There is no link between healthcare and hot lesbians. Maybe.

Health insurance is now like a financial herpes.

Its worse than you ever thought it would be, the person that gave it to you lied about how bad it was, and you will never get rid of it.

Lucky us, we all made the same poor choice of who we took home from the dance.

Like your father said when you got the sex talk, make sure you wear a condom.


The reason for my disenchantment with comprehensive healthcare is that I started a new job and got my healthcare.

And a small get-by policy that I had 3 years ago has gotten worse and more than doubled in cost. ( Before you try to go down the “It’s better” road, don’t. I went over the premiums and coverage, its not.

Lots of people are in the same boat.

However, if you voice your concern about the financial prison rape that goes on, depending on what state you are in, your state senator will call you a liar.

And nobody seems to give a shit.

Oh well, this would not be the first time that the government has lied thru their teeth and screwed us in the process.

The above sentences have now placed me on a No-fly list and for the next few years, I will be under a sort of “House arrest” in the state of California, without the indignity of an ankle bracelet.

Lucky me.

That being said, this pissy little rant was brought on by 2 different things.

The first is the healthcare discussion going on at the next table.

There are two early twenty somethings not really discussing, but rather whining incessantly about the fact that, despite the fact that they voted for and were in favor of the Affordable Blah Blah Blah they are now shocked that they both have to buy it, and it is not cheaper as promised.

I remember the early twenties, its a period marked by its hapless stupidity.

Regardless of what party you belong to, we can all agree that we’re just fucked in this together.

After 300+ words of soapbox type pontificating, lets move on to something more fun.

There are two hot ladies making out at one of the tables.

I know, I know, its a juvenile thing, objectifies women, but its still cool.

Besides, if you are going to make out in a Starbucks on the cheap cushions of the bench seat, then you obviously, on some level, want people to watch.

And some of us will. Shamelessly.

There is a basic male fantasy that most men have, even the guys who claim they don’t.

Its the whole sexy lesbians thing. Its not a mature thing, its dumb and bigoted, and anyone with a set of testicles is drawn to it like a moth to a bug light.

It may make you a dick and politically incorrect, but it doesn’t make you a bad person.

I once dated a girl who liked to make out in public. She was into the passion, but she needed the people around her involved to be a part of it.

So, looked at that way, they are sharing it all with us.

Its always nice to be included.

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Posted by on April 14, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Heres to the little, big man, Mickey Rooney

It seems like all of the talent in Hollywood is either already dead, or just died.

Like Mickey Rooney.

Mickey, for those to young or ignorant to know, was the shit.

He owned Hollywood for a brief period.

Sing, dance, act, and had comedic timing that even the greatest comics would envy.

He married Ava Gardner.

Even if you know who that is, Google the name and click images.

Yeah, thats her. One of the most stunning women in Hollywood history, and she married him at 19. A picture of Ava at 19 will make an old man blush.

And she was all about Mickey.

Mickey, however, was all about anything in a skirt.

Apparently, Mickey screwed almost every woman in Hollywood at one point.

“Mickey went thru the ladies like a hot knife thru fudge.” Thats a quote from Ava Gardner, and she would know.

At 5’2, all teeth, and A GINGER, Mickey’s dick made the rounds.

Good for him.

Some of my best childhood memories are laying on the floor at my Grandmother’s house, in my footie jammies, watching Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland get into and out of mischief.

It was awesome. There is a special place in the afterlife for a man who leaves phenomenal memories behind when he goes.

Mickey outlived almost everyone he used to run with. Did a few good films in his later years.

There is something to be said for tradition. Mickey came from that great Hollywood tradition of “Be squeaky clean in public and Caligula on a binder behind closed doors.” The scandals are bigger, but the parties were legendary.

So raise a glass to Mickey’s memory next time you are out, pretend to spill it on some huge guy, dodge his punch, dance your way to the kitchen, along with numerous funny pratt falls, then sneak out the back and screw the guy’s girlfriend all night long.

Perhaps that is were the phrase “Slip her a Mickey” came from.

This was the Roofie scenario of the 50’s. “Something” is put into a young lady’s drink and she wakes up naked, with sore privates. A LOT of young ladies woke up naked, sore privates, and an adorably snoring Mickey Rooney laying next to her.

Out of respect for the deceased, I have not mentioned Mickey’s penis.

Till now.

Evidently, Mickey was packing. 5’2 with the dick of a man 6’4, if the rumors are to be believed.

Mickey was everyman, that was why we loved him. But only if everyman had a big shvance and serious Hollywood game with the ladies. (Shvance might be Yiddish or possibly made up. Not sure.)

Whether you believe the stories or not, Mickey was part of that Hollywood royalty that we came to love so well.

And he was one of the few left.

Goodbye, Mickey. I will miss you.


Posted by on April 11, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Count on your fingers if you get confused, Muttenhead.

Lets be a little condescending and rude for a moment. (Why should today be any different?)

Lets say for the sake of arguing that the cashier at the Starbucks I am at is not either low-functioning tarded or is normal, but just that slow and more than a little dumb.

To save time, lets call this cashier Muttenhead.

First of all, that is an insult to tarded people everywhere, as well as being an insulted to the slow and dumb.

Its all about intent. I am not meaning to insult one group, yet fully intending to insult the other.

After all, its a waste of time to insult someone if they don’t realize you are smacking at them.

Here’s the problem. If you are the cashier, your job is to handle money. This requires the basic skills of counting, addition and subtraction.

But what if you got hired for that job, but at no time during the hiring process did anyone look at Muttenhead and ask the question, do you have the ability to count?

Then you would be stuck in the awkward position of being the cashier but being unable to BE the cashier.

So, here we are.

A Venti house drip is $2.15. If you hand the “Cashier” a $5 bill, the change would be $2.85.

This sounds like a simple transaction.

So, where could the problem be?

With Muttenhead, of course.

The first handful of change handed to me, by dirty nails no less, was $8.45.

I saw the issue before he handed it to me.

“Wrong.” I couldn’t see any reason to add in a lot of distracting words, Muttenhead has enough on his plate.

“What?” His blank stare was more than a little imposing. If definitions of basic words were beyond him, we were stuck.

“The change is wrong.” I can be generous when the mood hits, perhaps its just a case of him not knowing specifically what was wrong.

“Oh.” He took it back with the same dirty nailed hand he gave it to me with. He looked blankly at it and then put it all back into the proper change drawers. He poked at the dimes, then looked at me.

“What did you have?” Muttenhead’s forehead was wrinkled in confusion. Supposedly, man evolved away from the prominent sub-orbital ridge or forehead of the neanderthal. Muttenhead might be a throw back.

The barista snickered, evidently this show was not new.

“Venti house, $5 bill.”

Again, poking the dimes, the dimes might hold secrets, but not in this case.

An entire minute passed before I got another handful of change.

Muttenhead watched me and I got the scary feeling he was waiting for me to count it.

I glanced at it and could see that, while it was closer, it was still wrong.

“Nope. It should be $2.85. This is $3.22.”

Are you shitting me?

There was 2 more attempts before I named the actual coins he needed to give me.

I left with a sense of wonder at the sheer idiocy of Corporate Starbucks and their hiring policies.

Not to be rude or anything, but WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?!

And to Muttenhead, I wish you all the best. Just don’t look up when it rains…

You might drown, moron.

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Posted by on April 7, 2014 in Uncategorized


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The heart wants what it wants

I’m in love.

True, I’ve said this before, but this time its the real deal.

She’s a force of nature, this one.

She’s also somewhere past the age of 80.

I pulled into Starbucks parking lot and saw an old woman screeching at cars.

Homeless? Not sure. Bat shit crazy, absolutely.

I parked and watched as she made her way towards Starbucks.

She was awesome, this kind of crazy is rare.

She was furious, at all times, walking along and muttering in anger at everything she passed.

People, chairs, small dogs, everybody got a snarl and muttered curse word from her.

I have named her Mona, for Mona Lisa, the woman of many sides.

Into Starbucks we go. (Or down the rabbit hole, take your pick.)

The line was about medium, 4-5 people.

The fun began rather quickly. (I would feel bad for enjoying all of this, but I came to peace with this a long time ago.)

“Wipe you’re goddam feet!” Was hissed at a man in an impeccable business suit coming thru the door. He looked confused and backed out.

Mona runs a tight ship.

“Don’t take all day!” This was directed in the general direction of the cashier. It caused a bunch of fluttering activity around the register but didn’t speed things up.

Mona has little patience for wasted time.

“What’s so funny?!?!” She was pissed now. This was directed at me when I laughed. I really couldn’t help myself.

Mona is my soulmate, I swear.

I made no large movements, just backed away. I didn’t say anything. Nothing catches crazy’s attention like a response.

She kept it together long enough to order a grande house drip.

It took a full minute to order because Mona kept asking the cashier to repeat her order back to her, before she had ordered anything.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out if she is crazy AND homeless, or just crazy.

Either way, she’s awesome. Its not often a human being transcends being a normal person and becomes a force of nature, something to be reckoned with and in some/most instances, feared.

And this little honey is loaded for bear.

She stomped her aged little butt over to the pick up window and planted her Witchee-poo (Google it) shoes in the space that people hurriedly made for her.

She got her coffee, shuffled over to the cream and sugar kiosk, which just happened to be deserted during prime time (HA), Then made her way to the door.

It was here that she took her already powerful, bat-shit crazy routine and knocked it out of the park.

“This music is shit!” Loudly at no one in particular. (Wait for it…)

“Get the hell out of here!” Some sane old guy said to her, not yelling, but firmly loud. (Wait for it………)

“BAAAAAA!!!” Shaking her fist at all of us, like some sort of old world granny curse. I shit you not.

Much like remembering where you were when Kennedy was shot, I will remember this day and that force of nature in support hose and comfortable shoes till the day I die.

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Posted by on April 4, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Earthquakes, hospitals and print-crack.

What is it about earthquakes that makes people shit themselves?

I mean, its just a little shake people!

I was sitting in a movie sucking on some corn and a soda, basically in my happy place, when the room started shaking.

You can tell the tourists from the natives.

The second the theater started rolling, the tourists were out of their seats.

The natives never moved.

There is a reason for this.

If you were born and raised in Southern California, baring a residential address on the San Andreas Faultline, you know the big secret about earthquakes.

Here it is, you are not really in any danger.

I know, I know. You want to yell at me, the news wants you to yell at me.

Its all hype.

I have lived in SoCal for close to half a century and my total earthquake damage totals around a dollar and a half. (My bad. Northridge earthquake knocked a wine glass off of a book shelf and a falling book broke the stem. Clean up was minimal.)

We are conditioned as a society to flip out and be fearful of natural disasters.

I get it, I really do. I just reject it as a reaction.

But I could die in an earthquake. I could also die jaywalking, but I still do it.

More people die slipping in the bathtub every year than do in earthquakes, but it doesn’t make for an exciting news segment.

I took a day off of writing this and life intruded.

Long story, but nothing funny about it. Surgery, (Not me) was involved.

No details, and I am even going to go religious and pray for healing.

On to different things.

I am being held hostage and have become addicted to something other than caffeine. (Like I have that kind of time.)

The sad thing is, my captor and my new found drug are one and the same.

Game of Thrones.

I know, I am really late coming to the party.

However, I just started season 3 and its getting pretty bad.

(Before you start sending me comments that say “RED WEDDING” all in caps, I saw it on Youtube.)

In typical me fashion, I am reading the books alongside the show. So there is a LOT of reading going on because I am watching an episode a day.

Its awesome.

I have been a print junkie since birth and this series is a freaking masterpiece.

Its like finding a form of crack that is reasonably priced and there is a lot of it available.

And this is a good thing.

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Posted by on April 1, 2014 in Uncategorized


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That vile stench.

There is something to be said for kind gestures.

Or just basic customer service.

Either way, its just nice.

I changed jobs awhile back, moving to another local company.

My morning Starbucks is now a different one.

I fear change like an old school peasant.

Given the right situation I would be standing at the unlit bonfire yelling, “Burn her!”.

I am ok with that.

The show Cheers was a hit for the better part of a decade.

And the reason was the idea that there was a hip, cool place where “Everybody knows your name”.

Catchy tune, sticks in your head.

Today, something nice happened.

I came in to find a sizable line waiting for me.

Nothing new, plus, I had a book with me.

And then it happened.

“Here you go.”

The floater goes between the cashier and the barrista, getting items and orders together.

The floater handed me my hot water.

I drink the Starbucks via, the instant coffee, so all I need is hot water in the morning, but you still have to wait in line for it.

Its a minor, silly thing, but it’s nice.

Makes a difference.

So I am writing this with a smiley feeling in my head.

Doesn’t lend itself to sarcastic thought.

Pity, I do some of my best work when I am annoyed and semi-pissed off.

Which means you are stuck with shiny happy Mac instead of bitter.

Here I sit, watching Game of Thrones and sipping my coffee, the soul of contentment.

There are better situations out there, but this is nice.

And just like that, its gone.

My table is near the back, near the bathroom.

And there is a line for the toilet.

And the guy in line, right next to my table has a particularly fierce brand of BO going on.

You have to wonder why you leave the house, smelling like that.

And yes, I am arrogant about this.

But basic cleanliness seems like a foundational understanding that some are born without.

Who knows, maybe Stank boy was born with that, then life and experience stepped in and twisted him around to the point that a little stench is the least of his issues.

If you look at one way, he stinks, but he is minding his own.

I, on the other hand, smell delightful, but I have been told often, by the dedicated blog critics, that there is a vile stench that emanates from my written thoughts.

So who smells worse?

He does, but my stench will stick with you longer.

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Posted by on March 28, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Asshole with a side of crab.

Ok, so bottomless mimosa’s for brunch are never a good idea.

Alcohol tends to bring out the asshole in some people.

But what do you do if the asshole is already out?

Then it shifts into something vicious to behold.

You realize about halfway during brunch that, if the waitress were to mutter the word “Dick” under her breath as she walks away from your table, it will make your morning.

This may sound mean and I really don’t think I can argue that one with you.

Its not like I start out on the moral high ground or anything.

To quote Robin Williams, “I fucked my way to the middle and screwed my way down.”

And while I am a big advocate of embracing the asshole within, I can get to a place that even I am sick of myself.

The first step on the road to recovery may be to stop seeing others as playthings to be manipulated for my own amusement.

Have you ever noticed that they are putting cranberries in pretty much everything now?

It used to just be juices, now its drinks, baked goods, seasonings.

Well, crab is now the cranberry of seafood.

I counted it up, and of the 65 food items on the restaurant menu, crab was in 40 of them.

Top sirloin sliders sounded good, until I noticed there was crab mixed in.

Is nothing sacred?

And, of a party of 8 people, 6 had crab in their entree.

This makes me suspect some sort of plot with crab at the middle. (Perhaps the Mason’s?)

In the end, I found the food at the restaurant rather bland and seemingly low end. (Mine was cold, and trust me, you have not heard bitching until you serving me cold Breakfast Wellington. (Like Beef Wellington but with eggs and ham.))

This is one of the reasons that I seldom try new eating establishments.

There is always the chance they will pooch it and then I am stuck with an unpleasant memory.

You would think it was not a big deal, but it is.

I mean, you eat 3 meals a day, 365 days a year. Thats over a 1000 meals every year, surely one bad meal is no biggie?

It is.

The point of this entire whiny rant is that, a restaurant that charges over $20 a head should have their shit together.

That being said, the company was spectacular and funny and included a few people I have not seen much lately and have missed.

Which led to the waitress getting a decent tip.

I was not able to goad her into calling me names, but she did instruct the water busboy to “Just ignore him.”

(Don’t ask me why, but a woman throwing a smack at me publicly is oddly endearing.)

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Posted by on March 24, 2014 in Uncategorized


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