stupidtom.com

I was going to sit down and do a whole report of my weekend but it was fairly uneventful and if I’m bored before I start writing that’s going to transfer on to the page. This is usually the part where I tell you just one story that I should mention but that’s not going to happen today. I was also supposed to write about the whole superhero thing but I lost my original train of thought on that so I’m going to drop it until it comes back to me.

OK maybe not completely drop it because I remember something about Super Douche and Asshole Man but I can’t remember the complete concept. I do know that I was Asshole Man and my part was that whenever you truly needed an asshole on your side you would call for me with the sign of the sphincter. Kind of like the bat signal on a budget. You curl your index finger tight and then wrap your thumb around it to hold it in place (simulating the a-hole get it?) and then you shine a flashlight under it and project it on a wall.

There is no way I would ever see it and come running but the thought of people making turd cutter shadow puppets entertains me to no end. After that doesn’t work and you call me I show up and you re explain the situation in front of the target of my assholery like a bad fifties TV show. (Before writers knew how to tell stories without the actors unnaturally over explaining everything right in front of each other.)

When you finished explaining we would both look at the perp as if he or she had just appeared in the scene and the asshole show would begin. I can’t remember where Super Douche fit in or why I gave him top billing. There had to be something more to this because I remember laughing out loud but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it was funny. I burst out laughing whenever I see a midget fall down and struggle to get back up and there is nothing funny about that. (I am very lucky that you can’t detect smiles in writing because that would just be wrong and make me look worse than I already do.)