THE HIGHEST FIVE

I used to hate high fiving people but lately I’ve seen a resurgence of this multi use practice and I want back on the band wagon.  I say “multi-use” because if you think about it, high fiving is so versatile.  You can use it as a greeting, a congratulations, a celebratory action, a way to make a fool of someone as in “high five, down low, too slow”,  and even as a hip performance as in high fiving in the front as you walk by someone and then following with a reverse low five just as you pass.  The most awesome thing about high fives is that you don’t even need a cooperative or even aware partner for a high five.  I was at the trial for a murderer, as a witness, last month.  When he stood up and the bailiff told him to raise his right hand to swear his oath I leapt over the table towards him.  I managed to steal a free high five on his raised right hand before the bailiff pepper sprayed and beat me unconscious with his baton.  The verdict on court room oath high fives?  Totally worth it!  As if that wasn’t awesome enough I went to a neo Nazi rally I heard about on AryanNations.org.  I was drunk with ecstasy when everyone “Heiled Hitler”.  Let’s just say that when I woke up in the hospital a week later the only thing that hurt more than my broken jaw and crushed testicle, was the bruise on my hand from all those involuntary high fives I stole!  I can’t, however, say the same for the Black Panthers rally that I went to because you can’t high five a raised fist.  So, I didn’t get any high fives there, but I did, however, get my first gunshot wound in my left ass cheek, so that’s pretty cool.  I’ve been going crazy lately.  I’ve been slapping fives at auctions when they raise their hands; whacking the shit out of those little smarty nerds in elementary school classes that know the answers; getting some mid range fives from dirty bums with their hands out for change; people hailing cabs, and sailor’s wives on the pier as their husband’s ships sail away on deployment.  In fact, I’ve high fived so many times in the last month that I’ve developed quite the callus on my palm.  So much so that I could give a hand job to a running chainsaw and probably not feel it.  Despite the rough hands I plan on continuing in my palm punishing quest.  The more high fives I give, the more it catches on and therefore the more high fives I get.  It’s a perpetual motion machine of high fives and I’m right in the middle of it.

HIGH FIVE'N and DEEP SIX'N

I figured that I’d expand upon my Rusty’s Miracle Loaf small business enterprise, which is booming by the way.  If you aren’t familiar with Rusty’s Miracle Loaves refer to my post (Lake Shitticakapupupeepee from 24AUG2011).  I almost exclusively eat the Dollar Store white bread and GNC multivitamins.  I do this because TIME is MONEY.  I have a schedule of approximately a full sized loaf every three hours.  Upon producing and packaging the loaves I have a network of distributors of whom I keep in an underground status as I do not pay taxes to the Government.  I figure that the product I offer is not necessarily a manufactured product in the same way as let’s say a wooden chair or a car stereo would be.  I think that what I have for sale is more akin to prostitution.  A lady of the night sells her body for money.  She is not producing anything; she is just utilizing the natural function of what God gave her.  Her bodily orifices will perform as they were intended, for the most part.  With Miracle Loaves, my body is performing as IT was intended.  The prostitute was most likely going to fuck someone anyways, thus it stands to reason she might as well make some money while she’s at it.  I was going to shit anyways, so therefore I will make money as well.  The wooden chair or the car stereo were not going to materialize out of thin air, to be sold for profit, without the effort of a worker.  As my loaves are going to be created whether I like it or not, why not construct a corporate structure to take advantage of the situation?  For every $1 worth of bread I eat I produce $6 worth of nutrient rich shit for fertilizer.  That’s a 600 percent increase!  On any given day I’ll clear 200 to 300 bucks easy.  Not bad for just sitting on the crapper playing video games and reading Penthouse.  The toilet, not necessarily the bathroom, but the toilet, is my sanctuary, as it is with most men.  If I could do all my business from there I would.  

 As far as spending goes, I have to admit, I tend to splurge stupidly when I have extra money.  Lately, however, since I’ve been raking in the cash on this venture of mine, I wanted to treat myself. I figured since I’m on the crapper every three hours, I’d have something installed.  It is a robotic arm attached to the wall across from me.  It’s only function is to HIGH FIVE me every time I yell out “CHU-CHING!”, which just so happens to coincide with the DEEP SIX-ing of my shit.  For comic relief I had a live monkey head mounted above the arm which is kept alive intravenously utilizing a blood transfusing pump system installed behind the wall.  It just sits there and does a monkey scream in terror every time it sees the arm move to high five me.  The monkey head can’t do much else but scream in terror as it’s pretty much brain dead and running on the constant injections of adrenaline pumped into it to keep it functioning in a semi-conscious state, but it’s still hilarious!  Oh man, I feel another loaf coming on right about now, I gotta go and get paid! CHA-CHING! CHA-CHING!

Side Note: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much time and effort I put into creating the bathroom scene picture with the robotic arm and live monkey head using nothing but MS Paint.  Too long is the answer, far far too long, but it does look awesome though.