GRIZZLY MAN DIARIES/RETARDS NAMED GARTH

RETARD GETS HIS GIRLFRIEND KILLED 

This train wreck has had a lot of press and film based on his experience with grizzly bears. Werner Herzog made a documentary on Timothy Treadwell-"The Grizzly Man". National Geographic/Animal Planet had a 12-part series, "Grizzly Man Diaries" using film and commentary produced by Timothy, spanning the 8 years he spent in Alaska. I became so engrossed with the story I decided to do a blog on him. If anyone were to ask me what was the most memorable moment of the 60+ hours of video I have viewed, which included his extremely close encounters with the grizzlies, the introduction of his girlfriend to the bears and his gruesome death, they would be astonished by my answer. It would be one word-"GARTH" which was the name of the bear who killed him and his girlfriend.  Now I will explain to you the reason for the name 'Garth' is so significant.

GARTH 

Some may be surprised to learn that not only am I an extremely gifted writer, blogger, videographer, author, all round nice guy without a mean or prejudiced bone in my body, I worked for many years in the mental health field. Now some citizens may crudely refer to the type of people I worked with as tardos, mongos, pea-brains, dip-shits, etc. The medical term we professionals use to classify them is "Retards".

Having worked in the capacity as a therapist in several institutes from one coast to the other, I must have come to know literally thousands of retards. For whatever reason, at least 80% of all male retards are named 'Garth' and more surprising, about 15% of female retards are named 'Garth'! Several of my colleagues and I were discussing this fact at a weekend retreat for psychologists.

After an evening of heavy psycho-tropic drug use, followed by copious amounts of vodka and scotch, we tried to hypothesize the reasons and causes of this phenomenon. These were the questions and scenarios we discussed-

• Did the parents know the kid was retarded the minute they laid eyes on it? "Gee, look honey, the kid is retarded! I guess we have to name him Garth!"

• The parents are in the delivery room and the nurse hands them the newborn baby. They excitedly ask-"Doctor, is it a girl or a boy?" The doctor and the nurse both take a good hard look and tell the parents-"We hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is neither, it's a fucking 'Garth'!  To which the husband replies-"Ah, shit, not another one, we got to quit fucking honey!" 

• Did they have a name picked out prior to the baby's birth? And when the obstetric nurse asked what names they had chosen, they replied-"Yes we do! If its a boy, we are naming him Garth, if it's a girl, she will be called Garth!" And the nurse says-"Hang on for a second I'll be right back. I have to phone the nut house and tell them to expect another client!"

• Or was the name Garth capable of causing retroactive retardation? One of my esteemed colleagues related an actual case he was involved in while working at the prestigious Klinghoffer Behavioral Science Clinic, which is affiliated with the Harvard Medical School. This case involved the son of Marissa and George Heisenberg. In 2006, they gave birth to a son who was a child prodigy by the age of two. What is interesting is the fact that they had decided to wait till he was four years old before giving him a first name. In the interim, he was referred to as 'Baby Hebe' by friends and family. This child was gifted in several fields. He could play several musical instruments by the time he was two. He was fluent in several language and could do complex math and algebra functions. Things came crashing down on this family the day after his fourth birthday. 'Baby Hebe' was sitting at the piano playing Mendelson's Piano Concerto in B Flat, when he stopped and said to his parent-"Mother and father, I want to thank you for the wonderful party you had for me yesterday. And I want to thank for the wonder life you have provided for me. I will make you proud of me and I will repay you by becoming rich and famous. All I ask of you is one more thing. What name have you decided to give me?" Both parents, bursting with pride, decided that it was the perfect time to give him the name they had thought long and hard before coming to a decision. "Son", said his father." your mother and I have decided on the name Garth". And the second the word left his lips, the kid instantly lost all his bodily functions-shitting and pissing his pants, drooling like a mongoloid. He then began to demolish the entire house and contents. Nothing but totally incomprehensible gibberish was coming from his mouth. He was immediate institutionalized, unable to do anything on his own except jerk-off and play with his own feces. Is this enough proof to confirm the retro-active retardation theorem? My colleagues and I think so!

Here is another fact concerning the retards named Garth. They were by far the most vicious and violent patients I have ever worked with. Piss them off and they could tear through doors and walls to get at you. They also possess an innate ability for stalking and hunting targets they wanted to destroy. And this is no exaggeration, I knew this one Garth who could become nearly invisible in a brightly lit hallway. without the benefit of doorways to hide in or furniture to hide behind. You wouldn't know he was there till a thundering punch would completely shatter every bone in your face.

They also have a pain threshold that is off the scale and completely impervious to injury. I have seen 7 or 8 attendants take down a Garth and try to subdue him by putting the boots to his head only to have the Garth jump up with a grin on his face and begin to tear the attendants apart. There is nothing more awe inspiring than to watch two Garths going at it, toe to toe, for seven or eight hours-busting tables, chairs, TV sets over each others heads. In one staged battle, I saw them actually using other patients as clubs to pummel each other.

If the government could train these guys for warfare, you could send 10 Garths out on a Search and Destroy mission and you would be guaranteed a 100% success rate. If Roosevelt had unleashed a thousand Garths on Japan, he wouldn't have had to nuke them back to the stone-age!  

You may have thought I have gotten off the subject and said to yourself, "Man, where the fuck is this guy going with this story?" Everything concerning "Garths" is extremely relevant to Timothy Treadwell's ugly demise. As a clinical psychologist, I have to clarify something that was innate to Timmy's psychological make-up. Here was a man who was born with only one destiny. He was going to find a way to get himself killed. He wasn't going to go out with a whimper either. Nor was he going to take the easy way out like getting killed in a car accident or fucking around with explosives. Nope, Timothy was going to make it one of the most gruesome and ugly deaths you could imagine.

If you have seen any of the Grizzly Man tapes, you will be familiar with the fact that he gave all the grizzlies he came in contact name really cute and/or fruity names. All except one. The biggest, ugliest and most vicious bear was one he named GARTH. And guess what happens? That's right, this totally fucked up and retarded bear named Garth tears Timothy and his girlfriend to shreds. For some unknown reason, Timmy had left his video camera on (thankfully he left the lens cap on so only the audio was available for the ghouls to listen to over and over and over again) and you can hear both Timmy and girlfriend screaming and shrieking in terror-"Garth, please go! Don't Garth! JESUS CHRIST GARTH, THAT HURTS! GARTH, GO JUST GO, GARRRRRRRRRRRTTHHHHH, OUCHHHHHHHHHHH!

Timmy should have had some really serious conversations with us professionals. You don't name anything Garth that weighs a ton and has the capacity to tear apart an Abrams M-1 Battle Tank when its pissed off.

In closing I would like to say that if anything illustrates the reason we should all stay away from bears and Garths is this picture of Al Gore whose parents affectionately called "Little Garth".

That's it for today's blog. I am currently working on my new Hardy Boys book and I am doing a blog on "How to Differentiate Blacks From Niggers"! This is a result of being called a skinny,cracker assed racist honky one too many times!
http://cruderudecomedy.blogspot.com/

PORNOCCHIO THE PUPPET

A VERY OFFENSIVE FAIRYTALE

*See Cruderudecomedy.blogspot for edited and revised versions of this tale.

Geppetto was, without a doubt, the loneliest man living in the village of Cunnilinguini. If anyone were to wander by his cottage at night, peer in the window, they would see the old man seated at his woodwork bench weeping as he held a picture of his late wife, Paloma. It was difficult for him to believe she had been dead for 15 years. Once, they had dreamed of children and grandchildren, but after many years of disappointment, Paloma had gone to the doctor and discovered she would never be able to bear children for her beloved Geppetto. Despondent and withdrawn, Paloma had taken her own life, crushing in the back of her skull with a blunt instrument. How she had managed to do this with her hands tied behind her back was overlooked by the retards who ran the police department.

As Geppetto looked at the picture, he sobbed, "Why, oh why did this happen? You barren cow, I wasted 20 years banging your dried up old figatta. I could have married the whore Angelina Balboa. She's been a popping out the babies like a fuggating rabbit! I could have been a Priest at a Boy Scout Jamboree getting more action then I can handle! Mother fucker!"

In a final act of rage directed at his dead wife, he threw the picture against the wall, breaking it into thousands of pieces. In stark contrast, he tenderly picked up a wooden marionette, who he had named Pinocchio. With a few finishing strokes of his paint brush, the little boy was finished. These puppets were now the replacements for the children he so desperately wanted and it showed in the meticulous craft work.

 "If only you were real, my little Pinocchio" he sobbed. "I wouldn't be so lonely." He put the little wooden boy down and shuffled to the window, looking up at the stars in the sky. "What was it my momma told me when I was a little boy", he asked himself? Asking oneself questions is a common practice of old people who have no friends or family and on the verge some serious psychiatric disorders. "Now I remember, my mother said-Geppetto, if you looked upon the brightest star in the sky and made a wish, than one day it will come true-I never did believe a word that drunken whore ever said." He blew out the candle on his workbench, picked up the latest copy of 'Jugs & Pussies' and headed to the bedroom to jerk-off before going to sleep.

In the corner of the workshop, a tiny cricket named Jiminy, had been intently listening to the forlorn musing of the sad old man. He was a magical creature, conjured up by the drugged addled mind of Walt Disney. Walt was a man who saw lots of shit running around in his house when he was fucked up on drugs and alcohol. And he was an enigma to family and friends alike. If you looked really hard at the stories he wrote you can see the workings of a twisted individual, something like yours truly writing this blog. How about the story of Bambi? What kind of man would have a fawn's mother, along with thousands of other creatures, burnt do death in a forest fire. And then we have Old Yeller, a loving dog who saves a little boys life countless times. And how does Mr. Disney reward him? He gives the mutt rabies and has the little kid's brother shoot the pooch in the head. And that mind-fuck of a scene from Fantasia starring Mickey Mouse on acid. Conducting an orchestra made up of hippos and other animals in a scene straight out of hell!  That is too fucked up. I'm getting way off track here, so let's get back to Jiminy Cricket. He was about to make Geppetto's wish come true and give him a real, live son. Jumping up on the work table, he took out his pouch of magic dust, similar to angel dust but it doesn't make you psychotic, and sprinkled it on Pinocchio.

A miraculous transformation started to come over the little wooden marionette. His eyes slowly opened and his tiny hands and feet began to move. He raised his head and then tried to stand up from the table. Spotting Jiminy, Pinocchio uttered his first words. "Hey cockroach, get a knife and cut these fucking strings off me, I can't move!"

"Jesus Christ, your a nasty little fucker," exclaimed Jinimy, picking up an exacto knife and cutting the strings. "And I'm not a cockroach, I'm a cricket!

"Cockroach, cricket what's the difference, you're still a disgusting insect," said Pinochio. Spotting the pouch in Jiminy's hand, Pinocchio inquired as it's contents.

"This is my magic dust,"explained the cricket. "It has wondrous powers that can make dreams and wishes come true. But it can also be used by bad people to do evil so one must be careful to ensure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

"No shit," said the foul-mouthed puppet. "Hey man, what's that behind you?" asked Pinocchio, pointing to the corner Jiminy had occupied just minutes earlier. As the cricket turned to look, Pinocchio brought up a wooden mallet and bonked the cricket on the head, stunning him. The pouch dropped from his hand, spilling it's contents out on the table. Pinocchio dropped to his knees and snorted a couple lines. Now totally wasted, the puppet reeled across the table towards Slutskya, a marionette that a customer had specialy ordered from Geppetto. She was going to be the part of a travelling puppet show in Russia.

As he neared Slutskya, he threw a handful of magic dust on her and she came to life. Pinocchio, in fever pitched frenzy, tore off all her clothes. Staring at her naked body, he marvelled at Geppetto's craftmanship. She had tits to die for and the sweetest little knot-hole a puppet could want.

"Vat are you do ink to me,' cried a very frightened Slutyana, vainly trying to cover up her tits and knot-hole, but unable to do so because of the strings attached to her arms.

"I'm not doing anything you Russian slut, you're going to blow me though!" laughed Pinocchio as he dropped his pants. "Aw shit!" he screamed. Geppetto forgot to carve him a pecker. He had to go and get some more magic dust.

As he bent down to grab some dust, a very pissed-off cricket jumped on his back and put him in a choke hold. With blood trickling down his face, Jiminy launched into a tirade of obsceneties. "Don't you ever fuck with a cricket. I am going to kill you you sawed off little prick!"

In desperation, Pinocchio reached up and grabbed Jiminy by his feelers and flipped him over his head. The cricket rolled off the table and landed with a little thud on the floor. Undetered, he began to crawl up the leg of the table. "No one gets raped while on my watch," exclaimed Jiminy reaching up for the edge of the table.

By this time though, Pinocchio had availed himself of the dust and was swaggering towards Sluskya, sporting a mean looking boner. With a leer on his face, he proudly proclaimed to Slutskya, "You're going to be pulling slivers out of your mouth for a week!"

"Not so fast!" yelled a triumphant Jiminy, holding a nail gun in his hand. "This fairy tale has gotten way out of hand. I think I am going to end it all here and now!" He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

Pinocchio was quick but not quick enough. He managed to duck out of the way of the first nail, which impaled itself square between Slutskya's eye's, killing her instantly. The second nail caught Pinocchio in the chest.

Standing over the wooden pervert, Jiminy brought up the nail gun and aimed it at Pinocchio head. "Any last words dick-wad before I kill you?" stammered the injured cricket.

It was nothing but a blur to Pinocchio as the shoe came down on Jiminy and his guts shot out his asshole. Standing over the bench was Geppetto with his shoe raised for another strike on the cricket.

"What is going on here?" screamed the puppet master as he dropped the shoe and lovingly picked up his puppet. "What miracle has brought life to my Pinocchio?" said Geppetto with tears running down his cheeks.

"Daddy," said a totally innocent Pinocchio reaching up with his arms.

The End. I am cutting this tale short because my wife just came in the door and she thinks I am working on my theses-"The Therpeutic Value of Blogging and Its Correlation to Total Insanity!". Doc.
http://cruderudecomedy.blogspot.com/ This is another killer blog site.