That Vegetable Fractured My Skull, That Pillow Gave Me An Arrhythmia, And That Guy Called Me Spastic

I was in Tim Hortons the other day–a claim that pretty much all Canadians can make on any given day–and I heard something that had never occurred to me before.  The cashier said to the next guy in line, “I can help you over here.”  And the guy replied, “No thanks.  I don’t need any help.  I just need a coffee.”

Why had I never thought of that response?  It’s genius.

And it has made me worry about what I will say when I go in to work tomorrow.  I always ask the bookstore clientele if they need help.  Upon reflection, it sounds like I am accusing them of requiring psychoanalysis–and that I am offering to provide it.


So far, no one has called me out on the ridiculousness of my offer of help, but it is only a matter of time until that Tim Horton’s guy comes in to the store.  Unless he’s illiterate.  I can only hope.

Talk about dumber than a bag of rubber hammers.

Talk about dumber than a bag of rubber hammers.

1) Perhaps, some of the bookstore clientele are in need of therapy and my offer of help will inspire them to seek medical attention.  Especially the one who smells like pee.

And the world is full of the insane.  Just look at these hammer-wielding morons.  I’m sure that if you saw them walking down the street (with their rubber mallets concealed, of course), they would appear as normal as you or I.  Well, maybe you.  I rarely appear normal.  But, once they bring out their squeaky hammer, they turn in to madmen and madwomen.

This is the Sao Joao Festival in Porto, Portugal–a celebration in honour of St. John, the patron saint of lovers.  Apparently, hitting a member of the opposite sex on the head is meant to be a turn-on.  In the old days, the head-basher of choice was a leek.  Don’t ask me why.  If someone said they were going to take a “leek” on my head, I’d run the other way screaming.  No one knows why the leek was dropped in favour of squeaky hammers–likely due to an influx of head injuries.  Plus, a night of having giant onions whipped across your head would make your hair smell appalling.  No amount of “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific” (remember that shampoo?) would set it right.

Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed.

Talk about getting up on the wrong side of the bed.

2) After a rough night of being in hit in the head with a hammer, there is nothing better than a good night’s sleep.  Unless, of course, you find yourself next to a complete surprise.  And I don’t mean the guy you picked up after one too many Molson Canadians–the one who looked like George Clooney in the pale light of the moon, but more closely resembled Woody Allen in the light of day.  Don’t get me wrong.  I am a huge fan of Woody Allen, but you couldn’t pay me enough to sleep with him

The “surprise” that I am referring to, however, is a severed horse head.  Not a real horse head a la Godfather.  That would be disgusting.  No, I am referring to the severed horse head pillow planted there by someone who wants to give your cardiac system an unscheduled stress test first thing in the morning.

If you have someone who has recently given up coffee and needs a tad bit of a “jolt” in the morning, you can get yours at

And, just in case you live under a rock and have never witnessed the scene that birthed this idea, here you are…

I bet that guy is going to need therapy.


3)  Some people require therapy for issues relating to self-esteem.  I don’t think anything could be harder on one’s self-esteem than being called “spastic” or “spas” for short.  But what else would you call someone who hails from the town of Spasticville, Kansas?  

In fact, this name is such a burden on residents that in 2010, they applied to have the town’s name changed to “Trail’s End.”  It is said that the name Spasticville originated with a large home for the mentally challenged that was once located there.  That’s just mean.

In the interim, the inhabitants of this minuscule Kansas town can say it loud, and say it proud.  “I am a Spas.”

Photo credits:  Lucy (, rubber hammers (, horse head (, Spasticville (

12 responses

  1. Very funny. I had never heard of Spasticville, but will seek it out at the first opportunity. I wonder what their sister city is named? Retardtown? Skankton? Nosepicker city?

  2. OH MY WORD! I answer every phone call at work with “May I help you?” Maybe that is why so many people think I actually care. Hmmmm…..
    Nothing says “I love you” better than a good smack on the head. (Unless, of course, it’s 2 month old Valentine Candy that was purchased on Christmas Eve. That is a subject for a blog – don’t you think?) I totally remember “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific”. If you are interested you can buy a bottle on eBay for $22. Yes – I looked.
    A horse head pillow. Seriously – why can’t I think of this stuff???

    • OMG! How old is that bottle of shampoo? It must be solidified or mouldy by now. “Gee Your Hair Smells Like Bacteria” is more like it.
      Holy crap! Your hubby bought you state Valentine’s Day candy. I’d hit him over the head with it for sure. Um. Can you be sure it wasn’t a discount item from the previous February 14th?

      • I guess they still make it in the Philippines. Who knew?
        No – he didn’t do that. We were out the day before Christmas Eve and walked by a clerk stocking Valentine Candy on the shelves. I said, “Nothing says ‘I Love You” like two month old candy.” His reply: “Right. It’s much better to wait for the stuff that is probably already in the back room but they don’t bring out until February.” I almost smacked him in the head for being right…..

  3. That fella’s response to “Do you need help?” was genius! I think I am going to reply to every “help” question now with things like “I could use a foot massage”, “Some chocolate would be nice” and “I have been having conversations with my severed horse pillow. That’s normal, right?”

    Goodness I think I need to move to Spasticville right. now.

    • I love your “I’ve been having conversations with my severed horse head pillow” comment! I dare you. Let me know how it works out for you!! haha.
      I think I’ll petition the town I live in to change it’s name to Spasticville–you know, the type of place where the family trees have no branches. Um, hope none of the “locals” are reading this. Ooops.

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