bumper. On this day the individual who felt I had cut him off was a fat black man on a hog. The word hog describing his motorcycle as opposed to who he probably spends his private-time with. It's pretty common knowledge that if you drive a motorcycle you're automatically hard and a total bad ass. Somehow this logic applies universally despite the fact that I could kill him at will with my '91 Tercel - from Hell.
Clearly displeased he pulls up next to me and gives me a dirty look and waves his index finger, trying to tell me no, no, no you just don't do that to a biker. He is probably equally displeased at the fact that I'm wearing headphones, and those pseudo-clear douche-bag-esque sunglasses - but hey they're the ones I leave in my car for sunglass-less emergencies, so I wear them with pride - after I clean them off. Anyhow, I subsequently held a hand up and made a shrugging gesture toward him, trying to communicate that I couldn't care less, then drove away. As we approach the next red light, I notice he and a fellow biker bad-ass were sitting right behind me, clearly gesturing toward me and gossiping like a bunch of housewives desperate for Bojangles. So as I notice them looking at me through my rear-view mirror I begin to make nonsensical hand and arm gestures, attempting to indicate I am fully aware of their conversation and they can both go fuck themselves. To make sure my point wasn't lost on these two sons of appetite I concluded my performance by immediately stopping my frantic arm movements and giving both of them two very clear middle fingers. Apparently they got the message but weren't very happy about it. We're still sitting at the same red-light, so one of them pulls up beside my driver's side door. I had both windows up at the time and I briefly considered just leaving it up and acting like I couldn't hear what he was saying. However in the end I gave in to my temptation of a possible verbal sparring bout, in which I seem to have difficulty using self-restraint - and just frankly enjoy.
"Do you enjoy living?" the biker asks me. Little did he know how terrible of a target he had chosen for such a question. With my headphones still on, I replied "not particularly," half-way laughing in my delivery. The light had turned green by this point and cars were finally starting to move. He was clearly struggling with a reply to my light-hearted response so I simply quipped "See ya!" and drove off, never seeing the bikers again throughout the duration of my trip home and also feeling somewhat smug knowing that I had delivered some dimwitted bikers with a much needed... Reality Check.

Security Tard

So I figured since it's been about a year since I've blogged about anything (and I'm not counting the Reality Sec post which seemed like a great idea stoned but I immediately regretted publishing the next day and have since deleted) and my massive reader base has been hounding me to write something, I'd try and salvage the remainder of 2012. Additionally I'm thinking this might serve as a nice distraction while I countdown til the apocalypse. If that doesn't pan out at least this could help to get my momentum going for a more productive 2013 - which seems nearly impossible not to accomplish at this point. I'll begin with a recap of a temp. job I got through my sister, which as you might be able to guess, was working as a security guard around the week of the DNC - with other intelligent, dignified and overly qualified individuals.
After accepting the position my first task was to complete (although I'd say endure is more appropriate) a 4-hour training course of the basics. Upon being seated in the training room and having a quick glance around, the first thing I noticed was the fact that I probably weighed about half of what the next-closest classmate did. Not that I'm not used to being the most "concentrated" person in any given room at any given time, however this was a bit more excessive than usual. Our instructor was a middle-aged guy named Brent who seemed pretty down to earth and looked in pretty good shape for a guy his age, juxtaposed to my classmates. Right off the bat he won me over with his announcement that he doubted the training session would last 4-hours and we'd probably get out early. One of his first questions was to asking if anyone had any prior experience working security. A few of the other class-members did and raised their hands to indicate this was the case, with the exception of one guy who decided he'd rather enlighten us first-hand with a verbal account. To say he was overt in his attempt to impress both the instructor and the rest of the class would be an understatement. I was immediately perturbed. I also noticed that he had something that looked like a cross between poison ivy and herpes around his eyes. As strange as it is that I should be so quick to point out a fault of someone who rubbed me the wrong way, I attempt to regain my composure and remain calm and open minded. Unfortunately this was made difficult by the fact that he perceived any feedback by the instructor as encouragement to continue with these ad-lib accounts of his experience both as a security guard for another company, which supposedly worked in close conjunction with the police and a volunteer fireman. I honestly have nothing but respect for firemen, even volunteers; I do not share this sentiment with members of the police or their acolytes. As more and more time is wasted I quickly found these outbursts as legitimate reason to despise this fat fiend whose name was Adam. My hatred grows with every word this obvious cop-reject says. It also becomes increasingly obvious that not only were we not going to get out early but that we'd soon eclipse the 4-hour barrier because of Adam's stories. At this point I'm equally impressed with both the level of anger I'd achieved within and the fact that I'd managed to retain my outer composure. Finally, a little after 4-hours a cessation; the class ended. I took solace in the fact that I'd never have to deal with Adam again.
A few days later I received my schedule from my boss, Emma. I had instructed my sister to relay to her that I preferred to work long hours as to cut down on gas cost and travel time so I wasn't shocked to see I had several 12-hour shifts and I was actually glad when I noticed they were all in the same location. I was informed of my duties which would be working as concierge at a high rise uptown in-which many tenants had rented out their normal apartments for absurdly high prices to people coming into town for the DNC. I get to sit at a desk inside a nice building - awesome. My enthusiasm was immediately curbed when I discovered I'd be working in association with Adam - every single motherfucking god damn day. Not that this news was in the least bit surprising - I literally laughed when I was informed, much to her confusion. I was - and am - totally used to situations just like this one on a regular basis. Up until this point I had been under the impression I would be working solo. Solo guard-work was apparently the norm, just that this week, with the DNC in-town, things wouldn't be normal. I rationalized the scenario that I was essentially being paid to endure Adam's company for the week, as I reasoned working as concierge during late-night hours would be fairly uneventful. So I went into the situation with a surprisingly good attitude knowing that at any time if I felt annoyed I could fall back on the logic that I was being paid somehow for just being there. And after being given a tour of my nightly responsibilities for the week on my first day by a more experienced guard who had worked there before, I still felt my logic was intact. One of us was to remain at the lobby front desk at all times while the other could patrol various other parts of the building and keep an eye on the side entrance. We were supposed to check DNC-members in who had rented rooms through the appropriate channels along with building members who either lived there year-round or were already checked in had a key-FOB which opened the door electronically and alerted us with a beep. Anyone who did not have a FOB but wanted access to the premises had to be verified via a list we were given - which we later discovered was never up-to-date, predictably.
The first night on the job went relatively quietly, much to my pleasure. Among my first observations was that this wasn't the case for Adam. He obviously wanted something he deemed important to do - ironic given the nature of the security guard position. He also furthered his case as a cop-reject by continually going outside to try and converse with the plethora of police officers on the street, not that I was complaining. Adam talking to someone else meant he couldn't be talking to me and that I'd get to access the front desk computer. Also strengthening my resolve that he was indeed a wanna-be cop was the fact that every time I pulled up a browser he hadn't closed I'd find him looking at things like Tazers and handcuffs. Additionally he always had at least two radio-scanners going at all times (one would normally be on the police channel, the other his volunteer fire department despite the fact it was located over a county away and he was on a job he couldn't drive to or from), one of which he'd sometimes plug-in some ear-bud headphones to and run one wire up to one of his ears, under his security guard shirt, which fed out his neck as to mimic some kind of blue-tooth, douche-bag secret service look. Simultaneously both hilarious and pathetic. Another observation was that despite the fact that I was getting paid more-per-hour, unbeknownst to him, he clearly thought he was lead-dog in our security tag-team and would try to "take charge" of any and all situations. I had no problem with this scenario however, as whenever anything actually occurred which required our intervention I'd immediately defer and let him deal with it, while continuing to do absolutely nothing but occasionally surf the web or make rounds patrolling the building and delibarately taking an inordinate amount of time to do-so. To make the situation even better (for me), it was fairly evident members of the building were annoyed with him constantly harassing them in one way or another. I consistently parlayed this obvious sentiment into a good-guard, bad-guard scenario, in which I was - of course - always the good guard. Evidence my plan was working was the fact that on several occasions when we were separated I had members of the building spontaneously coming up to me thanking me for helping them with either him or some aforementioned situation they were both involved in. In a select few cases in-which the building members were approaching the both of us asking questions they would immediately defer a look to me, even while he was talking to them or when asking a question and/or awaiting a non-retarded answer. After such situations would occur, he'd consistently ask me if I had a minute to chat with him, then either wait til coast was clear of people or pull me into a back room. He'd then try to either advise me of what I did incorrectly in said situation or give me what he viewed as constructive criticism. "Now don't take this the wrong way..." Playing my part I would always nod or act like I cared about anything he had to say, only to do the exact same thing as before the next time an opportunity would present itself.
On the last day of our assigned concierge duty the tension came to a head in a way that pleased me more than I could have possibly imagined. There was a small group of protesters coming down the street toward the intersection our building was located on. To their credit, the police were more than ready for this despite the fact that it was pretty late at night. There were easily thrice the number of police officers as there were protesters and they lined the streets ushering the protesters in a specific pre-determined direction. When the small group of protesters grew nearer, Adam predictably jumped at the opportunity for some "action" and went outside to join his fellow officer faggots (meant in the general pejorative sense - of course). I was off "patrolling" at the time it approached but was called back to the lobby when Adam called my phone alerting me I was needed. I quickly returned and manned the front-desk PC. Just as the protesters reached our building Adam opened one of the front doors informing me he needed me outside. I reluctantly walked outside to join him. He immediately instructed me that the police had told him not to let any protesters walk past the inside of one of the massive pillars which surrounded our building and that I should stand guard there and not let anyone past. All the while we're surrounded more cops than I've ever seen anywhere, ever. So I did what I'd done all week and completely ignored him, letting the very first person who approached the inside of the pillar where I was located walk right past me. Not that it was our job to protect the outside of the building in the first place. The police immediately contained the person and blocked said pathway, instructing the protesters of the pre-determined path they had to follow. Adam was obviously embarrassed by my marked disobedience, especially in front of the police buddies of whom he so desperately wanted the approval. My apathy clearly demonstrated, I walked straight back inside to the front-desk to finish my Freecell game and man my post. A short while later when the protesters had all finally dissipated from our building's proximity, Adam came back inside looking like he had something to tell me - shocker. Once again he asked me if he could talk to me in one of the back rooms and once again I reluctantly followed him.
"Now don't take this the wrong way..." he begins (like he had every time, all week)
"No, you don't take this the wrong way..." I interrupt. "But I don't give a fuck about the police. I don't give a fuck about anything the police have to say and I honestly hope they all fucking die - which they will."
It's clear from Adam's reaction that he wasn't expecting this.
"Now don't take this the wrong way..." he repeats for the umpteenth time. "But I work with the police when I'm on fire duty and I take offense to that."
"I don't know what to tell you," I reply. "No offense to you or anything but most police are a bunch of pieces of shit. I can give you multiple examples right now of how they've literally fabricated evidence against me with no proof whatsoever. I have no respect for them, the law or our legal system. Firemen actually provide a needed service. What do police do? Have you ever honestly witnessed one of them stopping a crime that wasn't traffic related?"
Adam looks incredulous. It's as if I'd just told him there was no Santa.
"Now don't take this the wrong way..." he says AGAIN as I realize the gravity of his stupidity. "And I'm sorry for what's happened in the past but when an officer tells you to do something, you're supposed to listen."
I realize how hopeless the given situation is and almost feel sorry for him. Though as long as I perceive he has the ability to breed almost feeling sorry for him will have to suffice.
"No I don't," I retort in the most authoritative tone I can muster.
"Alright. Fine then," he replies in a manner that makes it clear the conversation is over and he's angry.
"Alright," I pop back in a chipper tone and turn march back to the front desk as he opens the side-exit of the building and steps out.
Instead of returning to the lobby I used the exit on the other side of the building, as I suspected he might do something rash and didn't want to draw attention to myself using the main entrance doors. I notice him on his cell-phone and then return to the lobby desk without being noticed. A short while later my boss, Emma, calls my phone. She asked me what happened and I break down my aforementioned side of the story, which also happened to be true. She informs me that he had called one of the other security guards to lodge a complaint against me via proxy. What a dumb fucking pussy, I think to myself. As if anyone wouldn't realize the source of the complaint given we were the only two guards at that building. I'm on the verge of breaking down every single thing he did wrong the entire week, including when on several nights he'd disappear for periods of over an hour, stretching to several hours a couple of times and I'd suspected he was in the fire control room sleeping (There's only one key to the fire control room which he'd always grab when he'd show up. Since I could use the PC and I didn't have to deal with him if he were in there sleeping, I didn't care - not that I could've or would've slept anyway.) but I keep my mouth shut and let her continue. Not only was she angry that he had bothered one of the other guards just to complain in a passive-aggressive way, she was furious at the actual content of the complaint. Furious at him. Security guards have no legal jurisdiction outside of their given area and would be subject to legal action, putting the company at risk. So the very nature of his complaint automatically put him in the wrong. Additionally he had apparently been making up stories about me complaining to her the entire week. Stories which were repudiated by a more experienced, trusted, non-temp. employee in my sister, as I'd talked to her a few nights that week and briefly explained to her how dumb and annoying this guy was. This repudiation was verified when I gave her the same account of every side of the story my sister told in my defense, almost verbatim. I'd noticed him staying behind to talk to her in the mornings when we were relieved. By then I was so desperate to get home that I couldn't have cared less what they were discussing. He was now the sum of a liar, a tattle-tale and an idiot utterly in the wrong, in addition to being a fat wanna-be cop retard with ocular herpes.
The car ride back to the security firm was gloriously quiet (she'd pick us up and drop us off along with the guards responsible for relieving us as many of the streets were blockaded to civilian traffic). Once again I drove off in my Tercel seeing them "talking" in my rear view mirror; this time Adam was doing a lot more listening than talking, though. No sooner did I return home to enjoy my first and only day-off of the week than did I see my boss calling me. Upon answering she informed me that Adam had been fired and apologized for his behavior. A fat, dumb and possibly infected cop-reject had just been served an indelible... reality check.