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Tard me out to the ballgame

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Bruce Hardwood

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May 31, 2001, 3:20:53 PM5/31/01
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So...for the past few weeks I have been wanting to post and share with
the group, but nothing would happen that was worthy. I mean, sure, the
SR let a squeaker out of her backdoor blowhole while I was munching
her rug, but really, what is so distatseful, or even uncommon about
that?

Just as I started to lose all hope that there would ever be another
worthwhile day in my life, I went to a ballgame and all of my
neighborhood cat sacrifices paid off. While I was sitting in my seat,
hoping that maybe one of the junior fatty beanbags running up and down
the aisle would tumble over the railing and crush the spectators below
(sadly, this didn't occur), I heard a familiar sound coming down the
steps behind us.

"Muwnnwmm...weh duh see unnnngggghh?"

The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight out as I realized that
I was going to spend the next 3 plus hours in the presence of a
living, breathing (and drooling) tard. The good kind, Corky from the
Wonder Years, ears like a bat, neckless, stubby fingered, tard. But he
wasn't just AnyTard, this was an Over21Tard. How do I know this?
Because his wrangler and he ordered beers from the waiter and had to
show ID. (Yeah, so i sit in the section with the waiters and the mixed
drinks and sushi, if that isn't tasteless...)

Now, I have seen many tards in my time. Jacking off tards, Bus bench
humping tards, even the , "Sixth Grader with the longest stretch not
wetting their pants award goes to" tard...but never have I seen a
drunken tard. But then I wondered, "Hey, what effects could the
alcohol have? His tongue can't get much bigger, he already slurs and
staggers when he walks. Holy shit! If he was functional enough to get
a license, he has the perfect drunk driving excuse..."Unnnggh offisuh,
I eh naw junk, I eh Etarded". At that moment, I wished that I too
could be a Downyflake.

The game starts and I am cheering for the visitors, which doesn't sit
well with Simple Simon. He turns around (the whole body, because with
no neck you can't very well turn just your head) and mumbles some
incoherent blather at me. Somthing along the lines of, "Fnnnuh
mmmgoshervat". Whatever that means. His wrangler laughs and agrees
with him.

Fast forward to much later in the game. My team is winning and my beer
soaked brain loses what little control it had over my mouth to begin
with and I begin to taunt the local fans a little more heavily. I
think I may have called their pitcher a "shambling mound of ham
salad", but that is beside the point. All the other fans know that
because my team is ahead, I have the right to taunt. All except
Captain Fatback. He pivots 180 degrees in his seat with a look that
can only be taken as angry and says (I think), "Gugg ummmnochalo fogag
bejookah!"

Well, now I have a dilemna. I sure as hell can't allow the
mouthbreathing fuckcake to say that to me and get away with it. But
what to do? Insult him? He wouldn't get it. Hit him? Again, not really
fair to kick the tar out of Major Malfunction, is it? Add in the fact
that this is my first tard encounter with the new SR and you can see
why I have a problem. As I ponder this, the wrangler gets very upset
with King Pissmyself and tells him to be quiet or they have to
leave...so on the very next pitch thrown for a strike by my team, I
jump up and yell something Bugs Bunny-esque about, 'That's givin' 'im
the old peppah!" Little Lord Faultyboy turns and says as clear as day,
"unnggggggg wogga toed nofortahdoh!" Wrangler gets up, takes him by
the arm and says that they are leaving. As wrangler apologizes, maybe
to me maybe to the crowd as a whole, I can't be sure, Dudley
Don'twrite throws his beer to the ground and starts a high pitched
whine, somewhat reminiscent of a turbo charger at full volume.

That was how he left the game, screeching and stomping up the steps
and out into the night. I think I still hear him. As you can imagine,
the SR, thankful that I was able to delight her with getting a tard
worked up to the point of total system collapse rewarded me with a
mighty fine hummer for the long drive home.

Damn, I love tards!

--

Bruce Hardwood
(Posting through Deja because my news feed is one way...dammit)

threepaper

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Jun 6, 2001, 12:18:05 AM6/6/01
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On 31 May 2001 12:20:53 -0700, vom...@hotmail.com (Bruce Hardwood)
wrote:

>Now, I have seen many tards in my time. Jacking off tards, Bus bench
>humping tards, even the , "Sixth Grader with the longest stretch not
>wetting their pants award goes to" tard...but never have I seen a
>drunken tard. But then I wondered, "Hey, what effects could the
>alcohol have? His tongue can't get much bigger, he already slurs and
>staggers when he walks. Holy shit! If he was functional enough to get
>a license, he has the perfect drunk driving excuse..."Unnnggh offisuh,
>I eh naw junk, I eh Etarded". At that moment, I wished that I too
>could be a Downyflake.

Heh. My own alco-tard experience was on a train some seven or eight
years back. It was the Chicago-Toronto run, and being Amtrak
equipment, back then you could smoke on it, unlike VIA ones. (We
picked it up in London.)

So me and the SR at the time are quietly reading, having a few drinks
and puffing away when I notice there's a rather loud voice in our car.
This one was a little more high functioning, not the drolling/shitting
variety, looked about 25, and had no wrangler with him. Oops.

He made his way up and down the cars, making "friends" with the
passengers, usually the female ones, who he tried to pick up by
mumbling how he can drink 12 beers and smoke a carton a week. (I was
really tired out from a weekend of drinking and fucking, so when he
tried to accost me, I gave him a funny look and pretended I only spoke
French. I think the SR used German.)

Anyway, one poor soul, a woman in her early twenties, who was sitting
a few rows ahead, took pity and began to talk to him. He kept telling
her about how pretty she was and she seemed flattered, and said "okay"
when he asked if she could be his girlfriend.

Alco-tard apparently wastes no time in matters of the heart and
propositioned and groped her until the conductor came by and
threatened to put him off the train. This continued with a few others
until Brantford, whereupon he disappeared. Either he lived in
Gretztelville [1] or was booted off. The rest of the trip was
uneventful.

[1] My fave nickname for the town where you can't go too far without
being reminded that a) some wacky Scottish inventor once lived here
and invented things that only worked once he moved to Boston and got
enough VC to hire some dude named Watson, and b) a really good hockey
player grew up here.
-3p

----
threepaper
3pa...@canada.com

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