Great Moments in Fuck Up History

Like any decent human being, I'll do nice things for my girlfriend. I'm not saying I'm some Don Juan or Casanova doing some corny ass shit, but I have my moments. Some of my friends and colleagues would consider me somewhat "whipped" and I would somewhat agree with them. Actually I would completely agree with that statement and would freely admit that I only get to see my testicles when she snags the jar she has them in out of her hiding place. So being the ball-less, pussy-whipped, hapless fuck that I am, I futilly agreed to do another nice thing for her. I agreed to throw myself to the wolves and attend her family reunion with her and her mother at a cow pasture out in the middle of nowhere Central Cannucksburg, Canada.

Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Canada. Canadian people are very friendly and Canada has a lot going for it. Fresh air, scenic views, free public health-care, lots of land sparsely inhabited by overly-friendly people...ok fuck it I have plenty against Canada. But they aren't the main characters of this telling tale of fuck-tard-ery as this story could've occurred in Hickville U.S.A. with the same result.

So I was somewhat prepared for this family gathering as I had met her family on her mother's side already on numerous occasions. Being that my girlfriend was borne to parents who were over the age of 40, her family is much older and much more conservative than she. Also assuming that we were heading to Sasketchuan farming country rather than an urban metropolis, I knew that I was going to be surrounded by the religious right the whole time I was there. Which to me means "No Pussy for Higgy Week" since there is no sleeping with my girlfriend or in this case sleeping NEAR my girlfriend. I'm not even joking. I slept on a couch in the living room, which was as comforting to my back as Ike was to the city of Galveston, while my girlfriend shared a double-bed with her snoring mother choking babies in her sleep. She could not escape the snorefest because she was NOT allowed to sleep on the other couch in the living room since I was in there. HOUSE RULES. Why the hell would I ever want to rail my girlfriend with the slight chance that I would be caught by the Jesus police, thrown in a obnoxiously violet field of flax, and left for dead in a country that isn't my own? Give me a damn break. I only tell you this to properly describe the setting of the following story. Had there been a fucking clue in my head, remembering for a split second my surroundings, maybe this would never have happened.

During the week I was in Canada, we ventured with the same people to one of the relatives' houses to have dinner and to talk about the same things we had talked about the previous evening. These subjects ranged from planning the next family reunion and the farming industry to the comfort of Jesus so you can imagine how riveting a time this was for my girlfriend and myself.

So on one of these evenings, we had to drive an hour or so past many a field and pasture to another one of these entertaining dinners. Of course with my luck, my girlfriend is sitting in the back seat passed out from the excitment of our day picking fucking berries in the garden and I am riding shotgun with her mom's cousin's husband (As a small aside to this story, this family tree although large does not have many branches if you catch my drift). Not to get distracted from the tale here, I had to make awkward small talk with this guy during this boring drive. I felt compelled to at least do so as a common courtesy to the guy. This man worked in the mines of Northern Canada for 30 some years and those years had not been so kind to him that's for sure. Basically he was a huge German, grizzly in stature and calling him rough on the exterior would be like saying Sarah Jessica Parker is kinda ugly. Ouch. Anyway, since this grizzled man lived in Canada all of his life, his accent was pretty damn thick, his pronunciation of words was odd to me and frankly it was hard for me to hear what he had to say. Keep this point in mind.

We start to talk about the frequency by which he travels. He definitely lives the good life now spending 2 to 3 months in the winter staying in a place in California just for shits and giggles. He's like a goddamn Monarch Butterfly. He begins to talk about his travels in the States and the dialogue goes as follows:

Man - "I drove down through Georgia one time."
Higgy - "Oh really?"
Man - "Yeah. They definitely have strange food there."
Higgy - "Oh really?"

You can definitely tell I was real engaged in this conversation. But this is where the tide turned.

Man - "Yeah. Boiled penis is real popular there."
Higgy - "Uh. Are you serious?"
Man - "Yeah. It's boiled penis but they call it Hot Penis there."

This is where I start to giggle like a gossipy little girl. You probably know where this story is going but unfortunately I was high off of the surplus of oxygen that is up in Mayberry.

Man - "Yeah I tried some. It was different."
Higgy - "You are a brave man. "
Man - "Why?"
Higgy - "I would never try something like that."
Man - "Well I tried it and it definitely wasn't for me."
Higgy - "I don't care if it was boiled, hot, dry, wet or spicy, I would
never put penis in my mouth."

Yes those words came out of my mouth. Keep in mind all of this time my girlfriend is sound asleep.

Man - "But the funny thing is, they have Boiled Penis there but you can't
find peanut butter anywhere down there."

Then it hit my like a ton of fucking bricks etched with the word "Dumbass." The whole time he was saying "peanuts" not "penis." His goddamn thick Canadian accent did not enunciate the "uuhhhtttss" in "peanuts." Why would I think he ate penis? From what animal would said penis come from? I imagined it being the Laffy-Taffy of all animal bi-products and that thought shrouded me from the obvious fact he was talking about peanuts, which by the way I find delicious. However, he did not catch on to my Freudian slip and I was safe from ridicule and an even more awkward moment.

So we finally arrive, exit the vehicle and proceed to the party. I then pulled my girlfriend aside and told her how much of a dumbass I had been and the fact I could never eat peanuts in front of those relatives of her's ever again. Which really pisses me off because a lot of good shit can be made with peanuts. Fuck salt.

Hopefully that is the last time I talk about the insertion of dong into my gob.


No reason for this image besides the fact that I think this guy has had a view dongs inserted into his gob during his few years of life.

The Immaculate

As you get older, you start to take things for granted. Your health, your ability to compete in sports, your wealth, your ability to last longer than 30 seconds bumping uglies with your lady-friend are all things we all take for granted from time to time. I guess since I'm in my 20's I tend to do this more because I still have this feeling of invincibility even though the idea of my death sometimes lingers in my mind. However there is one thing I will NEVER take for granted and will always appreciate whenever it happens. It is a rarity, but something that will perk you up quicker than a Red Bull Vodka yet could be overlooked in one's life when it does occur. I feel it is my duty to shed light on this matter and let you know that this moment should be cherished. In fact I revere it so much that I feel it should always be capitalized. My friends, let me present to you, the Immaculate.

The Immaculate One-Wiper or simply put the Immaculate is a bowel movement which requires no use of toilet paper of any kind. Most people would think, "Who gives a shit?" Well to you naysayers please answer the following question: "When was the last time you took a dump that required no use of toilet paper?"

I bet you can't remember. But you should. You should mark that down on your calendar as a good day in your life. Shitting is a necessity in one's life to live and as you get older it becomes more of a hassle. Since it is a necessity a good shit is overlooked and a great shit isn't even reminisced about in one's daydreams. But it should. However according to http://www.unasked.com/, the average male will spend an average 3 years of their lives with their ass on porcelain. Look it up. It's science. So you might as well appreciate when God and more importantly, your digestive system, decide to cut you a break and save you an extra 5-10 mins de-scatting your ass.

Let me break it down for you even further. An Immaculate requires the following:

1) Perfect combination of foods
2) Almost perfect health
3) Superb sphincter control
4) Patience

Without any of one of these three, it is impossible. The best way to compare it is pitching a perfect game in baseball. Everything has to be going your way. If you eat some bad Chinese, your shit is rounding the bases like Jose Reyes. If you have any sort of illness, the first thing to suffer is normally your fecal matter and your pitch count. If you are a pre-emptive pincher, then it is like you're getting cocky and losing focus on your true goal. If you try to force it and you don't just let it happen, you let a possible no-hitter slip away and you're being pulled out of the game because you're beat up and bruised. Here how the pitches would go in the following games:

Perfect Game: This is the Immaculate. It pushes through any foiliage with no impedances, exits cleanly with only a pinch at the very end, and drops into the bowl with little splash. You are so confident with this bowel movement that you feel there is no need to check wipe as it baked in the oven for a few hours making it well-formed and hard as a rock. Push too hard however you end up throwing a...

No Hitter: This is the Immaculate One-Wiper. It is much like the Immaculate but a check-wipe occurs. You still had a superb outing however you did not achieve perfection. Sometimes the push is too strained and caused some battle scars or there is a preemptive pinch, or worse of al you were not confident in your shit and still check-wiped for good nature. A failure by no means, but still not perfection.

Complete Game: Great outing but pinched way too early and required multiple wipes.

Lasted 7 innings: Great outing as well but required several wipes of only residual waste.

Lasted 5 innings: You started off pitching well but unfortunately weather conditions and in this case, overgrown foliage got in the way and you spent 10 minutes searching for Rudy Huxtable in the bushes.

Lasted 3 innings: You started off sloppy and try to end up making ground by over-compensating which leads to some explosive situations at the mound. Your relievers have to spend the remainder of the game cleaning up your mess and pitching the game into extra innings which usually leaves some redness and some hurt feelings.

The Zambrano(Complete Chernobyl Meltdown): This would pretty much equate to you getting food poisoning or the flu and basically pissing out of your ass. Have fun killing the environment with your rampant waste of toilet paper.

I have achieved all but the true Immaculate. I've thrown a few no-hitters in my day but I am still seeking perfection. I'm always too much of a pussy and check wipe. If you think I have a sick fascination with shit, you're either a woman or just don't get it. It is a feeling that is indescribable to those who do not hold it in high regard.

Visual Scarring

Why as the older men get, the more desire they have to hold conversations in the locker room while totally naked?

Now you could be saying to yourself, "Why does it bother you Higgy? Every dude has a dick so it isn't a big deal. Why are you looking at their pricks Higgy? Are you gay? You must love the cock." Now while these may be humorous thoughts in your head questioning my sexuality, you need to honestly ask yourself what you would do in the following situation:

You are coming back from a work out at the gym housed in your corporate office. As you walk into a locker room, you are greeted by a "superior" in the company, a few decades older than you. Before can utter a salutation in return, you notice said "superior" is toweling off and greeting you while completely naked. You try as hard as you can to maintain eye contact but your peripheral vision fails you and before you know it that image is engrained into your mind for a few days.

Do you...
(a) Try as hard as you can to keep your eyes at the ceiling, muttering a short retort, grab your towel and head into the shower as fast as humanly possible?
(b) Or maintain eye contact and conversation knowing you will unfortunately catch a glimpse of any of his Chernobyl-esque type deformities while he props his leg up on the bench like he is Captain Morgan?

The right thing to do to further your career would probably be choice (b) but sorry I am physically incapable of doing that and I would like you to tell me you would do otherwise. I'm a heterosexual male who does not want to see another man's penis unless it is part of a pornographic epic where it is on its journey to fellatio or coitus by an extremely gorgeous buxom blonde with no virtue and little inhibition. It becomes visual pollution in any other situation because I'm sorry, I don't want to know anyone that well.

So here's my advice to all of you old bastards who love to pontificate (Thank you Stephen A. Smith) yet wonder why people avert their eyes while talking to you in the locker room:

Cover your damn dick because no one wants to see your member counting beats like a metronome while you discuss Wall Street, the score of last night's Red Sox game or your issues with women. We do not want to see where you do not derive your power from nor want to see how gravity and decay will take its toll on our units. I am speaking for all of us younger guys who are tired of the locker room being the Swinging Sausage club. Too bad none of you shameless fucks will receive this message.

I'm done talking about cock.

Fin.

Find the Knob in the Picture

I can not deny it, I have some major nerdish tendencies. I have a degree in Computer Engineering, I work in IT and worst of all my main vice is deemed one of a spindly recluse who still lives in his mother's basement.

Hi, my name is Higgy and I'm addicted to video games.

Ok maybe I'm not addicted to video games so much as addicted to buying video games because I have more of them in my place than I know what to do with. And it is not like every spare moment I have I spend on video games either. I do play recreational sports and do go out with my friends so I feel as though sometimes too much of my expendable income is invested in video games I don't have time to play.

So with a heavy heart and an unwillingness to move this crap to my new apartment, I went into a GameStop a month or so ago to sell a lot of old games and systems I had that just were collecting dust. I mean A LOT. I sold five over-stuffed grocery bags with old video games and video game systems that were ripping the plastic right off of the bag. It took all three of the clerks at the store to itemize my trove. Being in the store was not nozzle-ish enough for me, I had to make every other douche in line wait for my games to be sold at pennies to the dollar spent on them. There was one game in fact that I got 75 cents in STORE CREDIT for which I probably spent $40 on at the time of purchase. Yes I said store credit. I would actually get less dollar value than that if took cash and the story I'm about to tell would never have happened. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing at this point.

So with the $500 in store credit I got, I could save on pre-ordering games to be released in the coming months. So with that in mind I pre-ordered a few games one of which was Star Wars: The Force Unleashed. The clerk, Chris, was very pushy on how GameStop was having a "midnight release party" where there would be costumed Jedi's at the store, Star Wars trivia, etc. and you could pick up the game at midnight of the day of the release. Why people (sorry they like to be called "gamers") can't wait 10 hours until the store opens up to pick up the game is beyond me. So at this point I tried to ignore Chris and his rants of Jedi revelry because I felt I was above the Star Wars fanboy fray.

Fast forward two months later, the idea of this midnight release party didn't seem so bad for several reasons.
1) It was a Monday night and I had nothing to do.
2) I never understood fanboy-ism and wanted to see it in the flesh.
3) The prospect of shitting upon a different demographic seemed appealing to me.

However I did not want to do this alone so I solicited the help of my friends Nik and T-Pain. With little convincing they were in on this little adventure. It also helped that they both had enough trivia knowledge in Star Wars to be useful if fanboys tested our Jedi worthiness.

Since T-Pain has attended to various Anime conventions and I still consider him a credible human being since I could never imagine him in fictional character garb, I had the following dialogue with him.

Higgy- "What is the appeal of dressing up in costume at these 'conventions.'"
T-Pain- "There's probably not a way to explain it which you would understand. The best I can relate it is that it's like wearing a jersey of your favorite football player. You don't have a real good reason for wearing it besides the fact they are your 'favorite' football player or football team."
Higgy- "But those football players are real."
T-Pain- "Well a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, Jedi probably existed too."
Higgy- "So you consider George Lucas--"
T-Pain- "A Prophet? Yes."

I neglected to mention Nik forged a light-saber out of an empty roll of Brawny and a curled up file folder. Creative is he. Here I am striking down upon T-Pain with brute force of the Dark Side.

So with that in mind we roll three deep to the Gamestop 15 minutes before midnight. First we drive by to see a few people outside including two parents and their young girls playing with light sabers but we see no costumed crusaders. We're immediately disappointed. We park and tred slowly towards the store anxious we're going to be the only losers there. As the store's patrons come into view I start to get very giddy. Much to my glee I spy five people are dressed up as Star Wars characters. The power of hateration was building up inside of me at that point and I could not stop laughing. They had legitimate light-sabers which probably cost hundreds of dollars so I was hesitant to bring in Nik's crafted blade but with a slight guilt trip on his part, I unsheathed the weapon and walked toward the store.

I try to compose myself but it is not working. As I enter the door, the glee I had once had turned into instant disgust. This oddly familiar odor of sweat and stale cheese cinged the hairs in my nostrils and made me gag for a second. I had smelled this before. Then I look around and see heavy-set fanboys all around quoting Star Wars lines and getting a little too excited about this release. I sure as hell knew the stank was not coming from myself but realized it probably was the combination of unbathed layers of fat and skin drenched in sweat and semen that has built up for weeks in anticipation of this game. That shit was that foul, not even kidding.

We walked around since there was no set line to see our clerk friend Chris. He was telling us we should've came earlier because we missed the trivia and the costume contest portions of the evening. I was starting to feel even more uncomfortable at that point. I walk up to the register, patiently wait for another clerk to stop popping a chubby with an Ogrish-looking broad with frizzy hair by talking Sci-Fi and give me my damn game voucher. Once that is done I walk around the store some more and see a fellow hater filming this nerd convention on his camera phone and giggling to himself the whole time. We start talking and he shows me the pictures of this debacle and he tells me, "Man I'm gonna edit the hell out of this shit." He then caught a glimpse of my badass lightsaber and instantly starts laughing his ass off and wants a picture with it.

Sir Lucious Left-Foot getting his hate on

I then see the flicker of the light sabers outside and dash over there with Nik's camera to get a picture with the costumed nozzles. Qui-Gon Jinn was probably the largest anal lavage there. He asked if I wanted to wield his light saber and I told him, "I'd rather hold my custom-made blade thank you very much." He wasn't very bright and didn't catch onto the fact I was mocking this whole charade.

Crossing Swords with the Jedi's

Just look into how much he stays into character. Being a nozzle also takes commitment to your craft. He has definitely honed in on that shit. I think Mace Windu was definitely catching the hater vibes I was dropping.


I then go back and stand in line next to one of the husky cum-targets, grab my game and exit the store. I however don't leave without one more picture. Right before this picture is taken I try to rally more of the costumed patrons around me by saying "Saber Up!" This was the result.

Thug Life!

Try to find the biggest douchebag in that picture. Don't strain too hard.

Because they do exist

Have you ever come across a person that you just feel the term douche bag doesn't fully encompass how much their existence bastardizes any argument against 102nd trimester abortion? Well normally finding someone like this is pretty rare, especially since a respectable person wouldn't want to associate with a douche nor allow themselves to get to know this excrement swallowing baffoon well enough to get a grasp on how deep and cavernous their inner sanctum of douchebaggery truly traverses. Instead of trying to rant about these beings and wasting my valuable time on them I simply refer to these people as Nozzles. Dictionary.com defines douche bag and nozzle as such:

douche bag –noun

a small syringe having detachable nozzles for fluid injections, used chiefly for vaginal lavage and for enemas.

noz·zle –noun
1. a projecting spout, terminal discharging pipe, or the like, as of a hose or bellows.
2. Slang. the nose.
3. the spout of a teapot.
4. the socket of a candlestick.

So if you are catching my drift right about now you are noticing that a nozzle is a tool for a douche bag. If you are in fact so low on the food chain that you are used by a douche bag, you my friend have hit rock bottom. This is how the term is derived however it does not truly define what it means to be a nozzle. The key attribute of a nozzle is lack of self-awareness.

If you are aware that you have some douche tendencies then you are in fact a douche bag . I know I can be a big douche bag especially when it appears that I am belittling someone to boost my own ego. It probably appears so 95% of the time. I'm coping with my disability and learning to accept it. However what makes me a douche and not a nozzle is the fact that I am AWARE of my faults. Here are some examples of douches and nozzles.

Douche:

He has some douchy moments but at least he makes fun of himself.

Nozzle:


Here's a couple of words for you: L. Ron Hubbard. Anyone who believes that a woman should not use an epidural injection during child birth while remaining completely silent just because a dead science fiction writer may have scribed it is properly equipped to aid a vaginal lavage. Thank you dictionary.com, you don't know how much I truly appreciate you providing me with a fruity synonym to douche. Lavage....I will be saying that for awhile.

Douche:


He just has to know that his jokes are unoriginal. I sincerely hope so.


Nozzle:

If you happened to tune into his speech at the RNC, you would know why he's a nozzle. Completely oblivious to how much of a fuck-tard he is.

Nozzle(s):

Pretty self-explanatory at this point.

Nozzle:

Nozzletov!

Hopefully I have made the distinction very clear.

Uhh...Why?

Stephen Colbert's DNA will be shot up into space:


http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/TV/09/08/colbert.dna.ap/index.html#cnnSTCText



On a related note, my DNA will be shot into this toilet following some alone time minding the step-children:

Plain commode I know, but I want to waste my spawn in the quaintest of places.

Let's see if your moral compass is askew

Last year I was sent the following link by a friend:

http://www.howmanyfiveyearoldscouldyoutakeinafight.com/

Before you read any further please click on the previous link and complete the quiz. The proceeding email chain will make much more sense to you.

The following is the discussion that occurred between myself and my friends regarding the slaughtering of children.

From: Higgy

To: J-Hova, Thomper, Mills, The General

Subject: Let's see if you actually have a moral compass

Date: Dec 20, 2007 11:33 am

Since I do not have one, my number is 27....what's yours? http://www.howmanyfiveyearoldscouldyoutakeinafight.com/

From: J-Hova

I'm a wuss. I could only take 19. haha. I did love the question about using kids as weapons!

From: Mills

I could take 23. That was funny. The fighting dirty question was easy!

From: Higgy

If you could do this to a kid, then you definitely can raise your number to 30. http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/law/12/20/mortal.kombat.ap/index.html

From: Thomper

I can take on 30. I must be a bastard

From: The General

Apparently I'm the only one of us with any morals at all because I could only take 18. There's something scary wrong with both Thomper and Higgy.

From: Higgy

It's truly all about our reach, our ability to handle a Zerg swarm in Starcraft and our ingenuity when it comes to using a child's lifeless body as a weapon against the other children. I've heard two strategies thus far from my co-workers as to how to approach this, let me know if what you think.

1) Isolate one helpless child and give that child a swift kick to the head ala Chuck Norris. This will immediately set the tone of carnage to the other children which will not only intimidate, but send the child swarm running away making each individual child easier to off.

2) My idea is to grab one child by the legs and swing the child around knock his/her head into the heads of the other children swarming around me. Not only will this knock out the child who's unconscious body is in my hands, but the charging children horde as well. This is a quick and effective way of knocking out at least 8 children per child nunchuck which is a good ratio for me. This only lasts as long as the child's cranium remains attached to the body. By the time I use 3 child nunchucks, I will be exhausted but the 27 children will perish.

Thoughts? Concerns? Better strategies?

From: Thomper

I plan to simply step on all of them.

5 year old bastards

From: The General

Higgy, you've got more issues than I have words for right now. That being said, I agree with your strategy, and if I got in a pinch would definitely use the ankle-spin/cranial-hammer technique. However, you do have to remember that these are five year olds, and therefore are easily turned against one another. All you would have to say to one kid is that another kid is going to kill his/her dog and you'll start an all-out Lord of the Flies hunting between them. It's all about coercion. Just play it out until all of the kids hate each other. Then make a bracket. Through this technique, you can put on a Mortal Kombat type tournament and then have to only turn one defenseless child (the winner of the tournament, who is most likely already hurt and tired) into a crimson pile of human flesh. That's just my thoughts on the issue.

From: Higgy

Pure genius, only you would use an allusion as a strategy in killing children. Good for you General....Good for you.

I do have to give the General credit. For admitting to have such high morals, he was the only one to truly acknowledge my child nunchuk idea and retort with a much more devious method and describe mauling one child into a "crimson pile of flesh." Psychological warfare is not only smart but is quite underhanded. I'm impressed.

These are the types of things my friends and I do to pass the time at our corporate jobs. I can't imagine what I could do in the corporate world if I didn't waste my time imagining myself in an inprobable situation where merciless Children of the Corn surrounded me in a basketball gym attempting to knock me into oblivion. How I've lived this long, I don't know.

Extraordinarily Ordinary

Before I begin writing this post I feel like I already need to apologize to you. I've got no business writing in a blog trying to draw any interest from you. I actually have no business making any of my thoughts public. Most of the shit that spews from my mouth and mind is in fact shit. It shouldn't be touched or consumed, I probably make a weird, strained face when it comes out and it usually results in disgust from those who unfortunately encounter it. My primary aim is to get shock laughter out of people, normally by making comments that slight a random nozzle's (term to be defined later) intelligence, attractiveness, well-being, mental capacity, and basically any visible or audible defect I perceive. The kind of laughter where you ask yourself, "Why am I laughing?" "Should I be laughing?" Then you get down on yourself and say things like, "I'm a bad person, but I can't help it." "I should cleanse myself by doing a charitable deed." "Maybe I should go to church." There's no point in fighting these feelings because I usually say these things to myself on a daily basis. However the sooner you realize feelings of remorse are natural, the sooner you get over the fact you have laughed in the face of someone with Down Syndrome. Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da life goes on.



I tend to over exaggerate things in my life including the title of this post. I think exaggerations make things more humorous. I find a certain joy in using big descriptive adjectives to describe inane nouns in my life. However I can't even say that the title is even an accurate depiction of myself. I'm a tall, slender (that used to be an understatement, reference the character Kyle Edwards from the classic tale of finding one's self in college Road Trip) 25 year old male with notable facial features (reference previous understatement) who has a similar tolerance for stupidity as New Orleans levees have for ocean water. So am I without faults to boost one's ego off of? No. In fact I feel my capability to poke fun of my physical defects and my multitude of faults absolve any sin I commit through verbal defecation and or any libel I scribe on this blog since I am as fair game to ridicule as the next disheveled hobo.


Hopefully this will prepare you somewhat for the type of humor and rants that resulting posts will burn into your retinas. If not, then God save you or go fuck yourself.