The Web Doctor Told Me I Am Dead


You wish, but this is not about me nor does it have to do with me except the person I will be talking about just happens to be in my life. Its 3:16 in the morning, yes this morning, and my wife is getting a phone call from her ex-husband, which she promptly ignores because it is 3:16 in the damn morning. Moments later she gets a text from him, “please call me its an emergency!!!!!!!” For the purpose of this true story we will call her ex “Mike” or “Fucktard” which both will refer to him as this person. This is not Mike’s first 3 in the fucking morning life threatening emergency, only one out of thousands in the last 15 years that my wife and I have been married. Now, before we get to deep I need to plant the Mike seed in your brain so you might understand better how this always goes down. You see, Mike is a hypochondriac with a very severe case of anxiety and depression which leads him to believe he has some deadly disease that is killing him or that everyone around him hates him and wants to kill him. I think the later is true in life more often than not. I don’t personally hate him but I do think he is the perfect example of a rectal fucktard, make that the rectal fucktard poster child, Yea, that’s a better way of describing him. The sad thing about Mike is that he has a very successful high six figure income in charge of 90 plus employees and is very well educated with 3 different Masters in accounting, which is good because he is a corporate accountant (CFO) with the company he works for. Poor dumb bastard is one book smart motherfucker but a real fucktard of a person in real life. Oh, and by the way, he thinks of my wife still as his possession and therefore she is at his disposal 24/7/365.


Anyway, back to his most recent dilemma. By the time my wife calls him back his is all worked up, crying, deliriously blowing things excessively out of proportion. She has him on speaker so I can enjoy, I can’t begin to thank her enough or go back to sleep. Okay, that’s not entirely true, I did doze off a little in the beginning and missed most of his “symptoms” but once I heard death came for him for real this time the fucktard had my full attention. If y’all are asking why he thinks my wife has expert advice, besides the fact he still worships her, its because she is the office manager for an association of doctors that include family practice, mental health, orthopedics, sleep study, and a handful of others I can’t pronounce, so he believes her to be an authority on most things medical. Which is funny, really, because her degree is in people and financial management, not diagnosing illnesses or treating them, but she plays his game, mostly just letting Mike do ALL the talking. She recommends visiting his PCP 80 to 90 times just in this last crisis alone. She never tries to explain or define things to him, she just listens and tries to sooth the soul of this grossly misguided fucktard. I gotta love her patience and I do admire her for it but I am beginning to think its time to go ahead and cut the cord, but she is too nice and way too accommodating. After roughly an hour she calmed him down, soothing the savage beast within the confines if Mike’s skull and then it was over.


But was it? Is it really over? Not if I have anything to do with it, now its time to play. Around 6 in the morning I went to his house, I knew he would be heading off to work soon, so now it is my turn. With my best drug dealer moves I went up to him carrying a small paper bag I found on the side of the road, minus the beer can now, and told him I had his answer. Just screw everything you ever read, heard, or what has been told to you, I hold the answer in this brown paper bag. There are 4 capsules, take two right now and two after lunch, and all of your problems will disappear. I told him it was very hush hush and not to tell a soul. He agrees and takes the first two capsules. Quietly I whispered to him it was called Fukitol, the best medicine for whatever ails him. He asks if he should tell his doctor later in the day when he goes to his appointment and I told him it would be a good idea so maybe he can get his own prescription. Then I left, watching him drive into the sunrise. Don’t worry, the capsules are from a gag gift, they are filled with that shit they put in Pixie Sticks. So, a sugar rush is all he will get. He calls me later in the morning to thank me because he feels the best he has felt in 25 years. Just goes to show y’all, a little sugar candy goes a long way in the mind of an anxiety filled hypochondriac. Have a nice day, Mike, have fun at your doctors appointment.

Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!

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Posted From Scorpion Sting’s Motorola Droid Maxx!

Here Is The Answer You Seek!

Originally Published To: Hate Mail on 14 May 2013

We have allot to cover today. It seems that we have some seriously unhappy motherfuckers lurking out in la-la-land who need a better hobby. I’m here to help you sad bitches. If you take this message personally………..well………..fuck you because you really need to be offended by someone, anyone. Yes, I’m the person who needs to offend you because you are fucking stupid and you write to me like I really am going to cherish what the fuck you have to say. Boo the fuck hoo! There is no nice way to put it, you’re just fucking stupid. I used to think that I had a high tolerance for other people’s bullshit but I think some of y’all try to exceed my capacity on a very regular basis.. Again, I offer all the easily offended with the world around you to please put your head back up your ass and we can call it even, no harm no foul. But, no, it is impossible for you to be happy so you think (ha ha ha) that you need to spread your “joy” around whether people are interested or not. I would like to thank most of you who are proud enough to e-mail or message me with a legit e-mail address and/or website and then have the big fat brass balls to put your name on it. This makes it easy for someone as lazy as me to look around and see if you are an asshole wherever you roam (troll) on the internet.
As I mentioned, we have allot to cover today since the badgers have been busy lately. In fact, and this should make the retards (yes you) very happy, I have to spend a considerable amount of time filtering out all of their bullshit not only from here on my blog(s), but on Facebook, my e-mail, and Pinterest as well. Y’all have spread like a disease. In fact that is the name I have given to my hater fans, “The Disease”, since your goal in life is to infect and spread without control or regulation. You idiots should be feeling a sense of pride and unity right now but you are probably to fucking stupid to know this honor has been bestowed upon all of you. Unfortunately you have no leader and shall continue to chase your ass around in circles looking for your answers. Remember the old Budweiser commercials, well, my friends, This Fukitol Is For You, take it proudly! The answer is no by the way, I say F-U-C-K all the time as it is a part of my given vocabulary, so you just need to fucking deal with the fucking fact I say FUCK all the time. I’m also really fond of FUCKTARD as well, but not all of y’all have reached FUCKTARD status yet. If your status changes I will be sure to fucking let you cry babies know the news. Stick around bitches, the fun is about to start. Are you patient enough to read it all? Will you just skim through this post like you do the rest? Will you take the time to know I take the time to read each and every e-mail and message that y’all take the time to send? The sit the fuck down, the fun is about to start!
First of all I would like to address a common concern and question that the blowhards seem to be obsessed with all the time. Yes, stupid, I am talking to you specifically. I write about what is in my life or directly effects my life. I don’t write about puppies and daisies because they don’t have a place in my life. I have seen some of your blogs and I fell asleep after the first few lines because you write about shit I don’t care about to say the very least. I don’t iron my sheets or bake delicate pastries so your blog is of very little use to me. Also, I don’t belong to your Jesus cult so your brainwashing doesn’t work on me since I am not one of the sheeple who cares. In reality, the place I live everyday, I have no time for fairytales because I am pretty grounded in my beliefs so I won’t be needing yours. You will probably never get me to stop saying the words fuck, bullshit, shit, fucktard, asshole, pussy, or christian sheeple. I really don’t see the need to stop therefore I probably won’t. But, if that fact ever changes, you pussies will be the first ones I formally inform with the change in information so you can properly document your personal victory in your supreme fight against vulgarity. Deep down, I think you just want to fuck me until we both bleed but don’t know how to process those feelings. Just my personal theory since I know people exactly like you in the real world where I live. I know right ………GASP!
Now, on to why I am here today. I am here today just for you. I have read the e-mails and messages, plus deleted all of them from posts, so I could put your name in lights right here. Ok, there are no lights, but I did doodle your bullshit with a red Sharpie earlier. I hope that counts. Or, do you have something against using a Sharpie marker to write and doodle. Yes, I know I spent entirely too much time in my life drinking. Which is why I can write about it so candidly. No, I did not secretly find Jesus and confess all my sins to him so I could be absolved of all my worldly sins as some of y’all have suggested. I did, however, find the bottom of a bottle one morning and decided I didn’t ever want to be staring at that ever again feeling the way I did at that time. It was a personal moment where I realized that I was done, period. Had nothing to do with anything anyone suggested while suggesting I was lieing because I was indeed afraid of the truth. Sorry that my truth doesn’t fit in your book of ways to be brainwashed, but it happened that way. Yes, it was simple. Yes, I can live with myself now. There is a reason everything happens, that reason doesn’t always have to involve Jesus. Might I recommend living your own life. I don’t say this to offend you directly, but you will take offense anyway, but life is worth living, my life is the way it is and I am okay with it. I don’t need a 12 step program to help me get thru it all. Yes, I still drink on occasion. No, I don’t drink heavy in hopes of finding my answers in the bottom of the bottle because I know the answers are not there. No, I do not think drinking caused my divorce. I think the defining moment that caused my divorce was the simple fact that I found my wife with a dick in her mouth and it wasn’t mine. Wait, you probably skimmed over that part and decided that all divorces are the asshole man’s fault. I do not take responsibility for my ex getting caught with another man’s dick in her mouth. If any of y’all are married, imagine to yourself right now with another man’s dick in your mouth and your husband catches you with this dick in your mouth. Will you be thinking that it is his fault? Nevermind, I know what your answer is already. Which is fucking pitiful that you can’t take responsibility for what you are doing. But, then, that’s what this is all about right, taking responsibility for one’s actions?
Since we are the subject of bitching and complaining about what other people choose to put on their blogs then I should mention that I don’t fucking need your permission. Sadly, y’all don’t just find shit wrong with The Sting Of The Scorpion, but y’all little weasels find a need to bitch and moan about what I put on Pictures & Things as well. Which makes me ask, don’t y’all have a sense of humor. Wait, this question has been answered. The answer is that I have some kind of demented sense of humor and that was said like it was to hurt my feeling and insult me. I think that it might have backfired, I took it as a flattering compliment, so thank you. I just collect things, I don’t make them up, which goes to show that there are more people who live in the real world just like me who see the fucked up side of life as well. You do know that everything in life isn’t just peachy, right? If you think it is then you need to head down to your local Walmart and check out how the other 99% of people live. You think I’m fucked up? Just take a gander of what society has to offer you locally and you will soon realize how out of the loop you really are. Now, wipe your tears, change your diaper, feed all 47 of your cats, and get the fuck out of your house and get a life. Lighten up people, this isn’t brain surgery. If you get a little afraid of sarcasm and truth all mixed up then maybe you need to pursue a career as a politician or a social worker. I cannot hold your hands any longer, I will not coddle you no more. I hereby pull the tit from your mouth and cast you out into the world. The safety is off now bitches so keep your fingers off the fucking trigger unless you aim to kill. By the way, yes, in fact, my fucking spell checker is disabled so suck it! Oh……wait, I almost forgot, I picked up your prescription of 1000mg Fukitol this morning. You should stop whatever the fuck you are doing right now and take a whole handful. Good Job! Now we can both feel better about your existence.

Big Fat Handful Of Fukitol Please

I have been told my whole entire life there are no “Do Overs”. It is a very true statement, especially when my Do Over button seems to be malfunctioning. Way back when, in days gone forever behind me, a friend of mine told me it was my one chance to make things right after my divorce. He pinned a Do Over pin on my chest right before my bachelor party. I had completely forgot that precious little moment, until today, someone mentioned to me that this would be the perfect day to have a Do Over button. Really, I hadn’t noticed. Yes, it has been an extremely long day and it will be 15 hours of my life I will never get back. Which is the point, I guess, that people always would say, that there are no Do Overs in life.That suits me just dandy. It is great to know I don’t have to ever repeat this day ever again as long as I live. Fantastic news that this won’t get all Groundhog Day on me and keep repeating itself. No, I have the solution, I have found my answer, I know what I really need. I need a big fat handful of Fukitol! I don’t need one or two, that will never do. Three or four? No, I really need more. I will take the whole handful of Fukitol and chew them up like Pez.

Yes, I realize there is not a magic pill or secret drink to make portions of my life go away and stay away. But, it would be really nice to be able to walk out on my porch, take a deep breath, and feel better when I am done. However, I tried walking out on the porch, but stepped on an acorn with bare feet. I took in a super deep breath of air, and then exhaled, inhale, exhale, repeat, until I realized I just smacked my very last cigarette in such a rush that I didn’t even enjoy it. Once I got back from the gas station, I tried it again, this time with my shoes on. And so, here I sit, letting my day disappear into oblivion. I think a handful of Fukitol pills would have been faster, but I suppose this will do.

I think I will take my Do Over button down to the Goodwill. Maybe someone else will find a good use for it. Might make a fine paper weight since it is never going to ever possibly work again.