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Hating a stranger.

Its not often, but sometimes, when I least expect it, I instinctively hate people.

Case in point, I am in Starbucks, its not my favorite one, but its still a Starbucks.

For those of you that pay attention, its the “Icebox”, so named because the temperature is always at 60 degrees, Winter or Summer.

I used to think this was a bad idea, then I realized that on those days that I am there for an hour or more, I buy more coffee to keep me warm.

Maybe the manager is a genius.

And in she walks.

Something about her screams “Bitch”, loud and clear.

Of course she is on her cell phone, what else would she be doing?

And maybe it is just because I didn’t like her from the beginning, but I swear that the people around her moved just a touch more away from her than you would normally.

Maybe its an unconscious thing, just some sort of evil presence, like a low level fart in an elevator that you don’t know who did it, but you know it wasn’t you.

Anyway, she gets thru the line, gets a spinach quiche. (Red flag – Spinach quiche is the food of choice of pedophiles, serial killers and overly monied coffee hoes.)

Her drink, when it came, had a lot of foam, another red flag but I’m gonna let that go.

As luck would NOT have it, she sat at the seat next to me.

Conversation still going on.

Here are the highlight quotes.

  • “Marshal is having problems at school, he failed a test and the teacher is being a bitch about it. I told him he could stay home this week and calm down.” (My comment is to fucking long to put here, so its below.)
  • “Jack is still arguing about the alimony, I mean, I gave that asshole my life, and thats going to cost him.” (Lesson learned boys, some people, not all, just some people, when they are flat on their backs the meter is running. Talk amongst yourselves.)
  • The car is still not running right. Every time I put it in gear, I have to let off on the gas COMPLETELY. (You mean revving it and dumping it into gear is NOT good for the tranny?)

It was the Polish astronomer Copernicus who first offered the model of the universe that had the Sun at its core and not the Earth.

And it was the shithead sucking down a frappuccino sitting next to me that first offered the model of the universe that had Marshal at its core.

That means the center of the universe was somewhere local, still in his pj’s during mid morning and crying like a pussy.

For a long moment I was outraged.

We are currently raising a generation of kids that are being taught that, God forbid they ever encounter a problem, the only proper response is to freeze in place and over analyze it until someone comes along and either solves it for them, or it goes away on its own.

That was a shitty long moment.

The highlight was when I made her leave.

Its called the creep move.

It is a beautiful study in low level emotional intimidation.

I began to furiously scratch my armpit, the one closer to her.

I grunted slightly.

Once I could see her staring, I stopped scratching and smelled my fingers.

Wait for it……..

I scooted a half an inch towards her.

Then I turned my head, locked eyes, and smiled.

If you have ever seen someone fleeing a burning building, that is a lot like how she left.

Hung up her phone, stood and stomped her little feet out of Starbucks.

Even left her coffee creation behind.

I would feel bad, but, after all…

I didn’t like her to begin with.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Getting to the cruel part.

There are two different types of bad behavior in this world.

There is the rare one, at least admitting it is rare, it actually happens quite a bit. Its the type of bad behavior that you do and then secretly relish the shitty thing you have done.

I am well acquainted with that one.

Hell, because of the filter eliminating effects of this damn blog, I often brag about it.

But today, we are here to talk about that other type of bad behavior.

Its that type of bad behavior that you do it and don’t secretly relish in it.

In fact, you don’t get it. Even when someone points it out to you, you don’t get it.

Like a shitty form of karmic water off of a cosmic ducks back, just to make it sound all new agey.

Here is an example: (Come on, you saw this coming, right?)

I was recently visiting on an excursion to a weird alternative museum.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Its kind of like a freak show on Xanax.

Its the stuff that legitimate museums and freak shows took one look at and said, “It’s not for us, thanks.”

One display is two mummified mice on toast. (Draw your own conclusions.)

Another is a collection of clear glass globes that have floating figurines in them, all in different stages of drowning, complete with mood lighting and odd bubbly sounds effects.

The last example is a steel ferris wheel suspended from the ceiling. Its made of steel and every moving surface on it has a bell attached. Ever few minutes it begins spinning and the room has no sound proofing.

So any conversations you have go on a time out until the ferris wheel is done.

But the museum is not why we are here.

It what happened when we left the museum.

And then we met Earl.

Not sure if that is his name, but that is what I am calling him and who the fuck are you to argue? Sit down, shut up, and let me finish, jeez!

Earl is homeless.

And he is a homeless ninja.

We had not taken 10 steps from the shady museum’s front door when Earl struck.

His walker is on wheels, and they roll silent as a whisper.

“Hey there! How you boys doin’?”

He is not blocking our path, there is plenty of room to go around, but you have to.

We mumble some platitudes and begin our evasive maneuvers.

Earl is having none of that shit.

Side-spinning a walker does not take up more space at all, but it is a psychological block.

We stop.

“I don’t want money.”

As an opener, this is sloppy, but good. It doesn’t work, I mean, I KNOW he wants money, but what is his pitch? I was in sales long enough to know that everything is a transaction. Money, sense of accomplishment, pride…etc. Money is just the most obvious.

“Could you buy me a meal at the In’n’Out?”

There is a burger place just up the street.

“Sorry, I don’t carry cash.”

You might think this is the cruel part, BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

So off we walked.

“Why didn’t you give him food?” My oh so innocent companion asked.

The reasons are long and drawn out, but based on advice from a professional in the “Dealing with the homeless in the most compassionate way” industry. The incomplete simple answer is, anything I give him enables and perpetuates his addiction and makes me an active party in killing him.

But that is still not the cruel part.

“Because,” I said as we headed in to the same burger place to get lunch.

“I don’t want to see him try to smoke a burger.”

And THATS THE CRUEL PART. (And its a hell of a long walk for a punch line, but it is what it is. Write your own blog.)

 
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Posted by on April 17, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The coming of the Fat Man

This is the world as we know it.

People are not bad at heart, they just do bad things sometimes.

But, they don’t seek to do bad things.

And people that drink coffee like it piping hot.

And then there is the alternate universe going on at the next table at Starbucks.

The Fat Man, not the one from the Maltese Falcon played by the immortal Sydney Greenstreet, but the 450lbs guy sitting in the Starbucks in Manhattan Beach this morning, is eyeing his 3 cranberry orange scones like a pedophile eyeing a playground.

He has been on the phone for the last 20 minutes with someone who, for lack of a better term, is his evil minion.

Here are the atrocities that I have so far heard:

  • At 12:01am on the first of May, any of the tenants (See also, poor unlucky bastards) that have not paid rent are to be evicted. He actually stabbed his chubby little finger in the air for enphasis.
  • Shut down his daughters credit account. Apparently, she is 18 and got a job. The atrocity part of this is that he specified that the evil minion was NOT to let her know. Typically you don’t see parents actively seeking to shit on their own children.
  • The Fat Man crumbled up two of the scones and put the pieces into his coffee, INTO HIS COFFEE, and let them sit and soak. The end result will be the coffee being soaked completely into the crumbs and the cup will be filled with cranberry orange coffee oatmeal, sans oatmeal. While that might sound somewhat tasty, it was the slow, lurid sucking of his fingers to clean them off that lent the air of unclean dirtiness to the whole thing.
  • He informed his evil minion that he had a while to wait before he could drink his coffee because he likes it at ROOM TEMPERATURE.

His look, his speech, his mannerisms, the very air around him is repellent.

If Hitler had a brother that he considered to be a little too extreme, the Fat Man would be it.

I have begun to wonder if others can see him, or if he is just a figment of my imagination, a demon of sorts, sent to torture me as a warning to live a better life. (Much like a twisted version of It’s a wonderful life.)

The man appears to be exceptionally well off, but I hate to use that term.

The words “Well off” seems contradictory.

Plus, he just farted.

I realize everyone farts, but most people try to hide it or at least apologize when they can’t.

He didn’t even lean over on one cheek and let go, it was just a mid-sentence mini-explosion that may well have been a part of his speech, like a comma.

He never paused.

In the back of my head, the part with the vile little voice? There seems to be A LOT of whispering that the Fat Man had just shit himself and that by my not commenting or leaving, I was showing my approval.

Why the voice does that to me is confusing.

I mean, the voice likes being in Starbucks, there is so many things to see and talk shit about.

So, I pack up and leave in protest.

But, I did not manage to get out before I got a whiff of the Fat Man’s rectal cologne.
There is a realization you get when you cut yourself really bad.

Its that split second before the nerve ending explode and pain begins, its the mental realization of how bad it is going to be.

Now, add that the the feeling of being kicked in the balls. (Bear with me, ladies.)

Combine the two and you are in the right neighborhood of me right then.

When you are trying to pack up a laptop and accessories there is only so much speeding up you can do.

Also, the Fat Man began eating his coffee/scone/oatmeal.

I have written and erased several descriptions and 75% of them used some sort of creepy sexual imagery.

Suffice to say it was not pleasant and just left me feeling dirty. Like I needed both a shower and an exorcism just to feel clean enough to begin therapy.

I used to like those scones too.

 
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Posted by on April 10, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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How hot is your hell?

Scrap-booking is some sort of evil cult, of this I am fairly sure.

I have a friend that is going away for a “Weekend Scrap-booking Retreat”.

Its going to be at a B&B, with scenic views, wine, and hours of scrap-booking.

I will let that digest for a moment.

For me, that is not going down easy, like a shot of some foul liquor that gets half-way down your throat and then locks up and your whole body convulses in the effort not to spew it back out.

B&B’s exist for one purpose and one purpose only.

They are a getaway spot for room service and sex.

A place you go to live naked in the room for 2-3 sticky days, waited on by deaf and dumb servants, living on wine and baskets of food left at the door at regular intervals.

The kind of place that can have a defibrillator at your room in under 2 minutes, no questions asked.

But Scrap-booking? That is a form of twisted that even 50 Shades of Grey would think is creepy.

Its like the Swedenborg version of hell, but instead of the cruel intentions and desires of the denizens of hell, they have massive scrap-booking parties.

But maybe that is mean on my part.

Its always dicey business to hassle one of the 5 people who actually reads and likes the blog.

Pissing off 20% of my readership is more than a little self-destructive.

As for the several dozen that read and hate the blog?

Doesn’t matter, they will still email and bitch about everything under the sun.

Swedenborg was homophobic, that will come back to haunt me.

B&B’s are an element of “White privilege”.

Sex is evil, bible says so.

It does stun me sometimes what people will focus on when they stop fussing with one of their dozen cats and climb up on their rickety soap box to pontificate in their screetchy little voices.

Stuff that defies logic or maybe because it defies logic.

Mentioning Sweden means I am pushing the Swedish ideal of massive daycare as Plato envisioned in “Republic”. (Yeah, someone trotted that little theory out on me 6 months ago because of a single Swedish reference. )

None of this is valid or relevant, but that will not keep these whining fucking maggots from bitching at me on Friday morning.

When I first started this blog it was simply to have an outlet for vile thoughts and witnessed events. And that is what it still is.

Its main purpose has never been for anyone elses enjoyment, only my own.

The fact that some like it/hate it is just a lucky side effect.

But, and here is the shitty side of my personality, I really enjoy pissing people off.

And maybe I cater a little too much to the asshole within.

So be it.

I am numb at this point point, its like the email version of white noise at this point, background, barely heard.

What I need is a vacation.

A getaway.

Like a B&B.

Suddenly, a little scrap-booking doesn’t sound so bad.

But maybe thats the coffee talking.

 
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Posted by on April 3, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Keep it in your pants.

Ok, so things are going to get a little awkward here.

Too many trigger warnings to list here. (If you understand that statement, fuck off and get over it.)

And I don’t mean like – Running into your ex in a restaurant with their new partner awkward.

I mean like – trapped in an elevator with the uncle/priest that touched you at age 12 kind of awkward.

Here is the story as we know it.

A 19 year old man walked into a walmart, took a stuffed horse from the shelf, headed on over to the comforter aisle in the Housewares department and proceeded to masturbate using the stuffed horse, came all over it, and then put it back on the shelf.

Lets break that down.

A 19 year old man walked into a walmart, was greeted by a senior citizen, headed over to a clearance section near the Gardening department. All of this is perfectly legal and not out of the ordinary. No blood no foul at this point.

He picks up a stuffed horse from the clearance rack and heads to Housewares. Minor red flags, but nothing serious. He’s a little old for stuffed animals, but maybe its his niece/nephew’s birthday and he needs a gift.

He hunkers down in the comforter aisle and whips out his junk. WARNING WILL ROBINSON, WARNING! I hate to say it because of the place it puts me here but if you do make the call to get your freak on in a walmart, the comforter aisle is where you want to be. Some people may say the bathroom, but that can only be because they have never seen a Walmart bathroom. An underlying odor of aged urine and shit permeates the air. There is ALWAYS piss on the floor and usually shit on the walls. Its like the monkey hut at the zoo.

Out of 5 news agencies that reported on this, not one says exactly how he screwed the horse. Did he cut an anus into the horse and sodomize it? Cut a hole in the mouth? Was it pliable enough to wrap it around his dick? Don’t shake your head at me, these are legitimate questions!

Anyway, SOMEHOW, he finished and came all over the stuffed horse. Like a plush toy bukkaki scene from a Japanese porno. In fact, I am willing to bet there is a Japanese website dedicated to plush toy bukkaki. They have websites for everything else under the freak sun, why not this?

And, for me, this is where it gets weird. How could it not be weird up till now, you ask? Nothing shocks me when it comes to guys and masturbation. As a species, men are masturbatory freaks. You don’t know the half of it.

But this is why it is weird. HE PUTS IT BACK. He didn’t drop it like Michael Corleone dropping the gun after he shot Sollozzo and walks out, he puts it back on the clearance rack.  That means he wanted it on display for others to see. This hits a new freak high water mark that is tough to match. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.

And, he did this at 3pm. Right when the kids are getting out of school.

Where are the over zealous cops that get caught on camera beating the shit out of someone when you need them? (They are a minority, but they do exist. I want to use them for good.)

I think the world would be a better place if this guy lost a few teeth and “accidentally” fell down a few flights of steps. Just saying.

The only thing I can think of is that the last time I was at a Walmart, I was stunned by the sheer numbers of unaccompanied kids running wild without a parent in site.

Think twice, you never know when the freaks might decide that the plush toys are just not doing it for them anymore, and decide to take your kid for a spin.

You can ignore this warning if you like, but the writing is on the wall.

Or at least smeared all over the stuffed horse.

 
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Posted by on March 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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I reserve the right to be a dick.

I get hate mail from time to time.

The funny thing is, 95% of the hate mail comes from the same people, week in week out.

The emails all start more or less the same, a claim that they rarely read the blog, this despite the fact that they email EVERY week.

And its not even original stuff, its the same whiny-ass stuff every week.

I would say like a broken record, but its not enough. A broken record that lives alone and has over a dozen cats and not one blood relative that is willing to talk to them.

The reason I am bringing any of this up, is that one of them, a mewling little soundbox from Australia that goes by the dumb name of TinyMouse, asked a question that you think all of them would ask.

Why are you so rude when you respond to my email?

Let me explain.

For a long time, my first response was “Fuck off”. Short, sweet, to the point.

And then, like so many things, I got tired of it.

So the reply emails became a blog post all their own.

Just really obscene and insulting in a personal, mean spirited way.

Sometimes I will cut and paste obscene pictures from online into the email. (Is that admissable in court? No clue. I don’t think its harrassment, they are all responses.)

To me, I would not email any asshole again if I got this sort of response.

However, TinyMouse has gotten over 3-4 dozen of this type of email and still emails me every week to chastise me. And the phrase “Belligerent cis-male” is always included. (I always counter that with “Cat rapist” which seems to flip her out, she has a lot of cats.)

And yes, there is a sane part of me that realizes how childish this is.

However, the logical me gave it up a long time ago. The 800lbs gorilla that is the childish me has been running the show. And he’s a dick.

There has to be a psychology 101 textbook that can lay out the basics of sociopathic blogging, but I have yet to run across it.

And now, allow me to insert something different here.

Like a mental sorbet to cleanse the cerebral pallet.

I just visited the bathroom and someone came out of the men’s room just as I walked up.

AND HE STANK LIKE SHIT ON A HOT DAY!

Homeless, but that foamy neck kind of unwashed homeless.

God, I miss Manhattan Beach homeless. They had standards.

Needless to say, I am not in Manhattan Beach.

And it shows.

Back to vile email.

As a group, the critics of the blog are a whiny bunch of Chatty Cathy dolls that pull their own internet strings non-stop.

Its as annoying as it is humorous.

Much like playing chess for money with a retarded, crackhead, welfare mother, its only funny for the first few minutes. After that, its just sad and really annoying. (And if that last, carefully crafted sentence doesn’t get those fucktard’s panties in a twist, I don’t know my shit.)

You have to wonder what it is about obsessively reading and criticising a barely read blog that does it for this bunch of shit wads.

Activism should involve an element of chance that you will make a difference.

They really need to piss on the fire and call in the dogs, because they lost this fight way before they started.

But, like I always say, its important to have a hobby.

And, their hobby is to point out social improprieties to the literary malcontents of the blogospere.

Just like my hobby is to fuck with them.

Works for me.

Bite me.

 
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Posted by on March 20, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The Bitch is Back

We’re all gonna die.

These things happen.

Simple fact.

Probably soon.

Today is Friday the 13th, second month in a row.

Do you have any idea how rare that is?

Its like a unicorn being gang raped by a leprechaun and Santa Claus, and they all have winning lottery tickets

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

I don’t remember the last time there was Friday the 13th two months in a row.

I have had a few people tell me I am being superstitious and paranoid.

Hey, I don’t make the rules.

To paraphrase, Hate the game, not the scared player hiding under his bed.

There are those that say that Friday the 13th is just a day like any other day.

Yeah, and there are those that are against vaccinations too.

Perfect example, I got out of bed on Friday the 13th last month and immediately slammed my baby toe into the dresser.

Need I say more?

I can hear the doubters right now “That proves nothing. “

Fine, I’ll say more.

Not more than 5 minutes later, I got a papercut.

[Microphone drop.]

I NEVER get paper cuts, I have skin like a lizard.

If you still doubt me even in the face of empirical evidence, here is the final piece of proof.

I lost my car keys. LOST MY CAR KEYS! Are you bastards even listening?!?!

So for the second Friday in the 13th in a row? Screw it, I am not going out of the house today.

I have thought long and hard, employed rational thought, common sense and a little immigrant wisdom, and here is what I have come up with.

Drinking coffee and hiding under the bed.

Go ahead and laugh, but when the land around us is a charred pile of rubble, I will be probably still be hiding out, having coffee.

Will there be Starbucks in the wastelands of the future? Magic 8-ball says it seems likely.

God forbid I have to make my own, then I know we’re screwed.

Did the movie Mad Max teach us nothing?

For those not in the know, Mad Max was Mel Gibson’s first movie. (This was back before he became a misogynistic, anti-semitic, racist who evidently didn’t know that the red light is blinking when you are being recorded. See also Donald Sterling.)

And it was a low budget post apocalyptic car and violence fest set in Australia.

What did we learn from it?

First, without franchise coffee houses, the people descend into anarchy and join punk rock biker gangs.

Second, when the shit goes down, Australia is the last place you wanna be.

Although I hear Syndey is lovely in season.

Could the apocalypse be moved to Southern California?

The weather is better and there is a Starbucks on every corner.

It would make the wasteland much more pleasant.

So, that is what today is all about.

Hiding, drinking coffee and trying to figure out which post-apocalyptic coffee houses will have wifi.

Thank God for Keurig, the pod coffee machine.

It makes an acceptable cup.

Trust me, you don’t want my drip coffee.

If the coffee depends on me, I inadvertently make it strong enough to give a meth-head the shakes.

That is not enough of an ability to make me a warlord of the coming wasteland, but it does have me stockpiling Keurig.

To sum up, Coffee, nuclear holocaust, Australia, and support the troops.

We all on the same page now?

And, if you are stupid enough to go outside on Friday the 13th, despite all my warnings, don’t come running to me when all hell breaks loose.

If you are set upon by rabid dogs, gangs of Chicago children (Like a finishing school for murderers that place) or a Jehova witness stops you to force a copy of the Watchtower on you, you had it coming.

And if anyone is looking for me, I will be under the bed.

Nursing my coffee like a Canadian baby on a United Airlines flight. (Google it, people! Do I have to do everything for you?)

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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