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Your dirty, sexy mouth.

Picture this in your head.

Picture the woman that says the following phrase.

“Finish your coffee, I’m gonna go push out a gang of tootsie rolls and then we’ll roll.”

What is the image in your head?

More specifically, what does the trailer park she lives in look like?

Is Walmart involved?

Now, here is the reality.

Mid-40’s, attractive brunette.

High end business suit, hair styled by someone that probably costs a fortune.

Mercedes smart key on the keychain.

iPhone 6 sitting on the table.

This is a high end business woman.

With the communication skills of a foul mouthed teenager before curse words come into play.

It really ruins the overall desirability of the rather expensively hot look she has put together.

For the mind, that is.

The penis could care less if she shit herself, he is still up for play time.

Very one track mind, the penis.

The woman disturbed me for a few minutes mainly because she didn’t fit the niche I had carved out for her in my head.

In my head, she was a sophisticated, flirty, wholly desirable business woman in an age range that is totally at her peak, physically and sexually.

And then, my mind made the correction and put her in the niche she belongs in, and all was better.

Salesman.

And now her phrasing made sense.

Salesman have a relationship with the spoken word much like a john with a Bangkok hooker.

Use it to do things you should be ashamed of, for money.

Sales is the type of profession that kind of removes your filters when you are not speaking to a client.

You have to be very controlled in not only what you say to a client, but also, how you say it.

When that is no longer required, the kid gloves come off.

I was a salesman for about 10 years, and this blog reminds me a lot of my mouth during that period.

Not a lot of filtering going on.

But back to the situation at hand.

My disappointment is huge.

I hate having my semi ruined mid-lust. (Anyone but me get this one?)

Eventually the hot, potty mouthed business woman returns from her presumed tootsie roll dropping, and they leave.

And the whole thing has left me slightly twisted.

I spend a lot of my time slightly twisted as it is, so when I hit something that shoves me further down that road against my will, it ruins my equilibrium.

Even coffee is not helping.

That alone tells you how disconcerting this is, because coffee usually fixes EVERYTHING.

I was so upset, I got another vente house drip.

And if you follow the news, you know that Starbucks house drip has the highest caffeine content of any national coffee house.

A vente cup has roughly 415mg of caffeine.

I have had 2 in the span of an hour.

There is a legal limit of 250mg of caffeine per hour in the state of California. (I could be wrong)

So, having ingested 830mg puts me over 3 times the legal limit.

Which explains my attraction to the hot, yet dirty, businesswoman.

I no longer question what goes on when I am under the influence.

This comes from years of morning after examinations.

At least with caffeine, you will never wake up with indelible marker writing on your face.

And sadly, with caffeine, you will never wake up after a black out evening to find yourself in bed with a hot businesswoman, dirty mouth or not.

 
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Posted by on December 12, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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That feeling of being totally screwed.

Have you ever had that feeling of being more than a little screwed?

Like totally screwed?

Like, deep in the bottom of the well of the damned type of screwed?

That was me for about 15 minutes, just now.

I write this little blog once a week for the last year.

twice a week for the week before that.

5 days a week for 2 years before that.

Plus, I write a lot of short sci fi and fantasy fiction.

Even a few novels.

All of it on Google drive.

Why Google drive? Because they are much better at backing up my stuff than I am.

And yet, somehow, I screwed up.

I sat down to write this post and suddenly, my balls were in my throat.

It was gone.

All of it.

Over 700 documents missing. 500+ of them blog posts.

Swamp ass? Thats a gimme at this point.

Making that worse is that my ass cheeks are clenched to the point that you couldn’t get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.

There is a pressure in my chest that might be a heart attack forming.

Have I been hacked?

Some sort of North Korea/ISIS cyber attack?

FIND IT.

In pure desperation I checked the trash folder, and misread what was there.

And I was back at square one.

ITS.

ALL.

GONE.

And then I figured it out.

Had it fixed in less than a minute from there.

My ass checks remained clenched for another 10 minutes.

It was like a near death experience.

And that is not the over-exaggeration that it seems.

Pure time wise, there are months of work in there.

Not just the writing, but the planning, the figuring, daydreaming, all of it.

To me, it was like the death of a close relative.

Relief is seriously deep in your bones at that point.

And that feeling of how close it was to being a tragedy.

So I am holding the blog to my chest and sobbing at this point.

And nothing will get you stared at in a Starbucks quicker than naked emotion.

But, like most things, the moment passed quickly.

And life goes on.

 
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Posted by on December 5, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Thanksgiving – No holds barred.

Thanksgiving was yesterday, so lets figure out what we are thankful for.

But first, a small rant presented as bullet point.

  • A grand jury could not find enough evidence to even go to trial.
  • The disinfrachized used the opportunity to loot and cause mayhem.
  • The professional protestors furthered their private agendas and caused mayhem.
  • The handful of actually outraged protesters found their public statements swallowed by the lawlessness of others.
  • In the end, nothing was served, certainly not justice, one side or the other.

Now, lets get to the thankful.

  • A little new life joined my clan. Yay for us.
  • The broken nose from Judo appears to be back to normal. I had a little cartilage bump in my left nostril that is still there.
  • Went back to Judo. After a week off for the nose, a week travelling, and then getting a cold/bronchitis, I finally got back to class. 3 weeks off at my age is not doing me any favors. Began to feel like the shadow of my ass weighed 20 lbs.
  • The wonder kids of mine are doing well. Their genetics are superior, so this does not shock me.
  • The Chromebook I bought for writing may become my home computer. Still incredibly fast and hooks into the 21” monitor without an issue.
  • My penis is doing well.(Not sure why I included this, but it is nice to see an old friend aging well.)

Thanksgiving with my extended family, at least the ones that still show up, as opposed to the smart ones that have figured out somewhere else to go, is always trying at best.

Think about my sarcastic, cynical mind, and then think about the kind of people and environment that would have to be in place to create that kind of cerebral vile and you begin to see why I dread these holidays.

Its a lot like boxing.

Keep your hands up and protect yourself at all times.

And if you step into the ring, you are going to get hit.

Here are three of the best comments overheard at Thanksgiving in recent years:

  • Thats your fourth glass of wine, good to see you are cutting back.
  • I think its great that you have decided not to drive yourself crazy with all of that dieting nonsense, and just be happy. Good for you. (Same conversation as the wine comment.)
  • The last one is not a comment, but a conversation that I caught the tail end of. I had brought a friend to Thanksgiving and went to get us some pumpkin pie. I got back to the table and just caught the end of my Alzheimer’s ridden great uncle, describing in graphic detail, what appeared to be anal sex, complete with hand gestures. She took it well.

In the end, Thanksgiving with the family is a lot like being mauled by a bear.

Survival is all you are shooting for.

 

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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30 year-old jailbait

There is just something syrupy sicking about a grown woman who insists on baby talk in public.

And not just for one quick phrase.

There is what appears to be a 30+ year old woman who has been talking like a baby since she walked in the door just ahead of me 10 minutes ago.

It was cute for the first 20 seconds.

Past that and my brain began to whimper and wonder what it had done wrong.

It makes me wonder what is wrong with her and what is wrong with the poor asshole she walked in with.

She doesn’t talk to anyone else but him.

She is not a stunning woman, in fact, I would have to call her looks/body very average.

There is not an earthy sexuality that makes up for it.

Nothing.

The only reason I can think of that would make this mid-30’s half-a-tard bitch acceptable is that a choir of angels must sing when she spreads her legs. (Crude line, but it so fits this situation. You aren’t here, don’t judge.)

And before you say anything, I AM being nice.

What kind of twisted baggage would you need to have to retreat into a child-like persona?

Boggles the mind.

Much like the various stages of grief, I am working thru the various stages of annoyance.

I have moved on from gritting my teeth in annoyance and begun to actively hate her.

Hopefully they will leave before I move on plotting her death.

Google has ponied up a number of websites on the subject of assassination, but none are particularly helpful.

One site that seems promising will not load.

This lop-headed dumbass owes her life to Starbucks and their crappy wifi.

The wifi I have at the house has not gone down once in the last 5 years.

Starbucks? 50% of the time, you may as well use two tin cans connected with string for all the good it will do you.

Maybe its a metaphor.

Disfunctional wifi, disfunctional bitch. (The word bitch is being used liberally this week as a tribute to the trio of feminists that keep emailing me to complain. You girls need to find some men, have some babies, and quit worrying about man-talk so much. And if that doesn’t piss them off, then they must be trying to connect to the blog over Starbucks wifi.)

This is the kind of woman that her first boyfriend in her teens told her babytalk was cute and she has adopted it as her lifestyle.

Without a doubt, there is a Hello Kitty stuffed animal at her house and maybe a tote bag.

Her toothpaste is bubblegum flavored and her toothbrush is in the shape of the little mermaid.

Her purse is clear plastic and has a “My pretty pony” graphic on it.

Her coffee drink follows the same teen logic.

Its an overly sweet melted sundae complete with whipped cream and drizzled caramel. No doubt hiding in there is a faint coffee flavor.

The slack look on her face will take on a serious boo boo face when this guy comes to his senses and breaks up with her.

You can only sleep with someone that acts like a little girl for so long before it begins to get creepy.

And creepy sex is no fun.

 
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Posted by on November 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Being sick in a foreign land.

There is a serious skill to travelling while sick that I just do not have.

Like, at all.

I flew up to the snowy North to see my adult kidlets

I was healthy when I got there.

And then my immune system turned on me like a pitbull in a roomfull of toddlers.

(I weighed the amount of whining and bitching I KNOW I will receive due to that line. But it made me laugh. Bite me.)

I spent a portion of the trip playing nursemaid to my kidlets.

And then I tried to leave.

I first noticed the sore throat at noon.

I had a little bit of a barking cough all of a sudden.

I got to the airport and felt like crap.

I hate airports as a general rule, unless I am being sarcastic and make fun of people in my head. (You have your hobbies, I have mine.)

But, when I don’t feel well, I go farther down that narcissistic road.

So I was in line at the security checkpoint, grumbling to myself but trying not to call attention to myself. (I do not need to be put on the “No fly”list due to a TSA misunderstanding. (They are a twitchy bunch, prone to erring on the side of scorched earth travel rules. Much like that same edgy pitbull, its best not to mess with them unnecessarily.)

The last thing a monster wants is recognition.

And the lady in front of me recognized me.

Not me, but my condition.

The one thing about old women is that they tend to travel with a pharmacy in their purse, and this woman is no different.

So, in short order, I had some cold medicine, a cough drop and a small bottle of water to wash it down. (She would have had to toss it at the metal detector anyway, but it was still the good Samaritan move.)

If I could have just sat for an hour in the airport before getting on the plane, the cold medicine could have been in full swing when I got on the plane.

Not to be, I got thru the security checkpoint and walked right onto the plane.

Any other time, this would rock, but not when the last thing you need is a cramped airline sear and throbbing sinuses.

But, life goes on.

I soon forgot about my sinuses. In fact, I was almost wishing for some more severely stuffed sinuses.

Because the Armenian guy sitting next to me was 200lbs overweight, had on WAY too much cologne, and judging by the BO, had not bathed in the last 48 hours.

And that takes a LOT away from the whole travel experience.

 
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Posted by on November 14, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Kill the lawyers.

I am not a big fan of pain, never have been.

Almost bordering on pussy at times, always something to be avoided.

So here I sit with two black eyes.

Karma, you rotten giggling bitch.

Now, you would think that my vile mouth would be the culprit here.

Not so.

How it happened was so random it almost doesn’t matter.

Could have happened in nine or ten different ways.

I refuse to blame judo, despite the fact that it happened during a judo workshop.

There was some really impressive national competitors visiting and I got thrown in a beautiful Ippon Seo Nage.

And, as I lay there on my back, the kid who threw me got overbalanced from the throw and rolled over me.

And the back of his head slammed back into my nose with a serious crunch.

And what followed was about 15 minutes of bleeding like a stuck pig and muffled cursing.

Shit happens.

I had about 4 people ask me if I intended to sue the gym.

I am appalled by this.

Its judo, injuries happen.

I could have gotten the same injury jockeying for position at a drinking fountain.

People want to sue too much.

I am trying not to throw too much hate at the lawyers, but it is tough not to.

They are so hate-able its not even funny.

Even lawyers hate lawyers.

You would think there would be some sort of esprit de corps.

Nope.

I took an informal poll of the four lawyers I happen to know.

And all four, when posed with the question, “Do you like other lawyers?”

I am paraphrasing here, but all four said “Fuck em!”.

One of the lawyers, a man I went to grade school with and kind of consider family, but would serious not buy an apple from or leave my kids around, went on at great lengths to explain what scumbags lawyers are.

I find it ironic that a commercial for a serious ambulance chaser type lawyer was just on tv.

His big catch phrase is “I’ll fight for you!” but his clientele have a serious low-rent feel to them.

Makes you wonder how sad his court battles are.

The show Law and Order it ain’t.

I can only imagine what sort of battles are taking place.

Phony slip and falls, fake whiplash, and discrimination cases.

I was once the hiring manager of a company, and one morning I got a call from the director of HR. She said there was a midget making the rounds to companies, and applying for work.

He only applies for jobs he is completely unsuited for.

If he gets the job, he doesn’t show up.

If he doesn’t get the job, he sue for discrimination.

Its a scam.

I once had the guy pointed out to me by the director of HR.

He was wearing a beautiful suit.

He could afford it, he made a nice living shaking down businesses for cash.

And his lawyer will fight for him, too.

 
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Posted by on November 7, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Pigeons are homeless.

There is nothing that can make me almost shit myself faster than a pigeon slamming into my windshield when I am driving down the road.

Its upsetting. I thought my damned windshield had cracked.

Luckily, it didn’t. I am wildly happy about that because that costs money to fix.

And the shit doesn’t grow on trees.

The pigeon? I dunno, he’s probably dead.

I have given it a lot of thought and I have come to the conclusion that I don’t care.

For all I know, the pigeon was suicidal and this was his way of checking out.

Either way, its not like it was a dog or a cat.

If it is not a domesticated animal, its on the food chain and up for grabs.

I am sure some of you wonder how I can be so callus about an animal’s death.

Animals die every day and the world keeps spinning.

Life goes on.

I saw a thing online of a guy who is obviously shilling for the vegetarians who claimed to have been employed by a slaughter house.

He had a whole tearful spiel about how the cows cry and show emotion before death.

Like the only reason carnivores have been eating animal flesh since the dawn of time is because we had no idea the meat didn’t want to die.

Vegetarians are the Johova’s Witnesses of the nutritional world.

Not only do they believe something, but the are fairly incesant that you believe it too.

It almost reminds me of the anti bullying movement that figures that all you need to do is let the bully know that its not cool and it hurts someones feelings.

I have actually seen some schools put up “No bullying Zone” next to the “Gun free zone” sign.

Awesome, it will probably work just as well.

Using that flawed logic, the only way the bullying will stop is if the people that pay no attention to the ridiculous “Gun free zone” sign accidentally shoot the bully.

That is a truly messed up line, but there is an element of brutal truth in there.

But, simply because something is the truth doesn’t mean it should be said.

Somebody posted a thing on Facebook that said that it isn’t hating if its true.

Not true. Ask if its your job to say it. If its not, it may still be true, but you are a douchebag.

If you are going to stake out the “Truth even if it hurts feelings” don’t try to cover that with the shield of truth.

Take responsibility for it and don’t try to cover your ass with some soft headed platitude about the hating/truth thing.

That means you know that you are a douchebag and you are reflexively looking for the emotional get out of jail free card.

It’s not your fault, its the pussy society we live in.

Confrontation has been beaten out of you to the point that even when you want to rub someones nose in something, (Remember, because its true) You have to wuss out and preface it to try and deflect the douchebag label that is heading your way.

I gave that one up awhile back.

Try it sometime.

And the first time someone tells you “You’re an asshole”, revel in it.

Otherwise, you are just another pigeon, hitting the windshield.

 
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Posted by on October 31, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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