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Hello everyone... welcome to Aks Chaos... this is where I answer all the questions that plague your everyday life... or just something that you never knew and always wondered about... or the love doctor Aks Chaos has the answer to all your love questions... I don't have much for you today since there aren't many fuckers asking questions. Seems everyone already knows every"fucking"thing... but I did get one question and here you go----
Hey Aks Chaos.... what the fuck man... I just don't understand why in the hell hot dogs come 10 in a package and hot dog buns come 8 in a package... that shit baffles me... why do they do that????
Easy my inquisitive yet bamboozled friend.... the answer is "Because bread companies are evil". Yes, thats right... bread companies are evil and you know they are because they try to get you to buy two packages of hot dog buns when you only want to buy one. Have you ever bought a loaf of bread only to have a huge bread bubble run all the way through your bread... yeah, that shit was planned, it was not a mistake and it sucks because you can't make a decent peanut butter and mayo sandwich unless you have flawless bread waiting for you. Don't let the little sunbeam girl fool you either because underneath that cute little pristine butter bread eating innocence lurks the evil of a two year old girl ready to steal your carb craving soul. I must tell you with confidence... fret not at the evilness of bread companies as there are wonderful solutions to your bun and frank using inquiries that can help solve the problem of extra buns and/or extra hot dogs. Did I say extra buns??? Oh yes, if you decide to spring for the expensive shit, your bun to dog ratio can actually start to make sense... it's only when you buy the cheap hot dogs that the devilishness of the bread companies become apparent. If you were to ask why in the hell the bread companies would do that... I'd answer "because the people that buy cheap hot dogs are (in most cases) not intelligent enough to know they are getting screwed". I mean... if you really want a turkey/pork/beef/with mechanically seperated chicken parts hot dog, more power to you... but what you are eating really isn't a hot dog... it's actually a tiny phallic shaped unsliced piece of bologna. So this is what you do... you need to buy Hebrew National brand hot dogs which come in packs of 7 because no one wants to spend more than 6 bucks on a pack of dogs. In this case you will have a left over bun with which you can use to make a pizza bread, garlic bread, cheese bread, oh shit... let your imagination soar. You can buy Nathans brand hot dogs that come in packs of 8 which fit perfectly with your bun package. My close OCD friends love this choice since they do not have to buy 8 packs of franks and 10 packs of buns (or in the case of Hebrew National Dogs.. 8 packs of dogs and 7 packs of fluff logs) to equal out the the whole dog to bun system. Then... of course, there is always the regular old answer... buy your cheap ass pretend hot dogs in packs of 10... use the 8 buns with 8 dogs. When you at last crave your compressed left over chicken parts, warm them both up... slice them both down the middle of the dog to make four halves. Place them between two peices of regular bread (if you can find a piece without a bread bubble) and add dog toppings to your liking and as you chomp down on your delicious hot dog sandwich (commonly known as welfare dogs)...remember that bread companies are evil and they will stop at nothing to steal the money of slow faux hot dog eaters everywhere. 
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| Long Road I have spent the last month out on the road away from my family. Breaking my back to bring home pennies because freight was slow and the miles just weren't coming to me. It's a long lonely road and time spent driving, working, and oftentimes just sitting and waiting for work is time spent thinking a whole lot about just about everything. A whole lot about why you are trying to make more money when the toll you need to pay is time with family. When you know that just you being home would bring more comfort than the almighty dollar could ever deliver. A whole lot about how fast life passes and how you wake up one morning and find out your over 30 years old and wonder just how in the fuck that happened. You talk to your wife over a cell phone over 5 times a day because you worry about her and the kids... and also because you are just lonely. I spent hour after hour sitting in the sleeper of my truck wondering how in the fuck I ended up away from my family when one of our set rules as a family was to always make time for us. I spent time driving down the road in the rain and remembering how fascinating and mesmerizing the streetlight sheen used to be to a 4 or 5 year old boy just yesterday. Well, it sure seemed like yesterday to me. Watching sunrise and sunset walk by like two old friends that came over to visit just a few hours of each other. The days froze into night and then melted back into day in a cycle so much faster than most people really realize I think. I already knew that I was going to let this over the road driving go and trade it in for some local work that was going to get me home every night... but when someone you don't know jumps into your cab waiting at a red light in the middle of Newark, New Jersey and takes you for about $75.00... well... lets just say that the process to get my life on track had been expedited. That very day I drove the truck to the nearest terminal and told them that I couldn't do it anymore. The way I figured was, if I found myself in a situation where that could happen in broad daylight, then I could definitely find myself in situations where a lot worse could happen. It's an odds game and they were no longer in my favor so I cashed in the chips and took my winnings. All told I netted about $525.00 when you take away the $75.00 I gave to the one holding the cards. Now... again comes the reflection. In hindsight I should have done a lot of things that could have saved me money, time, heartache, and even some embarrassment for the few small missteps that snowballed into a $75.00 mistake. After weeks of thinking on how I can better the life of my family, the first step was definitely not to become a hero in which case my family could be the ones to pay if things went sour. However, I am a firm believer that just about everything that happens has a reason. I could guess for another 3 weeks on exactly what that reason is, but I'm damn sure I already know the answer and I'll put my money there. | | |
| Shopping Cart Seatbelts are for Stupid Kids It never ceases to amaze me, the amount of stupid kids in the world today. Stupidity reigns supreme doesn’t it? When I was a kid, there were no seatbelts in your cart. My family would take me to the local Gemco and in the cart I went. I never had a problem you see… even as a kid I knew that you shouldn’t try to stand up because… well, you can fall a long way down… and that shit would hurt like hell. I know… it’s not all the kids fault is it? I mean, seatbelts aren’t there because your local Wal-Mart cares or for the safety of your kid. They are actually there to minimize lawsuits held against a company when stupid kids decide they want to grab some cookies and teeter over the edge in their attempt to acquire the delicious goodies. You see… that’s what stupid kids are good at, knowing what cookies are. 9 out of 10 stupid parents agree that cookies make the perfect bribe food for their retarded little shits. Interestingly enough, spanking the retarded out of your children is considered barbaric behavior these days but leaving your dim-witted little fucks unattended and unwatched long enough for them to fall out can, and most of the time is, considered an honest parenting mistake. Maybe not so much a mistake either, maybe it’s just part of the growing process… dumb-ass parents and kids learning together. Dip shit parents unite, everyone knows that it’s not your fault that you’re stupid and that you need to be compensated monetarily for the shortcomings of you and your kids. The process of natural selection used to kill off the dumb-asses of the world with creative accidents… Death used to chuckle when stupidity made his job easier and now we make sure they get rich enough to create three times as many drooling little cookie mongering dumb fucks, yes Death is pissed off lately. You know you’ve thought it… admit it people. You’ve looked at one of those little fucks and thought to yourself “what a fucking stupid little kid… that one’s gonna end up under a car one day”. Well, one day there will be 3 more to take his place… because their parents sued Ford for not designing their cars with a warning sticker on the front of the car saying “Don’t Play Here!” not that the ignorant little fuckers could read it anyway. | | |
| Changes
Everywhere you go, there you are. Moved again to a different state (this makes how many?) and decided to change my career path. I actually had a great job in Houston and I was moving up so fast that this decision to move to Delaware was postponed for over a year. I was getting great management experience and I was rather enjoying being the boss for once. The wife wasn’t happy to the degree that I hoped that she would be and we moved a little closer to some of her family. Consequently, this moved me further away from my son but I thought I would have the experience to continue down the route of management and hopefully get a job that would be able to finance a few flights a year his way and maybe he could stay for the summer ya know? Anyway, education gets top priority here and not experience, they just can’t take one without the other. So I open the paper week after week to find out what positions are open for me to seize and what pops up time and again? Drivers wanted. “I know how to drive!” I say, but they don’t want just any son-of-a-bitch, they want a CDL (“Commercial Drivers License” for those that are too sad to look it up) holder. So I get a loan to the tune of over $4000 and go to school to get a CDL-A. Nice investment I think… since there seems to be a national shortage of CDL holders… everyone seems to be hurting for qualified drivers. $4000 dollars that I didn’t have yes… but now I’ll never really want for a job. You can make some pretty decent cash driving too so now step one is complete. Step two is to pay off all of my debt.
So I’m gon’ be a truck driver now, maybe on the road I’ll be inspired to write a few new things but for now I just need to say this. HOLY SHIT you stupid motherfuckers! I never knew (oh… I thought I knew) how many of you piece of shit drivers there really were out there until I got behind the wheel of a truck carrying 80,000 (that’s 40 tons for you ignorant dipshits) pounds of cargo, steel, and fuel barreling down a highway at 65 miles per hour. You cut truckers off, you take chances at passing them when you KNOW you shouldn’t try, and you take it for granted that they can stop that big, fucking heavy ass truck on a dime. This is of course not directed to all of you, but you know who the fuck you are. I was just in training and every single day you drove in front of me, passed me without looking or signaling, cut me off, played chicken…. (Holy shit… yes, you ignorant fucks were out there purposely trying to get me to run you over), and then had the unmitigated audacity to get pissed off at me for it! You see, there is a big and I mean BIG fucking misconception out there that big trucks = slow. But that is just an illusion people. No, they can roll with the best of them. The real equation that you cock holster fuck wads need to keep in mind is that big trucks = can’t stop on a dime. You scare me… all of you that do this shit. You don’t understand that you are playing with your life just to get down the road and get to your destination a little faster. I’m not just talking about the aggressive fuckers that do 100 in a 65 to shave hours off a long drive either. I’m talking about dumb shits that will make a left turn in front of my truck to get into Wendy’s for a burger. Did Dave fucking pay you a million to make Wendy’s that much of a fucking priority in your life that you would try to beat a truck before they passed the entrance or are those fucking 99cent nuggets that fucking good? Listen to me, drive how you want to drive ok? Shave off seconds to get into the entrance instead of waiting 4 seconds for the truck to pass you if you want, but one day you are going to end up dead. I know… we all end up dead, but do you really want your life to expire for some fries? Be careful out there please! Because let me clue you in… in a match between your car and 40 tons… you will lose every time! | | |
| Adventures in Underwear
Tightie whities, boxer briefs, bikinis, thongs or whatever you are into I guess. I “go commando” myself and have found it the most comfortable for me. I also can’t advocate enough that one less garment to take off in the heat of sexual paroxysm has many advantages. I didn’t always go commando I must admit. My decision to try it out was based in part by my father when he took advantage of a situation to my complete and utter mortification.
I was about sixteen years old when my jovial father and I decided to go to the local mall to grab some jeans, shirts, and oh yes… some underwear. Maybe we were there to scope out some ladies also. Anyway, we stopped off in Sears to check out the latest in tightie white undergarments when good old dad suggested I wear bikinis. “Fuck that!” I said, “Where in the hell do you um, tuck your balls?”(See… I could talk to dad about anything) Well, eventually we came to the tighties section and as I sorted through the different sizes I couldn’t seem to remember what size I wore. Dumbfounded by this seemingly simple task to just remember what size of underwear I wear, I became anxious and asked my father if he knew what size I wore. He looked at me with a puzzled look and before he even answered me and while I was eager to just be done with the daunting and dirty task of buying my jizz catchers… I turned and told him to just read the size off of the underwear I already had on. I turn my back to him and he snatches the label and starts to read. I think to myself how peculiar this is and look around to make sure no one else is observing this undoubtedly odd situation and after checking a number of times it dawns on me that quite a lot of time has passed and my father was still holding my tag. Wondering about what exactly could be taking so long to accomplish this simple task and ready to be done with it I blurt out “Well, what does it say?” My father replied quickly “It says… Pull here!” …. Somewhere in that Sears building, personnel in loss prevention were laughing their asses off as my father proceeded to lift me off of my feet by my underwear. My dad and his uproarious laughter drew everyone else’s attention to me and amid grins and chuckles I proceeded to dig the cotton out of my ass. I was pissed off about it too. No underwear buying that day I tell you. It took me about 10 to 15 minutes to turn a chuckle about that… it was rather hilarious, especially since I placed myself into that situation. I never got my dad back for that one… but I did make my grandmother red-faced and praying to Jesus after she bellowed across a different store a question about what size I wore. “That’s okay Grandma…. I don’t wear any!!!” I shouted in return. I still am not sure what compels the grandmothers of today to shout questions of bra sizes and how the crotch fits throughout department stores across America… at least that day one grandmother got an honest answer and wished that she hadn’t asked. | | |
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