Congratulations to DainBramaged, a #05 Top DUmmie of 2012!
The brain-damaged primitive’s no stranger to the top DUmmies, having been #04 Top DUmmie in 2011, and #07 Top DUmmie in 2010. Over time, he’s become one of the most recognizable and entertaining primitives.
The brain-damaged primitive, 60 years old and from New Jersey, has never posted a photograph of himself, but it takes hardly any imagination to figure out what he looks like. He’s stated his height at 5’10†and his weight at 240 pounds, and one can extrapolate from that. He’s got a square head, a carbuncled face, a bug-eye, one of those eyes that never moves, and coarse, stubby fingers.
He perhaps walks with a slight limp.
The brain-damaged primitive’s never mentioned--if he has, it was uncaught by observers of primitives--how it came to be that something went wrong on the inside of his head, but one can reasonably speculate he either had his brain on drugs for a while, or got them scrambled in a motorcycle accident.
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The brain-damaged primitive works on a computer, keyboarding in one of those large offices with hundreds of other people and shoulder-high partitions. One has no idea what he’s keyboarding, perhaps names and addresses for magazine subscriptions, but he used to be an “information tech†for the automotive industry.
During the George Bush prosperity of 2001-2007, he was doing so well he was even an independent businessman, working out of his home. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember that the Internal Revenue Service was also seeing his prosperity, and some time after the Pelosi-Reid slump of 2007-2009, and then the current 0bamaDepression, began, the brain-damaged primitive got zapped with a rather huge bill from them.
Man oh man, did he whine about that; the injustice of it all, being expected to pay taxes.
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The brain-damaged primitive is an odd bird; despite his age, he still talks “baby-talk†of animals, especially dogs and cats. Not
to them, but when writing
of them. He constantly refers to canines as “woggies†and to felines as “kittehs.â€
Just as a babbling three-year old child might.
(One has no idea how he talks
to animals, but if he “baby-talks†to them, outside of the hearing of decent and civilized people, one supposes that’s okay; after all, franksolich quotes Shakespeare to the cats here, using the tone of his voice to calm them, or reassure them.)
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The brain-damaged primitive is also fond of using an ancient Anglo-Saxon word, perhaps thinking it’s a good attention-getter, but on that he’s wholly wrong. Nobody pays attention the expletive; they pay rather more attention to the name of the primitive lighting a campfire, and when one sees “DainBramaged†on the computer screen, one just goes there to see what’s up, without bothering reading the title.
There were days during 2012 whenever one went to “General Discussion†on the old DU, that the front page was dominated by campfires lit by the brain-damaged primitive, their titles monotonously the same, “**** George Bush,†“**** Chris Christie,†“**** Republicans,†“**** Christians,†“**** conservatives,†“**** capitalists,†“**** George Romney,†“**** Newt Gringrich,†“**** Rick Santorum,†“**** Sarah Palin,†“**** pre-born infants,†“**** rich people,†“**** the automobile industry,†“**** the new DU,†“**** the drug industry,†“**** ingrown toenails,â€
ad nauseam.
The guy’s obviously not the creatively-articulate sort.
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During much of 2012--in fact up until only recently--the brain-damaged primitive boycotted the new DU (installed in December 2011), instead hanging around the slowly-sinking old DU, with a few other reactionary primitives who can’t get with the program, change with the times, adapt to new things.
One’s impressed that apparently “change†of any nature discombobulates the brain-damaged primitive; that he wants everything to remain exactly the same as it’s always been.
That’s a
serious mental disorder, by the way. Don’t rely on franksolich’s word; just ask any psychologist or psychiatrist or other mental-health professional. The inability to adapt can sometimes be so bad it gets one institutionalized.
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His major whine was that, at first, the new DU didn’t allow for “ignore lists,†and so he couldn’t transfer his from the old to the new, which caused the brain-damaged primitive to jump up-and-down and carry on like an old lady with haemorrhoids.
One would’ve thought his precious “ignore list†was the family jewels or something, the way he constantly yelped about it.
One assumes it’s longer than even the oblate spheroid’s “iggy list.“ This is not a guy who wants to waste his time listening to things he doesn’t want to hear; the brain-damaged primitive is hostile to illumination.
Which is a symptom of yet another grievously-serious mental disorder.
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The brain-damaged primitive is
not an exemplar of how to grow old gently and graciously.
One of his most-amusing practices is to bitch and moan about living in a red area of New Jersey.
And he doesn’t merely live in a red area; he lives in the reddest county of the whole entire northeastern Atlantic coast.
And boy oh boy, does he bitch about it.
Now, a reasonable person can see that New Jersey’s a pretty small state, and that it doesn’t take much to get from one place to another. All the brain-damaged primitive has to do is move a few blocks, and boom! he’s suddenly in dark blue territory. Why he doesn’t do that escapes one.
One noted with interest the brain-damaged primitive recently commented that he’s safe in his neighborhood, no crime, no guns, conveniently omitting to remind other primitives where he lives, in a Republican-dominated place.
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The brain-damaged primitive’s never been known to be grateful for anything, never been known to say a nice word about anybody. He’s a wretched, miserable excuse for a human being, and so one suspects he
really doesn’t want to take a seat and dine at the banquet of Life.
During the recent storms that afflicted New Jersey, one hoped he might get his wish, a big tree or a loose power-line falling on him, but alas such was not to be. He’s still around to entertain us for 2013, and might even exceed his performance as #05 top DUmmie next year.
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Merry Christmas, and rejoice, for God Is.
…..and laugh too, because there’s not a damned thing the primitives can do about it.
