About a week ago, I sat at work and decided I needed something to write about - something absurd.  I went ahead and chose Joe The Plumber.  In the same vein as my posts about Michael Phelps and Carl the Retard, I decided I would write a one or two part series of immature jabs about that flavor of the month, Joe the Plumber.  My original goal was to just make outrageous claims about Samuel J. Wurzelbacher, the man McCain dragged into the spotlight and used as a bargaining tool for votes, and have something my tens of readers could chuckle at.

That’s not how it turned out though, is it?  I ended up writing a six-part fiction piece about a completely non-existent plumber named Joe Theodore Cleveland.  In the end, the story was absurd and graphic and a bit disturbing.  In fact, the story was more like an insane tribute to violence and bad taste than a light-hearted jab at the real-life Joe the Plumber.

Let me say this before continuing.  Please go read the Joe The Plumber is an Asshole series starting with EPISODE 1.  I think you may actually find it a bit enjoyable.  It is certainly a juvenile piece with a lot of inconsistencies (read: not as well written as I wanted), but overall it is funny.  Go do that.

The reason there are inconsistencies is because by the time I got to EPISODE 2 of Joe The Plumber is an Asshole, I found myself writing about a completely fictionalized sociopath, and not the media joke that is the real Samuel J. Wurzelbacher as was my original plan.  That’s the blessing, and I guess curse, of writing.  Sometimes the writing takes control of you, rather than the way you think it should be.  So as I wrote the remaining episodes, I found that I was trying to tie up loose ends to make sure the new Joe The Plumber story would kind of make sense in the end.  And I think it did, ending in true David C. Garcia form with a load of bodily function quips and retard jokes.  Hey, what can I say?

Anyways, this weekend as I worked on EPISODES 3 and 4, I stared thinking to myself, “You know what, David, you beautiful creature you, you are actually writing pulp.”

And that was it.  I decided I actually had a nice little fictional escape I could delve into on the side.  Normally, I take off the weekend from writing THE BOOK as it puts a huge emotional strain on me.  But I still want to write.  I have Sunday evenings to work on TSAT, but there is still a lot more writing I want to do.  So at that realization, I decided that this is what I am going to do:

I am starting a new section in my blog dedicated to pulp/flash fiction.  I will work on this during the weekends and maybe during the weekdays in between book sections (i.e.: while at work and when Meggie is watching her TV shows).  My plan is to write graphic pieces of fiction, maybe detective-type stories or shambling thrillers.  I don’t know.  I wanted to finish the Joe The Plumber is an Asshole series before I dove into this, but now that that is finished, I have a new writing project I can dedicate myself to.

What do you think, dear reader?  Will you follow along?  Do you think this is a good idea?  Have you read the freakin’ Joe The Plumber is an Asshole series yet?  There are a lot of questions you need to answer.  Give me your input!  I need validation!

Either way, that is what I plan to do.  The pieces will be entered in as content of the regular blog, but I plan to start a new page on the site right next to the ABOUT, TSAT ARCHIVE and BOOK PROGRESS page links.  I’ll keep all of the links to the content archived there and in order.

One last thing:  The cool thing about this is that each story I write will be a self-contained unit, but there will be common characters who appear in different pieces.  That way, if there are unanswered questions about one person, you may be able to find out information about them in other pieces.  Pretty cool, huh?

- David C. Garcia

Continued from Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 5

Timothy Mason realized he was facing a nightmare.  A giving kind of guy, Tim had called on the services of the nice retarded man known only as Joe The Plumber to the townspeople (and Joe himself).  As Joe assessed the malfunctioning septic system in Tim’s backyard, he ate a Pudding Pop.  Joe accidentally deep throated the Pudding Pop too far and his gag reflex kicked in.  His eyes squinted, his forehead scrunched up.

That face.  That was the face Joe Theodore Cleveland had made when he vomited on him.  But how could that be Joe Cleveland?  That monster of a human being was genius.  Joe The Plumber was a mentally challenged handyman.

Tim grabbed his lawn shears and ran at Joe.  “You Motherfucker!”

“Hi Mr. Tim.  What are you doing?”

“Get off my property you maniac.  I don’t know how you fooled everyone.  You are not a retard, you are a monster!”

Tim swung the shears at Joe’s bald head.  Joe dodged and ran.

Joe ran.  He ran so far away.  Joe ran until, as Joe would put it, he “had a belly ache in his legs.”  But Tim vowed to find Joe and to repay him in full for the vile nightmare he had been put through.
——————-

PRESENT DAY

Sarah Palin came to speak in my town.  I’m not a Republican or a Democrat, but I know a MILF when I see one, and Sarah Palin is a MILF.  I had spent a fair amount of time searching the Interwebs for the Nailin’ Pailin video.  Unfortunately, no such video could ever be found.

All I know was that Sarah Palin looked more like a piece of meat to me than a prospective candidate.  So I wanted to see this moose-hunting whore.  It wasn’t even an erotic adventure anymore.  I just wanted to see this idiot live.

So when Sarah Palin came to Fredericksburg, VA on that rainy day just weeks before the election, I made sure to get there early.  What a sad group of people.  Palin’s fans waited eagerly in the crowd for the appearance of the prospective VP.

I stood there, watching people across the street holding up signs that said “Drill Baby, Drill!”  I imagined the name of another Sarah Palin porn.

Then I got bumped into by a tall, stoic-looking man. 

“I’m sorry sir.”  His voice was just as placid as his face.

“That’s okay.  Nice day for a rally, huh?”

“I’m not here to watch that retarded bitch get this crowd riled up.  I’m here for Joe The Plumber.”

“Joe The Plumber?  That guy who has been on TV with McCain?”

“Actually, no.  It’s another Joe The Plumber.  That’s the name he goes by.”

And Tim gave me the whole story, right from the beginning.  He had been able to get all the gritty details of Joe Cleveland’s life leading up to the day of “The Accident” and the medical records secured by the well-paid private detective confirmed it all.  Joe The Plumber was Joseph Theodore Cleveland.  Or at least the shell of the old monster.

Tim had spent years following Joe.  When he found out that Joe thought McCain had been talking about him when he was touting an Ohio “Joe The Plumber,” Joe started following the candidates around the U.S.

But today, Joe The Plumber had come to Fredericksburg, VA.  He liked Sarah Palin because he thought she was a pretty woman and also liked that she had a baby, as Joe would say, “Just like me.”

You see, Reader?  I told you I would explain everything.  I was not speaking about Samuel J. Wurzelbacher (aka Joe The Plumber).  I was talking about a McCain and Palin obsessed retard who was once a bad seed.  Dang!

So I stood in the rain until the shit went down.  Literally.  As Tim looked around, I smelled something.  It smelled like septic tank and dirty plunger.

“Do you smell that?”  Tim kind of sounded like Rambo.

“Yeah.  It’s gross.”

“That’s him.  He’s getting closer….”  Tim pulled out a sharp knife.  “It’s time for that monster to pay.  But not even his spilling blood will make up for the years of therapy.”

And then it happened.  Joe appeared from the crowd.  He saw Tim.  Tim saw him.  They looked at each other.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen, haven’t they…Joseph…Theodore…Cleveland?”

Then Joe shit his pants.  He knew he was in big trouble.  It was disgusting.  It smelled like a dead bison packed with feta and sulfur.  The smell hit me, paralyzing me where I stood.  Tim was then hit and projectile vomited.  But guess what?

I WAS IN THE FUCKING WAY!

Tim’s stomach juices splattered on my face.

This amused Joe.  Old habits die hard.  Joe The Plumber stuck his finger down his throat and projectile vomited all over me too.  That vomit hit my shirt.  He giggled and then announced, “This is fun.”  I stood there for a few moments and then dropped to my knees.  It burned.  Joe’s vomit actually burned more than stomach acid should.  I ripped off my shirt and let the rain wash off the vomit that had seeped through.

But Joe had more.  He shoved his finger down his throat again and the puke flew at Tim’s face.

“AAAAAAAAGGGGHHGGHHHH!!”  Tim shrieked and then started gagging.  *Gag!* *Gag!* .  “I can’t breath.”

Some of Joe’s vomit had ended up in Tim’s mouth.

“Ha ha ha Tim!  You smell like my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

You guessed it.  Peanuts.

—–

I left after gathering my bearings.  Tim had been owned again.  I have no idea if that bitch died.  I don’t care.

I am pissed at Joe.  I don’t care if he is a retard or not.  That motherfucker ruined my nose and then puked on me.  Tim had puked on me as well, but this was all Joe’s fault.

If Joe hadn’t puked on Tim in the second grade, none of this would have happened.

Joe The Plumber is An Asshole.

FIN!

Continued from Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 4

The nurse ran from the hospital room.  It was Joe making her run.

“Doctor!  Somebody get a doctor!  He’s awake!  He finally woke up!”

Joseph Theodore Cleveland hadindeed woken up.  Only he didn’t know from what.  Joe didn’t know much of anything.  Even his name.  Joe had been hospitalized since the severe beating at the Southern Arizona bar two years earlier.  He carried no identification.  When he had gone on the lam after the [COURT RECORDS SEALED] of Mrs. Hendrickson, he dropped any IDs that would link him to his past and left no forwarding address for anyone.  Joe was a shadow.

Now he was even more of a shadow.   He was a shadow to himself.  Joe had no idea who he was, where he was from or what he was doing in the hospital.

A doctor ran into the room, the nurse following close behind.

“See!  He finally woke up!  The Plumber is awake!”

“Settle down..Um..What’s your name, nurse?”  The doctor was a prick, someone Joe Cleveland probably would have liked.

“Really?  I’ve been working here for two years!  My name is…”  Nurse was cut off.

“Quiet down nurse, I’m attending to a patient.”  The doctor shined a pen light in Joe’s eyes.  They were still black, but they did not have that cold, vacant stare.  They were curious - fascinated like a child.

Joe had been reborn…

Actually, Joe had just been dumbed down.  The severe beating he took drastically damaged his brain.  Joe, who was previously a wandering maniac with an undeserved intellect, was now just (sorry) An Average Joe.

The doctor examining him kept referring to him as “Joe The Plumber” or just “The Plumber.”

“Where am I?”  Joe whispered at the doctor.  His voice was not as sharp as it used to be.  It was slow, serene.  Kind of child-like.

“Well, Joe.  You’re in the hospital.  It’s a miracle you are alive, actually.”

The doctor went on to explain that when the paramedics had removed Joe from the toilet bowl, he was clinically dead from drowning.  He had been resuscitated but had, unfortunately, suffered some brain damage from being submerged.  Not to mention the deadly beating he had taken.  Joe had undergone surgery, and several pieces of his brain that had been skewered by skull fragments had been removed.

Joe didn’t seem to follow.

“You’re never going to be the same, Joe.”  The doctor checked Joe’s pulse.  “I mean, physically, you are fine.  Well, with the exception of, you know, the severe brain damage you suffered.”

“So, what do I do?”

“I’m not sure son.  Do you have any family?”  The doctor waited for a response.  “Oh, yeah.  Bad question.  You don’t know.”

“Yeah.”  Joe whispered.  “I don’t know anything about me.”

“The guys at the bar you were doing work at only knew you as ‘Joe’ and said you were their plumber.  Apparently, you also have a severe drinking problem.  You may not remember your compulsion to drink, but it’s probably still there.  When we set you free, we’ll give you some information on local support programs.”

“What am I going to do when I leave doc?”

“Well, maybe you can do some plumbing.  I wonder if plumbing is kind of like riding a bike.”

Joe just stated at the doctor.  He didn’t get the analogy.

“What do you think, son?  Plumbing?  I think the guys at the bar said you were from the Midwest.  If there was ever a shithole that needed some de-clogging, the Midwest is it.”

Still staring.  “The Midwest?  A Plumber?”  Joe tried hard to make his brains work.  “Okay.  I am going to be a plumber.  I’m Joe The Plumber.”

——

Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it, Reader?  Not as ridiculous as your face.

But life is ridiculous, and sometimes ridiculous things happen.  Joe Theodore Cleveland had been transformed into a bumbling retard, a man with the IQ and curiosity of a 15-year-old.  He was no longer a monster.  He was just Joe.  Joe The Plumber from the Midwest.

And Joe was making his way back home.

—–
 

Joe walked into a small Midwest town.  The town of his birth. 

How did he know it was the town of his birth?

Jesus Christ.  You did so well.  You didn’t ask a fucking question through the last episode, and now you have questions.  Listen, Sillypants, I will fill you in on all the details.  Now shut up and listen.

—–

Anyhoo…
Joe walked into a small Midwest town.  The town of his birth.  His brain was destroyed, his evil gone and his past erased.  But the dumbest of people are like animals.  They just have a sense.

Joe walked past the townspeople.  He seemed to attract attention.  People recognized him, but they didn’t know where they recognized him from.  Joe no longer looked the same.  His curious eyes, once vacant and covered by the front of his mullet, were now visible.  The toilet cleaner had destroyed his hair follicles, and Joe was a bald man.

He walked past a cafe.  A man named Timothy Mason was sitting there sipping his coffee and reading the paper.  Joe’s eyes met Tim’s.

“Hello.  I’m Joe.  Joe The Plumber.”  His voice was monotone but slightly endearing.  Timothy knew that face.  Somehow.  Maybe he was one of the local “special” people who did menial tasks to make the town look pretty, an assistant plumber, perhaps.

“Hi…Joe.  Do I know you from somewhere?”  Tim said this softly and slowly, careful to separate each word so Joe could mentally digest them.

“Maybe!  I’m a plumber.  I’m Joe the plumber.  I think I lived around here one time.”

“Oh…”  Tim swore something looked familiar.  “Well do you have family who lives here, Joe The Plumber?  Do you stay with someone?”

“I think I used to live in a big moving house.”

“Oh.”  It made sense.  A lot of the trailer folks had kids with mental disabilities.  It had something to do with the septic chemicals.  “The trailer park?  Is there where you live?”

“You know,” Joe said happily, “I think that’s it.  I think I live in the trailer park.  Thanks Tim.”

“Not a problem, Joe The Plumber.”

So Joe walked and walked until he wandered into the trailer park.  He looked around, his instincts guiding his curious eyes.  And then he saw it.  It was a moldy looking trailer that had a sign out front.  It said “CONDEMNED.”  It looked like it said “COME IN” to Joe, so he walked right in.

And it was.  It was Joe’s childhood home.  The home Joe used to slither around in, dodging flying beer cans Stiffy threw at him.  Of course, Joe only knew it felt like home.  He had no recollection of his past, nor did he know his stepfather Stiffy who had been arrested on child molestation charges and died behind bars shortly after.

But none of that mattered.  Joe was home.  He was Joe The Plumber, and dagonnit, that was what he was going to do.  He was going to plumber things, whatever that meant.

The next day, the trailer residents awoke to the sounds of a big sign being nailed to the side of the trailer Richard “Stiffy” Johnson used to live in.  A bald, retarded looking man was hammering a sign to the trailer that read “IM JO ANDS I WIL PLUMER 4 U.”

—–

So that is how Joe went from being a psychopath to a mental invalid.  A poorly timed piss, a few knocks to the head and some careful persuasion by a doctor who just wanted a comatose idiot out of his hospital.

So is Joe an asshole, like you’ve been saying?

Okay.  I’ll let that one slide because I was just going to let the next EPISODE explain it.  Evidently, however, you are about as bright as Joe, so you need some immediate insight, don’t you Corky.

Joe is not an asshole like he used to be.  In fact, some would say Joe is just a nice plumber.  A mentally handicapped man who lives in the Midwest.  But Joe is an asshole.  Just a different kind.  And I learned Joe was an asshole just the other day when he managed to make it to Fredericksburg, VA.

TO BE CONTINUED

Continued from Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 3

Fifteen years had passed since Joe Cleveland dragged Mrs. Hendrickson from her place of work and [COURT RECORDS SEALED].  Joe had refused to comply with the orders associated with the [COURT RECORDS SEALED] and as such went on the lam.  If you are familiar with a series of unsolved crimes that occurred between the Midwest and California during the mid 1980s, chances are Joe may have been involved.  Or maybe not.

After securing a substantial financial gain, not exceeding $250,000, Joe went in pursuit of his mother, Juanita.  He had found out of his mother’s whereabouts through a series of friendships he had made in Southern California during his time on the run.

Joe learned that Juanita and a shadowy man known only as “El Rico” were some of the wealthiest people in Mexico and had raised a rising music star. You may have heard of this Grammy-winning Latin crooner.  Or not.

Either way, Joe wanted a piece of that fortune.  His hope was to push his financial status well above $250,000, thereby making him rich.  But when Joe arrived in Mexico, he quickly learned that he had arrived a day too late.  There had been an accident.  During a weekend holiday, El Rico and Joe’s estranged mother had taken a nasty spill off of a cliff.  El Rico was incinerated and Juanita was left badly burned and just barely alive.  She was hanging onto life at El Hospital Nacional de Mexico (Don’t try and look that up.  I changed thge name of the hospital.  Or did I?).  Joe had to make a last stand.  He needed that money.

—–

“SENOR!  SENOR!  NO PUEDE ENTRAR!”  The doctor or whatever the large-moustached man in a lab coat was yelled at Joe as he cracked the door to the room Juanita was staying.

Joe turned around and gave El Doctor a menacing look.  The vacant eyes stared deep into the hospital employee’s alma.  It was the look Mrs. Hendrickson saw just before she [COURT RECORDS SEALED].  Joe gnashed his teeth and gave the doctor the finger, turned around and entered the room.

Juanita was destroyed.  She was covered in bandages.  Only her eyes were visible, and they were gray.  It appeared the smoke or fire had destroyed her lenses.  It smelled like seared flesh and strong antiseptic.

“Oh my God!”  Juanita knew exactly who it was.  She didn’t need sight.  She could feel the evil in the room.  Joe just stood there looking at his roasted mother. Under normal circumstances, Joe would crack a nasty joke at a suffering person’s expense, maybe induce vomiting (a practice he had continued since puking on the suffocating Timmy Mason).  Joe couldn’t afford to push Juanita over the edge, though.  Not until he secured his fortune, at least.

“Why hello mother.  Your enunciation is far better than it ever was.  So, what’s cooking?”  Joe couldn’t help himself.

“You are an evil bastard, and I know why you are here.”  Her voice was raspy.

“Well, then, let’s cut to the chase, you crispy bitch.”  Joe unwrapped the bandages around Juanita’s face, exposing a black and pink and veiny face.  “I want that money you have in your will.  Obviously El Rico won’t be needing it.  And that son of yours.  That other son of yours, I guess my half-brother, already has a good thing going.  I thought about extorting him, but God knows the kind of security that singing mariachi has surrounding him.  Not even I could get through that kind of protection.  So that just leaves you and me.  What’s it going to take?”

Juanita reached for the call light, but Joe quickly slapped her tender hand away.

“Give me the fucking money!  GIVE ME THE FUCKING MONEY, MOM!”

And at that moment, several heavy-set hospital security guards burst through the door.  “Este es el hombre!”  El Doctor shouted.  “Stop senor!  You are een beeg trowble!”

Joe ripped his mother’s blanket off and threw it at the guards, leaving what appeared to be a mummy laying on the bed.  He dashed for the window and hopped out.

Outside, Joe could hear a long beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep coming from the room.

——

Joe sat in a decrepit bar somewhere in Southern Arizona.  It had been several months since Mama Juanita had passed.  He contemplated heading back to the Midwest.  Apparently Stiffy’s liver was rotting, and he would soon be shouting curses up to him from Hell.  Maybe Juanita was there, too.

He still had his moderate fortune, but he was not rich.  He drank and drank, and when he finished drinking, he drank some more.

And it was that night when “The Accident” happened.  Joe stood up at the bar, whipped out his dick and started pissing onto another patron.

The man, a burly Native American, stood up and landed a punch right into Joe’s forehead.  Joe fell to the floor and continued to piss.  The punch hadn’t interrupted nature’s call.  The large man grabbed Joe’s face, gripping his disheveled beard with one hand and his mullet with the other.  He picked a bloody Joe up and slammed his face into the bar top.  The bartender said nothing.  Apparently, Joe had been pissing him off all night as well.

SLAM!  SLAM!  SLAM!  SLAM!SLAM!SLAM!

There was a loud crunch, and Joe fell to the floor.  There was blood all over the counter.

“Hthnoo dthoo yyyyghooo hthiink yyyyghooo ahr?”  Joe asked of the burly man, blood dripping from every part of his face.

“Who do you think you are, you hick fuck?”  The Native American man punched Joe right in the balls, dropping him to the floor.

“Joe.  hgI’m Joe.”  Joe fell face down.  It sounded like an egg breaking when his face hit the ground.

The Native American man dragged Joe to the bathroom and shoved his head into the bowl, submerging Joe’s head in the water.

The Native American man stepped out of the bathroom and told the bartender to call the hospital.  “Tell 911 our plumber got too fucked up and fell down while he was trying to work.”

—–

Dear Reader, thank you for not asking any questions.  That was refreshing.

—–

Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 5

Continued from Joe The Plumber is an Asshole Episode 2

Joe slammed the door of the trailer, panting heavily and gripping a garbage bag of dead kittens.

“Hey Stiffy!  Stiffy, I got our fucking dinner!”

Stiffy stirred on the pile of clothes and dirty blankets he had made as a “couch.”

“Good, just throw them in the cooler.  I’ll cook them up in a bit.  Just got to get some shut-eye.”  He took a heavy swig from the bottle of Bowman’s brand whisky, and planted his face into a pillowcase filled with something.

“Well, make your nap snappy, you filthy motherfucker.  I’m hungry and I have a date tonight.”

By “date,” Joe meant that he was going to sneak into the high school prom and drop a baggie of Rohipnol into the punch and hope to possibly “make love” to whomever was easiest to drag from the dance into the woods.

It had been 10 years since Juanita left the family and Stiffy decided to “man up” and do his goddamndest to raise an evil asshole named Joseph Theodore Cleveland.

After the 2nd grade PTA meeting, Joe had not stepped back onto school grounds.  Well, that is a lie.  Joe returned to school often, but not to learn.  At nights, Joe would enter the school and steal whatever he could get his hands on.  The school janitor,  Rufus Grimes, had become a close friend of Joe’s and would let Joe have his way with the school’s property if Joe kept him in fresh nudie mags and 10 percent of a cut.

Joe, despite his nasty temper, horrible disposition and overall ruthlessness was actually an exceptionally bright guy.  He educated himself by stealing books from the local library (which he was banned from after attempting to set fire to the Children’s section).

—–

Hundreds of miles down south, Juanita Sanchez sat at an ornate patio table, drinking mimosas and reading a copy of Vanity Fair.  Upon abandoning her life in the United States, Juanita found that life without a horrible monster to breast feed (which was still commonplace when Joe was in 2nd grade) was beautiful.  When she returned to Mexico, she enrolled in college, studied Sociology and  mastered the English language.  She met a handsome Mexican gentleman who would eventually father and exceptionally well-behaved, musically inclined little hombrecito.

Juanita’s husband, was a man of mystery.  He was known to his business associates as “El Rico,” and only Juanita knew of his real name.  She chose never to mention the name.  Why?  I don’t know!  I told you to stop asking questions.

Anyways, can I get back to this story?  Or do you have any other questions I need to shoot down?  Sheesh.

Where was I?  Oh yes.

Juanita’s life was wonderful.  Her days consisted of reading American periodicals, writing poetry and thanking God that He blessed her with such an amazing life so far away from the Antichrist of the Midwest.

As a sign of humility (and because she felt so guilty for spawning Little Joe Cleveland), Juanita made monthly donations to the school system and police department of small Midwest town Joe lived in.  She sent cashiers checks anonymously and always write “I am sorry.  I am so very sorry.” on the checks.

—–

Joe’s date was going well.  For some reason, none of the students at the high school seemed to be affected by the Roofie Punch.  So Joe did what he did best:  He improvised.  Hiding in a locker, he stared out through the cracks with his black, vacant eyes, waiting for a female passerby.

And a passerby did pass by: Mrs. Hendrickson, the high school’s art teacher.  Clenching a text book, Joe waited silently for Mrs. Hendrickson to walk past the locker.  He stepped silently from the locker, and tip-toed behind the unsuspecting art instructor.

He raised the book above his head.

The scream that should have reached the students dancing away in the gym didn’t.

Joe dragged Mrs. Hendrickson’s still body by the hair.  Panting and snotting all over his face (it was allergy season for Joe), our little villain made his way out of the building with his date…

The details of this “date” have been sealed, by court order.

—–

Decades later, I would meet Joe The Plumber.  Like I said, the guy is a total prick.  A narcissistic asshole with a penchant for country crooning.  Joe is certainly in the top 10 of my list of “World’s Total Assholes.”  But the Joe I met, and the Joe we all know now is a very different man than Joe the adolescent.  He is not the evil monster who breast-fed until age seven or consumed bags of dead cats.  He is not the man who puked on little Timmy Mason after poisoning him with peanut oil, and he is not the man who [COURT RECORDS SEALED] Mrs. Hendrickson.  That was Joe Theodore Cleveland, the kid who would eventually grow to become Joe The Plumber (who, as I have mentioned, is a total Asshole).  The man little Joe would grow into is not necessarily evil.  He is just a total asshole (trust me).  Something happened, and Joe Theodore Cleveland stopped being a maniac and just stabilized into an asshole.  How did this happen (That’s me asking the question, so it’s cool)?

It happened in a small Midwest bar, in the hometown Joe lived in.  It was the bar that would transform Joe Theodore Cleveland, sadistic destroyer of cats, into Joe The Plumber, total dickhead.

Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 4

Continued from Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 1

Little Timmy Mason was on his stomach, pulling himself across the floor of the gym.  Recess had ended over 30 minutes ago, but none of the teachers seemed to notice his absence.  As Timmy dragged himself across the gymnasium, his Converse squeaking on the poorly waxed floor, Little Joe Cleveland followed him.  Chuckling maniacally, Joe watched as Timmy gasped for air, turning a more pronounced shade of green/blue with each labored drag.

Then he stopped.  Timmy was not going to die.  Well probably not, but a peanut allergy is a very serious thing.  Joe laughed hysterically as he approached Timmy.  He stood over Timmy and crammed his finger down his throat and self-induced a nasty vomit all over Timmy’s face.  Timmy tried to squeeze out the tears, but all of his energy was focused on making sure he got enough oxygen as his throat tightened up.

“You little piece of shit,” Joe hissed at Timmy.  “Don’t you ever do that again.  Next time peanut oil won’t be the only thing I pour into your juice thermos.  Maybe it will be Drano!”  The word on the playground was that Timmy, a new arrival at the school, had stolen Joe’s milk, which incidentally, Joe had stolen from another schoolmate.  It was serious.

Joe reached into Timmy’s pocket and took his wallet.  “When they come here to take you to the hospital, you make something up.  If I found out you ratted on me…”  Joe made a left to right gesture across his throat with his index finger.  He turned away and ran, setting off the fire alarm as he exited the gym.

Little Joe Cleveland was a demon seed.  A complete asshole by age 7, everyone hated Joe.
—–

Joe scared everyone he went to school with.  He even scared the teachers.  He was never cited for bad behavior, mainly because he was rarely caught, but when he was caught, the staff refused to do anything for fear that he would deflate their tires or kill their pets.

So when the quarterly PTA meeting was held, all of the deeds Joe’s 2nd grade schoolmates had been too afraid to report to the teachers but reported to their parents when they woke up screaming at night, came to a head.  There was not a silent moment.  As Principal Jones tried to discuss the next quarter’s field trip schedule, all of the parents stood up in unison and began shouting about the school’s failure to expel Joe.

“That little asshole poisoned my boy’s turtle!”

“That son-of-a-bitch, that little motherfucker has been stealing Melissa’s lunch money all year!”

“We don’t need to expel that kid!  We need to call animal control and have them put him down!”

Juanita “Dirty” Sanchez just sat there as the enormous roster of charges grew against Joe.  A tear ran down her face.  She looked over at her husband, “Stiffy” Johnson.  He had passed out in his seat and had urinated on himself.  It was a nasty sight.  When Joe’s mother came to this country, her hope was to start a better life for herself and raise a happy American family.  Instead, she married a semi-retarded drunk and birthed an evil bastard born from the seed of a thief.

Someone shouted from the crowd, “That little horror should have been aborted.  He will never amount to anything except maybe a murderer!”

Another voice added on, “I am surprised he didn’t kill Timmy Mason.  The boy is still in the hospital.  If the medics had taken longer, he would have probably died!”

Juanita stood up.

“STOP EET!  SHOTE YOUR STUPEED MOUTHS!”  She collapsed back into her seat.  She couldn’t do it anymore.  Juanita knew Joe was a monster.  She knew he would never amount to anything but a beast of a human.  She pulled a pen and paper from her purse and wrote a note for “Stiffy”:

steefie i cants do its anymores.  joo tayke cayre of my little baby.  maybe he will geet bayter.  eef he do you cayn trys and find me.  i aym going back to mexico.

—–
All right, reader, it looks like you are confused.  Do I need to repeat anything?

Wait, wait, wait a minute!  That’s not Joe The Plumber as a kid, is it?  I mean, I have seen that guy on TV answering foreign policy questions for John McCain, and yes, he is a bit of an ass, but seriously?  That can’t be Joe The Plumber The Kid.

Okay, stop asking me questions.  Everything will be answered.  And yes, everything I have explained is true and 100% factual.  Joe The Plumber, formerly Joseph Theodore Cleveland, was and is an asshole.  He did those things. 

No more questions!

—–

“Stiffy” Johnson walked in the door, clenching the poorly written Dear Juan letter his wife left for him.  “Joe!  Joe, get out here you little motherfucker!”

Joe slithered out from underneath the sink, holding a headless Barbie doll in one hand and a stale piece of beef jerky in the other.

“Listen you little shit, that cunt mother of yours just went back to Mexico or San Salvador or whatever Spanish country she done came from.”  Stiffy hocked up a massive loogie and spat it on the industrial carpeting.  Joe just stared at him with his black, vacant eyes.

“Now, you little half-breed, let’s get some things straight…”

Stiffy went ahead and laid down the rules that would solidify Joe’s foundation until “The Accident.”

Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 3

The following is the first part of a multi-EPISODE (yes, it’s awesome enough to be called an episode) series called “Joe The Plumber is an Asshole.”   With a title like that, do you really think I need to put up a disclaimer?  If you do, then you are a dolt.

I haven’t been this mad at someone since Michael Phelps tried to steal my woman or when Carl The Retard stopped “NYARPIN” at me, but this is ridiculous.

I am so tired of Joe The Plumber’s shit.  That guy is such an asshole.  There, I said it.  I don’t know if that is un-American or what, but it warrants repeating:

Joe The Plumber is a cock-faced asshole.

Believe or not, I actually know this Antichrist of a man.  And I’d like to tell you why I feel this way, and I will, but it is a long story.

To really understand who this guy is, we have to go back in time.  Will you join me as we travel back to the days when Joe The Plumber was just a little dipshit?  Great.  Here we go…

Joe The Plumber (real name Joseph Theodore Cleveland) was born sometime in the 1960s somewhere in the Midwest to parents, Juanita “Dirty” Sanchez and some guy named Rusty.  The full details of Rusty and his whereabouts following Joe’s birth are fuzzy.  He may have appeared on America’s Most Wanted at some point, but who cares?  All that is really known is that immediately after Joe burst from his mother’s womb at a local truck stop, Rusty made off with the family station wagon and that month’s food stamps.

Juanita eventually found Joe a suitable father figure, a functionally retarded fat man from a local grocery store named Richard “Stiffy” Johnson.  You’re probably thinking, “How could someone end up with a name so derivative of dick jokes?”  I’ll tell you how…I don’t know.  That was just his name.  But his name is apt as he would end up playing a major role in Joe’s development from little prick to full on dick.

So where did Joe get his now infamous last name, Plumber?

Again, with the questions! That will be explained later you impatient little weasel.  Just take your Ritalin and pay attention to the story.

Anyways, Joe first started showing signs of being am insufferable snot at a very young age.  By the time he was just two-years old, Joe was already speaking far more English than his little Mexican mom.  One evening, when she came home from a long night of work at the local Waffle House, she was immediately confronted by an angry Joe screaming that it was time to be breast fed!

“I want tit milk!”  Joe screamed at his exhausted mother.  “Where the hell have you been?!?”

“I waas ay…I waas ayt thee Wawful Casa mayking foods for thee hawngree truck manejadores.”

“Well, you filthy whore, come over here and feed me!”

When you think of Joe, think of Stewie from Family Guy.  An absurdly literate infant bent on destroying the lives of others.

“Okayee leeetle Joeee.” Juanita yawned.  “Joast layt meee….ummm how doo joo say…umm go to thee bano!”

“No!  Now!  I need nourishment now!  Your idiot of a husband drank five bottles of Night Train when he got home and neglected to feed me.  He’s passed out in the back of the trailer waiting for you to perform your whorish duties.  You know what happens when Richard gets mad.  He turns that brown skin of yours blue.  So come feed me now, or you will be so bruised tomorrow, you might get mistaken for an overbrowned blueberry waffle.  FEEEEEED ME!”

Angry Joe at age 2

And so Mama Juanita fed little Joe, and the cycle repeated itself.  Every night, Juanita would come home to a poorly furnished trailer, whip out one of her milk-makers and feed Joe.  And Joe grew up into a maniacal little boy.  Soon, little Joe would be starting school.  And it wouldn’t be long before the PTA met to discuss an evil little cretin known as Joseph Theodore Cleveland…

Joe The Plumber is an Asshole EPISODE 2