If I was carrying a firearm today you would have heard about me on the national news tonight. I like to think of myself as a laid back, non aggressive sort. Kind of the yin to Ruko’s yang. But today I had a David Banner moment. Only a few things really push me over the edge. I’m not a grammar freak. I don’t road rage all that often. I don’t even mix it up that much with my wife. (Probably because I know I’d lose) But today I totally lost it.

I was standing in line to purchase a Mountain Dew Code Red at Wilson Farms. Wilson Farms is a chain of convenience stores that shelve anything you need, as long as what you need is cigarettes, Philly Blunts, beer, beef jerky, soda, Red Bull, and/or lottery tickets. It is the final item on this list that almost sent me into a homicidal rage.

First, let me say that I don’t think all people that play lotto are complete morons. I must admit I play the occasional scratch off, but nothing that would actually require me to choose numbers and check them later. If I play a scratch off I assume I will lose, and I am pleasantly surprised when I win. As for the people that play constantly, with the assumption that they will someday be sipping margaritas on their own private island, these people are retards and should be systematically thinned from the herd.

Several excellent heard thinning candidates stood between me and paying for my Code Red at Wilson Farms this afternoon. The guy at the counter was holding a telephone book thick stack of lotto tickets for the clerk to scan, handing them to him one by one. At this point I was mildly annoyed, but not pissed off by any estimate. My heart began to beat a little faster and my face reddened just a shade when the clerk called to the back for help and the reply was, “yo son, I’m talkin’ to my girl.” But still I kept my calm; it was my day off and I wasn’t in a rush.

Next came the straw that broke the camel’s back. The homeless Vietnam veteran look alike at the counter apparently was short a few bucks. Seems the easiest option, canceling the last few tickets, was unacceptable to Mr. no teeth, camouflage jacket, lotto addict. From his back pocket came a tattered, filthy piece of paper that looked like an archaeologist had pulled it out of King Tut’s mummified asshole. Thus began the labored process of selecting the numbers he wanted to cancel. Apparently this mathematical genius had a system.

I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. So I say to the guy in front of me, loud enough for everyone, even the 75 pound little Puerto Rican ferret on the phone with his hood rat girlfriend, to hear, “Maybe he should kill the whole deal and put a down payment on a haircut and a stick of old spice.” To which I added, “Fuck, I hate these lotto assholes.”

Now I should have guessed, by the fact that the guy I was addressing was wearing a Buffalo Bills coat (dirty as a prostitute’s ass, may I add), that he was in possession of no common sense, and therefore a prime candidate to play the lotto. Not to mention the stack of lotto tickets in his right hand. Long story short - he was pissed, but at that point I did not give a flying fuck. I yelled to Rico fucking Suave in the back, “How ‘bout ringing up some customers who aren’t pissing away their rent money on lotto. ”

“You betta check yoself son”, came the reply.

At this point everyone was staring at me. The Bills guy was talking shit about me to the loser at the counter. The wannabe thug on the phone was telling his girl he was about to go out and kick my ass, and the clerk at the counter looked like a deer about five seconds from becoming one with the grill of an oncoming Freightliner. So I did the most mature and level headed thing possible; I shook the piss out of my Code Red, tore off the cap, and lobbed it over the counter like I was Chuck Norris killing zipperheads in Missing In Action. (I, II, or III) I then stormed out of the place, got in my car, and drove off, not forgetting to flip the bird to the crowd of idiots pouring out of the store to watch me leave.

My next move was crucial; instead of heading to a gun shop to apply for a handgun permit I swung by the wholesale club to buy a case of Code Red. I certainly wasn’t going to pick them up at my friendly neighborhood Wilson Farms store anytime soon.

I am a firm believer that conflict with people should be settled in an adult, face to face manner. Getting revenge by means of damaging personal property has always seemed cheap and cowardly. When I discovered the identity of the person responsible for a key mark all the way down my car door, I could not understand how a person could be such a gutless invertebrate. I retaliated with strait up brute force; I beat his ass bloody, as would any self respecting man. No cheap shots, no hits below the belt, just strait up knuckles breaking face. After he healed up, I saw him out and I did it again, re-breaking his freshly healed nose. Hopefully he wets himself when he hears my name. What I can promise is that it is very unlikely that he will key somebody’s car again.

That being said, there are times when a stealthier revenge must be committed. Many years ago, a friend of a friend (who happened to be the son of a Deputy Sherriff) accosted me in a manner that still fires me up to this day. A physical beating was deserved, but I wasn’t interested in a “get your cracker-ass beaten daily in county jail for assaulting the deputy’s sissy son” sentence. Instead, I sealed a whole 1 pound mackerel in the door of his car.

One pound of rotting fish is potent enough to be smelled by a human from 40+ feet away. Contained within the confines of a car, this odor will turn a vehicle into a fucking toxic disaster. Rotting fish causes a human to uncontrollably vomit, and the pungent smell will attract flies and other animals to the car. In my experience, hundreds of flies found their way inside the car to get some of the good stuff. But the fun doesn’t stop there. Oh no.

(more…)

Editor’s note: This article is the third by Mr. Tankatrucks and it is our recommendation to read the first two for background info. Hello America, Dearest Officials of Immigrations…

Hello, It has been many months since I last write to you. I spend much time in confines of Attica prisons. Little does simple man know that to get pensions from government under many name is crime. And to think walking home from bar after losing trousers to Matilda in poker would prompt officer of law to take me to precinct for processing. At local holding camp many indignities I was suffered. First, many dark men with tribal tattoo play football with head, as guards take betting on my life. Next, high judge accuse me of fraudulenting state of money from pensions. Skinny man at my table tell me not worry. Next thing I am in orange suit strapped to very angry black man on bus. I am very scared now. I thought they take me to Africa to search diamonds.
Now my story take nice turn. Two hours later I arrive not in Congo but Attica prison to serve 18 month for misunderstandings with officials of socialist services. America prison not like work camps in old country. No dentist to take gold teeth and no prison brand was left on neck. As I walk to cell new comrades cheer my coming with whistles and promise of brother like love. My cell comrade very friendly man offering share of body heat in cold cage but soon move to own bunk from smell of old Romanian man. Next day I find very promising job in prison. Guards no care about old man like me, Mr. Kunty Tankatrucks, so I carry bags of powder under man sack for bald man with iron cross and sign of Hitler on his arm. Soon I carry much respect in prison. Very angry little man from Mexico push me down stair one day is found with 47 holes in belly next day. All this enjoyment and at same time government pay for food and bunk. Sad to say I am back after only nine month because I act well.

So please enjoy writings of old man while you can. I try very hard soon to go back to see friends at prison.

Not many things in this world bug me. I’ll easily get over some dumb ass who cuts me off in traffic while giving me the finger. “Who? Me?” Why do I deserve such disrespect while driving? If I had the chance I would probably beat them to death with their own shoe. But I’m in my car, out of “grabbing your shoe” range. Not even the cynical skinny fucks behind their CRT monitors, who enjoy pissin’ on everyone’s parade, bug me that much. The fact that they haven’t gotten laid in the better part of a decade keeps me warm at night, and makes it unnecessary to hunt them down where they live.
But back to my point, the one thing I cannot stand. The one thing that, if I were subjected to it enough, I would be tempted to kill over. This ignorant act is called “eating with your mouth open”. Consider this, we live in a day and age where we don’t even have to leave the house to get porn 24/7. We can have fine dining delivered so “Stepford Wives” never have to cook again. It’s safe to say we are no longer in the friggin’ stone age. So riddle me this Batman, why the hell do some people still have to chew with their mouths open? It’s disgusting and repulsive. You sit their slopping around like a cow eating its own cud, ignoring the fact that you are and ignorant fuck who can’t take the time to close your mouth.

This story spawned from a recent outing I had at a quiet restaurant. It wasn’t very busy at the time, but I was seated next to a well dressed business man. As I sat down he was just receiving his food. For the next 10 minutes this ignorant fuck out chewed the noisy highway that passed right by the restaurant. Now as many of you can figure out I am a reserved and mild mannered man… since I was in public I held my tongue. But when I received my food, even the waitress noticed the fire in my eyes. Finally, I turned to the man, and as politely as possible told him to “CHEW WITH YOUR FUCKING MOUTH SHUT”. He was of course speechless, wondering if the comment was for him and why. I smiled at him, and began to eat the rest of my food. He proceeded to ask for the check and give me the finger. Again I smiled back. A small victory against the ignorant swine out there who chew with their mouths open.

When reflecting back on the entire incident I think “did I over react?” I’ve pondered over this for quite some time. I’ve come to the conclusion of no. Because people who chew with their mouths open are the root of all evil. They are the kid in high school who would cheat on the test, but somehow get caught and have you get a 0 on the test because he was copying off you. These people invented the cat algorithm, AND are responsible for the Kennedy assassination. They must be stopped. Join me in my quest to humiliate and destroy all those who chew with their mouths open…

So I nearly died about a week ago. I know that would make many of you buttholes happy (judging by the volume of hate mail I receive) but it was not meant to be. I sustained a 104+ degree (about 40 C for you foreign readers) fever from 8:45am when I woke up until nearly 4pm that same day. While that in itself isn’t that bad, the influenza had prevented me from sleeping for more than a couple hours per night for the previous three nights. Additionally, I was dehydrated from heavy perspiration. I haven’t been that close to death since my pasty ass got lost in Harlem at 2 am about year ago.

Later that day, I realized that I had been incapable of discerning my thoughts from reality. This wasn’t the “yay I’m tripping like Timothy Leary” kind of hallucination either. This was more like a “drink a gallon of lemon dishwasher detergent and then jam a red-hot pair of scissors into your abdomen” kind of feeling. I was in a lot of pain, I was extremely confused, and my world was a very scary place. And the llamas were pissed.

I spent the better part of 2 hours wandering outside of my house, in the snow, trying to find my llamas. I do not nor have I ever owned llamas. I don’t even know all that much about llamas. For some weird reason though, I thought that I owned a bunch of llamas and they had escaped because of the snow. My tracks on the ground showed that I walked in big circles around the yard, most likely immersed in something as nonsensical as a David Lynch film. I also know that at some point I decided it would be a most excellent idea to remove my shirt. It was 18 degrees (approximately -8 C) outside.

The repercussions of the day would only become known later that night. For starters, I got some minor frostbite. On my nipples. It was obviously not severe frostbite; my nipples were tender like I was ovulating, there was some slight blistering, and the coloring was a bit more purple than I am used to. Had my body not been cooking itself, I would have inevitably suffered some more serious damage. Secondly, I am pretty sure my Chinese neighbors watched me walk around for a while. When I saw them the next day, they yelled something at me in Cantonese, threw and empty can at me, and ran into the house. As I began to think about it, I am pretty sure I would call the police if I saw my half naked neighbor walking in circles in his yard for 2 hours. That kind of shit is crazy.

Because they didn’t call the cops, I am now convinced they are indeed illegal aliens. Well, whatever.

Thanks to the wonder that is Live Chat Tech Support, I will now provide you with the most bewildering tech support conversation I have ever had. Hold on to your seat if you have one, if not hold on to your monitor.

Tech Support [18:46]: Thank you for choosing Live Chat. Please allow me a minute or two to review and respond to your question. If you have not already provided your Main Domain name please do so now along with any additional details you feel I should have. I take multiple chats at once. There will be a delay between my replies. Thank you for your patience. I will be right with you.
The Romanian [18:46]: When will an upgrade be available for phpbb 3.0?
[18:47]: angryromanian.com
Tech Support [18:49]: As soon as cPanel releases one.
The Romanian [18:49]: When will that be? Do you know?
Tech Support [18:51]: Unfortuantely I do not.
The Romanian [18:54]: OK thanks for nothing.

Boy I sure wish i had that eight minutes of my life back. Silly me, contacting a company, and asking questions about a product they develop. At least give me an ETA, or an educated guess. My only other option is calling them up and growing old in the queue. And speaking of guesses and education, my best guess is that this fuck got his Master’s in Tech Support, with a minor in curry sweating, from the University of Mumbai. No need to wish him a Merry Christmas is there.

Note: I purposefully did not correct the Tech Support Agent’s spelling.

I recently had the misfortune of visiting Newburgh, New York. What a shit hole! There is only one thing worse than a day in Newburgh - and that is a night. Newburgh’s main claim to fame is that it lies across the river from a train station serving the Hudson river line. This train station was the reason I was in town. Beiltan and I were on the way to New York to kill a few hookers (and watch a Mets game) and decided to park the car in Newburgh and take the train into NYC. Big mistake.
We arrived in the hotel district only to realize it was nothing but a bunch of sleazy motels located up a hill, out of the view of the road, law enforcement, and God’s watchful eye. All these motels had names designed to fool unsuspecting googlers into thinking they were chains. There was the Best Westerner, Ramadan, Supurb 8, and the Hamper Inn, where we stayed. After convincing the fine proprietor we actually wanted to stay more than an hour or two we headed into town to check out the nightlife.
The main drag in Newburgh looks like fucking Beiruit, except I’d be willing to bet there are fewer drug dealers in all of Lebanon than were standing outside the Kennedy Fried Chicken. That’s right Kennedy Fried Chicken - Colonel Sanders decided Newburgh was a tad bit too hardcore for one of his quality establishments. We promptly got our lily white asses the fuck out of dodge and headed for the highly acclaimed “waterfront” entertainment district.
This turned out to be a rather large 80’s throwback nightclub/bar populated with throwback 80’s white trash. To be honest we didn’t actually go inside. We did the math in the parking lot. There were at least a dozen Corvettes and an equal number of Camaros, not to mention a bunch of balding, middle-aged, coke heads, rokken like Dokken in their shitty American “sports” cars. Again we got the fuck out of dodge and headed across the river to the bustling metropolis of Beacon.
Guess what - calling a town as dull as Beacon a name like Beacon should be against the law. For the record - Beacon is not a small town. According to Wikipedia, 16.000 listless souls live there. Get this - there are officially two - that’s right - two bars in a town of 16,000. And trust me - you do not want to go into either of them. The first bar was about as friendly as a truckfull of KKKers at the Million Man march. The second bar was worse - so, for the third time that night, we got the fuck out of Dodge.
Fortunately, the third time was the charm and we stumbled across a wonderful place called New Paltz, where there is a State College. And where there is smoke there is fire. No self respecting college town lacks the requisite bar district where there are sloppy drunk co-eds and cheap assed drinks. Needless to say we had a good time. The only drawback was that we had to go back to the gangsta paradise of Newburgh.
Although the motel parking lot was a veritable strip outlet mall of pot, pills, and puntang, we managed to get a few hours of sleep, get on the train, and for the fourth and final time - get the fuck out of Dodge - never to return.

I’ve lived in NY all my life. I enjoy the cold and all the snow that comes with it, for the short time it is here. However, when it snows something happens to the general driving population.
I call it the “Johnny Snow Effect”.
“Johnny”, who drives a 6mpg SUV, still finds it necessary to drive 80mph on the highway in a blizzard. There is nothing more gratifying than Johnny passing you like you are standing still and three minutes later passing him in a ditch, his tire tracks indicating he did four 360’s before hurtling off the road. Why does Johnny’s IQ, on seeing the first snowflake, drop into the mid teens, similar to the temperature? For whatever reason seeing the snow flakes causes Johnny to flip out, drives 80 home, makes a dining room set from the bones of his neighbors and begin to eat his own shit.
Why? I don’t get it.
I enjoy driving fast. I own a car that will eventually get me a ticket for driving like a dick. But when it snows I DON’T FUCK WITH MOTHER NATURE. Another symptom of the “Johnny Snow Effect” is the constant complaining about snow. “It’s too cold” or “OMG the snow is terrible”. Shut the fuck up - you are an adult, stop complaining and MOVE! There is an entire country for you to live in. Stop breathing my air here in NY and live with the rednecks down in the south.

~bieltan

You can’t ignore the headlines. It seems as if almost every day there is a new incident involving the police and the use of stun guns. A simple google search provided ample evidence that tasering has become a serious national issue. Go to YouTube and you can view dozens of incidents, most of them involving campus security personnel.

There are two types of campus security -

1. Real Campus Police - They carry guns and can arrest your drunken ass. From my experience these guys are pretty level headed and calm. They can shoot students who pose a deadly threat and therefore that sort of threat nearly never arises. For every other situation they depend on their reasoning skills to navigate the various situations they encounter.

2. Campus Security guards- by definition these guys are nothing but a pack of pussies who failed the police entrance exam and are forced to play babysitter to rich kids who will soon be out-earning then 10 to 1. Campus security guards are notorious for harassing students for silly shit and reveling in the harrowing task of writing parking tickets. An exception to this exists on campuses that offer a criminal justice program. Guards at these schools are typically in the program and take their job seriously as it is a stepping stone toward a career.

I would like to make the argument that taser guns should not be given to either group.

Campus Police already carry a gun for extreme situations. However, just the presence of their firearm earns them a level of respect that ought to give them the upper hand in most situations. Giving these guys stun guns will only make them lazy. Instead of using their conflict resolution skills they will simply stun drunk students that give them a hard time. Although this makes for great YouTube material, students should not be subjected to 80,000 watts for asking a cop “hey don’t you have a Dunkin Donuts to protect piggy?”. Nor should a taser be an acceptable alternative method to dragging a drunken frat boy from a car that he was driving in reverse at 40 miles per hour across the provost’s front lawn.

Campus security guards should also never be issued stun guns. These bitter hacks have survived for decades with walkie-talkies and mag-lights as their only weapon. The last thing a college campus needs is a bunch of over-caffeinated police academy dropouts carrying “non lethal” stun guns that are responsible for at least 147 deaths in the United States since 2000. These bozos should stick to writing parking tickets and call the real police for everything else.

Before you give me the old “we live in increasingly dangerous times” lecture let me expose the proliferation of stun guns for what it is - a profit making crusade by stun gun manufacturers. They rushed these things to market before properly testing them and now people are dying. I think it is about time the police went back to the good old days of beating people and leave the high tech gadgets to the harmless nerds and geeks of our society.

I am not a handsome man. It’s not that I am ugly or even bad-looking, I am just not the kind of man that a woman looks at and goes “wow…I’d like a piece of that”. Oddly enough, the women I have dated have been very good looking and in some cases pretty hot. After I caught the third consecutive girlfriend cheating I decided that it all wasn’t worth my time.

My standards are now pretty high as I find most women to be pretty worthless with exception of the sexual service some of them provide. Kira was no different. She was a tall, athletic, brunette with a D-cup and gorgeous dark eyes. She was intelligent, spontaneous, and exciting. While she was far out of my league, I dated her for the better part of a year. We did not have sex in the last 5 weeks of the relationship, as she claimed a change in birth control made her “flow” all the time. I really liked her, so the abstinence was not a big deal to me.

She then broke up with me suddenly, and a mutual friend informed me that I was only one of several men she had been seeing and fucking for months. I should have seen it coming. Even though I worshiped her every step, she went after the better looking men in the end. Instead of breaking things off when she knew it was over, she kept me involved in a vapid relationship for months until things had solidified with a new man.  It was a big waste of my time, money, and emotion and she knew it all along.

So, which dirty trick from my arsenal of revenge tactics did I use to repay Kira? The worst one of course, as this kind of situation requires nothing less.

I fucked her 18 year old little sister.

If life could be depicted through a series of Mortal Kombat fights, having sex with your ex-girlfriend’s little sister would be the “Fatality!!” move where you rip the skull and spine from your enemy in one fluid motion. It’s low, it’s vindictive, it’s completely up over the top. Like in Mortal Combat, it’s a mighty “Fuck you” unlike any other.

My dick was like a colossal axe, in one blow severing a family bond that will never heal. See, friends come and go through life. A few stay, but for the most part 80% of all the people you befriend move on. Family is family though…only in the extreme circumstances do people fall away from that. Most friends will fuck you over if it is in their best interest. Family, however, is a pretty sacred thing for most people. For Kira, every holiday gathering will bring back thoughts of me balls deep in her little sister.

Would I do things different now? Absolutely. I would have fucked her mother too.

~ruko