The Appeasement of an Angry God
The party preparations began innocently enough for the two heroes. They arrived at the community center a couple of hours before the start of the party to help out with the decorations. Bobby and Security Gawd were relegated to balloon inflation duty in a corner far away from everyone else. They were both well aware of the conspiracy afoot to keep them at a safe distance from any vital activities such as setting up electronics or food preparation. However, even something as innocuous as inflating balloons would be fraught with peril for the pair of bumbling ne'er-do-wells.
After threatening to scare the piss out of kids at Disney World while performing the mandatory helium voice trick, the two settled into a tedious routine of inflating balloons. Bobby inflated the balloons and tied them with ribbon. Meanwhile, Security Gawd put them together in arrangements of one shiny balloon, two red balloons, and two white balloons. Things were moving along at a nice clip.
“We should be done in no time at all,” said Bobby as he surveyed their progress. “Just a few more bundles and we can finally do something useful.”
Bored with being an automaton on the balloon inflation assembly line, Bobby blew up a balloon in his mouth and held it there. He intended to let it slip from his mouth to see where it would fly and what mischief it would cause. Security Gawd noticed Bobby's scheming and promptly foiled these plans by popping the balloon while it was still in Bobby's mouth. The balloon murder for Security Gawd's mere amusement was the event that angered Him.
Whup: An Update. And Other Nonsense
I've gone one full week without committing a "Whup" slip. It has taken a ridiculous amount of effort on my part. I'm actually surprised that I have the attention span to pull off my solution: Constantly repeating the mantra in my head, "don't say 'whup,' don't say 'whup'…" Up to this point, this method has been a resounding success. I have gone from saying "Whup" nearly every time I leave my desk, to not saying it at all. I've felt a “whup” surge up my esophagus a few times, but the mantra has kept it from escaping.
I'm fairly certain that prolonged use of the mantra will hasten my ultimate fate of being locked away in a padded cell. I truly fear the day that I let the mantra slip and say it aloud as I'm walking around. I have a tendency to talk to myself when I think nobody is around; I've been caught before and I'll get caught again—it's only a matter of time. Imagine if I'm repeating that mantra when I get caught. Now that I think about it, that's probably the event that'll have me committed.
Here's what's happening with the site:
- Li just posted her first article Stankonya
- Zia is putting the finishing touches on her first article. I've seen it, it's funny!
- Security Gawd will have his eagerly anticipated article on Hello Kitty up soon
- I'll post a movie review within the next week. It's one from my Top 10 of all time. Here's a hint: Sum Dum Goy.
- Babe of The Week will be up Friday morning. Check the teaser pics to see if you can guess! No prizes--I'm broke.
- I have some updates to the site I still need to get to including fixing up the GOTD archives, fixing a few issues with Comments, adding the Authors page, and the Graffiti Wall.
The Babe of the Week teaser in case you missed it
On the Eighth Day, Man Destroyed Tuesday
Another Monday is in the books, which leaves Tuesday to just suck furry rhinoceros balls. Tuesday is the worst. Tuesday is the puke splotches left on a Port-a-potty seat on a hot summer day by a drunk, herpes-infested whore that couldn't stomach fulfilling some bizarre, whips and chains, Dungeons & Dragons fantasy of a fat, 49 year-old man with a pimply ass who still lives with his parents. Everthing sucks on Tuesday. There's no hope; no point in even thinking about the next weekend. Traffic is terrible since everyone is back from their weekend or three day break—if they took one. Hell, even TV sucks on Tuesday, so there's nothing to look forward to when it's finally over. Fuck you, Tuesday.
At least Monday you can reflect on the past weekend; it's still fresh in your brain and you have something to talk about. Wednesday is “hump” day. As much as I abhor goobers who say “Happy Hump Day,” they're at least onto something. It's true. Once lunchtime has passed on Wednesday, it feels like a million pounds have been lifted off your chest. If you've ever run a race, it's similar to reaching the halfway point. You're dog tired, running out of gas, beat down, brain dead. You wanna quit, but you've already made it this far. Besides stopping and walking would be stupid. You still gotta finish the course—stopping will take even longer. Thursday is the day you see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's busy as hell, but you feel like you're blood, sweat, and tears are finally about to pay off. Friday might as well be the third day of the weekend. You still have to go into work, but nothing gets done because everybody fears making the mistake—the one that'll bring you in on Saturday to fix it.
The only true working days are Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I propose we abolish Tuesday. It's a complete drag on society—its destruction will make the world a happier place. It's the least productive working day since everyone is so depressed. It's the day of “it'll never end.” So, I'm taking it out. That leaves six days in the week, which doesn't divide into 365 very cleanly. Neither does seven for that matter. While we're at it let's fix that retarded mess. We could add another day to each year to make it 366 days for a clean 61 weeks. Or, even better, let's keep it at 365 days a year. We'll take out Friday along with it.
Sure Friday is fun, but it's entirely useless. It's a weekday in weekend day's clothing. It's there to fool you. It's like a transvestite day. It certainly looks like weekend day—it acts the part. Then you take it home and BLAM! some nasty old dick falls out. You can either be gay and play along or you can kick its ass out. I vote for the latter. Let's stop with this Friday charade and just ditch the stupid day. At least until the leap year. I think we can give the trannies one day every four years to celebrate peckers and fake boobs. Or not.
So now we have five-day weeks: three days of work, two days of play. Thursday, the most productive and hopeful day of the week, becomes the final weekday. Now you have 146 weekend days instead of 105 and 219 working days instead of 260. We've eliminated 104 worthless or soul-sucking days and replaced them with a healthy mix of productive days and days off. It only cost us a total of 41 working days. However, you actually gain 11 days of pure production since Fridays are a waste and we just trashed 52 of them. You see—more time for family, friends, drinking, eating, hobbies and more production for the Man. Everybody wins!
Whup!
“Whup!” Perhaps I have made this noise my entire life—I can't be sure. I only recently noticed that I say “whup” a lot; to the point where something needs to be done to stop it. My “whup” does not, in any way, sound cool like the “whup” in “open up a can of whup ass!” No, my “whup” is a meager, small-voiced, barely audible yelp that escapes my throat before I can catch it and push it back down where it belongs. It almost sounds like a quick and quiet “hup,” but there is a definite “W” forming in my lips when I say it. So, I spell it “whup.”
I formulated a theory last week that I say it because I am in the middle of saying “Whoops;” I try to stop myself when I realize that I am not at fault in whatever incident occurred, but am already committed to making some noise. Hence I say “whup.” I would go along with this theory except that I never, ever use the word “whoops.” If I am in the wrong usually I'll just say “my bad,” since I'm a teenager of the 90's.
So that begs the question: When exactly do I use “whup?” Well, it seems to be a catch-all a variety of situations. Here is a sampling from the past week alone:
-
Somebody opened a door as I walked by and almost hit me in the face. I turned to the person and let out a mild “whup.” In this situation, I was not at fault, so it couldn't be a “whoops.” I was also probably a little annoyed at the person in question. “Whup” could be loosely translated to mean “watch where you're going you stupid fuck!” All tucked into a hushed mumbling “whup.”
-
A person walking in front of me dropped something. “Whup!” I exclaimed. Here I was probably about to inform this person of his misfortune, but he turned around to pick up the dropped item as I was about to tell him. I let out the “whup” in an attempt to show the man that I saw the incident and, even though he noticed it, I had his back. I also pointed at the item along with the “whup,” which was somewhat primal behavior on my part.
-
As I turned a corner down a hallway, I almost trampled some poor chick. I feinted right and then moved left to go around her. She did the exact opposite maneuver causing us to block each other's paths. We stood there in the hallway engaged in some bizarre two-step trying to move around each other. After I made the left movement, I saw an opening and let out a mild “whup!” I think this “whup” was used as a small, but significant exclamation of triumph since I was able to finally maneuver past her.
-
The facility where I work has a security gate that opens when you swipe your badge along the sensor. The gate takes a second to close after somebody in front of you goes through. If you try to walk through before the gate recloses, you'll make it through, but an alarm goes off and the person behind you in line has to wait about 30 seconds for it to reset. A lady in front of me wasn't paying attention and walked through the gate without swiping. Not wanting to lose 30 seconds of my life, I tried to stop her before she reached the point of no return. By the time the word “STOP” had reached my tongue, she had already set off the alarm. My hand was reached out in a mock attempt to grab her by the collar while I let out a mouse-like “whup.”
-
A guy that I have never seen before in my life asked me how I was doing as he passed me by. He did not stop for an answer, but I wanted to acknowledge that I heard the question. What should I have said? I didn't want to inform this stranger of anything significant about my life; I doubt he cared since he didn't show any desire to stop. My mind was racing for an appropriate response. Nothing came to mind so I was just about to say, “Sup!” Then I realized that he was an older gentleman and likely a boss of mine somewhere up the chain. So, my “sup” became a gentle “whup.”
We have a “Pardon Me,” “Watch where the hell you're going,” “Dude, you dropped something,” “I'm fine how are you,” and a “DON'T DO IT!” It's a versatile mutter—no pun intended. I used it on more occasions than this, but there does seem to be a pattern emerging. Firstly, I tend to use “whup” around strangers. Second, it seems to occur when I am about to say something and attempt to reel it back in to say something different. The “whup” phenomenon definitely requires further investigation. My goal: Elimination. It sounds awkward and makes me feel like a Chihuahua when I uncontrollably yap it. To eliminate it, I must first understand it. I'll see if I use it around people I know.