Ramblings From an Apathetic Adult Baby

From Justin Gawel: Eccentric Dirtbag

Monthly Archives: November 2011

Obituaries

 Marjorie Perkins (78) was discovered dead in her townhouse Wednesday morning, She was a fixture in the neighborhood for the last forty-five years, rarely emerging from her house, but always quick to scold when children were too close to her property.  She is survived by her twelve cats and one flaming homosexual son name Lyle.

 

Kenny “Big K” Forester (28) was an ex-high-school football and was still trying to pursue his dream of becoming a professional athlete when he met his premature demise Saturday afternoon when he slipped on a Roomba® vacuum that was stuck on a banana peel.  STOP LAUGHING, YOU INSENSITIVE PIECES OF SHIT, IT IS NOT FUNNY!

 

Cooper McGillis (55) A family man and a self-described “old-fashioned southerner”.  He leaves behind his wife Maureen, as well as his five kids: Cooper Jr., Dale, Jed, Billie Jean, and, of course Spud.  An avid enthusiast of the outdoors, he spent many a day on the lake or in a hunting blind.  Last Sunday he met his untimely end while watching the weekly NASCAR race. He suffered a heart attack that was likely induced by the tirade McGillis went on after Jimmie Johnson finished second to Matt Kenseth, effectively losing him fifteen dollars to his son.  “Dad died doing what he loved,” lamented the now fatherless Spud, “No one could get upset about a race like Dad could.  No one.”

 

Jeremy Kingsley (8) Literally bored to death while waiting for his older sister and mom to finish shopping at the city mall.  Attempts to amuse himself by hiding in the racks of clothes, playing ‘the floor is lava’ on the displays, and making fart noises on the intercom were all thwarted by store employees; essentially pounding the child-sized nails into Jermey’s child-sized coffin.  The only thing in Jeremy’s possessions even resembling a last will and testament was a crumpled piece of notebook paper promising his Xbox 360 to his friend Dominic.  His friend Dominic was unavailable for comment, but his mother claimed he was thrilled about getting another Xbox 360.

 

Daniel Kennedy (66) Lived his entire life in Northern Texas as a recluse, emerging only a few times a year for various solitary hunting trips and excursions to Wal-Mart.  An only child that never married, his only contact was an old friend from the National Guard that he had not seen in almost a decade, but was someone he would religiously call every Sunday.  Upon discovery of his body it appeared he had been living off of deer jerky and a freezer full of Hot Pockets for the last several years.   The only stipulation of his last will and testament was that his vast collection of McDonald’s Monopoly pieces acquired through eBay be donated to the United Negro College Fund.  “There goes a weird dude,” his National Guard buddy stated in his passing.

 

Robbie Armstrong (12) A bright, energetic youth, full of life and wonder.  He would have been in seventh grade this fall.  His grief-stricken parents report that Robbie suffered from Attention Deficit Disorder and was hit by a bus after he stopped in the middle of the street when he was distracted by a neighborhood dog catching a frisbee.

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Never Not Funny: Farts Edition

Show me a person who doesn’t laugh at farts and I’ll show you a person that doesn’t have a soul.  Farts are always hilarious.

 

Flashback:  The year was 1999; Justin was in the fourth grade; Bill Clinton was president; Jar-Jar Binks was making everyone hate Star Wars: The Phantom Menace; and hiding boners occupied most of Justin’s time at school.  Justin’s fourth grade math was separated into two sections respectively named: America’s Future Leaders and Potential Organ Farms.  Now, just try and guess which one was for the smart kids!

 

One fine spring afternoon Justin was sitting in math class taking a test about long division or some other useless function that an eight-dollar calculator could do. However, in this rare instance, the entire classroom of ten-year-olds was silent.  That is it was silent until the deafening, unmistakable roar of a Lunchable-fueled blast erupted out of the butthole of a certain Shannon McMichaelson.  The reaction of the class was the raucous scorn of twenty-five fourth graders all mocking McMichaelson as she realized that any chance she ever had at becoming popular (in fourth grade through high school) had just slipped out of her poop chute.

 

Shannon McMichaelson, I don’t know how successful you are these days, as I labeled you as a “textbook farter” years ago, but even if you come up with a cure for cancer or solve the conflict in the Middle East I’ll always remember you as that girl that let out a juicy booty blast and made the room smell like hot garbage that one day in fourth grade.  See you at reunion!

 

Listen, as I write this story I am twenty-two years old.  This event happened almost twelve years ago and yet, I am still laughing at it.  My body may have matured, but I assure you, my sense of humor has not.  The verdict is in: farts are never not funny.

 

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