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Mr. Know-It-All: Parental Discretion Disregarded

13 Apr

April 13, 2011

RATED M for mature. (And S for stupid.)
This blog contains mature themes and immature subject matter.
Reader discretion is advised.
Adjust your disgust accordingly.

Hey gang, your old pal Mr. Know-It-All is back and man, what a dump this place is. I stumbled back to the office and my key wouldn’t even fit in the lock anymore. At least I think it was my key, who the hell knows? You find so many things in your underwear when you wake up under an old Chevy that you never really know what belongs to you and what belongs to the homeless crackhead you bought the underwear from.

Anyway, I’m back to put some meaning in your stupid lives. Let’s get this ghetto caravan rolling with some letters from Dear Abby, or as I like to call her, That Old Bitch.

DEAR ABBY: I have been dating a wonderful woman I’ll call “Shannon” for a year and a half. She has most things that I want in a partner, and I often feel she’s better than I deserve. We’re in our early 30s, and Shannon is saying she will soon need some kind of idea where we are going in the future.

I’m having trouble with the notion of committing to her forever because I’m still attracted to other women. (I haven’t been involved with anyone else since starting to date her.) More worrisome, I’m afraid I’ll meet someone I’m more attracted to a few years down the road.

How can I be sure that Shannon will make me happier than anyone else I might meet in the future? — CONFLICTED IN WASHINGTON STATE

Jesus H. Christ! Hey, colostomy bag, what kind of freak are you? You are “afraid” you’ll meet someone you’re more attracted to down the road? Goddamn right you will! This two-bagger you are worried about will be old and dumpy one day- maybe she already is, I don’t know what kind of loser you are. But you know what? Eighteen year-olds are forever. And guess what else? There are always more eighteen year-olds when they get old and skanky. Man isn’t meant to be married to one woman forever. Just ask Mr. Know-It-All, that’s what alimony is for. Lift up your balls, toss that jizzpot Shannon out the door and start banging some cheerleaders. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs, and the agility to bend around the corner. That is what you want in a partner.

——————-

DEAR ABBY: When one person owes another person an apology, does it count as a legitimate apology if the word “but” is tacked on at the end? I think adding “but” takes away from the admission of fault and places the blame back on the person owed the apology. Am I right? — WAITING FOR AN APOLOGY

I am sorry. I really want to answer your question but you are a dick. See? You are right.

But you’re still a dick.

———————

Hi teens. I took this letter from Seventeen magazine but it seems like it was written by a seven year old with severe brain damage.

If you go to a guys house to do it (at like night) should u/would u/can u stay the night?

Oh fuck no. Get the hell out of there as fast as you can. Who wants you around? Look, Mr. Know-It-All has enough problems without you stealing his Thai sticks while he’s asleep. The last time I let someone sleep over I woke up missing a kidney. Go home. Or better yet, go to a clinic. After sex with me you’ll need some penicillin.

———————–

Next up is Miss Manners. Mr. Know-It-All figures that she must be over a thousand years old, why isn’t she married? Oh yeah, because she is totally annoying.

Dear Miss Manners,

Is chivalry dead? My husband of nearly three years seems to have missed some of the classes.

When a couple is at a restaurant, isn’t it proper to allow the woman to give her dinner order first? Likewise, when a couple is entering or exiting a restaurant, shouldn’t the man follow the woman or walk side-by-side?

If I’m right, how do I approach him to consider improving his manners without forgetting mine?

Chivalry? What the fuck are you talking about? Not only is it dead, but it was resurrected in some voodoo ritual only to be killed again. Who cares who walks where behind who? OK, Mr. Know-It-All likes to walk behind women to look at their asses- and any guy who says otherwise is a liar- but chivalry? God damn it, isn’t it enough that your husband took you out in the first place? You ungrateful whore. Get back in the kitchen and bake him a pie. Let you order first? A real man wouldn’t let you talk at all. Who needs you opening your mouth unless it is ready to do some good to my droopy trooper? And what kind of marriage do you have where you are afraid to approach him about this? I hope he smacks the crap out of you.

(Editor’s Note- The Editor’s and Staff of Mr. Blog’s Tepid Ride in no way condone violence, no matter what you think.)

———————–

That’s it for this week. Mr. Know-It-All has to meet a guy behind a dumpster before the cops read this.

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Another Untold Tale of the Laundromat Game

7 Apr

NEW April 7, 2011

Maybe it’s just me. I go to the Laundromat and I get hit on by old ladies, glared at by guys who can’t answer a Jeopardy! question

**BELCH!**

and run into my old boss, who pretends not to see me while I pretend not to see her. They also tend to lose my laundry but that seems quite normal

**BELCH!**

compared to the other things that have happened to me there.

For reasons best left unasked I’ve since changed Laundromats. This one seemed a bit more normal. The people going there are a bit more business-like, at least in terms of their wash. They put their stuff in the washer, sit and

**BELCH!** Oh!

watch TV or wait outside, then put the wash in the dryer, sit and wait, take their clothes out, fold, and leave. The downside is that there are more people dragging their kids to this one as it is in the middle of a residential neighborhood as opposed to the old one which was in a strip mall. It seems like there is always some kid racing up and down the place and trying to shove a toy at you for no good reason.

This particular day seemed to be going better than most. Oh sure, there was a lot of rain that day, and yeah, the news was full of the usual horror and mayhem, but in my own private little world things were going well. I was

**BELCH!** Phhheeew **BELCH!** Oh!

GODDAMMIT I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! If that woman belches one more friggin’ time I am going to stuff her socks so far down her throat that she’ll be belching lint by the time I’m through with her. Man, what the Hell does she

**BELCH!**

A little bit of background and some architectural context before I get back to my rant.

The main part of this Laundromat is a long rectangle. Washers line the long wall on the left, dryers line the long wall on the right. You enter from one short end and you are facing the other short end upon whose wall hangs a large TV. There are four tables going across the rectangle the short way, so that if you are folding your clothes you are either facing the TV or have your back to it depending on which side of the table you are on.

In between the tables are rows of chairs, the plastic kind that are linked together in groups of five. They alternate- tables, chairs, tables, chairs. There is more than enough room between the tables so that if you are sitting in the chairs you are not being bumped into by people moving behind you or have laundry flapping in your face when they fold. It is a good arrangement because there are enough tables for everyone and you have plenty of room to move while folding. While sitting you can stretch your legs a bit and not trip anyone.

The only drawback is that when it is crowded people sitting in the chairs may not be able to see the TV because the people standing and folding their clothes can block them. However, I have never seen the place that crowded and I’ve never had my view blocked nor blocked anyone.

On this particular day I went to fold my clothes and noticed that a woman had seated herself in the row of chairs behind me. It wasn’t a problem. She was seated near the far end of the row and I used the end of the table away from her so as to be polite and not block the TV.

I had seen here there before a couple of times. She looked and acted a bit on the oddball side but still in the normal range. Physically she was about my height but much heavier. She dressed a bit roughly but on laundry day I’ve been known to wear sweat pants and a hospital scrub top so I didn’t hold it against her. She was obviously a mother, I assume, due to the children’s clothing she was washing. (If there is another explanation keep it to yourself.) There was never really anything I could put my finger on but she just had an oddball vibe about her. I’ll give you two examples.

The first time I noticed her was when she asked me if I had a quarter for some change. She was one quarter short for her laundry. I did and held it out to her and then she got very apologetic that she only had two quarters to give me in return. “Is it all right? Are you sure? Really, are you sure it’s all right? I’m five cents short. You really don’t mind? I can get five more cents somewhere.” I really didn’t mind and gave her the quarter for her two dimes.

I saw her again once or twice but on one occasion she spilled some detergent and went to the woman running the place to get a mop so she could clean it up. The woman in charge wanted to clean it but the customer refused and insisted on cleaning it herself. Nice. Nothing wrong there, rather polite. Problem was the woman suddenly got very busy with a shipment that came in, big boxes of laundry supplies. The odd woman started to fret that someone would slip (again, nice) even though there were only a handful of people there and we all saw the spill and were in fact on the other side of the store. The woman finally made a homemade mop out of a broom and a rag she found in a sink and tried to clean up the spill but only succeeded in spreading it.

Again, not too odd, hard to put a finger on it, but I wondered why she didn’t wipe up the laundry detergent with one of the towels that she had in her basket and was going to put in the wash anyway. And if the towels got full of detergent, big deal. That was already going to happen in the washer.

So I knew the woman by sight and made sure to stand out of her way so she could see the TV and I started folding when

 **BELCH!**

she let out a really loud belch. OK. It happens. It would have been nice to get an excuse me though. Less than a minute later

**BELCH!**

it happened again, this time followed by a little “oh!”

I looked around to see if I could catch anyone else’s eye but the rest of the people doing their wash were in the front part of the store behind me. If you still have that little diagram of the store in your mind’s eye, I was at the table closest to the TV, facing it. The belching woman was in the chairs behind me and to my left, and everyone else was behind her.

I sighed a little and kept

**BELCH!** Pheeew

folding, now through gritted teeth. Ever try to fold when your hands are clenched into fists? I was really getting annoyed and was peeking at her out of the corner of my eye. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she had a gastrointestinal problem. She was a really heavy woman, obese. Maybe this was due to a medical condition. It didn’t excuse her impoliteness at not at least saying excuse me- or moving outside- but it would at least be an explanation.

Well I peeked out of the corner of my eye and got an explanation.

She was belching because she was taking swigs out of a can of Coke and belched after every drink. Every drink, a belch.

**BELCH!**

NOW I WAS PISSED. It was totally disgusting. I was still folding but I was also waiting for the next shoe to drop. If the soda made her so gassy that she had to let out a loud gross belch then logic says STOP DRINKING THE DAMN SODA.

I was folding a towel and trying to watch the news on the TV (next story- man assaults belching woman in Laundromat) when

**BEEEEELCHuhhhhhhhERP!** Oooof!

This time I turned around. The woman was belching in the act of standing up. She had heaved herself to her feet and finding herself upright, let out that “oooof!” as if the effort was just too much. And seeing that she was as big as one of the large machines there it was probably justified. But nothing justified the senses-and-sensibility barrage unleashed upon me by her gassy stomach. It could have been worse, I suppose. That gas could have come out of her ass.

She walked to the far corner of the laundry, soda can in tow, and bent down and started taking some dry wash out of a dryer. When she bent I expected the mother of all belches but it stayed quiet.

I finished my folding quick as a shot and got the Hell out of Dodge.

I said it before and I’ll say it again. I should do my laundry at home.

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