Husband Calls 911 After Wife Called “Fat”

May 29, 2009

In the never ending pursuit of ways to abuse the 911 emergency line, a Fort Worth, Texas husband called police to report that 2 men had called his wife fat. That’s it. Not that they beat her or were chasing her or stole her purse…just that they called her fat. 

Apparently, a couple of guys were handing out flyers to a gym in a residential neighborhood. It appears they tried to get the woman’s attention as she was walking her baby. After she ignored them, I think their feelings got hurt. At that point they started hurling comments such as, “you’re fat”, “you have a fat gut”, and (my personal favorite) “you eat too many donuts”. 

The wife, now upset, did not say anything in return but rather called her husband. That led to her husband calling 911. Maybe he thought the police would swoop in and take down these two nefarious characters. Obviously, he was under the impression that calling someone a name is a major crime in Texas and might even need to be met with lethal force. 

What is interesting to me is that no one, the woman or her husband, disputed the fact that the woman is fat. So, if she is fat, does the average person have the right to tell her so? Sure, it is rude and callous but that is not the same as illegal. The police decided that no charges could be pressed because the 2 guys had not actually done anything illegal. 

Also in Texas, a woman was asked to remove her “Yankees Suck” t-shirt, or cover it, while attending a Texas Rangers game. This leads me to the obvious question, “When did Texans become such big pussies?” 

When I lived in Texas, any woman you called fat would have simply turned around and punched you. Then her family would have come to your house and pounded the crap out of you. Problem solved. And a t-shirt that said “Yankees Suck”? It would not have registered one little bit. 

I am going to blame Dubya for the pussification of Texas. I am willing to listen to other possible reasons but, since he screwed up everything else, I am blaming him. Not to worry, I am sure that Barry will have Chicago all pussified in no time. Must have something to do with being the POTUS. 

Anyway, for the last time, 911 is not meant to be your personal complaint line. If your Starbucks is cold, or your wife is called fat, or the drive through is slow, DON’T CALL 911. This has been another public service message brought to you by TL. You are welcome.

One For The Young People Friday

May 29, 2009

I thought I would throw a song in from this year just for the heck of it. This is the only one I know.

Why Do Black Men Keep Kidnapping White People?

May 28, 2009

Well, not actually kidnapping them…just being accused of kidnapping them. The latest case involves Bonnie Sweeten and her daughter, Julia Rakoczy. Bonnie called 911 to say that she and her daughter had been carjacked by 2 black men and stuffed into a trunk. 

Of course, this never happened. Bonnie and Julia were tracked down at the Grand Floridian Hotel in Orlando. (Maybe the black guys wanted them to enjoy their kidnapping by taking them to Disney). She is being extradited from Florida and will be charged with making false police reports and identity theft. (She bought her airplane tickets with a friends ID). 

By the way, here is a photo of the lily white Bonnie. (Looks a little like Liz, doesn’t she?).

Victims In Trunk

This story really pisses me off. As an occasional black man, I am tired of my brothers always getting blamed for kidnapping or killing whitey. How come the Mexicans never get blamed for anything? They are way better at smuggling people so they would be natural born kidnappers. Yet they never get blamed. 

What about Indians or China men? What about the French? Except for nannies, they hardly get blamed for anything. And let’s not forget the most nefarious criminals of all…midgets. (Or dwarves, as they preferred to be called). They are up to no good all of the time. But, since they are so damned cute, they always get off of the hook. 

And what about Albino people and Eskimos? They are always sneaking around acting all guilty. My point is, there are a litany of other choices to be made when deciding on who you are going to try to frame. You don’t always have to choose the black man. In fact, it is so played out, that you lose credibility almost immediately. 

Now, if she had accused black men of stealing from her, well, that is totally believable. Everyone knows that they steal crap all day, every day. It is as if their swimming gene was replaced with the stealing gene. Funny how God made that happen. Just his little joke, I suppose. 

Well, I think I have pretty much offended everyone except clowns and monkeys so my work here is done. Please, leave my brothers alone. Fo shizzle.

another crazy white woman

The Day I Was Blinded…Metaphorically, Of Course (BB&B)

May 27, 2009

Have you ever seen something so hideous and grotesque that it became emblazoned into your brain never to go away or recede with time? This is the story of one such image. 

The day started innocently enough with me volunteering to clean my Mom’s car. It was a pale blue VW Beetle and I thought I would be a nice 14 year old kid and polish it for her. 

After washing and waxing the car I figured I might as well clean the interior to match the now beautiful exterior. I started by clearing out a variety of small items in the car and then went about cleaning the windows and such. 

The last item I decided to clean was the glove compartment. This decision would change my life in a way that has never been resolved. I took out the usual items one would expect to find until the compartment was almost empty. In running my hands over the bottom of the glove box, I grabbed what felt like Polaroid pictures. 

Sure enough, that’s exactly what they were. I flipped one over and immediately noticed that it was the photo of a nude woman. Her face was not viewable because the flash from the camera blocked it out. Odd, I thought, that I should find it in my Mom’s glove compartment. 

And that’s when it hit me. The nude woman in the photo’s I was holding was my own dear mother. Maybe for most people, this would be a non-issue. After all, nudity is beautiful in some cultures. Not in my world. For me, the picture seared into my mind like a heat seeking missile. I felt my stomach churn and thought for sure I was going to hurl. What kind of deranged person takes nude photo’s of themselves and then leaves them around for minors to stumble across? 

My vision blurred from the sensory onslaught, I stumbled out of the car like I had been shot. I tossed the pictures onto the passenger seat like hot coals from my hands. Now what? I didn’t dare risk seeing them again by grabbing them and how would I ever face this woman again without that revolting image popping immediately into my brain? 

I grabbed one of the towels I had used to clean the car and threw it over the photos. I then collected them under the towel and threw them back into the glove box. The same glove box I would never open again for the rest of my life. I then put the rest of the stuff I had taken out and placed it back on top of the photos. It took hours before I regained my composure…and vision. 

I probably didn’t look my mother in the eyes for at least a week after that. And even that was not enough time to erase the stain of what I saw from my memory. I never told her about what I found and have no idea what she was doing with them in the car in the first place. Swapping them like baseball cards? 

Parents, consider yourselves warned. Your innocent moment with the digital camera might just come back to haunt you. Worse yet, it might partially blind your child and impair their sanity. I can testify.

Did You Get Your $1 Flip Flops?

May 26, 2009

You know, the ones that were on sale at Old Navy. I am assuming everyone got a pair because I have never seen such ridiculous lines in my life. It was like an out of control amusement park. Now, before you think I was out flip flop shopping, let me explain. 

My family and I went out for a brief shopping excursion. My main reason for going was to have a nice lunch with just the 4 of us. My wife and daughter mentioned that they wanted to go to Old Navy to get in on this $1 flip flop deal. 

Now, I don’t know what flip flops normally go for, but if you are paying more than a dollar, already you are getting screwed. Besides, who the hell wears these things except little kids and rather rotund men and women that are also sporting spandex? 

In any case, we walk over to Old Navy. I decided to go in to absorb some free air conditioning. From the moment I walked through the door, it was clear that something was horribly, horribly wrong. There was a line of people that snaked endlessly throughout the store. This was the checkout line. Are you kidding me? 

Immediately, I turned around and headed straight out of the store. I felt that there was a 50/50 shot that my wife would show similar good sense and quickly follow my lead. A minute later, out she came. She had done the quick math and figured that waiting an hour in line to buy $1 flip flops was a losing scenario. 

Still, that did not explain the ridiculous number of other folks. How broke do you have to be to wait in line for such a pitiful payoff? I could see if they were selling porn, crack pipes, meatloaf, or some other valuable item. But flat pieces of rubber? Un – freakin’ – believable. 

What I need is for one of you honest people that stood in line to buy these things to explain yourself. What in the hell were you thinking and how much free time must you have to carve out an hour for flip flop shopping? Did you just have to have the pretty blue ones or, more likely, are you simply a shopaholic that has no self control. (Art, I am guessing you or Liz are going to be offenders). 

To my lovely wife and daughter, thank you for proving to me that you have the common sense that I suspected you had and bailing on such a silly scheme. Splurge on me and go buy some of the high end $5 flip flops*. (Limited to one per family member. May not be substituted for another item).

Nancy Pelosi To Have Tom Brady’s Baby

May 24, 2009

Or something like that. I was asked to write about Pelosi and Brady so that’s all I could come up with. After all, what else can be said about these two?

Pelosi is a wealthy, power mongering whore that lies and misleads just like every other veteran politician. By and large, that is exactly how they become veteran politicians. Did she rat out the CIA or know about torture but failed to act? Who cares? If she didn’t do it (or know about it) replace her name with any other dirty politician. It’s all part of the game. Stop having any kind of positive hopes about politicians…even Barry. The money is all that matters. Always has, always will.

As for Brady, of course he got Gisele pregnant. By just gazing into a woman’s eyes, he can get her pregnant. When you ladies see Tom, don’t you wonder what that “popping” sound is? That’s a zillion eggs dropping saying, “Fu** me Tom. Fu** me hard all night long”. (As you may have noticed, your eggs can be somewhat crude and impolite). I would expect he will give Gisele a nifty litter of children.

And, while I am thinking of it, how many people would be naming their kid “Gisele” if it wasn’t for her smoking hot looks? After all, Gisele is just another way to spell gazelle and you wouldn’t name your kid Anteater or Antelope. Beautiful people get away with murder. I bet even her farts smell like fresh made cinnamon rolls. And you know that the BradyBundch baby is going to incredibly attractive. Not all ugly and misshapen like most babies.

I hope I have covered both the Pelosi and Brady issues to your satisfaction. The usual question is, at this point, “TL, would you hit that?” As for Pelosi, no. They way she walks around with a permanent look of shock on her face might make me feel inadequate. As for Tom, I would go gay for him in a minute. I would still be the pitcher, because I have standards, but yeah, we would be making sweet man love.

Before I go, a quick thank you and an I love you to our men and women of the Armed Forces. These are awesome people and should never be taken for granted or ignored. Every day we should be remembering them and taking care of them in any way we can. Much love to my peeps, TL.

Have A Mighty, Mighty Friday

May 22, 2009

(Dedicated to barelyknittogether).

Obese Woman Hauled Off On Flat Bed Truck

May 21, 2009

Sure, she weighed 750 pounds and was dead when they hauled her, but still, a flat bed? Teresa Smith, 48, passed away in her rather large bed. The coroner in Marion County (Indianapolis) decided on a humane and respectful way to dispose of the body.

He had a bunch of guys drag her mattress, with her still on it, across the lawn to a flat bed truck. Once loaded, they covered the body with a piece of carpet. How is that for a brilliant plan? I am surprised they didn’t just use a back hoe but maybe one wasn’t available.

This happened in front of Teresa’s 13 year old son, boyfriend, and other neighborhood folk. “I think they should have handled it differently, putting her on a flatbed like they did. That was like putting a cow up there,” said Smith’s boyfriend, David Johnson. (Dave, a little hint…using the word “cow” was probably a poor choice of words).

A former coroner disputed the fact that there was no better way to move the body. He insists that rotund people are not uncommon and that most major counties have the appropriate equipment and vehicles to handle it. I guess Indianapolis just isn’t a big enough city.

I wonder what the weight limit is for one to earn the right to be hauled away in a “normal” vehicle. 300 lbs? 400lbs? Fat people are always getting screwed over like this. They have to buy 2 seats in an airplane, they have to sit on tiny toilets (tiny for their ample asses, that is), they have to wear spandex even if it chafes, they can’t do it doggy style because it is physically impossible…just a plethora of disadvantages. Depressing.

One neighbor offered an excellent idea about how to move a large body the next time. Order a “moo-ving” van. While the comment might be seen as slightly insensitive, it is not without merit.

I do have a serious question, however. When Teresa gets to heaven, will she still be 750 pounds? Will Jesus have to give her a separate cloud or have specially made “super sized” wings prepared? I am still confused on whether the body goes to the hereafter or not. If so, you should at least have an option to trade in your body for a better model. Heaven is closer to the sun so it has to be hot up there. Us fat people do not do well in the heat.

My First Solo Road Trip (BB&B)

May 19, 2009

By the time I turned 16, I was living in a variety of places. With friends, family members, my car, step parents…wherever. I had my trusty Chevy Vega (hatchback, of course) and all of my belongings in my car. 

While bouncing around in Missouri, I decided to take a trip to Florida to visit my Mom. Now, while it is true that the Vega drank 3 quarts of oil a week, she had never failed me. So, I packed up my stuff, including my awesome color TV bought with hard earned dishwashing money, and hit the road. 

All was fine with the world as I barreled down the highway blasting the latest and greatest 8 track tape from my strewn together sound system. I was in the Tennessee mountains, near Chattanooga, when the first sign of trouble struck. 

Smoke started to come up from under my hood. Now, normally, I would have stopped, lifted the hood, and looked generally perplexed. (I didn’t then, and still don’t know, the first thing about cars). Since it was about midnight, I was feeling less than anxious to pull over in the middle of nowhere. So on I trudged… 

Soon, a variety of red warning lights came on and said, “Hey, dumbass, your car is broke”. While I appreciated the info, I pretty much knew I was already in trouble. The fact that I was driving with my head out of the window to avoid the smoke was my first real clue. 

I am not sure how long this smoke filled state lasted but I remember one trucker coming up on my tail end and blaring his horn. Like the nice dummy lights, he was also telling me I might be having some car trouble. Ya don’t say….thanks trucker brother. 

As I prayed to anyone that would listen and became increasing convinced that Deliverance was awaiting me when I pulled over, a miracle happened. The smoke cleared up and some of the dummy lights went out. The car seemed to be doing ok and all was right with the world. It was now the middle of the night but I made it to a car dealership in Chattanooga. 

I slept for a few hours until the Chevy dealership opened. The guy said something about my pistons not having pressure or some such double speak. I told him I had $50 and would that be enough to fix it. Once he stopped laughing, I asked if he thought I could make it to Florida in the cars current condition. Once he stopped laughing, again, he said I had a 50-50 shot. 

I made it about 2 miles before flames started shooting out from under my hood. This time, a real fire had started but, at least I was still in town. I gracefully pulled my burning car into a gas station and turned it off. I then gently removed myself from the car, jumped up on the hood and started stomping the hood cursing in every bad word my 16 year old vocabulary owned. As I looked up from my rant, an old couple seated at a bus stop watch me with the most perplexed look on their faces. 

The gas station guy said the car was officially dead. I asked if he would watch my belongings, including my beloved color TV, while I caught a bus to Florida and figured out a way to come and get my stuff. He said he could make no promises but would do the best he could. I knew for sure this was the kiss of death for everything I owned. 

Undaunted, I bought my bus ticket and got to my Mom’s house. Although she had no car, she was able to meet a guy in a bar that drove her to Chattanooga that night. Now, if you live in this kind of world, this makes perfect sense to you. If you don’t, there is no way I can explain it to you. 

Two days later, Mom pulled up in strange dude’s car with all of my stuff in tow. My dreams had again been answered. Also, the gas station guy gave her $25 for the car parts. (My awesome sound system and 8 track was worth at least $30). I let Mom keep the cash and made many more of those types of road trips over the years. It’s a great way to see the country. 

Oh, and no offense, but fu** you Chattanooga.

Can You Send A 28 Year Old Man To His Room?

May 19, 2009

If you are Andrew Mizsak, 63, you sure as hell can. Andrew’s 28 year old son Andrew (let’s call him Andy), refused to clean his room. In fact, he was so upset at being asked to do so; he threw a plate of food across the room and shook his fist at his father. (I haven’t seen a good fist shaking since The Honeymooner’s). 

At this point, Andrew did what every parent of a petulant child does; he called 911. It is unclear whether the po-po actually went to the home however a report was filed. According to the report, “Andrew was sent to his room to clean it. He was crying uncontrollably and stated he would comply.” You don’t generally see adult men crying over being forced to clean their room but I guess there is a first for everything. 

So who is Andy Mizsak and why is he living at home? Here is a photo of the handsome devil:

andrew mizsak

Andy serves on the Bedford School Board. He also works as an independent political consultant. Since he lives at home rent free, my guess is that neither job pays well. Of course, I would think that the number of politicians that are willing to pay for political advice from a guy that lives in his parent’s house is probably pretty slim. 

This is the kind of guy that should definitely be on one of those shows like The Bachelor. Who wouldn’t want to see this? He could bring his date home to momma and poppa and he could entertain her in his dirty bedroom. If she complained about it, he would just burst into tears and run from the room. That is some truly “must see” TV. 

In the end, father and son kissed and made up. Papa admitted that calling 911 might have been a bit much and young Andy promised to do a better job of keeping his room clean. I think there just might be an extended curfew, say 10pm, for Andy due to his good behavior. Plus, possibly a new Playboy magazine slid under his door for being a good son. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. 

Oh, and if you attend a Bedford School Board meeting soon, do not even think of throwing diapers or pacifiers at the dais towards Andy. He weighs in at 270 pounds and will kick your “not living at home” a**. 

Clean your room ya lazy bastid!