Dada is the sun, Dada is the egg. Dada is the Police of the Police.

6/22/2005

Ned Flanders must die



From a random internet forum:
Over the past several months, I, like anybody else in the world, has had to endure certain annoyances and problems. While normally being a mild, laid-back, level-headed kinda guy, I find lately that my patience is weening. Quickly. My temper is flaring more, and I find it more and more diffficult to contain my emotions. Why? Because of him. Because of Ned Flanders.

His name isn't really Ned. I just call him that because he reminds me of the very same character on the popular animated American show, The Simpsons. If you don't live in America, and/or have been living under a rock for 10 years, Ned Flanders is the neighbor to the Simpson family, and a constant annoyance to the family patriarch, Homer. So how does my Ned compare? In so many ways, it would drive a laid-back guy like me to committing murder. That's right. Murder. A 187. Homicide. You name it, I've thought of it.

Ned Flanders must die. Its that simple.

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'Ned Flanders must die' continued:

But why go to such extremes, you might ask? Like the Simpsons, Real World Ned is the "hero" to my "anti-hero" (being me, of course). This man is dedicated to humiliating/annoying me to no end. He is more than evil itself. He is more cainiving than any mother-in-law. He is deadlier than any cancer ever imagined. He is more than a rival. More than a competitor. More than an enemy. He is deadly because he hides his evilness behind his facade of innocence. That's right, kids, he hides under the guise of friendship, and worse yet, has my wife fooled. In fact, he has everyone fooled.

Right off the bat, he annoyed me. He arrived at my house, as a guest who was dating my wife's friend. He showed up in a brown suit, with a brown boe-tie. A bow-tie! Its one of my cardinal rules in life to never trust anyone who wears bow-ties, much less this freckled-face, 25 year-old fuck. Is he 80 years-old? NO. Is he a shady car salesman from the South? NO. Is he a member of the Nation of Islam? NO. You get the picture. Right there and then - STRIKE ONE.

Like Simpsons Ned, he is as "pious" as they come. As Simpson Ned is a bible-thumping, Jesus freak, Real World Ned does charity work. Charity work . . . doesn't that make your heart melt? While most normal people are wasting their lives watching tv or eating mayonnaise sandwiches, this guy is busy crusading the planet trying to teach tap lessons to homeless people. That's right, kids, its charity with a twist. What are his other causes? Training parapalegics to run marathons. Teach AIDS patients how to prevent others from being diabetic. Breeding more and more racoons so the wolves have something to eat at night. Yes, I told you, he's that annoying. For him, charity work with a twist = STRIKE TWO.

Some other notable aspects of our friend, Ned.

- He claims to drive a sports car, yet he pimps out in a 2002 Nissan Quest. Somebody should tell "SpeedRacer" here that driving around in a large rolling, purple-laden, soccer-mom square box full of volleyball nets and sandbags does not mean you are "2 Fast 2 Furious". The bad part is, people compliment him on his "sports car". Ugh . . .

- He preaches to the children of his church about the "values of following through with your dreams and finding what you love to do, as long as it benefits society and mankind." Hey Moses, does "following your dreams" mean selling time-shares for a living? Does society really need pre-set vacation spots for thousands of dollars? Goddman Ned, you make me sick.

- Ned is a "one-upper". For example, if you tell a story about how drunk you were, Ned will fire back how he just drank a keg in less than an hour. If you were recently a participant in a 3-some, he will have had sex with a cheerleading squad. The other day, I innocently said, "Yo, I gotta run to the store to get some candy for these kids." Ned responded, "Yeah, I own a candy store. Too bad we're not in Connecticut! LOL! ROLMAO!!!!" Fuck you, Ned. I hope you choke on your candy store, you miserable sod.

STRIKE THREE came the other day. My wife and I attended a mutual friend's birthday party. I sat in the corner the entire time brooding while Ned was regalling everyone with one of his stories. Even Ned's voice is grating - its a combination of a cat drowing mixed in with someone punching him in the throat every 2 minutes. As dinner time had been called and everyone was heading into the house, Ned pulls me to the side and says nonchalantly:

"Hey man, your wife's ass is looking great in that sun-dress. I would pound that in a heartbeat! LOLLLLL!!!! ROLMAO!!!!!!"

He strutted into the house. I could feel the blood starting to trickle from my nuckles. For no apparent reason, I stormed off into the parking lot. I had a beer bottle in my hands, and suddenly, Ned's "sports car" loomed in front of me. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I threw the bottle at his car.

Of course, I don't have the greatest arm either. The bottle actually hooked and shattered into my friend's (the birthday boy, himself), BMW, and broke the headlight. The sound was devastating. I couldn't breathe, and the world seemed to have stopped. Everyone came rushing out of he house. There was yelling. There was confusion. There was pushing. There was an "invitation" to exit the premises.

Even though birthday boy and me are cool now, my wife is pissed. "All [Ned] did was compliment me on my dress! And you blow up! I want you to seek anger management therapy. And I will be going with you."

Fantastic.

Oh by the way, Ned offered to pay for the broken headlight, because he felt "responsible". Everyone cheered his name; they hoisted him up on their shoulders. My wife pronounced him as 'the ultimate sweetheart".

Yes. Ned Flanders must die.



Note: For all you dumb people out there, I'm not really going to kill this guy. I am just hoping to ruin his credit and/or manage to wreck his life in some sort of fashion. To be continued.

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