Thursday, July 3, 2008

One day you'll look back on this and laugh. On second thought, fuck "one day." Please laugh NOW.

Much like that time the guy who broke into your house and raped your dog got released from prison, I am dragging myself back into the public eye for a completely unwanted and unasked for comeback.

Well, "unasked for" isn't completely true. This return to blogging has actually been repeatedly asked for. In fact, it has been pleaded for, but only by Karla, who hardly counts as a decent representative of the blog-reading public. Karla hasn't actually been considered a "decent" anything since she spread a raging case of herpes throughout her third-grade class.

Why Karla is so desperate for me to come back to the blogging world is quite beyond me, considering that she spends about 65% of her blog real estate vociferously claiming to hate me the way that children hate the dentist, or the people of Texas hate... well... Karla.

All of this is rather moot anyway, as when I say I'm returning to the public eye, the "public eye" pretty much consists of Karla. You knew I was going to say that, didn't you? That's because if you're reading this, you are Karla.

I suppose it's possible that one or two unsuspecting internet denizens might have stumbled across this blog while sweatily googling "naked Asian chick fellating a donkey," (Well, now that'll show up in the Google searches...) and I imagine that I'm probably obligated to provide those people with some kind of actual content. So let me tell you about a valuable lesson I learned.

By the way, when I say I'm about to tell you a valuable lesson, that's code for "here comes a story you didn't want to hear and will get nothing out of."

A few months ago I attended a community meeting with the local police. It was one of those things where the cops gave everybody a run-down of crime in the area, people asked questions... On the whole a good experience. Not long into the evening however, I noticed a deaf woman sitting in the front row. I noticed she was deaf for two reasons. One, she had a sign-language interpreter sitting with her, translating everything that was said, and two, she was extremely pretty.

I don't mean to imply that her attractiveness somehow clued me in to her deafness. I mean to imply that her attractiveness was the only reason I cared she was deaf. If she had looked like most of the women in the room, which is to say like a lifetime supply of coffee and heroin had somehow grown arms and legs and thrown on a rubber crypt keeper mask, I would have been far too disinterested to notice the interpreter and put two and two together. But she didn't look like that at all. She looked like Jessica Alba had a four-hour make out session with a Porsche 911. Needless to say, when I first noticed her my thought process went something like this:

1) Hey, she's really pretty.
2) Hey, she's got a woman signing everything at her. She must be deaf.
3) Hey, she'd never hear me sneaking up behind her. I need to find out where she lives.

When the question and answer portion of the evening arrived, Hottie McDeafDeaf had her hand raised from the get go. She kept it raised while other concerned citizens asked about police patrol schedules, mugging statistics and night time safety. When, after 20 minutes, the Major in charge finally pointed to her, the entire room became supremely attentive in that way that you only do when the disabled speak, or try to walk, or limp. Whatever. Every person in that room was sending a clear message with their unwavering eye contact that said "We see you, deaf girl. We see you and love you because you are deaf and we would never think you are weird or mildly disturbing." When a deaf person speaks it is much the same as when the only over-40 black woman in an otherwise all-white movie speaks. You know she's going to bring some serious wisdom.

And so, of course, when she finally had the floor, Hottie McDeafDeaf spent 10 minutes bitching and whining about some $30 parking ticket she had gotten. Through her interpreter no less, which meant that not only was she wasting everybody's time, but she was forcing this poor interpreter to play the part of the miserable douche for her. As I sat there watching everyone's eyes roll back in their heads as we entered the 11th minute of Deafwhineapalooza it hit me:

The disabled are assholes.

Not the best moral to end on, I grant you, but I've been away for a while.

13 comments:

karla said...

1) You make me sound like a child whore with that third grade class herpes story. You neglect to mention that I wasn't IN third grade at the time, I was TEACHING third grade. So I was old enough to be having sex. I can't be responsible for the fact that the kids in the class were amoral enough to have sex underage.

2) You don't fool me with this "I've returned to the blogging world" posturing. One thing I know about 'following through' is that you don't do it. I predict your second post occurs sometime in mid December. 2015.

3) I guarantee that chick wasn't really deaf. She was perfectly able to hear, and had no intentions of acting otherwise until she saw your scary, feces-and-donut-glaze covered ass shambling into the room, at which time she quickly whispered to the guy next to her, "Pretend you're my interpreter. I pretend to be deaf every time I see creepy ex-cons like that guy, because douchebags like him won't take "fuck off" for an answer.

4) Glad you're back.

Jessica said...

YAY!! I'm so glad you're back. Nobody does poop stories like you do:)

anonymouscoworker said...

"The disabled are assholes."

This is what you come back to the internet with? Everybody knows the disabled are assholes. It's why I tattooed it on my lower back, because one day, when they rape me (that's "when" not "if") they'll be forced to see what I think of them.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

I'm glad to see you're back. I suspect that I quit blogging for any length of time, Ms. Babble would be positively suicidal. The poor dear is obviously madly in love with both of us, but she just can't bring herself to choose.

Don't get me started on the handicrapped...or as I like to call them, Nature's little mistakes. Somebody needs to put these mutants out of our misery!

Sassy Blondie said...

I thought a deaf woman was every man's fantasy:
1. She doesn't talk/nag/whine (out loud).
2. She's good with her hands.
3. You can always get a front parking spot with her.

dizzy von damn! said...

meep.

Maven said...

I have a funny metallic, pre-puke taste in my mouth now.

Glad you've returned from obscurity, Mr. Wombat.

HeyJoe said...

ficlomg, god damnit, fingers on the wrong keys again.

FUCKING hilarious.

I'm Poe Bicycle. said...

I found Wombat while searching for a way to get rid of the garlic smell from my fingers. Now I'm wondering if the same solution applies to both problems.
Wombat, have you ever considered the benefits of stainless steel?

Krissyface said...

but did you find out where she lives? I have a little hobby of stalking the disabled in my down time. And I seem to have a lot of it lately.

Queen of no man's land said...

omg,, I'm glad you are back and funny as hell...

Plexus said...

So...uhhh...the 3rd grade sex is great and all... and I love the deaf story - be wary the next time at the supermarket, your foot might get ran over by a hot-rodded rascal ridden by a disabled person predisposed to blogger surfing .... but uhhh.... Where's the donkey?

Lisa said...

I am glad you're back too - belatedly of course... because - i am only sort of back myself...


wb!