Teaching Kids; How to spot a Shitbird

One of the hardest things to do when your raising kids, is teaching the difference between a real shit bird, and someone just dressed to look like a shit bird. Well, you have nothing to worry about, because PlayMobile Inc. has started producing toys to do the job for you! Just playing with this new line will teach the kids, as they grow, what to look out for. Lets take a look; First, notice that the shit bird is handcuffed to Officer Friendly.

Next, notice that shit bird is covered with tattoos. I have tattoos myself, and some of the best people I have ever known do as well, but still, its kind of funny.

Lastly, notice that the shit bird is ready to wallop you with anything he can get his greasy hands on. NEVER turn your back on a shit bird. Thanks Playmobile. I would like to note here, that there was a time (in the eighties) that I dressed very much like this. I was thrown out of Six Flags over Georgia for dress code, as well as a Chucky Cheese Pizza (can you smell the urine?) restaurant. I was told that the restaurant was a "family place" and I was frightening the chirren'. The difference was......... fooled you! There WAS no difference. I WAS a shit bird. That is my point. If you dress like a shit bird, you will be treated as such, because you are wearing the uniform. If you dress like a pirate, you will probably say "Arrrrgh" before the end of the day. If you dress like a cowboy, you will probably yell "YEEHAA" before to long. You dress like a shit bird, you will probably wallop a cop with a giant flash light before the day is over, or at least, you will want too.

Lowest Common Denominator

Spent an hour in the waiting room of my favorite "pain management" clinic the other day. I had my cell/camera phone, and had to show you something I noticed. Im not going to point out the obvious, just look at the pic's.

Apparently, being fat hurts. I want to add that each one of these specimins who either rolled in on their own power or were pushed in by a feeder, cryed at some point in the waiting room. It was the strangest thing. The 400 pounder in the first shot (with butterfly bag) waited until the room was silent, and then wimpered for a good three minutes.

The one in the stripped shirt (with 22 inch "cankles") went for a good minute or so.

The one in the black suit-thing argued with her insurance company (Blue Cross/Blue plate) and then did a sort of cursing-cry-out loud bit.

This was the first one's feeder, going after a ringing cell phone in her butterfly bag. I swear to God Almighty that the ring tone was "Devil went down to Georgia". You can't make this shit up.

I have been told from my Doctor that I would have less back pain if I lost weight. The thought of dieting makes me want to stand in his waiting room and have a good cry.