STABBYMART'S NO STABBING POLICY

So tonight I have to attend what we term "the annual public meeting". I fucking loathe these grandoise wastes of my time and taxpayer money. Firstly; because nothing every really comes of them, secondly; becuase it gives every asshole an oppourtunity to open their mouths and spew whatever sewage they think is appropriate, and thirdly;  because it gives the elected officials (my bosses) a specific time to kiss ass and make a bunch of commitments that will never-ever be kept. Let me paint you a picture:

These meetings are in the town hall format because, well, this is a town (village, actually). Because of the recent presidential elections and the meeting on Universal Health Care, I'm sure that you are all familiar with this process. As I'm also sure you are aware, these meeting tend to bring out the uninformed assholes and the ignorant as well. You know, those people who have a bone to pick and need an audience to listen to them while they tear and masticate every rancid piece of flesh off of that poor femur. The difference in my situation is that, unlike Healthcare or one of the most historic elections in U.S. history, there is no issue. Seriously, some of the big-ticket items I've had my ass reamed over:

• We need a cat bylaw because one keeps walking through our yard.
• My neighbour's dog pissed on the snowman my kids made.
• I don't like the way my neighbour parks his car.
• The grader knocked over my mailbox. (which was situated too close to the road).
• I think the town should let me park my fifth-wheel in the alley (thereby blocking all traffic).

And the piece de resistance:

• I don't like the way the paperboy delivers my paper.

Now, don't get me wrong, I fully appreciate the need for elected officials to communicate with the public and have the public's concerns heard, but, are you fucking kidding me?! These are those types of pus-filled hemorrhoids that get up all blustery and make an issue out of something that isn't. They stand there shouting about their rights as a taxpayer to have the municipality rectify this grevious affront! They pay there taxes so therefore that gives them cart blanchè to act like an undignified goat spelunker and tell you exactly what your doing wrong and how you will fix it. Never mind that most of these issues could be addressed with just one little phone call.

But you feel the need to wait until you're in a room full of people to tell us about your pressing mailbox issue? Really? The municipality should be ashamed of it's obvious neglect because we don't cut your lawn and we had the audacity to send you a letter asking you to do it? We won't clean your driveway for you even though you have a perfectly functional musculatory system? We won't widen the road and your lane because your bus driver can't execute a three point turn? We refuse to act as a babysitting service because your so overprotective that you won't allow your child to walk 1/2 a block home without you?  Who the fuck do we think we are!? The Sultan of Moose Jaw!? We should be drawn, quartered, halved, then sixteenthed for our obvious distain of your basic human rights. How dare we ask that you actually do something for yourself!

Get fucked, you vomitous lakes of Paris Hilton's douche water! While you're bitching about your driveway, I'm trying to figure out how to get everybody to work. While you're pissy about your mailbox, I'm trying to figure out how to make sure you get emergency services if you need them. While you're bitching about the school bus (wrong office, by the way) I'm fighting to keep your school open. While you're precious baby can't manage walk his ten-year-old ass home, I'm.....well....... it's time to take the titty out the mouth, bitch.

I can understand that most people (and I mean most) can't see the big picture. I appreciate that in this day and age its hip to look out for #1. I am aware that colorectalcraniumism is a disease that rivals HIV in it's infection rate. But for fucking Jesoraptors sake, can we breed a little fucking common sense back into the species? Can we euthanize the fucktarded? Can we pig roast the ignorant with fish hook embedded Louiseville Sluggers? May we skullfuck the stupid with the phallus of intelligence?

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I literally have to perform calming exercises during these meetings. I have to say to myself,  "Ok D, deep breaths, count to five, pinch your leg, smack your junk". I'm sure you can relate, one has to be professional. Where I'd like to be "me" I can't. I have my bosses in the room and I have to consider how my behaviour reflects on them. I also have to consider that they are trying to be the biggest ass-suckers they can be and, if I were to tell a ball-gargler that they are a glorious pile of gonnorrhea, it could reflect negatively on The Lords. It's really quite painful to restrain oneself in such ways but, of course,  if they'd call me or come into my office, I'd be able to smack them with my schmack of sassy shrewdness and we could be done with this stupidity. I'd bruise a couple of eyes and bloody a nose or five but it would be problem solved. Alas, they have at me when my hands are tied and my satchels of Earl Grey are secured.

Cunts.

StabbyMart: Where Gin and Rage Mix Perfectly.

WEAPON OF CHOICE PT. 1

Here at StabbyMart we deal with a variety of customers. All genders, colours, races, nationalities, religions and professions. What I'm saying is that every single day we welcome idiots, morons, asshats, jerk-offs, dickfaces, assholes and the ever popular douche. But honestly, we love 'em! I mean they pay the bills so we have to right? WRONG! At StabbyMart we have a wide selection of devices that are specially suited to tearing these people a new one. Please check out our "Specials" section to find that particular something that will satisfy your inner killer.

Of course these particular implements are tailored to my own requirements but I'm sure that we can find something that will make you just as happy in the pants as I am.



Customer: Mr. Oldensingle - Contrary to popular belief, we here at StabbyMart do actually have hearts. I honestly have some sympathy for these people. There are a lot of customers that have partners who have passed on and they have no fucking idea how to do many things that we take for granted every day.These people are usually two generations older than I and have a total lack of knowledge of how to do the tasks that their better half performed. Fifty years ago, in rural areas, gender roles were pretty specific. Pa did the farming and Ma did the cooking, cleaning, child-raisin' and everything else; and I do mean everything. This includes the vast majority of financial transactions and bookeeping. I've had quite a few men come in who have no idea what a tax notice is, what this invoice is for, how a debit card works and even how to write a check. I'm absolutely floored that these men actually manage to survive on their own. You can usually spot a Mr. Oldensingle by the look of lost confusion that is permanently etched upon their face.

The Purchase: A nice fluffy goose-down pillow - $14.95. The poor bastards are scared, confused and lonely already (although you'd be surprised how often I've heard "I'm glad she's gone") just let them go quietly to the great beyond. Don't feel bad, she's waiting to nag him on the other side. As an additional mercy, I suggest you purchase our stain-resistant, 600 thread count pillow case for $69.95. We all know how hard old-man bodily fluids are to get out of any fabric so why take the chance. Come on, let him go into the great beyond in Egyptian Cotton comfort, it's the least you can do.

Customer: Whiny Pantsless - If this wuss was one of my kids, he would have been told to nut up and spanked like that girl I paid last week. This collection of misery will whine about every. Single. Fucking. Thing. Back up and read that again because I really mean it. He can be spotted by observing his stooped posture, perpetual pout, the highly pitched voice and the complete lack of bulge where a bulge should be. I don't mean the lack of schmack like a Ken doll, I mean this fucker is concave.


This silly little bitch will whine about anything and everything. One should be carefull not to confuse Pantsless with Mr. Bitch who complains about everything. No, Whinypants could have (insert supermodel here) fall from the sky and ride his dick like Elizabeth Berkley in a swimming pool and find fault with it. He could win the lottery and pout that it wasn't just $50,000 more. He could have a never ending supply of scrumptious, sack moistening beer and bitch that he would rather have a Smirnoff Ice. These are people whom I have no respect for. The people who will look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth and whine that the horses breath smells better than their own. These are the people who should just stay in their own house and wallow in their own pity because nobody else is joining the party.


Two examples of this fetid pool of apathy come to mind as I remember that, when these conversations occured, I was almost rendered speechless. The first is a call I received from a gentleman who was upset with his taxes. Now, under normal circumstances, this isn't unusual and is actually to be expected. But in this instance, motherfucker wanted to complain about his taxes going DOWN! That's right my sexy, big breasted friends, this crybaby was upset that he was paying LESS in tax. You may ask yourself "Self?" Cause that's your name, "why in Godtopus' holy, genital manipulating tentacles, would somebody complain about paying less tax?" Well, I'll let his own words say it for him: "You know, the bank takes a payment from me every month for taxes, so now I'm going to have to call them and get the payment changed. It's really inconvenient." That's right, Mr. KnobCheese is saving $550.00 a year, but calling the bank is going to cause him undue stress.


The second instance is when we were building a road in front of an certain individuals property. Our policy is that we will pay the land owner for any crop damage we cause or "borrow" material we use. So picture this: You've got a nice, spanking new road in front of your house that didn't cost you a thing and the municipality just sent you a cheque for $400.00 for what amounts to a grader tire rolling over your land. What do you do? Why you call the municipality to whine about having to claim another $400.00 on your income tax. If you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Municipalities don't get audited by Revenue Canada (The IRS for the Americans among you) so of course you would claim that $400.00 that the government won't ever know about. Idiot.

The Purchase: A Pitch Sensitive Shock Collar - $23.64 If you're going to cry you little bitch, I'll bloody well give you something to cry about. The beauty of this little box of hate is that it's programmed to recognize the pitch in a persons voice. Whiny can speak as much as he wants to, as loud as he wants to, but when that voice rises in tone.......ZAP! As an added bonus, his screams will usually be in a much higher octave as well, so you can sit back and watch him be the author of his own demise. Also available with our brand new rectal attachement which features a self contained electrical amplifier.


Customer: The Boss - I assure you that I do enjoy working with people contrary to my rantings, but sometimes I could literally throttle a motherfucker with my bare hands. No garrot, no noose, just flesh on flesh so that I can feel their larynx crumple like a tin can. Those of you in public service have undoubtedly come across this steaming pile of douche many a time. Upon having a disagreement with you, this cuntface is the one that immediately states: "My taxes pay your salary so you work for me."


This simple statement is an immediate non-starter for me and you can be guaranteed that I will do the very least I can to help you upon your utterance of this completely idiotic sentence.  My usual response to this particular type of customer is, "no, I work for the seven people that the public has democratically elected," Typically, this is enough to bring this particular topic of conversation to an end. But in one instance, I had this glorious mound of walking fecal matter in my office that just wouldn't let it go. After he tried for a good fifteen minutes to trap me in some kind of "farmers" logic, I could take no more. I looked at him straight in his one good eye and said "Well, I just bought a loaf of bread at the supermarket yesterday, so I guess that means you work for me now." Needless to say that the conversation didn't go much further. The one with my bosses, however, did.

The Purchase: A pair of luxurious leather gloves - FREE. That's right friends, we here at StabbyMart hate these walking cuntsicles so much we will give you these gloves for free. We don't want you breaking a nail or getting scratched while this bitch is clawing at your hands in a desperate effort to suck down some precious oxygen. We feel that you are doing a public service and should be compensated accordingly. We only have one requirement of you to recieve this free gift (a regular value of $42.67) you must look your victim straight in the eye and scream "Who's the boss now, bitch!" If they rasp anything except "Tony Danza" you are contractualy obligated to donkey kick them in the ballsack/pusslips as an added bonus.

I hope you've enjoyed this short demonstration of our products and how we try to cater to the most specific and refined tastes. Please look for part two of our series whenever I get it done. I'm also in negotiations with Vince Schlomi to act as our spokesperson. I'm quite impressed with how he Slap-chops hookers but I have a feeling that we won't be able to meet his crystal meth requirements.

Oh, and for those of you requesting more nudity:

StabbyMart: Smothering, Choking and Zapping Bitches Since 1977.

BLOODY PUSSIES

As many of you know, I'm a parent. I have three beautiful daughters and a dog. I have been a parent for over nine years now and have honed my instincts into a fine set of skills that should render any offspring immediately insane and irreparably damaged for their future partners. I don't know if I'm like other parents in the way that I do things and, quite frankly, I don't fucking care. Many of those who have seen me in action strongly disagree with how I run this joint but I suspect that there may be a hint of jealousy behind their criticism.

See, I'm old school. I spank, I make them use their manners, they have rules, they have chores, they get punished and so on and so forth. The world doesn't owe you anything and it's sure as hell not going to give you anything for free. Most people don't have an issue with this particular aspect of my parenting although it has been called into question from time to time. No, the issue seems to lie with what I allow my kids to do with their free time and specifically what I let them watch on tv and which movies I let them see.

I subscribe to the philosophy of: "as long as you get your shit done, I don't care what you do". Of course, there are restrictions and limitations that are appended to this philosophy. For example, if I feel that they have been spending too much time watching tv or playing video games, I'll make them go and read. It's all about balance, friends. Balance. I'll let them watch whatever they want within reason and, hell, I'll let them watch whatever I want. Of course I'm not going to pop in Dirty Debutantes Vol. 164: Stacey Goes Equine, but they do watch shows like Futurama, The Simpsons, South Park, HIMYM, BattleStar Galactica, Robot Chicken and so on. They've watched movies chalk full of violence, nudity, foul laguage and other such unsavory attributes. They've even seen giant blue peen! For Godtopus' sake, one of their favorites is SuperTroopers! Every time my parents or in-laws or somebody else is at our house and the kids are watching something they deem inappropriate all I hear is "you let them watch that?" My response is always "Yes. It does really seem to have done a lot of damage hasn't it? They don't seem very well adjusted at all."/sarc

As I'm sure you've noticed, every tv show and every movie comes with a rating. From "G" all the way up to X (unfortunately we don't have any of those kinds of theaters here). Now they even have little written warnings under the ratings. My personal favorite is "possible sex off screen." That's right, we now have to warn people about the potential for sex never mind the actual presence of the beast with six and a half backs. So let's look at one of these ratings in particular, people. Let's look at the PG rating. We all know what PG stands for. It stands for Parental Guidance.

I feel that the demon spawn are more than capable of watching programming that some would consider inappropriate as long as my wife and/or I are watching it with them to explain what they are watching. You know, Parental Guidance. For example: "Honey, you know that zombies are fictional and you shouldn't hit people with a cricket bat, right? At least until the apocolypse actually occurs". Or, "Babygirl, you understand that the words Paul Rudd is screaming at Jason Segel aren't appropriate to say to your teachers, right?" (I should mention that I curse like a sailor afflicted with Tourettes and we call these "Daddy Words"). So far, this has worked out rather well. My kids are polite, well mannered and don't call their teachers "fucking throat spelunkers" even though I do.  Please don't misunderstand, my kids watch a bunch of regular childrens programming as well.  Such quality productions as: iCarly, Hannah Montana, The Lion King 4 & 13/22nds, Bratz The Little Mermaid: Bitch Got A Tail Again and all that other tripe. I honestly have to wonder if these shows do more damage than the ones I let them watch. Hence, I think it is my parental duty to counteract the brain molestation that these reprehensible studio executives are forcing on our youth. Also, Sarina, I suspect that watching these shows may actually be the source of some of your neurosis.

The greatest advantage that my policy on the viewing of entertainment media has, is that the conversations with your children can become so much more rewarding. When I look at one of the supposed fruit of my loins and say "Timmmay!" they immediately know that I'm telling them they've done something retarded. When they come to the supper table and boldly pronounce "Milk was a bad choice!" I know that they would have preffered a different beverage. When my wife looks at the large, bleeding laceration on one of their legs, asks what happens and gets the reponse "Tis but a scratch", we know that it's not that bad. But the absolute best is those situations in which all the knowledge that you've helped to impart through inappropriate tv and movie viewing results in a conversation that blows your mind.

Wife - Did the girls tell you that they decided what they want to be for Halloween?
Me - No. *turns to the mailman's children* What did you decide you wanted to be?
Good One (9 yrs.) - I want to be a zombie!
Bad One - (6 yrs.) - I want to be an evil fairy!
Undetermined (1 month) - Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Me - *Sniff* That's....that's awesome.

Now, aside from wondering how I explain my kids appearence to the Quakers at their school, I was pretty damn proud. Then this happened a short while later:

Bad One - Good One! You should be a vampire!
Me - Not a chance, vampires are pussies.
Bad One - How can they be pussies? They drink peoples blood!
Me - Have you seen Twilight?
Bad One - No.
Me - The vampires fucking sparkle in the sunlight.
Bad One - Vampires can't go in the sun. And they DON'T sparkle.
Me - Exactly.
Bad One - *after considering this revelation* I guess that vampires are just bloody pussies.
Me - Bwhahahahahahaha!

StabbyMart: Rearing your children right.