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Tag Archives: Special Olympics

Tardsie’s True-Ass Tales: More Tidbits

22 Tuesday May 2012

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture, History, Stupidity

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

boat people, gay people, Miss You Mom, refugees, Special Olympics, Tardsie's True-Ass Tales, Vietnam

By Tardsie

Despite the impression given by this series of tales, not every episode in my life has involved me being an asshole or looking like an idiot, but those are the stories worth telling. Nobody wants to hear about that time I got my mom flowers for no reason and really made her day.

The Really Great Thing About Mom Is That No Matter What Kind Of Disreputable Shitbag You Are, She Still Thinks You’re Good Enough To Be President Of The USA.

***

After the sixth grade, we moved away from my hometown, and I graduated from high school in another state. After my freshman year of college, I was back in town visiting my Grandma when I happened across an old friend from grade school, Rusty.

We were talking about people we used to know, and I asked about a kid whom I’d thought of as “Wayne.”

“Who?” Rusty asked.

“Wayne,” I said again, “The kid who came over as a boat person from Vietnam.”

“Oh,” he said, “You mean Wang Jones. Yeah, he’s still around.” He then added, “He’s kind of a dick, though.” Rusty remained in the dark as to the reason for Wang’s hostility, although I soon figured it out.

“Damn, I always called him ‘Wayne,'” I said, embarrassed. “Wang probably thought I was an asshole.”

Rusty laughed. “He probably just thought you were an idiot.”

Someone certainly was. I soon got the opportunity to look at Rusty’s yearbook and check out the boy I’d accidentally ridiculed for so many years. As I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, my very first discovery was that the kid’s name was in fact ‘Wayne.’

“Go Fuck Yourself, Rusty!”

***

I’m always suspicious of guys who aren’t gay but who have way more chick friends than guy friends. What’s up with that? If they were having sex with the various women, I could at least understand it.

***

When I was a kid my mouth got me in trouble a lot. A lot a lot. But there was one time when I was about seven that I didn’t deserve it. Not that much anyway.

I was at my friend Ricky’s house, and we were watching TV. My troubles began when Ricky’s mom overheard a comment I made about a commercial. The commercial began with several silhouetted figures running up a hill. “Look at those idiots,” I said, mostly due to my then-nascent love affair with my own voice.

“SHAME ON YOU!” Ricky’s mom bellowed from seemingly out of nowhere. “Shame on you for picking on those people!”

I started to protest my innocence, and then saw with growing horror that it was a Special Olympics commercial I’d besmirched.

As if unsure that I’d grasped the enormity of my act, she said, “Those people can’t help that they were born that way! How would you like it if you were born that way?” Not waiting for me to answer, she went on, “You should thank God you weren’t. Shame on you!”

I again protested my innocence, and after a while she seemed to believe me, and the incident was forgotten.

Hours later, my mom was over visiting Ricky’s mom. As I passed through the kitchen where they were drinking coffee, my mom struck like a cobra, smacking me across the face.

“Don’t make fun of retarded people!” she said.

Seriously, Guys–We’re Innocent. This Time.

***

Sometimes it’s funny how a moment just happens. One time in college, a bunch of us dudes were drinking in a big ol’ sausage fest (all guys), when somebody said to somebody else, “Hey man, you’ve always been a good friend to me, Bob. I love you, man.”

“Bob” turned to another guy in the room, and said basically the same thing. “Joe, I don’t say this much, but you’ve always been there for me. I love you, man.”

This continued for a while, everybody in the room professing his love to another friend. Finally, it got to our friend “Steve.” As everyone else had, Steve turned to another friend and said, “Mike, you’re a good guy and I love you.”

And then, in one of those beautiful, unplanned moments where everything just seems to come together perfectly, everyone in the room pointed at Steve and yelled “FAG!”

Good times.

You Should Never Be Afraid To Tell Someone How You Really Feel.

Charlie Sheen Downgraded From ‘Douchebag’ Status In Light Of Illness

04 Monday Apr 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Celebrity, Culture, Music, Stupidity

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

batshit crazy, Charlie Sheen, Charlie Sheen is a drugged-out wifebeater, Charlie Sheen is batshit crazy, Charlie Sheen Will Never Escape The Brat Pack's Terrible Event Horizon, Chicago, death by Special Fred, Detroit, douchebaggery, dweebs, geeks, Illinois, LARPers, mental illness, mental illness is not funny, Michigan, My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Death is Not an Option, nerds, Special Fred, Special Olympics, the Warlock, trainwrecks, winning

By Smaktakula

Seriously, Charlie Isn't Even Trying To Make It Difficult For Us Anymore.

After lengthy consultations with prominent physicians, lawyers and spiritual advisors, Promethean Times has agreed to conditionally rescind Charlie Sheen’s douchebag status.  The doomed former television personality’s obvious mental illness likely indicates a complete lack of control over his own life and career, both of which are in freefall.

Possibly the only individual in the Western World not fully cognizant of the pathetic nature of the actor’s plight is the Warlock himself.  The toothless cretin received a warm reaction from a Chicago audience during staging of his spectacle, My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Death is Not an Option, despite being nearly booed off the stage at the debut in Detroit.

Also Called 'The Warlock,' But He Had The Name First. If You Don't Believe Him, As His Mom. She Worked On The Costume.

Along with thousands and perhaps millions of other publications, Promethean Times has repeatedly mocked Sheen in the past.  We’re going to try really hard not to do so in the future.

Seemingly overnight, picking on Charlie Sheen has become like heckling an athlete at the Special Olympics.  Sure, it seems like a good idea, and it’s pretty easy to do–but it leaves you spiritually untethered and consumed with bitter self-loathing.

"Dude, You Were Warned To Stop Saying That Shit. Now Freddy's Gonna Have To Make You Bleed."

Meet Tardsie!

30 Tuesday Nov 2010

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Arturo the Copy Editor, Chicago, cliche, condoms, Coors, Coors is horse piss, Dublin, Ireland, Jamba Juice, James Joyce, Las Vegas, Mike Meyers, Pope Benedict XVI, rent boys, Rome, Saigon, Silvio Berlusconi, So Beats The Nylon Heart, Special Olympics, Tardsie, Tardsie The Backpack, Tardsie's lifelong hatred of the Irish, The Untouchables, travel reporting, Travels With Tardsie, Union Station, Vatican, Vietnam, Washington DC

By Smaktakula

Tardsie Has Long Been An Advocate For The Less Fortunate.

Much of the hard work which makes Promethean Times such a magical family experience occurs behind the scenes.  Our small, tight-knit staff is more like a family than a collection of colleagues, with the exception of our copy editor, Arturo, although we are quite fond of him.

If You See Something Fishy In This Picture, You're Right! The Backpack Posing With Mike Meyers Is Actually A Tardsie Impersonator.

At the center of it all is our venerable Editor-In-Chief, Tardsie the Backpack.  Although Tardsie was not the first to helm Promethean Times, it is his vision which guides us today.  When Rodrigo O’Bannon was fired after Promethean Times’ shaky first few months, Tardsie came out of a well-deserved retirement to right the ship.  The impact of his calm leadership on our inexperienced young staff cannot be overstated, and that Promethean Times not only exists but flourishes today is a testament to his influence.

Most People Aren't Aware That Tardsie Was The Stunt-Double For The Runaway Baby Stroller In "The Untouchables."

Tardsie the Backpack spent the majority of his career before coming to Promethean Times as a travel reporter, publishing several travel narratives.  The most famous among these, Travels With Tardsie, catapulted the young backpack to stardom and made him an overnight literary darling.  His out-of-print novel, So Beats The Nylon Heart, met with a warm response, although sales were disappointing.  He worked briefly as an investigative reporter, achieving some success, before being blacklisted for what he calls “political reasons.”

In Dublin With His Pal James Joyce, Of Whom Tardsie Once Said, "He's The Only Irishman I'd Allow In My Home."

Today Tardsie only slightly resembles the brash young backpack who courageously went undercover to expose point-shaving in Special Olympics basketball and who partied with celebrities.  At nine years old, Tardsie has grown contemplative.  Two of this three zippers are long gone, “And the other one’s busted!” he jokes.  “They made me with cheap nylon,” he says, indicating the rupturing seams along his sides.

Tardsie Always Stops At The Memorial When He's In DC. In '67, His Uncle Frederick, A Foot Locker, Was Misplaced In A Saigon Whorehouse, Never To Be Found.

“I don’t regret anything,” Tardsie says.  “Something my dad used to say still resonates with me.  He said ‘Life experiences are like quarters.  You lose both by sitting on the couch.’  I’ve tried to live my life by that.”

Although that advice actually comes from the side of a Jamba Juice cup, we’re sure that the elder Tardsie was indeed a wise bag.

Tardsie Reports On The Italian Elections. He Was Arrested And Briefly Detained For Defacing Berlusconi Campaign Posters.

Tardsie Goes Undercover To Investigate Allegations That Coors Is Made From Horse Piss. It Turns Out It's Supposed To Taste That Way.

Tardsie Successfully Lobbies Pope Benedict XVI To Permit Condom Use Among Rent Boys.

What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas. But The Stains Are Permanent.

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