Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining...Or Not

Happy Friday and welcome to the weekend all you I’m With Stupid readers.  I know you’re looking forward to the weekend, because well, I’m the reason many of you are looking forward to it.

Who am I, and how do I know that?  Simple…

I’m the cloud that hangs over your head.

I know, you don’t always see me or recognize me, but deep down, you know I am omnipresent, for instance…

Remember this past Monday morning when you woke up wearing urine stained- underwear after drinking too many Bud Lights and Jell-O shots through 24 quarters of football on Sunday?

In a moment of gleeful self redemption, you swore off drinking, and were going to make this week the best week of your life, because your sizeable tax return was finally coming your way.

Uh-huh, and then what happened?  That’s right, I rained despair all over your nascent garden of good luck.  

You see, after taking a pee, and lighting up a smoke, you flipped on the TV and what did you see?  Nothing, ’cause your six year old TV decided it was tired and was no longer going to send you magical, moving pictures of sports, comedy, and news of the world.

After fighting all those long months with your own government’s IRS to receive said tax return, you now have to give it all back to the Japanese government in the form of a new TV.  Classic, and I must say, with little humility, yet much humidity…some of my best work.

I dig my precipitous self, because one minute I am making you smile as I silently float above you in the form of a cute and winsome cirrus cloud, and the next minute..?  I am a dark and burgeoning cumulonimbus bastard thunderously pelting you and your life with hailstones of frozen shit.

It’s like the time you went to the office one summer morning, sat as usual in your sterile cubicle, when the boss, Mr. Peterson, came in and said…

“Johnson my good man, come to my office in ten minutes; You've been doing an exemplary job, and I think we have a promotion in mind for you.”

Prior to the meeting, excited from the promise of a promotion, and your bladder spilling over from your third cup of coffee, you went to the restroom.

While relieving yourself you felt a non-descript nodule on your penis and a urinary discharge that while captivating to the eye, was a most disturbing and robust shade of pink.

With a profound squeeze of your penis, your cock firmly in hand, you cut off the flow, and swung your body around to review the growth by looking at it in the bathroom mirror.

And then, Mr. Peterson walked in, and saw you with pants down and cock in hand, screaming repeatedly, “Oh Dear God What Hath You Wrought?”, while you stared at your deformed manhood oozing in Pepto-Bismolness as it suffered from some type of penile pink eye.

Needless to say, you didn’t get the promotion, and only because I was feeling somewhat puffy, good-natured, and cumulus that day, did you get a healthy severance package.

Of course…

Being the mercurial type that I am, it was all taken away from you days later when the chick who gave you penile pink eye said she was pregnant, the ex told you your kid needs braces, and the IRS sent you a letter that read…

“While feeding Beefaroni and day-old bread to the homeless in exchange for cutting your grass, doing your laundry, and cleaning your house is admirable, it is NOT tax deductible.”

Ha…I do my job and I do it well, so don’t mess with me.

Let me rain down on you, for I am the Cloud, and no one is above me...are they Matt-Man?

neshobadude@yahoo.com

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