A Simple Request To My Detractors

This one is for all of my detractors.

You know who you are.

This is for those of you who think its racist to display an American flag in the state of California.  Have you gone green in your life?  Are you a “no labels” crowd member?  Are you counting down the days for Obamacare to be fully implemented?  Do you think our young President is too conservative?  Do you get tingles up your leg when you watch MSNBC?  Are you a birther or a truther?  I’m talking to you.

Are you a TSA Agent who is just a little bit too enthusiastic about administering enhanced pat-downs in the most unconstitutional of manners in hopes of getting an ‘exceeds expectations’ on your next annual performance review?

Don’t limit this message to a political spectrum though.

Hey Hollywood!  Have you produced a really stupid-ass movie which I’ve mocked here?  Don’t forget all of that crap you put on TV, either.  All of you pop stars might as well pay attention too.

Hey Denver!  If I lived in your neck of the woods, you canine racists and I would be scrappin’ over the fact that you’ve banned pit bulls.

Do you like pancakes?  I don’t, and I’ve said as much on this very site.

Is it offensive to you that I have Air Supply, Neil Diamond, Avenged Sevenfold, and Disturbed all on the same playlist?

What about door to door salesmen who cop an attitude when I tell you I’m not interested?  Are you one of those?

Are you a telemarketer out of Clearwater, Florida who goes by the name of Dustin?  Are you the golden voiced, reincarnated, yet disembodied head of Ted Williams?  You probably have a beef with me too.

Have you ever eaten fried food without dipping it in nacho cheese?  Those of you heathens who have never even considered it better snap to and pay attention as well.

All of you people in one little way or another contribute your behaviors, idiosyncrasies, and flatulent opinions to the pus filled sebaceous cyst which represents the bane of my existence.  Even still, I appreciate your presence here in my world.  Without you, there would be no TharpSter.Org.

I want you understand that.  I need you to hang around and continue to inspire me or otherwise piss me off so that I can write about you.  I’ve really come to enjoy telling hyperbolic stories about the stupidest little things that happen to me.  To be completely honest, I tend to get pretty frustrated when stupid stuff doesn’t happen, because then I have nothing to write about.

Are we clear?  I don’t want you to go away.  I want to you stay.

I do have a request though.

Yesterday, I developed a sharp stabbing pain in the arch of my left foot.  Generally speaking, that’s not really anything stupid enough to write about with exception of what my son said when I told him about it.

“I have an appointment with the podiatrist on Monday.”

He stared at me for a moment with a glazed look in his eye.  If I looked close and hard enough, I’m pretty sure I could see the hamster in there scrambling for the oil can to lube the cogs.  “But you don’t have a vagina.”

“No,” I responded, “but I have access to one.”

I digress.

So I have the sharp stabbing pain in my foot when I walk.   To any one of you who (or is that whom?) I called out above, know this.  I would like to extend my congratulations to you for fashioning a voodoo doll which represents your favorite blogger in the world.  Instead of high roughage, colon friendly straw, I can only hope the thing is made of fried lard.  If you put hair on its head, I hope it looks like the kick-ass mullet I sported in the late 80’s.

It’s been two days now.  Your persistent insistence on poking my left foot in effigy with your used heroin needle is getting old.

Give it a rest.

The problem in my foot will be solved on Monday when the podiatrist tells me to rub some dirt on it and then rest my feet on a pair of $500 orthotics inserted in my $40 shoes.  In the end, my foot will feel better and I’ll experience another precious half inch in my vertical reach.

At the same time you’ll be poking needles in fried balls of lard, wondering why I continue to use the worldwide web to pick on you.


Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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