Friday, June 20, 2014

My Alien Encounters & Abductions

Aliens are assholes. 

I wish Hollywood would stop making these movies about how they are somehow going to save us from whatever.  They're not! 

Aliens are more than mean, they think they're funny, and they do really fucked up shit to me. 

It's common knowledge to the people I work with that aliens are responsible for me missing out on work on many occasions.  In fact, my boss has been pretty understand of this, which leads me to suspect he has suffered his own encounters with the little gray fuckers himself. 

I'm constantly having to stay home because of the shenanigans of these alien visitors.  One time they hid my car keys.  Another time they took all the gas out of my car.  Just last month they stole my pants so I had no pants to wear to work.  Normally I wouldn't care about that, but the rule is, I have to show up moderately sober and wearing pants.  That's The Ted Rule they started after an unfortunate incident a few years ago.  There are still a couple of women there who won't talk to me. 

But yeah, the aliens are always messing with me. 

A few years ago, they put an implant in my brain that makes women subconsciously not like me.  It sucks!  I meet a pretty woman, she's fun to talk to, we have a great time and suddenly my implant gives off a signal and the woman freaks out.  It's like I pulled out a roll of duct tape or something.

This is why I don't date.  The aliens ruined it for me.

But recently they crossed the line and did some things I just cannot stay silent about.

In the past few days, my health hasn't been the best.  At first I thought it was my gall bladder, which made perfect sense, because of how I live.  Ever seen those bumper stickers that say, "drive it like you stole it!" on the backs of beat-up tuner cars?  Well, I treat my body like that.  I live like it's not my body and I stole it from somebody.

So to me, it made perfect sense for my gall bladder to suddenly say, "Man, fuck you!  I'm done!"  There is only so much abuse you can heap upon a liver before somebody says something.  My liver, a silent victim of my Scorched Earth Policy towards life, has always been a trooper.  But there's only so much it could take.

Or, I figured, my gall bladder.

I'm not going to go into details about this one.  It's gross.  And I swore I would never be the guy who used his blog to describe in detail his poop.  Even though the subject fascinates me.  I use it like my own Mad Scientist Laboratory.

If I eat X and Y while drinking 4³ the result is what?

But no, this was bad.  Very bad.  Painful, nasty, ugly and all the things you're not supposed to talk about.

And then I realized, it was the aliens.  They had come to visit me in the night and they switched my butt cheeks around.  My left cheek was suddenly on my right side.  The right one was on the left side.

Those demented gray bastards!

And they played around with the plumbing.  They accelerated the whole process somehow so that it resembled a potato gun more than a sewage treatment facility.   I was in all kinds of pain, and a frequent flier on the Throne of Contemplation, where I caught up on reading.  I was so bloated I looked like a fat guy in a Tim Burton cartoon. 

With sheer bravery and hardheadedness I remained at work to diligently harass people on the phones.  But once I got home, the full and awful truth was revealed--I was really sick.  Something was wrong. 

The aliens had somehow totally fucked up the system so badly I was left a gassy, shitting mess. 

Thankfully, the drugs kicked in, and I began to feel better.  I can say now, that despite the soreness, I'm close to being back to my normal self. 

But this would have never happened if the aliens had just left me alone.  So here's my advice to you guys, because as you know, Uncle Ted is just here to help:

Never Trust Aliens.

Seriously.  They're assholes.  Every last one of them. 

I will attempt to go into work tomorrow because I know how badly they miss me.  I know about the tears and despair.  So I will endeavor to arrive there tomorrow, moderately sober and wearing pants, so they may rejoice at their good fortune.  All the while, I shall keep a wary eye towards the sky and stay vigilant for the aliens next visit. 

Saturday, June 14, 2014

I Have Bumper Stickers!

Ladies and Gentlemen, and other various degrees of humanity, I have bumper stickers! 

Yes, these are real bumper stickers to show off to your pretentious friends that you have better taste than they do and you know where the good stuff is found on the web. 

You are, after all, fans of this blog and I adore you for it.  So I shall offer these bumper stickers for the simple price of $5.00!

Yes!  Only $5.00 and you, too, can show off how awesome you are and how you enjoy the finer things in life. 

Send me an e-mail with your address and I'll give you an address for sending your small contribution.  I'm more interested in these being on cars and whatnot than making money. 

Saturday, June 7, 2014

Be a Van Creeper By Proxy

This has been a fucked up week.  No side-stepping this one. 

At work one of the bosses showed up piss drunk and began chasing me around the office with an aluminum flag pole while shouting, "You raped her!  You killed her!  You murdered her children!" 

I'm big, he's small.  I wondered just how hard it would be to pop somebody's skull.  

I had to stop and think about that one.  It's a pretty specific accusation.  And in order, too. Technically, it's not rape if they're dead.  But it's not necrophilia if they're alive when you start. 

These things are important. 

And then we have the two girls in Waukesha who tried to kill their "friend" to impress a fictional character on a website.  At first, I was reading the story and thinking to myself, "please don't say it was my blog, please don't say it was my blog." 

But then I was jealous.  Slenderman is a work of fiction and he gets murderous acolytes while real people like myself don't get anything done in our name? 

I'm dark, creepy and fucking awesome! 

Doesn't anybody want to impress me with their crazy antics and inner darkness? 

But then I realized that I haven't given you dear readers the psychological permission you need to commit heinous acts of evil.  And as a result, many of you have been paralyzed while you wait for my commands. 

I know that many of you want to get into my good graces and be at one with The Van.  I get it.

You might have some hesitation and I can understand that.  There is always that one asshole telling you that you're losing your mind, or that you need help, or how you should take your meds.

Forget reality!  The term "psychosis" was invented by lame people who cannot think beyond their reach.  The most visionary people in history were vilified as being crazy.  None of them had movies made about them but Rasputin did. 

So yes, please feel free to commit illogical acts of weirdness, and do so in my name.

Only the creepiest, scariest and boldest make it into my van.  Or if you're really cute.  In that case, just send me a pic and remember, skin to win!

Do something brazen and proudly declare at the top of your lungs, "I did this because Ted's Creepy Van told me to!"

Once you liberate yourself from the shackles of conformity, you can accomplish anything!

Have fun with it, be creative and use your imaginations.  I'm not picky.

Shit in a urinal, go to a public area eat a can of surstr√∂mming. Eat a whole bunch of sauerkraut and boiled eggs, then a few hours later ride crowded elevators and buses.  Go to a park and get into an argument with a tree.  Find a random person walking their dog, walk up to the dog and say, "Wait for the signal.  Tonight we shall all be liberated." 

Frankly, I don't care what you do.  Just make it big, bold and strange.  Then, proudly proclaim your loyalty to Ted's Creepy Van at the top of your lungs. 

Legal Disclaimer:  Ted's Creepy Van is not actually asking readers to commit acts of violence or murder and certainly would never encourage the readers to do something violent no matter how awesome it would be or how high it would elevate their standing in the eyes of The Van. 

I shall be in my van awaiting word of your progress.  Now fly, my acolytes!  Fly!