Monthly Archives: October 2014

Hot Mic


A little while back my wife told me one of the DFW radio stations decided to go on location to Texas Presbyterian Hospital in order to do their morning show and called it ‘No Fear Friday’ (I’m assuming it’s The Edge, as it totally sounds like something Jagger would do as filler between repeated tracks of Fitz and the Tantrums.) Anyway, the proceeds from whatever they were doing in lieu of the show were going to help pay for the costs accrued by the first nurse stricken with Ebola, Nina Pham. At some point a man called into the show –even though he never listens to this particular station- and complained that they were willing to donate to the ASIAN nurse, but not the BLACK nurse who contracted the virus. And that was this dumb motherfucker’s whole argument: they were somehow being racist because we were favoring one non-white over another.

LISTEN, YOU STUPID FUCKS: Amber Vinson was a healthcare professional. That means she’s well aware of the significant risk of exposure to ANY blood-borne pathogen and virus, as well as its likely effects. She KNEW the risk she posed after treating Thomas Eric Duncan. She KNEW she needed to be self-quarantined, and that meant she was not allowed to use any sort of commercial transportation. And yet she fucking flew out to Ohio anyway. Why? Not because she’s some creature of inferior intelligence who should be pitied because her black skin makes her incapable of realizing the gravity of her situation. She is a woman who was smart enough to get diplomas and certifications in the healthcare industry, and decided to be a selfish cunt.

Now, I do understand that once she gained a fever she CLAIMS to have called the CDC and asked if it was okay for her to board a plane. But where’s the proof in that? And if she did, how much did she divulge? I’m only saying this because while I know the CDC has shown what can be construed as gross incompetence in handling this situation (actually I’d say it was more of a careless political spin than anything,) even the lowest intellectual quotient in the call center would put 2 and 2 together successfully if someone said they were a nurse under the first Ebola victim’s care, and were now showing symptoms. Granted, I’m simply setting up a scenario, but imagine getting a shitload of calls ALL FUCKING DAY from dipshits in Rhode Island, or fucking MAINE, or ANY PLACE that isn’t Dallas, Texas and having people say, “My kid has a 99-degree temperature, do they have Ebola?” Surely some chick calling and saying, “Hey, I have a fever, and need to get on a flight from Columbus to Dallas. Is that cool?” would certainly be ignored. But let’s suggest that she’s telling the absolute truth and called the CDC, and after a good 45 minutes or so finally talked to a human being to tell them, “My name is Amber Vinson. I was one of the qualified healthcare professionals tasked to treat this country’s first Ebola case, and now I have a slight fever. Should I board a flight back from Ohio to Texas?” only to get a response of “Sure” rather than, “WHAT THE FUCK? Why were you on a flight TO Ohio, you dumb bitch?!?!” Regardless of any culpability the CDC may have here (and there’s PLENTY to go around,) it does not dismiss the fact that this woman knew better than to do what she did.

So yeah, this radio station was donating proceeds to the one person in this story who didn’t lie or carelessly ignore her way around this disease. It should not, and DOES NOT matter what color these lying cocksuckers happen to be. All that matters is that they fucking suck. And the only people who are making this a race issue are ignorant black opportunists. So fuck ‘em.

By the way, once they successfully treat Vinson, I expect some sort of retribution. She should no longer be allowed to care for anyone in her field, and bitch better see some jail time. And if you think I’m only saying that because she’s black, then okay. Think what you want (if you can go so far as to actually call it ‘thinking.’)

Behind Closed Cheeks


Happy Mondays, kids! Remember that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine was using a public stall that had ran out of toilet paper, and had to ask the rather stingy lady next to her if she could ‘spare a square?’

Yeah, that episode used to be hilarious.

Let’s get down to a bit of history about me. I may be daring and stupid enough to talk about my daily foibles on this ego-stroke of a website (albeit a low-volume one,) but ultimately I keep to myself for the most part. I don’t like eating in front of people, mostly because if I can HEAR you chewing, then all I want to do is wish for your painful death by lockjaw. But a lot just has to do with the fact that being in public makes me painfully aware of my surroundings, and that makes me rather uncomfortable. There’s no rationale to this, I can promise you. No one is affixed at my every bite, or lending a modicum of focus at how my cheeks move with every mastication. But dammit, it sure feels that way to me. So I tend to eat at my desk most of the time.

Now, as irrational as this peeve of mine sounds, there is a bit of reasoning behind a similar issue I have when it comes to going to the bathroom in public facilities (preferably the bathroom part.) But comparatively? Well, maybe there’s a tad more justification behind not wanting people to hear me blow ass in the bathroom as opposed to just clumsily eating a taco in the cafeteria. Don’t get me wrong, I can oversome any sort of awkwardness I’m naturally inclined to express (sang in a rock band; alcohol helped.) It’s just embarrassing to think I’m doing something so natural yet SO private in a room where other people can waltz in and out regularly. And the LAST fucking thing I would ever do is talk to someone while I’m sitting on the commode. Hell, I’m surprised I don’t have a pair of ‘poop shoes’ in my cubicle that I can don and not have to worry about anyone recognizing the footwear of the guy who just exorcized a shitdemon with an eldritch funk that carried itself onto their clothing.

I should really get a pair of those, though.

But time and necessity has helped over the years with this issue. I no longer giggle out loud when someone’s fart resonates through the echo chamber that is the big bathroom by the break room. And my qualms have relaxed greatly to the point where I don’t have to wait 5 minutes for the coast to clear before I can conduct my one-man butt orchestra. But today might have ruined all my goddamn progress. Well, at least it could, but I like to think I got lucky.

I was propped down on the toilet after lunch, just doing my business whilst perusing Tumblr(I’ve been drinking dieter’s tea lately, mighty effective!) When it was time to “wrap it up,” so to speak -I’m a folder, not a scruncher; get a better perimeter that way- I reached under the lip expecting some single-ply to be hanging in antishitpation. Instead? FUCKING NOTHING!!! “Holy hell, what do I do now?” was the first thing that ran through my mind. There was no damned way I was going to strike up a conversation with the guy next to me; even if he was cool and sent some under for me I’d still need to go find a nice quiet conference room and kill myself. So I did what any awkward beta would do in such a shituation: Clenched my cheeks as hard as I could and loosely buckled my pants, desperately hoping I hadn’t suffered from TOO much of a viscous movement (like I said, been drinking dieter’s tea; sometimes you feel like your insides are liquefying, and more than once have I played a game I like to call When The Hell Did I Eat THAT?) Then I ninjaesquely jaunted over to the nearest (hopefully) open stall. Fortunately no one was in visible presence of me, and I picked an available one (thank God!) I wiped, did my business, and thanked my lucky stars that I could go one more day in this company without being known as Poop Boy.

Next time I’m taking PTO and going home to do my deed. I don’t mind shitwalking in front of the cats for some reason…

A Handy Little Guide


I’m probably a shitlord for posting such sensible stuff. But goddammit, we’ve reached the apex when it comes to consciously ignoring common sense. I read yesterday where a guy in California explained why their current consent laws don’t work, and unfortunately the message taken away from that is that a lot of girls -I’ve never met any of them, but whatever- only say no when they want to have sex because they don’t want to look like a slut, but that ‘No’ actually means ‘Yes.’ And if that’s true, then FUCK YOU, YOU INDECISIVE CUNTS. You’re the reason for these new buzzwords such as ‘preponderence of evidence,’ and ‘clear consent’ even exists. I was fortunate to end my college years in a town renowned for its quite liberal stance on sex (i.e. nobody gave a fuck if you were a slut, get your nut on!) But looking back, if any one of those girls I was fooling around with’s boyfriends found out, they could have told them to cry rape or they’d break up with them, and then my life’s path would be all but gone. I’ve ready many a facscinating excerpt on reddit and elsewhere of that very thing happening to guys in college, and I consider myself lucky that I dodged what has metaphorically become an ever-expanding bullet. And if by some strange reason my wife and I were to ever divorce (probably because of something I did,) then I’m buying a fake ID that says my name is Zach Sowell and sticking with hookers. Considering a $300 romp with a 10 will cost less than dating a 6 or 7 for a month, and the former GUARANTEES I’m getting laid, I’m thinking that’s the ONLY intelligent way to party in this day and age. Plus, hey, I can finally get it on with a topheavy black chick, and not have to worry if my ‘manhood’ is sufficient. $200 is plenty thick.