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The other evening I was in the midst of changing the sprog's diaper when there was a knock at the door. Normally, I would pretend not to be home until the offending knocker went away. This time though, the kid had just finished laughing and screeching very loudly. I made my way to the door and glanced through the peephole. These things usually make people look like some sort of tard, but this guy looked even more so. In the background I could see the tard's keeper.
credit given to original author if known
So, being the tard afficianado that I am, I open the door. There stands a tard of approximately 14-17 years of age. 5'6" tall. Weight about 180 lbs. Smelled like sour milk. Hair was greasy and parted just above the ear. Glasses as thick as a woman's clit. He kept shifting nervously back and forth . His keeper was about ten feet behind and looked to be holding a rope, though I didn't see it fastened to the tard. He had that moustache of a kid who can't really grow one, but hasn't shaved anyway. He parted his lips and spoke unto me:
I was going to try to type this part in tardspeak, but since there is so much, and we all have that inner voice that speaks like a tard, I will leave the tardaccent up to you. (I am guessing at some of his words)
"Hi! My name is Brian(?) and I want to ask you a question."
"I would like to know, sir, if you like to read."
"Yes, Brian, I do."
"May I ask you another question?"
"You just did."
--pause for thought or perhaps to wet himself, I can't be sure--
"I mean can I ask you another question?"
--At this point I thought about playing Abbott and Costello with the tard, but decided there was still much more fun to be had--
"Yes, Brian, please do go on."
"Do you like to help people?"
"That depends", I reply.
"What kind of help are we talking about here?"
"ohhhhh, unnnnnhh, oohhhhhhh, I - I - I could win a Disneyland if I can sell the most magazines, and I would really like to go there. I would ride the Space Mountain and I would meet Mickey Mouse and I would have burgers til I was stuffed."
(the last line could have been "get buggered til I was stuffed", but that didn't make as much sense. At least in this context, though I 've never taken a tardvan to Disneyland, so I could be wrong)
"Yeah, I'd like to go to Disneyland, too."
"If you buy the magazine it would help me get a chance to go."
"I could win, they said I could."
"Great! Do you have Playboy?"
"Uhnnnnn, I don't know. (turns to ask keeper) Ohhhhhh, do we got playboy?" (keeper whispers something in his ear) "yes siree, we got that one!"
"Do you like Playboy, Brian?"
"I don't know, I never saw it. Is it about games?"
"Yes, it is about games. Do you like games?"
At this point the keeper grabs Brian by the shoulder, shoots me the evil eye and tells him to thank me for my time. Brian gets visibly upset.
"Ohhhhhhnnn Uhhnnnnnn. He gonna buy a magazine. the one with the games!"
So as I was closing the door, and they were walking away, I yelled out, " That's right, I wanted you to go to Disneyland!" I shut and locked the door. I listened through the window to the Tard screaming at his wranger. "You don't want me to have a Disneyland!"
I suppose I didn't teach the tard a thing about the real world, but maybe they'll think twice before unleashing some mongoloid on my neighboorhood.