Tag Archives: humor

Guest Post: If technology is sexy then you are a fat bitch!

This marks a monumental occasion for BlogTruth.  My first ever guest post.  This one comes from my good friend Holden who you may have seen hanging around in the comments section from time to time.  

I’ve been helping people fix their shit for some time now. In college I worked a tech support job and fixed computers for extra cash.  I was a lonely fat looser back then. Later I grew into doing some web development and small business consulting.  That sucked too because small business owners are even cheaper than me. Eventually, two college degrees later, I graduated to the big leagues doing consulting for a large organization serving some of the biggest companies in the US.  So far that’s been good.

What do all these jobs, both large and small have in common? At their core, they all involve you helping people do shit they either don’t want to do themselves or simply can’t. For the most part its because they can’t.  Some people can’t find the power button on their computer, some companies can’t find the data they’re looking for.

When people call up tech support, hire you to do something as a freelancer or hire a consulting firm to do a project, more times than not that person/organization has tried to do the job themselves, and royally fucked it up, failed miserably and now bear a nice fat, black and bruised ego. I can deal with this. What I can’t deal with are the folks who simply refuse to do anything for themselves.  I mean ANYTHING!

And this leads me to my rant. I’m guest posting on BlotTruth today to save my sanity, to calm my nerves and frankly, to keep me from smashing in the face of a needy, uppity BITCH whose best talent is pointing and telling people to do shit for her that she is too mentally lazy to do for herself.

This woman is a personal client of mine. She owns a few shops around town and hires me to be her personal geek squad boy.  If I was a little better hung I would undoubtedly be her love slave too. Only I’m averagely hung and I wasn’t originally hired to be her personal geek squad bitch. I was hired to be her photographer, social media guy and web developer!

Over time, I have experienced the dreaded “Scope Creep!” (Yeah, I learned that in my MBA) Slowly, more and more duties creep into my duties. I’m pretty sure by next week wiping her ass will be in the job description too.

The worst part is pay never increases, only time and effort spent tending to this needy ass, helpless woman. And being the passive aggressive guy I am, I never say anything about it, opting instead to write cowardly anonymous blog posts, full of complaints and whiny ass rants.

The problem with this person isn’t that she is ignorant or devoid of technology skills, it is that she refuses to exert any sort of effort in solving the smallest of problems!

For example, a few weeks ago I received the phone call in the middle of the day while at my day job and was asked,

“why won’t my mouse work?”

I reply, “Did you check to see if it is plugged in?”

For a reason only God knows, it wasn’t. She plugged it in, it still didn’t work.

She asks, “The computer doesn’t see it. Can you come by?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m at work… did you try restarting your computer?”

I understand that some people aren’t computer literate, but seriously, is it that difficult to use even an ounce of problem solving skills? What if this was a TV remote. I’m willing to bet virtually none of you are aware of how a TV remote actually works, but if your TV remote wasn’t working, wouldn’t you at the least check to see if it had batteries? And if it did, would you maybe… change them…. And if the TV still didn’t respond, would you maybe try unplugging and plugging it back in? GASP!

Basic troubleshooting isn’t rocket science! Yet, some people, namely this woman, is unwilling to exert even a basic amount of effort to fix anything for herself. Instead I keep getting these hair brained fucking texts and phone calls on a semi-weekly basis. Earlier today I even got an angry text asking why the phone wouldn’t work. My response, “I have no idea, have you tried checking with the phone company?”

So, here is my plea to all of you out there in blog-land. Please, please, Oh Sweet Jesus please exert even a thimble full worth of effort before asking your tech support guy for help. At the least, restart whatever it isn’t working, unplug and plug it back in and make sure it has batteries or is in fact plugged into the wall!

Do it for your sake, not ours. After all, you’re only making yourself look like a total tool and asshole.  Also, there is a good chance your IT guy is rubbing his balls all over your keyboard in spite.  (Okay, not really.  Maybe.)

Thank you.

How to get over Mommy issues, Daddy issues, Family issues, and All other Generally shitty happenings in life

There I am sitting on the plane ready to take of to Dallas, TX.  My phone rings.  It’s my Mom and she’s upset and crying, again.  We are literally on the verge of taking off so I tell her I will have to call her back as the flight attendants are prompting me to put away my phone.  For the next hour and a half I ponder why the fuck I am stuck dealing with parents like this.

Is this some cruel punishment for something I’ve done to the Universe?  Of course I don’t believe that, but I can’t help but complain about the injustice in the world.  I have mommy issues while my friends actually benefit from having GREAT parents. (Then again I wasn’t born with aids in Uganda – that’s unfair.)  I digress.

Anyhow – I do not want this blog to become a place where I complain about mommy and daddy issues.  I’ve done that plenty.  If you want to ready about that you can read this or this and by that point you will probably had enough of my whimpers.  Instead I want to talk about what I’ve learned from all this grief and a lifetime of dealing with shitty parents that continue to plague me – I’m sure there are others out there who might read and maybe even benefit from it.

So here are three simple steps for dealing with shittyness:

Deal with it, Move on

When you have something bad happen to you in life you have two basic choices: Dwell on it or move on and enjoy life.  The trick is choosing the latter 100% of the time.  I have spent hours of my life stressing about what I am going to do with my parents (as a child and adult) and at some point you have to realize living YOUR life is the priority.

It may sound shitty and perhaps a little selfish and over-simplified, but at some point you have to look out for number one – that’s you (and your wife/kids).  Stop thinking about your depressed mom and your shitty drug addicted father and move one.  Think about how beautiful the world is and explore it.  Think about the people you can help, that are in your situation, and help.  Make your dreams come true – it’s cliche’, but fuck it, I’ll say it again – make your dreams come true.

Metaphorically Punch your Parents in the Mouth for being so GODDAM SHITTY!

It’s okay to be a little angry at your parents.  If you are like me and dropped onto this earth for no apparent reason to unreasonably shitty parents who squandered every opportunity – I feel you.  Instead of yelling at them, arguing, hating them, and even the risk of physical violence to have your sweet, sweet revenge – don’t.

The best way to metaphorically punch your shitty parents in the mouth is to just be happy.  Ignore there issues and focus on your family.  The instant you could care less about their issues and you feel at ease – you’ve won.  Then revert to the bullet point above.  Be happy.

Be incredibly fucking Awesome!

Sorry for all the vulgarity, but let me just say I have found that the best way for me to knock off the dirty build up of life’s shittyness is to be incredibly fucking awesome all the time.  Yes, I’m serious.

Pursuing happiness and adventure with a passion, living life so damned hard that President Obama would do a speech on it after a stock market crash to console people who lost everything, to be so damned awesome that what other people are doing means shit to you.

Invent something, write a book, travel, have adventure, love, build, help, and do everything else you always wanted to do.

If you aren’t doing that – then look at your life and ask yourself what’s keeping you from it.

Two Bachelor Parties, Two Days

“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occasionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.

If you are curious about what the quickest way to develop cirrhosis of the liver is I can tell you.  Plan and attend two bachelor parties over the course of two consecutive days.

Right now I feel filthy.  I have ingested more alcohol than I care to consume in the next 6 months, I have witnessed more whores undress for singles than I have in my entire life, and I’ve seen enough vomit on cream colored carpet to last a lifetime.

Since my memory is too foggy to tell a decent story about what happened I figured a few highlights would suffice.

1. Shot and beer guzzling at friends house. I have procured moonshine from a local distillery. We realize moonshine does in fact put hair on your chest.
2. Binge eating of meat products at one of the best BBQ joints in the South. I manage to get the local band playing to give our bachelor a shout out. The crowd cheers and we quickly realize this was a great idea due to multiple patrons buying us alcohol and encouraging binge drinking.
3. More beers and shots at the local pub. Realize a gay bar is next door and what could be more tempting to a bunch of gay guys than a bachelor?
4. Gay guy hits on me.  I’m flattered.
5. Drunk.  Go to strip club to reaffirm our manliness.
6. Become more interested in the type of people who frequent strip clubs than the actual strippers themselves. Try to carry on “real” conversations with strippers and quickly realize she only wants my singles. I do not want a lap dance – neither does anyone else – I become disappointed because I really wanted to write about an entry on this blog entitle “this hoes life”.
7. Bachelor goes shirtless in probably the most crowded street in Atlanta. Arrest seems likely.
8. The Bachelor, who is a literal and certified genius, can no longer remember basic tax code nor add 3 digit numbers. He begins rambling incoherently about “what’s happening to me.” We ignore his complaints and continue force feeding him alcoholic beverages mixed with energy drinks. Bad idea in retrospect.
9. Take taxi back to house. Bachelor passes out. Wakes up briefly and vomits all over the floor. Success.

I wish I could go into more detail about what happened, but I think that’s against the bachelor party code of ethics – especially when the grooms in question are business professionals.  I’ll just leave it at this – everyone survived and the wedding is still on.  That’s good enough for anyone.

What happens when you work with a fucking idiot?

So we hired a women that I am fairly sure is retarded.  The problem is she’s old, changing careers, and used to a different pace.  I commend her for trying, but my frustration builds with every less than appropriate action she takes.  She moves slow, asks bad questions, is horrible at reading the client, and doesn’t listen when I give clear advice.  Honestly, its not working out.  So just for fun, during lunch, I created a comic.  Enjoy.

Continue reading

The Thoughts of the Simple Minded

I hate to keep bombarding the loyal readers of this blog with garbage from Facebook, but wow does it give me a lot of good material to complain about – which is also the sole factor preventing me from deleting my account and all of these good ole’ boys right along with it.

In any case, below is a lovely conversation between a village idiot I went to high school with and happily a few people that seem like they might actually have a brain in their head.

Yes, this is life in the South at times.  There are some good guys, some bad guys, and a lot of idiots.  Enjoy shaking your head and wondering to yourself if the world is doomed after all.  Just in case you were wondering – no I didn’t comment.

Continue reading

Should Women Shave Their Pits?

To each their own and I’m sure there are some very good lessons in teaching your children about not forcing themselves to fit into the gender roles of society, but I have to say – this conversation kind of weirds me out.  I love my free and liberal friends though.

My final verdict?  Ladies, if you don’t want to shave your pits – or any other body part for that matter – don’t.

Forget Vegas – What Happens in Chicago STAYS in Chicago

“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occasionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.

What I did was despicable, terrible, accidental, unplanned, unforgivable, and also memorable. What I did is something no one should ever do and no I do not commend my actions. If anything I discourage them, but as this blog is about being human, about the truth, I will shamefully tell it anyway – however hesitantly I proceed.

Let me start out by saying being a young man in a bar with your closest work friends (who have become personal friends) with an unlimited bar tab and tables that have taps of limitless beer and liquor – is a recipe for disaster and mistakes to be made. Even by a man like me who prides himself on having integrity. A word I can barely write at the moment.

The night started out innocently and unplanned enough. Of course we planned on drinking as much as possible on the company dime – who wouldn’t. However, when the bar closed at 1am and we had ingested an untold number of beers and two older women were hitting on me continuously – what was I to do? Resist?

I’m a young guy in my mid-20s. I am married, so I’m not proud of what happened. My conversation with the women started of completely innocent. I talked about my time in the city, asked for suggestions, and even talked about my wife and their husbands. It was a blur, I will admit, but to my knowledge I was completely forth-coming and polite – yet it seems that older women with husbands really, really like younger men with wives.

Upon blackout a friend of mine (also attached) and I teleport to their hotel room. I don’t remember leaving the bar, making the decision to follow them, nor arriving to the hotel.

Let me stop right here though and say that I was strong. Stronger than most in this position. I resisted their constant propositions. However, that did not stop them from undressing and that did not stop me from looking. I’m not proud. I shouldn’t have put myself in such a situation and how I resisted the desire to take full advantage I may never know.  Still, I deserve a kick to the testicles if nothing else.

Now this is where the story gets funny because if you know me than you would completely understand that this is something I would do. In the middle of all of this “excitement” somehow we get on the subject of politics. (Me being from the South they joked that I hated Obama) That’s when, in my drunken stupor, my mind went from thinking about sex like a 14 year old – to politics. I started in on all of my beliefs and proofs – many of which you have read in this blog. I think the fact that I subconsciously care more about economics and politics than a naked women is clearly more shameful than being in the room with two naked women while I’m married.

In the end I convinced two very liberal women that Ron Paul is an excellent choice for president and that many of my “pseudo-socialist-libertarian-naturalist” viewpoints are incredibly valid. This made me feel AWESOME since both of these women were clearly well educated executive types. They could have very well been my boss. To make matters worse I went on a rant about integrity (while ironically showing no integrity at all).

That’s about the point I felt completely disgusted with myself and realized I was about to force myself to leave and take a very expensive cab ride back to the hotel, alone. So I excused myself and took the walk of shame down to the hotel lobby and shook my head when I noticed the sun was coming up.

I hailed a cab, cringed at how much it cost, drank a lot of water and coffee, took a shower to rinse the disgust off of my body, and went back to work. Now I’m just trying to forget these memories of blatant idiocracy on my part. The shit I feel right now in the form of a massive hang-over, the credibility I may lose from all my “many” readers, and any negative consequences that come from what happened – I deserve.

I’ll leave you with a the most memorable quote from the night (please excuse the language): “You are an impressive young guy. I would hire you and I would fuck you, but not necessarily in that order.” How do you forget something like that?

She dumped WHAT over your head?

“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occasionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.

A few months back I went to New Orleans to celebrate the New Year.  It was the second straight year my best friend and our wives had made the journey.  We love the great food, the music, and the cheap drinks so it usually makes for a good time.  The only problem with New Orleans is that going there always turns into a shit show.  I’m not sure if it’s the combination of loud music, energy, women exposing their breasts, and alcohol – or what – but inevitably something goes wrong.  Too much sin, I guess.

One thing you have to understand is that my best friend and his wife have two kids.  They are little demons from hell so no one, not even me, will babysit. The two of them never get out under normal circumstances so when they do it’s kind of like letting a lion out of the cage with a bunch of antelope after feeding him vegan dog food for the last few months.  Substitute antelope for tequila shots and Bloody Mary’s and you have the some understanding of the situation in question.  Looking back on it now I realize the problem was that we were over-zealous and over-ambitious.  We started drinking at about 4pm and actually expected to make it until midnight.  Rookie mistake.

Being a bunch of cheap-asses we started drinking in the hotel room.  I guess $3 drinks weren’t cheap enough.  I distinctly remember my friend’s wife guzzling a concoction that would run my car and feeling like I was going to puke just watching.  In the back of my mind I knew we were screwed from the start.

After an hour of boozing in the hotel room like a bunch of frat boys we hit the first bar – which was conveniently located next door to the hotel.  We drank $3 Bloody Mary’s for dinner.  For a while we thought about staying there all night, but for some reason we decided relocating would amplify our fun.  So we found ourselves at a more crowded, shittier, bar on Bourbon Street.  This part of the story starts moving so fast in real life that I have trouble describing it now.

Soon enough the only thing I can remember is it being dark outside and admiring a nice pair of fake breast expertly implanted and evenly proportional.  I remember examining them more out of curiosity than perverse enjoyment.  My wife was next to me and neither of us having touched a pair theorized on the density and texture of said breasts.  We came to no consensus.

I also remember complaining that fake breast bother me.  This made my wife happy. A few flashes later and I have a “huge ass beer” in my hand and we are listening to a white guy rap on stage.  It was mediocre.  I do remember wishing for a second I was rapping on stage, but even in my drunken stupor a white-man two step jig was all I could manage.

I remember eating a slice of pizza and saying to myself “you’ll be running that off tomorrow” – for some reason I wasn’t concerned about the empty calories from all the beer I was consuming.  At this point I also had about 5lbs of beads around my neck that I am not certain how I acquired.  I was only marginally concerned later the next morning  that they smelled like puke – especially since I had not vomited that night.

Next I remember seeing my friend.  He was soaked and furious.  “She dumped a $10 drink on my FUCKING head!”  I remember being more concerned at the wasted $10 than my soaked friend.  Apparently his wife and he had an argument brought on by cheap booze and loose women. She had dumped a giant mixture of vodka and juice over his head.

His shirt was stained cranberry red and everyone in the immediate area could only stop and stare in amazement wondering what might happen next. My friend stormed off and we didn’t find him until well after midnight and New Years Eve had ended.

I remember sipping my beer while all this was going down thinking “this is a real shit show”.  His wife started crying and I pretended not to acknowledge her existence.  We had become those people with the crying lady in public.  No amount of booze could make up for what had just happened.  It’s the first time in my adult life I remember looking at someone I care about and thinking “you deserve to cry.”