More Co-Worker Chronicles

Have any of you ever been bitten by a Black Widow? What about a Brown Recluse? A rabid rat? What about stung by a Scorpion? Stung by a hornet in the eye?

What about bit or stung by every single one of those creatures? If you said yes then you are probably my co-worker (Cartman).

Yup, he was not only bitten by a Brown Recluse, but bit by a Brown Recluse nine times. He then drove himself halfway unconscious to the hospital and then casually told the doctors what had happened. Then while in the hospital bed he grabbed the dying skin on his leg from the bites and tore it from his bone cause, well, that’s the logical, totally sensical decision to make. He told me the skin was irritating him. So he ripped it off. Makes sense, I mean, what else was he supposed to do? Wait for the doctors to assess his situation and treat him with their extensive resources and intense training and experience? Nah, not Cartman. (He showed me the scars by the way. They weren’t there.)

You know the band Smashing Pumpkins? Well they used to pay Cartman to beat people up. He once got $200 dollars for upper cutting a guy who threw something on stage. (I’m sure the super famous band Smashing Pumpkins didn’t have the means to hire an actually security team so this one is totally believable. Wink, wink.)

One time, Cartman was working as a bouncer (he told me this was back when he used to be fat— he’s 350 pounds at the moment) and he was attacked by six cholos who wanted to get in the club. He pepper sprayed them and was then attacked by their girlfriends who jumped on his back and clawed his bald head. He pepper sprayed them, too. (Imagine a middle-aged 350 pound man resembling Paul Blart, victoriously standing in the street holding a can of pepper spray, surrounded by six cholos writhing around on the ground in pain. Gotta give him props for this one.)

When Cartman was young, he used to hang around a driving range and shoot the golf balls out of the air with his pellet gun. (Yeah, he was this good of a shot apparently. I’m not sure why SEAL Team 6 never called. Or maybe they did? Guess I’ll have to  ask him tomorrow.)

Oh, and Cartman also fell off a cliff, outran a train, got hit by a car, and fell down a well. All in the same day by the way. (No words for this one.)

To sum everything up, after one of his stories I asked him (not) jokingly if he was dropped on his head as baby. His response: Well yeah, a bunch of times. My dad used to play a game he called “Drop the infant on its head” where he’d dangle me by my ankles and drop me on my head.

Things are all finally starting to make sense.

As long as the sun rises this guy has stories so stay tuned.

 

 

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Co-Worker Chronicles

Not going to go into too much detail here but I have a new temporary job and let’s just say my coworkers are very… interesting.

I have only been working for a week or so and already have endless amounts of comedy material. I’m just going to focus in on one coworker for now though. We’ll call him “Cartman”. That should help you get a good visual of him if you’ve seen the show South Park. 

He’s over 350 pounds and has bright red hair  (so, I guess he can’t really be Cartman). After meeting and talking to him for about two and a half minutes I quickly realized he is a compulsive liar and views himself as falling somewhere between George Clooney and Fonzi. When I met him, it went something like this:

Me: Hey, I’m “Saucebox”.

Cartman: I’m “Cartman”. You know, a few months back when I was fighting a Pitbull, my hand was torn almost clean off. It was almost as bad as the time when I was stabbed while stopping a theft on a construction site.

There was no context for this whatsoever.

Then, I shit you not, this guy points to a trailer 20 yards away from where we are walking (this is an outside job) and says: Yeah, it happened right over there in my front yard.

He wasn’t kidding. He lives in a trailer directly behind where we work. He clocks out and walks ten feet. One day after he had already clocked off  I was walking around the back of our building and ran into him. I was confused and asked him why he was still there after getting off work more than two hours ago. He says: What do you mean? I’m cleaning my yard.  And then points to his trailer behind him.

Cartman drives a thirty-plus year-old van that he claims was given to him after he pulled it back up from the edge of a cliff. He got this van after crashing his old Crown Vic that he had sprayed “Cop Killer” on the back of. The Crown Vic was the car he drove when his uncle was the Chief of Police.

Now, I’ve only covered about a quarter of what he’s told me as I’m lazy and will cover more of it as the days go on and I undoubtedly learn more about his legendary existence.

I’ll just leave you all with my favorite thing he’s said so far:

Cartman: You know, if a car hood shuts on your arm, it will break it like a twig.

Me: Really?

Cartman: Yeah, my arms been smashed by a hood four times.

Me: You’ve broken your arm four times?

Cartman: Nope. 

The Most Interesting Teacher in the World

Have any of you ever known someone that has a story for absolutely everything? That one person that no matter what subject you bring up, always has some kind of inconceivable anecdote or embellished first-hand experience with said subject? You know, the people who knew George Lucas in high school and gave him the idea for Star Wars, or, once bested Mike Tyson in a street fight that conveniently had no witnesses. Yeah, I know most of you are picturing someone in your head now.

 

I myself had a high school physics teacher who had a story or experience for anything you could possibly imagine, no matter how absolutely crazy or outlandish. It was so painfully obvious that this guy was lying through his teeth, you could practically smell the shit on his breath.

 

“Hey, Mr. Bullshit, (we will call him that for the sake of the story) did you see the game last night?”

 

“Ah yes, I love basketball. You know, back in high school, they would call me ‘Swish’, because I used physics and geometry to perfect the trajectory of my shot. Could make it every time.”

 

Interesting stuff, Mr. Bullshit. And how come he didn’t decide to pursue his amazing talent and inevitably become the greatest basketball player of all time, you ask?

 

“Ah, I injured my toe and lost interest after that.”

 

How convenient Mr. Bullshit, how convenient.

 

He once helped another teacher get their computer to work correctly, (pressed the restart button) and proceeded to tell the entire class about his technological expertise, noting that he “accidentally” hacked his way into the C.I.A. database when he was younger. After a visit from some mysterious men in suits, he was anonymously told to tone down his computer prowess. Yeah, this is the same guy that is teaching a high school physics class and sporting a bad haircut. Totally believable.

 

He got so bad we actually started purposely bringing up ridiculous topics just to hear his inevitable anecdotes.

 

“Hey, Mr. Bullshit, I’m thinking about trying to become an astronaut.”

 

“To be honest, very overrated career choice. Take it from me, most of the guys in NASA are pricks.”

 

Humblebrag much, Mr. Bullshit? Completely fabricate aspects of your life much, Mr. Bullshit? This guy casually implied that he worked for NASA at a point in his life. To his high school physics class. With a straight face. Not to mention, he apparently stopped working for them because he viewed them as idiots. Someone that makes shit up like this so consistently, is a far-fetched concept in itself. Just telling you guys about him makes me seem like I’m the one who’s full of it. It doesn’t stop here though. Oh, no.

 

“Mr. Bullshit, I’m trying to pick up poker, any suggestions?”

 

“If you’re serious about it, my only advice would be to never learn to count cards. As tempting as it is, it’s not worth the consequences.”

 

“What do you mean? You know how to count cards?”

 

“A long time ago, yes. And I had a lot more money back then because of it, too. Let’s just say I’m not welcome in Vegas.”

 

So now you’re a card counter? And you could do it well enough to be some Vegas big shot, illegally raking in the Benjamins and wearing your sunglasses indoors? They should make movies about you.

 

On second thought, your life experiences would actually be too closely parallel to most Hollywood movie scripts. Funny how that works.

 

My only regret is not asking Mr. Bullshit about the capture of Bin Laden, as I no-doubt missed out on some badass first-hand SEAL Team Six stories. Hell, I should’ve asked him for the cure to cancer, I’m sure he’s got it stashed away somewhere. I honestly don’t know if he thought we were mentally equivalent to kindergartners, or if he was the most insane person in the world. Maybe he was even telling the truth about everything, in which case, he needs to contact the Dos Equis beer company immediately. Although, now that I think about it, he’s probably already turned them down. Dammit, this guy is too good.