My Hate Blog

Observe, ye fellow readers, a rare specimen indeed. With its screwed up face and child-like mannerisms, this breed are not to be confused with many TalkFreelance forum users. What we have here is commonly referred to as a “retard”, and I fucking hate them.

“Why do you hate the special people?” I hear you ask. Well, fortunately it’s a very simple question to answer, albeit with a question in return: What do you do when you meet a retard? Think about that for a second.

It’s a very difficult question to answer, isn’t it? Are you sympathetic to the retards needs? Do you pull your underwear over your head and run around making retard-like noises in a bid to entertain it, only to be chastised by the retards handler? Yes, I just used the word handler. Like Dog handler, Horse handler, Toilet handler. What is the official “title” for the person who supervises the retards in their day to day lives? Superviser? Carer? Massochist? Post me your thoughts.

So, if you don’t decide to pull your underpants over your head, do you shake their hand? Do you REALLY want to shake hands with someone whose idea of fun is to play with their own shit? Someone whose hand is likely to be so disgustingly dirty and sticky that you genuinely feel the need to either cut yours off afterwards, or dunk it in a vat of sulphuric acid. That’s not my idea of fun.

So, I have difficulty meeting retards. That sounded like I put out advertisments to specifically meet them, didn’t it? No comment. It seems that however I meet and respond to retards is always wrong. If I try to talk to them like a normal person, they have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about and their handlers give me a look of disgust, as if i should know better than to try and converse intellectually with a retard. If I try and talk about the shapes and sizes of poop and how when I was 3 years old, I tried to make a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my own shit, I get chastised for talking to them in a demeaning manner, regardless of how much the retard finds it amusing and claps their hands like a fucking circus seal.

Sometimes I’ve met retards, and have referred to them as previous retards I’ve already met, simply because they all look the fucking same. Honestly, how was I meant to know that we suddenly had an influx of retards in the area? Maybe that retard actually went home beliving his name was “Dave” that day, who knows? Do they even have names? Is there any point?

I once worked part-time in a supermarket as a “General Assistant”. This involved both cashier work, and stock work (ie putting shit on shelves). I remember one busy Saturday morning a retard came in to buy some sugar. He was a regular retard, and a serious fucking annoyance, because he’d hold the line up for about 10 minutes whilst he attempted to count the correct money up for whatever he’s buying. Yes, this is a retard of limited intelligence, attempting to mathematically calcuate how many pennies he should give me for this bag of sugar. If I tried to take the money out of his hand, he’d think I was trying to rob him and get extremely upset. If I tried to help him, he wouldn’t listen to me anyway because it’s obvious it took every single fucking braincell he had to try and work out this extremely complex puzzle, and it’d just disrupt his concentration. Eventually, he managed to give me somewhere in the region of the correct change (not that I bothered to check anyway) and went on his way.
Approximately 1 hour later, a woman came into the shop, followed by this retard, carrying a packet of sweets. She explained to me that he came in earlier to buy the sugar, and he’d accidentally put the sweets in his pocket without paying for them. She’d merely brought him in to return them. As I took the bag of sweets from the retard, telling him that it wasn’t a problem and I don’t give a shit because it’s not my shop anyway, he proceeded to cry. He cried as if I’d just raped him and stolen all of his pennies at the same time. It took every ounce of my being to not laugh in his retarded little face. Have you ever seen a retard cry? You’ll know what I mean.

And then it got me thinking. He accidentally put the sweets in his pocket? Give me a break. I guarantee you there are armies of these shoplifting retards all around the world, conveniently forgetting to pay for items. I bet there are handlers who take their leads off, and push them into a shop, waiting to see what they’ll come out with next. Let’s face it, if you catch a retard stealing, you’re not going to call the police are you? It’s the perfect fucking excuse! They probably even have a website somewhere where you can find a shoplifting retard in your area, and e-mail them a shopping list to fill. Just imagine it, millions of these retarded fucks all over the world, stealing everything from us and laughing at us when we’re not looking, in some super-complex retarded language that we don’t understand, consisting of grunts, farts, and slapping each other. Perhaps it’s us who are the retarded ones, and they’re simply on a level of intelligence that we’re not ready to comprehend? Yeah, OK, as if.

Another story for you…
In the local pub (yes, “pub” you Americans) I used to drink in, there was this semi-retarded guy who also used to drink there. He was never accompanied by a handler, or any friends or family, he was always on his own. For some bizarre reason the owners allowed this retardio to buy and drink alcohol. Randomly, he would stand up and walk over to a window, where he would begin combing his hair. A mirror would clearly be too easy to use, but a window… aha, pure genius. Reflections are better aren’t they.
Usually after his second or third drink, El Retardio would begin going from person to person in the pub, asking them if they had a “spare cigarette” that he could have. Typical retard, attempting to win the sympathy vote and getting free shit off people. My usual response was to look him dead in the eye and say, quite sternly, “No you can’t.” One day I got up to take a piss, so went to the toilet. Unbeknownst to me, El Retardio had followed me out to also take a leak. He decided to stand at the urinal right next to mine, and proceeded to spend his entire time there staring at my dick. I was heavily confused about how to deal with this situation. If I punched him, I can almost guarantee you I’d have an entire local lynch mob after my blood for attacking a retarded person. If I let it slide then the retard doesn’t learn anything either. Desipte the fact this guy was staring at my dick, which is considered “not acceptable” in the male community, I cannot punish nor educate the guy on the situation. I cannot provide retribution because it would be me who’s considered the bad guy, not El Retardio for his poor toilet etiquette.

Is there a point to this, or the previous story? Yes, there is. Being retarded is the perfect excuse for everything.

If you’re a woman and you’re out alone one night, and a group of guys try to rape you – just pretend you’re retarded. Start spitting on yourself and making retarded noises – see if they continue. Of course, you could very well be the unfortunate person who receives the rapist who’s into retarded people. That would be seriously fucking unfortunate for you, and I’d suggest killing yourself that evening. Either that or buying a lottery ticket that night. One way or another the odds are either for or against you.

So, I hate retards because they can shoplift and get away with it. I hate retards because whatever I seem to do, I upset them and/or their handlers. I hate retards because they all look the same, and it’s really confusing for us. I hate retards because they can get away with murder… probably quite literally.

Editors note: I apologise for the lack of potentially amusing material, recently. Some of the subject matter has been serious enough that it pisses me off and I don’t find it amusing. Rest assured, we shall now resume with our scheuled programming of (I hope) amusing depraved satire.

Admin Edit: The posting of comments is now DISABLED. I honestly don’t give a fuck about any of you whiney, pussy retards or retard loving motherfuckers. I don’t care that your “child has autism” or any of that bullshit. Here’s the bottom line, folks: NOBODY CARES. You’re living under the presumption that people care about your problems. You’re living under the presumption that you can somehow tell me your heart-felt tale and I’ll miraculously become a sensitive and caring person, and change my mind about the satirical blog post I’d written. You. Are. Living. In. Fucking. Delusion. Quite frankly you can all choke on a retard cock.

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