Tuesday, August 9, 2011

This Post Is Offensive In Nature

So, if you are a PC pussy, maybe stop reading now? Cool, thanks.

Anyways, over the weekend a man drowned in a Chestermere lake. Tragic, tragic event.

But we are sick in the head. And you know what? We found some humour in this. Again, if your tummy aches over this type of thing, be a consumer, stop reading.

First off, links! Second off, the body of the drowned man has not been found. Which, for whatever reason, is enough soil for us to come up with a bit. This bit probably plays better up on stage, as a bit in a comedy routine. Anyways, lets try it here.

You all hear about the man who 'drowned' in Lake Chestermere over the weekend? Yeah, a buddy of mine told me about it. And first, I was like "oh lord, that is terrible, just terrible." But then I heard that the body had not been found. I thought that was odd. Why wouldn't they be able to find the body? It's a lake, right? It's not like it could wash away, it's a lake. There isn't any parana's in the fucking lake, it's not in the Amazon. Where the hell is the body?

So I decided to do some digging. Real Dick Tracy, PI shit. I pick up the local paper, the Sun, and in it they have this story. They have this story in the paper about the cat who drowned. And in this story, they have the real nuggets of information that are important. This man has seven children.

Well, no shit you can't find the body. Because the guy didn't drown. Are you kidding me with that shit? That this man drowned? It's stupid. This man fucking ran. He's gone alright, but not to heaven. He's gone to Vegas.

Let's look at the facts. Fact one: This guy had seven children. Seven! Holy christ, right? Seven? You ever been around one fucking kid? Can you imagine seven? Seven fucking whiney, shit smelling mouths to feed. Fucking seven!

Alright? You following me? Ok. Fact two: This cat was hanging out on the weekend with his coworkers. Right? This poor schmuck is spending his weekend away from his seven fucking annoying kids with his coworkers. This guy just can't get away. He gets up in the morning, goes to work, and has to see his asshole coworkers for how many hours? Then he comes home, and whats waiting for him? Seven fucking kids! And you think this guy is getting any pussy after seven? No fucking way. So this guy is living in prison. Work, asshole coworkers. Home, seven asshole children and a wife who won't let him bust a nut. And this cat has to go spend his weekend on a boat with his damn coworkers. There is no escape for this poor soul.

So this cat, whose name is Katumbay, and I am still trying to figure out if thats ironic or shit, the bay at the end, is stuck. But you know what living with seven kids will do to you? It will make you think. Yeah, think. Again, you ever been around kids, let alone seven of them? They spend their whole day thinking up ways to fuck with yours. Rolex watch? Oh that's  shiny, flush. Baby powder Daddy uses to freshen his balls? Replace it with itching powder. That type of shit. They do it all the time. Their sole purpose on this planet is to make your life miserable and your wifes life miserable so when you get home you get to deal with a miserable wife who wont fuck you and shit your kids broke. Times seven!

So Katumbay starts thinking. He starts thinking about how the fuck he is going to get out of this fucked up situation. That's the thought process, exactly: How the fuck am I going to get out of this fucked up situation? And Katumbay can use a calender. It's staring right at him: this weekend, the lake, coworkers and children. Fuck.

But in the moment of darkness, the light bulb goes on. He has an idea. And it was a pretty damned good idea. This guy didn't drown. This guy ran. And good for him. Seven fucking kids and weekends with the co-workers. I'd run too.

And listen, it's true, and you know it. Look at the facts, Jack. Katumbay doesn't swim, doesn't like the water, is warry of the water, doesn't own a life-jacket, nothing. And all of a sudden he is gungho to go power tubing? It only makes sense as a set up for his epic faked death. The cops can't find his body? No shit, there is no body! Sonar? They are using sonar on a lake and they can't find him? Why is that? Because there aingt no fucking body on the bottom of that lake. Try using sonar on the MGM Grand.

Or, in the words of Merle:

Furthermore, I think Peter Loubardias Ken King should be fired.