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Life begins at 40.

“Nobody knows when life begins, really.”

That little nugget of attempted intellectual spew just came at me from the brain-dead dipshits at the next table.

College students, nothing dumber on the planet.

They have been toddling thru the latest Supreme Court decision, much to my chagrin and annoyance.

Its annoying because there is an answer.

This is what is wrong with college. Students are not taught aggression. They get their soft little heads crammed with information, but they are never taught the process to push thru to their own opinion on anything.

That is why so many of them take the opinion that is voiced to them by some bearded socialist during this vulnerable period and take it like something they got straight from the burning bush.

Its a lot like a puppy that shits on the rug. Its so fucking cute….. the first few times. And then it goes on for most of their adult life.

And that is the shitty part. (Pun completely intended.)

But the life beginning thing has an answer.

And that answer is yes.

Life begins when it begins. Thats it. It has nothing to do with a court or viability or anything.

Ask a farmer if a carrot is still a carrot if you yank it out of the ground a week ahead of time.

Is it edible? Maybe not. Was it growing? Yes, because that it what life does.

Abortion being murder is a moot point. As a society, we have long viewed the taking of life as an ok thing. Animals, people, whatever, under the right circumstances, we are more than willing to do it. Remove the back story and look at the base action. Its all the same, unsatisfying answer, still the same.

And then the sarcastic side of my mind takes over.

If you are going to talk about life, you should start with masturbation. That is really where life begins, at least from the perspective of young boys, some young girls, but not as many as you think there would be.

Despite a childhood of getting caught each and every time they sneak a cookie, every boy is convinced mom has no clue, no matter how sloppy his masturbatory habits get.

Its a gender specific delusion that seems to permeate the entire male species.

If you think about it, a lot of life has ended tragically into tissues and socks everywhere since the beginning of time.

Ok, so that was a little deeper than I was going for.

Time to get off of the pedestal, I am 5 foot 3 on a good day and that high I risk a nosebleed.

You will notice that, for the most part, I did not mention female masturbation.

That is because I am a Feminist at heart, only a misogynist would go on and on about women and their naughty habits. (Also, I try to keep the posts under 1000 words at the most.)

I think, in the end, the whole “Life beginning” discussion is one of opinion and perspective, like a moveable feast that is wholly dependant on whoever it is flapping their pie hole at the time.

The thing that fucks it all up is the legal aspects of it all.

And the really scary part at the end of it is, that the final ruling will be made by the Supreme Court.

I have not seen a Supreme Court judge that was not so old and decrepit that they looked like they hadn’t had sex in several decades. (With the exception of Clarence Thomas and his slightly odd thing for soda, pubic hair and Long Dong Silver videos. You know that man is closing some serious Supreme Court groupies.)

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Do not mess with the Man.

Behind the counter at a Starbucks I like to call the “Icebox” is the cutest barrista in the world.

Adorable. Under 5 feet tall, little pixie of a girl with her hair in a ponytail and cute, not hot, face.

But that will not keep her from being shit on by The Man.

The Man, at least for the purpose of this blog is a white haired old dude in a white polo shirt and pressed cargo shorts.

Polo shirts are what business men wear during their off hours. Its like a suit for them, classifies and identifies them to their peers.

Its weird, but I read an article in Forbes that laid it all out.

The Man, is retired, but runs a tight ship.

From the moment he walked in, you could tell he was not pleased with all of us.

The brow furrowed, no doubt many a junior executive withered before the scorn of that scowl.

The right toe tapped impatiently.

The sigh was audible.

The case on the iPhone 5s is a bit of a status symbol. Its one of those cases that could survive a space shuttle crash, but they will pay for a new phone if there is a nuclear accident and it destroys his phone.

The entire attitude/ensemble/presentation is one that tells you, in no uncertain terms:

I AM THE MAN, AND DON’T FORGET IT, SHITHEAD!

His order was a high level workshop in concise ordering. Eye contact, voice of a proper timber and volume medium, with a crisp delivery.

Paid, and stepped immediately to the right to await proper assembly of his java beverage.

(Technically, his ordering of a caramel macchiato flies in the face of his post cold war masculine stance. But whatever.)

Enter the aforementioned, cut as a button, barrista.

She finished his macchiato in pretty much record time.

But she forgot his whipped cream.

The combination of whining/macho posturing that followed, was embarrassing to witness.

And then he got personal.

“Do you even know what your job is? Have you been TRAINED?”

Training is very important to The Man.

The actual amount of time it takes to apply whipped cream to The Man’s hot sunday can be measured in seconds, and not to many of them.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to milk it out like a pissy little drama queen.

When he finally does stomp his chunky aging ass out the door, two guys that were sitting at a nearby table burst out laughing. One of the guys did a pretty weak mime impression of him. It was topical, but weak.

The barrista never paused, just continued making her wildly overpriced java creations for slightly over minimum wage and questionably attainable tuition reimbursement.

Because the line of paper cups with instructions written on them never seems to end.

Kind of a commercialism perpetual motion engine.

The only unanswered question from this whole scenario is whether or not the barrista indeed spat into The Man’s effeminate drink. (And before we go down that whole road of denial, yes they do. I know I would and I don’t think I am alone. I would probably do it a little more often and for lesser offenses that just being rude.)

Let that be the moral of the story.

Be nice, you never know when your attitude might cause a little extra shot of DNA into your beverage.

(If you didn’t catch that, here it is, plain and simple. “Don’t be an ass, people can and WILL spit in your food.” If you don’t think that exists, you are either naive or dumb, which is the same thing for practical purposes.)

 
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Posted by on July 18, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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I’m hip, man.

It’s the 60’s.

The beat generation, cynical and critically dumb.

Smoking their cigarettes backwards, snapping their fingers in lieu of clapping, reading REALLY bad homespun angst-filled poetry, out loud mind you, to like minded dipshits that think its brilliant.

There is a poetry group meeting on the over-sized stone patio at the LAX Starbucks.

Its a pretty grim bunch.

This would have been a motley crew in their 20’s, now imagine that same unwashed image you have in your head as being in their 50’s. (AND NOT AGING WELL.)

The poetry is some of the most self-indulgent mental swill I have ever heard.

It gives new meaning to the term “Narcissistic”.

Kind of a mental grassy knoll to take aim at your intellect.

But they are not acting alone.

You have to wonder how these 10 people found each other in a world this large.

It’s like AIDS and E-Coli go to a bar and meet up with Spanish Flu and decide to start a band.

“The eternal me is but a leaf, stuck in a cosmic sewer.” (Direct quote)

I wish the line above was an exaggeration made by yours truly.

However, that self indulgent verbal puke was real, and uttered by a mid 50’s guy with a mullet, bowling shirt, khaki shorts, black knee socks and sandals.

Black socks with shorts? Who says theres no crime at the beach?

Think of Billy Ray Cyrus mixed with a homeless guy. Some of that Miley-style crazy.

I have been told that I am too judgemental, too harsh without provocation.

Fuck it, this dude is all kinds of crazy stank, rolled in self indulgent polyester.

And it has not bathed recently. (True, the wind shifted and I got a whiff.)

So now my nose is being gang raped along with my ears and my intellect.

Overly dramatic, maybe. But the line between an overly dramatic douchebag and an accuracy driven asshole is a thin one at times, and the same thing the rest of the time.

And yes, I get it, I should not make fun of the shitty poets. Their look, their style of dress, and certainly not their SHITTY FUCKING POETRY!

Two things. So be it. And bite me.

And before we start that whole “Why did you go there?” thing, lets just understand that I AM THERE, and I rarely go elsewhere.

I am glad I got that off my chest.

On to better things.

Long story, but I have the day off of work.

Not working is a good thing for most people.

Except me.

One of my more neurotic issues is the fact that while I don’t love work, I feel awkward when I am not there.

I like to think of think of it as my immigrant ancestry showing.

And not immigrant sneaking across the border, I mean coming thru Ellis Island immigrant. (At least my great grandfather did.)

There is no real joke here, just the one on us when everyone realizes that the several million welcomed illegals that are streaming across the border are going to have to have someone pay their tab.

There, got my little rant in. I feel better, like my mental/emotional colen just started a cleanse and a sizable quantity of “Shit” just passed.

Thinking about it, that would make this blog a toilet.

I am ok with that. The imagery is a little nasty, but the analogy is solid.

One of the unwashed beatnik’s just said the word “Profit” 10 times in a row, smacking his chest the whole time.

Thise is beginning to take on a whole new level of fucking horrible that I have never seen before.

This might be a spoiler alert from a horror film. The killer kidnaps someone, chains them to the wall in some filthy tiled bathroom, and trots out the beatniks to perform.

And the hostage chews thru his own neck it get away.

I could definitely see that.

It would be worth it.

 
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Posted by on July 11, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Let a Player play!

Every now and then, I ask myself, “What would Jesus do?”

I am pretty sure the answer is not “Smack a bitch.”

Although, the guy at the next table seems to think that is a viable answer to the issue with his, I am guessing here, girlfriend.

Girlfriend is a very loose term that I gleaned from his frequent comments about, and I am quoting, “That wack bitch.”

Shakespeare was known to coin many words and phrases in the course of his writings, but I don’t believe he was the originator of “Wack bitch.”

Setting: Starbucks on Grand, El Segundo, California. 2nd table from the front. Morning, weekend.

1st table, right in the middle of a busy morning rush line, is The Player.

I am not sure who he is talking to based largely on his REALLY poor communication skills.

I thought he was talking to a friend about said “Wack Bitch”, and then, he made a comment about “You know what’s you done.” (Direct confusing quote there.)

I have no clue. (Then again, I don’t think I would be scooting that far out on a limb to say that The Player may not have a cache of clues squirreled away back at the house.)

Every now and then, I come across an example of humanity that really makes me dread the future of this country.

And I am fairly certain that hip hop is involved.

Don’t get me wrong, I used to listen to some of the most gritty, grungy, crappy music out there, but hip hop seems to have a rear-naked choke on raw intelligence that will not only end the fight, but the concept of intelligence itself may end up dead as a result.

The argument could be made that this is racist or class-derogatory or even as a reach, Moperic. (Google the word Mopery. Work with me here.)

If it sounds like I am being hard on the younger generation, please understand that its intentional.

Its not that I think they are dumb, far from it.  (My own brilliant  bloodlines  excluded).

I KNOW the younger generation are dumb.

(Sidenote. I would use the crudish term “Tarded” here, but the sheer volume of hate email that follows takes hours to sort thru. And the incredibly poor grammar always gets nasty responses back from me, which only makes things worse. Shoot me, but for God’s sake, use a comma and look up the meaning of a double negative.)

I would worry about backlash from the younger generation, except that it is a well known fact that, unless accompanied by a pic, such as a 12-step affirmation printed on top of a low graphic photo on Facebook, they cannot read.

I would say that a formal declaration of war against ignorance has been made. My own particular brand of ignorance is hereby excluded.

Think of my perspective as the Geneva Convention of online blog wars except for the implied “Take no prisoners” clause.

As always, if any of this bothers you, feel free to write your own blog.

From a cathartic standpoint, this blog has always existed as a mental chamber pot that I routinely fill with the shit in my head, to be dumped out the window at random intervals, to land on the unsuspecting and the dumb.

Talk amongst yourselves.

 
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Posted by on July 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Because Homicide is illegal.

Homicide is illegal.

I know this because the guy in the leather biker vest with the tattoos said so.

I remember it quite clearly. He had the guy in the suit backed up against the wall, not putting a hand on him, but asking the guy in the suit if he would like him to beat the shit out of him, because homicide is illegal.

And, while I am always on the side of law and order, I am in full agreement with the biker at this point.

I really do hope he beats the shit out of him.

Lets back it up for a moment.

See, I am not a cat person.

Everyone is free to get the pet they want and more power to them.

Cats however, are evil.

I think that is what happens when someone gets more than 2 cats.

They wait till you are asleep and then whisper things in your ear, vile things, atrocities that the mind can barely understand.

Maybe. I am not saying they do this FOR SURE.

I’m just saying maybe.

But this is not about cats.

Its about dogs.

I am a dog person. Dogs love you, care for you, worry about you and carry their own weight.

A dog once took a bite from a rattlesnake to save my brothers on a camping trip. My father drove across the desert in the middle of the night to save him. Awesome dog.

That, I think, is the one redeeming quality of modern society. That is what will pull us back from the abyss.

Apparently, the biker and I see eye to eye on this matter.

Enter the guy in the suit.

With his dog.

Its a cute little kickem dog, Pomeranian I think.

It doesn’t suit the guy in the suit, so I am going to assume it belongs to the wife/girlfriend, and he has brought the dog along while he gets his morning coffee at Starbucks.

But, its a shitty walk.

The guy in the suit seems to think that dogs can pee and shit while never breaking stride and inconveniencing him.

I followed him up the block from my parking space.

It was a block filled with cursing at the dog, yanking, hard, on the leash, and, at one point, dragging the dog.

He really is an asshole.

Even being 20 yards behind, I voiced an angry “HEY!” that only got me a dirty look as he turned the corner.

It was then I noticed the biker get off of his bike at the curb, right where the corner was, throw down his coffee and stomp around the corner after the suit and his dog.

Good, now we are all caught up.

I have not had my coffee yet, but this is worth waiting for.

Karma, it seems, has a whole new act and I must say, its about goddam time.

I realize there is a childish, school yard element to this, but what the hell?

Lets look at the biker as a surrogate for the dog.

He’s a little dog, and the suit is much larger than him.

Correspondingly, the biker is much larger than the suit.

In prison, that would make the suit his bitch.

That last line, although making me laugh, may have gone a bit to far.

Prison rape being a little much to witness before morning coffee, I am still rooting for the ass-whooping.

Alas, it was not to be.

The suit practically shit himself while spouting an extensive series of apologies and promises of proper dog care.

The biker let him go unharmed.

The suit left without heading in to get his coffee.

Hopefully, he remembers his promise to treat the dog better.

Maybe not.

But that ass-whooping would have been sweet to watch.

 
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Posted by on June 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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What is the carbon footprint of a moron?

There is a certain amount of ignorance and hope in someone that someone that becomes a crusader with a cause.

Take the two well-monied house frau’s sitting at the next table are a perfect example.

Lets take an inventory, shall we?

I was in the parking lot when they drove up in separate cars.

One Mercedes, S Class.

One Range Rover Sport.

Once I got inside, I really didn’t need the visual of their vehicles to know what they drove.

They both have the annoying habit of carrying their car keys with the brand logo hanging out for all to see. Its annoying, but it is one that a majority of people with expensive cars that come with key chains with logos do. Its a minor thing.

The shoes are expensive. I used to be involved with a shoe-whore, I recognize the quality.

The clothing is expensive and made to look much more casual. Its expensive to look that casual.

The bag may be Louis Vuitton, I can’t be sure, I never dated a bag-whore.

Their coffee orders were difficult and long. This was not unexpected.

Their conversation was pretty much what I expected, shallow and narcissistic.

I don’t like them instinctively.

Its not the money or a race thing, its the attitude.

My coffee is hot and the company is delicious.

Its not often the coffee shop god’s smile upon you, but when it happens, its sweet.

This is a neat way of saying the table next to them is open.

When you put on headphones, but leave the music off, people assume you can’t hear what they are saying.

“I am sick of this bullshit.” (Angst, always brings out the best in silly conversation, don’t you think?)

“I know, right?” ( I am sorry, but this reply lowered her an extra notch.)

“Their denial is ridiculous, its hurting all of us.”

“The facts are the facts, the school’s carbon footprint is massive and they refuse to do anything about it!”

The statement is most likely valid, and I don’t know anything about the school in question. (But I used to inspect schools, so I do have a perspective.)

But the hypocrisy is stunning.

I swear, I almost said something and risked breaking the cardinal rule of this blog.

Don’t get involved. (Not to be confused with the Hippocratic oath “Do no harm. Mine is more “Do some harm if its funny.”)

Mainly because anything I said would not influence or change their opinion one way or the other.

If I agree with them, I am ok.

If I disagree, I am obviously some sort of ignorant denier.

And where is the fun in that?

What these ignorant biotches are missing is the fact that if you want to bitch at other people make sure your own shit doesn’t stink.

Their own carbon footprint is pretty scary.

The iPhone 5’s that are sitting on the table in their obscenely high priced cases have the highest lifetime carbon footprint of any iPhone ever made. (30 seconds of Google research doesn’t lie.)

Their vehicles are shining beacons of carbon footprinted light in the darkness.

Listening to them reminds me whats wrong with the world in general.

Stupidity. Its actually kind of depressing to think about the fact that these two are breeders.

I know this because they had a brief discussion about their kids.

Range Rover refused to let her son play lacrosse a year ago because, and I quote, “They insist on tracking the score instead of just letting the kids play.”

Sounds like a recipe for raising a pussy. God help this little squish-head when he gets out into the real world and finds out that your employer doesn’t give a shit if you lose but felt good doing it. He will be fired a baker’s dozen times before that little concept hits home.

And S-Class is not much better.

Her comment? “There are so many bad influences out there.”

Are you including the bad influence who’s vagina he tumbled out of?

That is one that will never be blamed.

Its always someone else’s fault.

Probably mine.

And I am ok with that.

At least the coffee is hot.

 
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Posted by on June 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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We’re all gonna die. Just saying.

I try not to work on Friday the 13th, as a general rule.

This is not new, we’ve discussed this before.

Its not because I’m superstitious or anything.

I just have a healthy respect for tradition and also, I am convinced that bad luck and an old gypsy woman’s curse will kill me horribly on that day.

Call me a pussy, I don’t care.

If you ask me, there is not enough respect for fear-driven urban legend.

And I am not talking about the “Don’t flash your lights at another car that have their’s off at night, its a gang initiation, they’ll turn around and kill you.” Kind of modern day crap.

I am talking about the ones that are several hundred years old, well, like Friday the 13th.

No wonder they made it into a scary movie.

Scary movies exist to scare us, that much is true.

On the surface.

But underneath, there is a whole other psychological game being played.

Scary movies exist to rub our noses in the primal fear of death.

That is what they are really about.

Primal fear is a gift you acquire at birth and it follows you thru life, like a combination lost puppy/grim reaper that you cannot shake.

Not to be confused with Catholic guilt, which is another type of guilt entirely, self inflicted and even harder to shake.

Primal fear and Catholic guilt are both irrational fears.

Catholic is only slightly easier to navigate.

Primal fear encompasses everything in the world that could kill you.

Catholic guilt encompasses everything in life that you might do wrong.

Subtle difference, but a discernible one.

Sometimes, they crossover and are the same fear.

Except, especially at those times, fixing one doesn’t necessarily fix the other.

That concept of fixing a problem and it still not being fixed is a tough one to get the first time it occurs to you.

Mainly because it is an unsatisfying answer, and unsatisfying answers are never easy to swallow.

They are the “Cod Liver Oil” of answers. They may do the job, but they make you feel sick while doing it.

Its a little like being in a relationship and having an argument.

You may win the argument, and you are still screwed.

Like winning the battle but losing the war.

Except this is worse, you are sleeping with the enemy as it were.

Myself, much like all vermin, I thrive on conflict and confrontation, preferably as a witness.

I would use “Fly on the wall” but I find them repulsive. (The whole eating thru vomiting thing is tough to get around. Imagine two girls one cup National Geographic style.)

What does any of this have to do with Friday the 13th?

Today is the day when I avoid human contact.

If I avoid dealing with people and/or machines, they cannot blow up and try to kill me.

That sounds paranoid, right up until you look at insurance company statistics.

More insurance claims are made for accidental death and dismemberment list today as the day of infamy.

I don’t need that kind of pressure.

I am perfectly capable of maiming myself without nature lending an evil hand.

 
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Posted by on June 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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