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» War

American Asshole takes War of Independence recreation too far - so I take it further.
I was in America for a business trip last summer, which happened to be at the beginning of July. I don't know if the whole country is like this at that time of year, but everyone I met had some shitty joke about redcoats once they heard my British accent.

I follow social conventions and suppressed my urge to smack them and gave the expected polite chuckles. But on the actual holiday, the roads were clogged. I took advantage of the local bar (I refuse to do them the honor of calling them pubs) specials and filled my bladder and colon with beers, spicy chicken wings, and the greasiest burgers I'd ever touched.

Because everyone and their brother was out to indulge in some patriotic gluttony, I got stuck in traffic on the way back to my hotel. My colon was gurgling and burgling, but I'd seen the public toilets and knew I'd rather wait...until the road turned into a parking lot for an hour. The cars were scooting like snails and I could feel the shit clotting up behind my eyeballs. The public toilets didn't seem so bad all of a sudden.

I could feel my asshole growing teeth and gnawing its way out of my body when I finally got to a park filled with alcoholic fathers, fat mothers, and idiot children setting off M-80s and bottle rockets. I nearly wrecked my car as I parked because I was in such a hurry to release the boiling brown river percolating in my asshole. For whatever reason, a few families had set up their deck chairs and thought that the boardwalk leading up to the bathroom would be a nice place to camp out. I almost ran straight into a morbidly obese dad and his almost equally obese son as they waddled out of the bathroom. Both were holding cups of watery, piss-yellow beer that they apparently drank while relieving themselves and wearing these tacky novelty tricorner hats.

They were acting fucking oblivious to the fact that they were blocking a very high traffic area. Instead of trying to wedge myself between them and slip through their armpits, I thought I could get them to move by asking them "Hey, could you move so I can use the pot?"

Like I said, I'd been forced to get used to shit jokes about the War of Independence, but having a brown-geyser of shit pushing against my anus was consuming much of my patience, so it took every bit of willpower to not sucker punch one of them in their jiggling, wrinkly necks when they laughed at my accent and the older one said "Hell, naw. No king's gonna tell us what ta do! Go poop in England, redcoat!" The younger one went into a hysterical fit of laughter almost immediately, but I was shocked at this - especially when they started to link hands and actually physically block me from entering the toilets.

I could tell I would have to spell out to this moron that bodily functions are even less willing to wait for retards to finish their jokes than me, but he was brain damaged enough to calmly and confidently say to my face "Hey, have a sense of humor, ya goddamn snob. There's a McDonald's just up 'ere an' Ah THINK yew kin hold it in long enough ta have a little fun. It's a special night – Ah mean, git over it."

I could tell this was not going to be productive. Unlike my digestive tract, which was about to produce quite a bit of fecal matter. I decided that if this pile of cellulite wanted to drag a joke so far as to neglect basic hygeine, then he'd LOVE what I planned next. I gave him a demented little chuckle which he was dim enough to take as sincere and pretended to leave. Having had enough with this War from Within, I dug a plastic bag out of car, and walked back towards the bathrooms. The sidewalks leading to the bathrooms were surrounded by a cheap plywood wall and were directly next to some dense woods. I found a place in the woods where I could hear that same stunted man-child and his spawnling drunkenly slurring racist jokes while a few female voices tittered away, obediently boosting their egoes.

I shouted "Counter-attack!" because I couldn't think of anything more witty as I flung the bag over the wall. The next thing I heard was a bunch of tortured screaming and a wet splatter. There was a painful-sounding smack as his corpulent spawnling ran blindly into the brick wall of the bathroom, followed by childish wailing. As I got back in my car, I knew that although my underwear might be permanently stained due to a lack of paper for wiping, I would always have the image of that overweight butterball staggering away from the toilets with a brown splatter staining one eye and blood staining the other while screaming, disgusted families wondered what they could have possibly done to deserve that.

It was a personal victory on my part.
(Thu 7th Jun 2012, 5:39, More)