How to identify a Child-Toucher

Thanks to DC 101's Elliot in the Morning and DDT (now known as The Rambling Man from now on for his long-winded comments which had me at "pussy-whipped" and lost me at the "whole grains"), I was made aware of this new development in Pedophiliac Prevention.


http://www.washtimes.com/news/2008/oct/15/pumpkin-marks-sex-offenders-homes/

This got me thinking, I probably could come up with a Halloween costume or two from this. This also got me thinking, I work for a company with 15,000+ employees worldwide. There has to be a registered sex offender amongst them. My company prides itself on diversity so I'm sure we've diversified our workforce enough to pick up at least a child-diddler for good measure. In all honestly I've felt for a long time that one of my co-workers is awkward enough to be a Chester. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel this guy has a few key character traits that he could possibly fall into this bucket. So I've decided to make a check list of tell tale signs to determine if someone you work with in fact touches the hearts and genatalia of our youth.

The signs that you have spotted a child-toucher



1) Awkward appearance including facial fair. If they look desheveled or have an apathy towards life because they're too hideous to correct their situation and find a suitable mate their age, you may have found a child-toucher. This person may think a child would not judge them and their many physical faults as children are pure and not judgemental. Pedophiles I'm sorry to inform you that you're wrong because although children may be blind to color differences, they're not blind to ugly. I'm sure anything looking like it came straight from the crypt would probably scare them, not elicit their trust.



2) Awkward social mannerisms. This person probably blends in because they are good at what they do, so most people overlook their mannerisms. I, however, am a very judgemental person and no apparent flaw passes by my radar. These mannerisms can range from anything to awkward conversations because they are social retards to the acknowledgment of odd hobbies for a person their age. For example, if you notice said gentleman is a cat lover because he talks to your female co-worker about her cat at great lengths, that guy probably owns several cats to capture the imagination and orificial virtue of young children. Or the guy could just be gay. Honestly a toss-up here.



3) A soft voice only rivaled by Raffi. I'm not saying this guy would sing Baby Beluga or any shit like that in public, but this person probably carries a guitar with them for no reason at work functions or in general in hopes of wooing a child with some sweet, soft-spoken lullabies. Children do love music and sing alongs. However they won't like them as much when they find out what they are holding up to their lips is not a microphone at all.



4) Prolific wearing of Hawaiian shirts. I'm sorry but Hawaiian shirts in public places other than Hawaii bother me. Hawaiian shirts have no place anywhere let alone at work. Anyone who wears them is trying way too hard to show people they are part of the "fun" crowd. This extra effort to put up a facade is obviously a ploy to hide the fact that they fondle with baby foreskin.


I'm sure you may have an encounter or two with a pedophile, so please provide some suggestions. Do it for the children damn it.

Sometimes Other People's Ignorance is My Bliss

Whenever I try to find something humorous on the internet, the first place I turn to is http://www.foxnews.com/. Well today I found this nice gem coming out of my old stomping grounds, Sacramento, CA. The world would be so boring without white trash.

http://elections.foxnews.com/2008/10/15/gop-site-california-removes-waterboard-obama-graphic/

...In other news, I had this nice text message conversation a la Mickey Avalon with Hova:

Hova: "My dick need no A1. Yo dick even make men run."
Higgy: "Why would your dick need A1?"
Hova: "It's thick like a steak, but tasty enough you don't need steak
sauce."

This is what we refer to as a setup. He baited me into asking that question. Nicely done Hova.

Higgy can't hold his liquor...again (amended twice)

As I sit here fulfilling on my corporate duty of trying to recruit the best and the brightest college youth to my company, I have plenty of downtime to reminisce about my weekend back home. I go back at least once a year to my alma mater to give this test to graduating college students and at least once a year I feel further and further disconnected from the youthful exuberance I once had when I myself was a college youth drinking and fornicating in and around every campus orifice. Okay, that is a blatant lie. The majority of my college days were spent callousing up my dick with my hand with glorious thoughts of how I would plow through one college slut after the next after consuming massive amounts of liquor. Unfortunately for myself and your entertainment from this blog, I was a pretty tame individual compared to most and didn't come into my own until a little too late in my life. Basically I would have been over-qualified as a contestant of Beauty and the Geek. However I was able to get drunk and enjoy the company of friends, so I'm not living with any real regret as to missed opportunities.

Now when I visit and share some spirits with my brethren, I end up going too hard too fast and have to bail out early. Real early. So early my mother could've tucked me in and kissed me goodnight early. I just can't handle staying up all day drinking. So I've decided to chronicle the short-lived night I had out with my friends this past friday. The timing is probably incorrect but we started around 6-6:30 and definitely ended at 11.

Without further adieu, here are the events that took place in the probably the weakest tribute to all that is Tucker Max (http://www.tuckermax.com/).

6:30 pm: Arrive with my girlfriend at Mad Mex, a local campus bar/restaurant she used to work at. She gets greeted by every Gaping Hole and Nozzle in the joint as if it were Cheers. I stand in the background and let her get her 15 minutes of fame and adoration.

6:40 pm: Once she answers the repeated questions from the said Gaping Holes and Nozzles about her life after college even though they are douchy enough to not remember the reason why she moved in the first place, one of them finally has the foresight to think we may actually want to be served. This guy is definitely a standout amongst them. So immediately we go for their juggernaut, their "Big Azz" margaritas. This drink is sweet nectar straight from the Devil's tit. It is a deceptively strong drink that can make giggling school girls out of grown ass men.

6:50 pm: Our first drink arrives and down the hatch she goes. I always tend to drink these way too fast. This folks is what we refer to as foreshadowing.

7:00 pm: Hova and Mills arrive not a moment too soon. I needed a diversion from the fray of feminine hygene products coming my girlfriend's way. Immediately we begin discussing the finer points of the female vagina and Hova's newfound lust for it.

7:10 pm: Some delicious honey barbecue wings have been consumed much to the detriment of my health. Heartburn kicks in as I write this. I make an empty promise to curb my diet.

7:30 pm: Second margarita comes my way. I forgot how good these things tasted. At this point I make a reference to a joke I had made a previous evening about how vaginas always look sad and questioning how sad they would be if they had cleft palattes. Second to red hair, that is the one feature I am afraid my offspring will have due to my bad karma and overall disdain for all that is mutated. I really need to stop repeating what spews out of my mouth for the good of my children.

8:00 pm: Third margarita hits my throat. I can feel the acidic nature of the margarita eat at my already decaying enamel. At this point I am at "insecure drunk." A little more than tipsy at this point but easily upset by any disparaging comment, intentional or not said to me.

8:05 pm: Discussion begins about my blog and references to Entourage begin. We're drunk enough to believe that I'm going to make it big from this thing and how Mills and Hova would be my part of my entourage. We decide Mills would be Eric since he's the grounded, conservative one amongst us, Hova would be Drama because basically he's the wild-card and our friend Thomper would be Turtle. My girlfriend just tuning into the conversation says to me, "Why are you Vince?" I instantly take this as a slight against my physical appearance by saying things like, "Oh what am I not good looking enough to be Vince?" I instantly begin my defense mechanism which is to make half-serious, half-joking comments to her until she tells me I'm the finest man around. She tells me "You would be Turtle. I think Turtle is cute." That instantly sets me off for the remainder of the evening.

8:10 pm: I ask the waiter for the bill so I can cover the first half of drinking and my friends could cover the rest. I figured my per diem could cover it until I saw it. $69. Fuck. Well that blows. I guess drinking is on my tab tonight. You figure this kind of spending would curb my need to drink. Nope.

8:30 pm: My fourth margarita comes up and goes down the hatch even quicker than before. I am giddy around my friends but noticably distant from my girlfriend due to the "Turtle" comment. I am so petty when I'm drunk.

8:45 pm: Hova now has become a walking penis wanting to bang any girl who walks in. I see a girl I think he is eyeing and become noticably disgusted at the audacity she has to flaunt her "muffin-top." When I am disgusted, angered, annoyed, or feel someone is beneath me, I am unable to hide my reaction. My facial expression normally speaks volumes, which makes me not only a bad poker player but a bad person. Hova then corrects me and I am relieved. The girl he was looking at was cute. He does nothing about this. It's ok though because he is much less of a pussy than I was during my single days.

9:00 pm: The waiter asks us if we want 1 more round. Without much of a fight, we humbly oblige. Number 5 is on its way and at this point I am unaware of the consequences of my actions. But I soon will be.

9:05 pm: As my girlfriend attempts to eat a tortilla chip, Hovito knocks the chip out of her hand and states, "Don't come in here with that weak tot action." I proceed to giggle like a fairy. My girlfriend puts up with a lot of shit.

9:10 pm: My friends start throwing pieces of napkins into my girlfriend's drink. I block some of the napkins and waive my finger Dikembe Mutombo style. This obviously escalates things and whole napkins, looking like used tampons with aborted ova on them, get tossed into each other's drinks. This however does not prevent me from consuming mine.

9:30 pm: We decide to leave this restaurant and head to our normal closer bar, the Bier Stube. A complete hole in the wall we fell in love with during our college years due to it's rustic feel, cheap beer and incredible juke box. Heading to a closer bar at 9:30 pm --> more foreshadowing folks.

9:35 pm: We go buy cards at a convenience store, Hova annoys the clerks by messing with the door and making the doorbell play multiple times. He thrives on being awkward.

9:40 pm: We arrive at the Bier Stube and begin to play the game Asshole. If you haven't played it, it is a great game to belittle others, force them to call you their savior and then make them atone for their sins against you by consuming more alcohol. Needless to say I was praying to the gods of Hova, Mills and my girlfriend, who at this point I still think is a bitch for referring to me as "Turtle."

10:15 pm: I hit the wall. When I remark, "The room just got dizzy," I knew things were about the go awry. The massive amounts of tequila are striking back as reparations for the Mexican-American War. I immediately head to the bathroom which looks like the scene of a murder-suicide, wrap my arms around one of the most disgusting commodes I have ever seen, drop to my knees in several urine samples and stick my head into toilet lined with pubes looking like a porcelain vagina. I feel like a petrie dish with all of the different kinds of DNA on my body. I proceed to vomit for a few minutes. Mills comes in to guard the door as if to prevent a gang-style rape for which I am eternally grateful.

10:30 pm: I walk out to meet with my friends again and tell them that I need to get home. I am dizzy and definitely can't walk straight. My girlfriend calls me a pussy and tells me to go outside. I chill by the dumpster outside and my advocate, Mr. Mills comes to check on me. I tell him I need to go home and he soon brings out my girlfriend who proceeds to tell me. "It's fucking 10:30, do you seriously want to go home?" We head towards my rental car and she drives me home telling me how I need to pace myself and how I am a little bitch. She's not happy with me. This is payback for all of the times I've had to hold her hair and console her for being a sloppy drunk

11:00 pm: We get to the hotel and my girlfriend becomes the water Nazi shoving glass after glass of water in my gob. At this point I'm still pissed at her about her comment but I have no time to think as she's yelling, "Take out your fucking contacts." I love her.

11:01 pm: I proceed to throw up again, three more times. Each of these times I ended up ralphing through my nostrils. I imagine this would be the initial sting of doing a line a coke off of a stripper's ass but this is much less satisfying.

11:05 pm: My girlfriend cackles in the background, "I would blow you if you could actually get it up." Total bitch move but in hindsight I view it as well played.

So my friends, that was one of the weaker nights I've had. The next day I was referred to as beachfront property due to the massive amounts of sand in my vagina. The rest of the weekend was fairly tame. Thomper, Hova, and I made a BW3's waitress uncomfortable by arguing about the merits of using your pro football fame to stick it in women and about how burying menstruation does not honor dead babies but only attracts bears while T-Grange, Mills and his fiancee were uncomfortable by our discourse. Thomper, Hova and I came up with a sexual position called the "Texas Shootout" where two couples are fucking with the males backs to eachother and then whoever shoots his load at the other male's backside first wins the shootout.

God we are disgusting human beings.

The Faces of Economic Crisis

Whenever I go to http://www.cnn.com/ during one of my many visits to the Internet at work, the only images I see are those of people at the NYSE cupping their head in their hands as if they just found out that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Jesus aren't real. It's actually quite depressing. I understand we're in a serious time for America due to some major investment fuck ups by big investment firms, but do we really need a visual? I mean I do on occasion enjoy looking at pictures where we are capturing a moment in a person's life where they are literally in the gutter, but I honestly don't need an onslaught of suffering thrown my way. So I've decided to point out the exploitation of these people by exploiting them myself.

Left aghast by the fact that Jeff Ross was even considered a star worthy of being a contestant on "Dancing with the Stars."

This man should just be thankful he had his wedding ring on for this picture.

This schmuck is now calling his old employer asking for his job back at Bobby Layman Chevrolet, Inc.

Cueball is smug knowing that his portfolio is well diversified while the greaser to his left is forced to pawn off his watch and his gold chain.

Why do the majority of these brokers need Bosley hair restoration? Because all they seem to be doing these days is running their hands through their hair. There are hundreds of different variations of this exact image all over every news medium.

Instead of looking bloated, maybe you could improve your appearance and marry into money so you don't have to worry about this shit, huh? Ok...ok...you're right, that wouldn't work because you're too much of an Indigo Girl for that. Am I sexist pig? Yes. But please tell me you have a problem that a rich penis wouldn't fix.

The expression of pain on his face is as if Kim Jong Il just raped and pillaged his homestead. I can't even rip on this dude, he's just way too damn depressing. However not depressing enough for me to not exploit him and his image. "Fo-give-uh-nuss prease."

You sunk my battle-shit!

My friends and I are 20-somethings stuck in corporate America, trying to become badasses in our respective professions yet are hampered by our inability to find a creative outlet when we get into the same mundane routine day in and day out. Although we are grown men, we are still juvenile and get chuckles at dick and fart jokes. However we must conceal our true humor in our respective workplaces since the result of said humor could be lawsuits from the easily offended. What would any man do when pinned to a corner like this? Find an out.

Hence we have the text message. A powerful tool that can send covert messages over electromagnetic wavelengths to suspecting and sometimes unsuspecting colleagues sparking chortle-filled outbursts. In recent times, we've used this mechanism to send messages as to the exact location we're at and the exact action we are taking with painstakingly detailed description. This is a tradition started by my friend Thomper and has snowballed into something bigger than ourselves. Basically we text when we are sitting at the pot "crunching a grumpy" as Thomper would say. It is our way of keeping in touch and showing how much we care. The result is shown below. (Note: The memory on my phone can only hold 100 total text messages, so many of these are not word for word and some of these are just messages I wished I was witty enough to type at the time. Fellas chime in if I forgot any or add any originals)

Thomper - "Guess what? I'm crapping!"
Higgy- "Thanks for the memo."

Higgy - "I just drowned Theo Huxtable in the pool. Definitely a hate crime there."

Hova - "You will appreciate this. I took a dump that was, no joke, at least 14 inches long and a big ole ring gauge."
Higgy - "I'm impressed with the accuracy of the measurement."
Hova - "I put my foot beside the toilet and estimated. It was down the hole but also out of the water."

Higgy - "Smells like Indian death. Trail of tears style."

Higgy- "This shit just gave me goosebumps....it's like a ghost just left
my body."
Hova - "I think it was just the idea of something coming out rather than going in."

Higgy - "Some nuclear fallout just exited my anus. Chernobyl resulted."

Higgy - "Guess what? Immaculate! It's like I'm looking at baby Jesus in the manger."

T-Pain had a good one outside of text messaging in reference to spilling bio-diesel.

T-Pain - "I have conducted a community outreach program...taking some inner city
youths to the white house."

I think you get the idea. More to follow on this I'm sure. If you have some of your own feel free to pop a squat and drop them on here. Maybe I really am a fecal-philiac.