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Inspirational Reads

A Goddamn IQ of 160

February 22, 2010

Last night, as I was tucking myself into bed and molestering my wife's ass, I flipped through the television, just to see what was on. As luck would have it, I fell upon AMC, which was showing Forrest Gump. I was immediately taken back to my freshman year of college. Oh look! Acne and broken hearts! What a fabulous time to relive!

Again, as luck would have it, I came upon the movie roughly midway through, but since this is a movie that I really, really like, I watched it through the end. AMC, in a flash of marketing brilliance, decided to play an encore presentation, in what they called "Can't Get Enough Gump Week".

"What a terrible name," my wife murmured as she was drifting off to sleep. "It sounds like 'gumpweek' is one word. It's like something you'd weed out of the flower bed. 'Gumpweek'. Ugh."

"They must have a lot of gumption to try something like this," I retorted.

The awkward silence cricket showed up.

Now, as I was tucking myself into bed, I was laughing to myself in my head. "Brain," my mind says, "We sure are smart. Look at us! We're not staying up until 1:00 tonight! We won't wake up tomorrow and be all tired and cranky and stuff. Nope, not us!"

And then my brain proceeded to shit upon my mind and got hooked on watching the China/Canada women curling match, as well as the replay of Forrest Gump, which, I might add, I fucking own (albeit on VHS) and can be viewed without commercial breaks.

"I'll just watch through to the point where I picked up earlier." Which is what I did. Unfortunately, the goddamned Curling match went into extra innings.

Time I turned off the television? 1:15 am.

*sigh*

Being that I was an idiot and stayed up late last night watching a movie about an idiot, I thought I'd tell you a little bit more about my idiot day yesterday.

My wife sent me to the store to pick up victuals for the week. When I left the house, it was around 1:30, and I had not eaten breakfast or lunch, so I decided I couldn't go another moment without sustenance of some kind. I opted for Taco Bell.

Insert the audio clip of the old knight from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade here: "He chose...poorly."

I got my food and continued on my way, horfing delicately eating a beefy burrito as I moseyed on down the road. Finished, and not yet quite sated, I reached into the bag and pulled out my cheesy bean and rice burrito. Things were going wonderfully, until I got toward the butt end of the burrito, which decided to rip asunder and spill its contents onto my shirt front.

Cue the sad trombone here. (Many thanks to Adam L for turning me on to that beauty!).

"Fuck!" I said. "This is..." I scraped the oily, cheesy mess off my chest (and then ate it...I'm classy like that) "...fuck!" There was a huge gray and orange mess where the droppings had hit.

"Fuck!" I said once more, for good measure, "I refuse to walk around Target with this thing on my chest. I will not have everyone looking at me saying, 'Well, what do you know? There's a fat guy with a Taco Bell stain on his shirt. What are the odds?'"

My conversations with myself in the car are fucking awesome.

It was 65 degrees by the time I got to Target, so I didn't have a jacket, which meant that I had to address the situation straight forward. I did what any man on the cusp of middle-age who is facing public humiliation would do: I went running into the store with right arm pressed up against the stain on my shirt, so as to hide it. And, as I dashed to the men's department, I refused to move it, so I'm running around like some kind of twisted moron, desperately searching through the clearance racks for an XL shirt. I canvassed the entire department with the prerequisites that the shirt be XL, long enough to hide my high-riding ass-crack, cheap, and socially acceptable. No "Pussy Inspector" shirts for me.

I finally settled on a green shirt that had a shamrock and an Irish flag and the words "Made in Ireland." It fit my needs (and my paunch) and so I dash back up to the front of the store...still with my right arm over the stain, refusing to budge. I pay for the shirt and--here's another moment of brilliance from yours truly--instead of going to the restroom which is ten feet away, I go running out into the parking lot to my car where I very awkwardly peel off the grease-laden shirt and pull on my "Made in Ireland" shirt.

No one asked me about it, but I was hopeful someone would call attention to my shirt. I was going to respond--in as poorly-crafted an Irish accent as possible--"As far as I can tell, I was made in Indiana, which would explain the fooked-up accent."

Ah well, I guess there's always a chance that will happen the next time I make a run for the border...

19 comments:

Bev said...

HA!!! Good stuff, McJenks.

I've gotta say, considering how often you seem to end up on the throne having the screaming ploppy-poos, I thought this story was going to end much differently....

mo.stoneskin said...

If that photo is anything to go by you're certainly not fat, that Ireland shirt actually fits you very well and shows off your breasts wonderfully.

kate said...

High-riding ass crack?? Are you related to my husband? I swear, that thing starts between his freaking shoulder blades...weirdos.

Wynn said...

Feels good to have a friend in the high-riding-crack division.

Gwen said...

'Well, what do you know? There's a fat guy with a Taco Bell stain on his shirt. What are the odds?'

LMFAO. You're the shit, jenks.

Elliott said...

Taco Bell in the car? For the love of God, man!

I really should start carrying an extra shirt in both cars, for as often as I spill, but alas, it doesn't happen (said the man who took half a 40-oz Diet Coke to the lap this afternoon...).

SkylersDad said...

Thanks for the hover text over the Polish curling lass. It's nice to know it was relevant to the post, and that I am not just a perv.

red said...

Curling sucks you in man!

adrienzgirl said...

I see your IQ does you about as much good as mine does me. You would think being smart would clue us in that staying up late watching something we have already seen, or could finish in half the time if only we'd move our buttocks to watch it commercial free. But, NO! Then we make the worst choices of fast food offerings that can be easily eaten on the go.

Stupid is as stupid does...

Scope said...

I would have bet cash money that this was going to be a gall bladder story involving a race with the devil.

Eric said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Eric said...

Too bad about your 'Cartegena Steamer' there, but fun to read about nevertheless...

Ireland, they make Guinness, circuit boards, and models named Kathy.

Lindsey Himmler said...

I'm with Bev on this one. I so thought this one was going to end differently...I can't hear Taco Bell without thinking of poo.

words...words...words... said...

I'm still marveling at the combination of chutzpah and skill that allowed you to channel surf while taking it to your wife. I salute you!

I also salute that hilarious drawing, which is giving me an idea for a post. Which should be celebrated in itself.

Joe said...

You need to start thinking about layering. Didn't a similar thing happen Friday, with you and coffee? Then you running around with your hands glued to your chest so no one would see? But later we did enjoy see you wearing that almost see-through undershirt.

Jill VT said...

This is not really on topic (or maybe it is ALWAYS on topic), but I think you are hornier than my husband. Which is noteworthy.

Keep it up. Bah haha.

Amber Tidd Murphy said...

The Irish shirt?

Murphy-likey.

Aw, who am I kidding? I was made in Indiana, too.

MJenks said...

@ Bev: Believe it or not, I've never had much of an issue eating Taco Bell. Which doesn't make sense because, if there's a greasy, cheesy, shit trap out there, you'd think it'd be a burrito...

@ mo: Thank you kindly, sir, but *ahem* eyes up here.

@ kate: I dunno. Is he devilishly handsome, owner of a rapier wit, and hung like a fucking elephant? If so, then mayhap we're cousins...

@ Wynn: Low-slung jeans are my antithesis. Well, actually, they're probably worse for everyone behind me. *chuckles*

@ Gwen: And, based on some comments, that's apparently where this story should have headed.

@ Elliot: Based on my travels to and from Charlotte to South Bend, I had become adept at eating Taco Bell on the go. Apparently, I'm out of practice.

@ SkyDad: Oh, you might still be a perv. Especially if you thought things like "I'd slide my stone into her target area" or "you can brush me all night long, lovie" or "curlers do it on the--dammit, move your arm!"

Cause...I thought all those things...

@ red: Yes, it was the curling, and not the cougariffic captain of team Canada. *shifty-eyed*

@ adrienzgirl: The other thing was, apparently, I'm too dumb to figure out that "Can't Get Enough Gumpweek" means that it's going to be on every freaking night during the week. *sigh*

@ Scope: Not the devil. Just the cheesy bean and rice burrito.

@ Eric: Well played, sir, well-played. They also make dandy sigmatropic rearrangements. Eh? Eh? *awkward silence cricket*

@ Lindsey: Hmmm...maybe I should use this "bait and switch" tactic more often.

@ wordsx3: Hooray, new wordsly posting. And, yes, I've become adept at all sorts of things in the ten years we've been together. I'm a multitasker.

@ Joe: I do layer. If I hadn't layered last Friday, you would have been witness to my pepperoni slices. Thankfully, I had a white t-shirt on underneath.

@ Jill VT: If I'm THAT horny, I should have no problem keeping it up. *badda bing* Ahahahahaha! I love it when commentors are as filthy-minded and laden with entendre as I!

@ Amber: Yes, well, Murphy is more of an Irish last name than Jenks (which is Welshy-English). So, the shirt might fit you better than me. And, based on that 80s shirt picture you posted a few weeks ago, you'd fill it out better.

I'm terrible.

Nej said...

Driving and eating Taco Bell...now THAT'S an olympic sport! Spillage on the front of ones self is a 2 tenths deduction though.

I've actually spilled soda on my shirt, gone into Target, found a replacement, and changed in the fitting room. Then just handed the cashier the tag to scan when I check out. Surprisingly enough, she said it wasn't even close to the first time someone had done just that. :-)