Being a Smart Ass

This is a feature of my DNA. Yup, I have the Smart Ass Gene. It is the third one, down on the left, just past Dirty Thoughts.

Some say, to include family, that I was raised a Smart Ass. While I can see that, I prefer to think that I studied under two masters of the artistry that is crudely referred to as being an ass or even an asshole.

Honestly don’t get that as the only way being a wisenheimer (Ah Moe, Larry and Curly, and to a lesser extent Shemp, how I miss thee) has anything to actually do with bottoms is the fact that to those who can’t appreciate it often find it painful to be around my type of people.

Something all should know about us S.A.’s, a new group I am thinking of starting, we are all very intelligent. Our quips are not because we feel inferior intellectually, no no no. They are a result of the FACT that we may not know everything, but we have ascertained that others need a reality check.

Think about it. All the time people ask me a seriously stupid question. Now these people know me and they know what they are getting. Why else would someone ask a S.A. their thoughts? They know what they will get, and honest answer delivered in a hilarious manner.

Side Note: the few that don’t know me, well once they see the eyebrow cock up and hear me ask “Do you really want me to answer?” That is me being nice so think before you say “Yes I do.”

Just a few weekends ago I was checking into a hotel for a Tattoo convention. By the by, complete awesomeness that weekend but that is a different blog posting. Anyways back to the now…

As the wife and I were checking in, the young lady behind the counter asked something fairly innocuous along the lines of, “How is your day going?” Now for the normal person they might say something mundane back, or perhaps simply grunt at the question. But not I. Lord knows not I.

I took that opportunity to “kick the tires and light the fires big daddy” of the rocket of Smart Ass. My response was, “Oh everything was just going swimmingly ‘til we missed the exit due to construction, having to go across the river, only to be almost hit by the detour truck. Which allowed us to watch two rejects from Devry College (are they a university now??) put out detour signs while dodging cars.”

I looked over at my wife who was just smiling cause she knew it was too late to abort launch. I continued on as the young lady smiled nervously.

“The one guy should be on the local pigskin team. He had some moves. The other one, a bit portly and older but still fairly spry. You should’ve seen him scamper across two lanes of cars. Looked like a big rabid rat in pursuit of a discarded sub sandwich. So all in all, the day has been a little frustrating but still entertaining.”

The young lady laughed nervously, “Are you all here for the Tattoo Convention?” she asked as she pointed to the gaggle of folks at the bar.

Now this lady could not tell I had any tattoo’s, they don’t show. I launched a S.A. mortar round.

“Tattoo convention?” making my voice quiver sounding fearful. “The devil spawn sent to hurry us all to hell?” Dramatic sweep of the arm, hand to chest fingers spread, other hand brought to forehead. “Whatever shall we do?”

Then I turned to see where she was pointing, her eyes were wide from fear at offending me.

Turning back from the group I changed my entire persona, “Oh, you S.A.id Tattoo convention, sorry,” laughing lightly, “I am used to hearing the more accepted pronunciation of Tattoo. Yes that is why we are here.”

Yes, you read that right. I S.A.id the word Tattoo exactly the S.A.me.

There was another hotel staff at the desk who had been listening to the whole thing. By the time I S.A.id “yes that is why we are here” he was loudly laughing.

The interchange between the clerk and I went on for a few more moments, S.A. rounds and rockets flying all over the place. By the end of it, the other staff member asked me, “Yo man, where you performing this weekend. You are funny funny dude.”

So if you know a S.A., delight in their brilliance. Be warned every once in a while you’ll catch a round or two. Don’t worry bout it. That is one of the ways we show we like ya. Now if you catch 150 rounds in a minute, we either really REALLY like you or perhaps it is time for you to leave.

Yes, you have to leave, we S.A.’s are never wrong, you are. And if we are by some weird happenstance, it’s your fault.

Oh, you want to know my response to his question? Talking into an imaginary microphone, “I’ll be here all weekend. Two shows daily and remember to tip the wait staff, they are working hard to please you.”

I think he actually applauded.

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