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The tell tale smell of fear and urine.

I’m not being a pussy.

There is a fine line between being superstitious about a date on the calendar and living in abject, shit yourself stark terror at the thought of a particular date on a calendar.

You wake up on Friday the 13th and realize that you are laying in a puddle of your own urine.

And it only goes downhill from there.

Someone tried to tell me that “It’s just another day, its no big deal”.

If this was a horror film, they would be the one that decides to investigate the abandoned boat house by themself.

In other words, they will be the first to die horribly.

Fear is a funny thing.

Not funny ha ha, but funny like scared and you turn and run into a pole funny.

I lost my keys on the last Friday the 13th.

That may not sound like much, but if I fell into a wood chipper trying to find them, you would feel differently, wouldn’t you?

See what I mean?

“But you didn’t fall into a wood chipper.”

Thank God!

I got lucky that Friday the 13 decided to find a victim elsewhere that day.

There are only 2 Friday the 13ths this year.

At least that spreads out the horror instead of it being just 1 day.

When its just 1 day, 1 Friday the 13th in a year, that is some powerful mojo.

That is like Y2K, planes falling from the sky, MASS HYSTERIA kind of day.

2 in a year is more of your, cheesy slasher film kind of horror.

That I can deal with.

All I need is coffee and to hear that click on the door of my panic room.

Then I can just sit there naked and drink my coffee and wait for the inevitable.

Why am I naked?

Why are you clothed? (Let’s not get bogged down with a lot of questions.)

Side note. A dog barked next door and I just about pissed myself. Shut that beast up, some of us are trying to quiver in fear, for God’s sake!

The sad part is, I have to go to work.

I showered and narrowly escaped slipping and cracking my head open.

I shaved and almost cut my throat open when my razor broke.

The drive to work was like a Mission Impossible car chase.

I am sitting at my desk, waiting for a disgruntled co worker to go on a rampage.

So I realize I am on borrowed time here.

Tell my kids I love them.

At some point, I am sure a Syrian refugee will commit an act of some sort in my vicinity with dire consequences.

Its kind of a “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and it will probably kill you.” type of thing.

So, if I survive the day and I am not in a medically induced coma, (Might be the only way to save me) I will write about my survival next week.

Until then, keep your head down, drink your coffee, and for God’s sake, put some pants on.

 

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Before the ball drops…

You know I have to get the last word.

I couldn’t let the year end without running at the mouth one last time.

New Year’s Eve is coming and it is time to lie like a politician to the one person we should never lie to.

Ourselves.

New Years is the time that we trot out our completely unrealistic resolutions and parade them around like a temporary trophy wife for all to see.

And they last as long as the trophy wife does and will desert you every bit as fast as if she found out you got no money.

At least you won’t have a lingering STD when the resolution is gone.

At least physically.

Mentally?

Anybody’s guess.

I have seen people pillory themselves like one of the Marquis de Sade’s regulars over not losing that 10 pounds from the holidays.

In reality, the only people that truly give a crap how much you weigh will be your pallbearers, everything else is just in your head.

At my Great Uncle Jack’s funeral, one of my cousins was struggling to hold up his end.

In frustration, he looked down at the casket.

“Jesus Christ, Jack!”

Hilarious.

First time I had ever witnessed someone berating a corpse.

I try to keep my resolutions either ridiculously easy to pull off, or impossible to the point that no one thinks its serious at all.

Here are my easy resolutions:

  1. Don’t get arrested New Years Eve. (Much easier since I quit power drinking.)
  2. Go to the gym. (I am going to the gym now, so I win by doing the norm.)
  3. Be nicer to the family. (Nicer is so hard to put a definition to, I can do what I want.)

And here are my impossibles, (Or perhaps Deplorables)

  1. Not be mean to people. (Not breathing would be easier. I am not a real fan of people.)
  2. Get taller. (If I knew how to pull this one off it would have happened decades ago.
  3. Masturbate less. (Don’t look at me, you’ll ruin the mood.)

I have finally come to this.

I hope next year doesn’t suck.

For those that claim that this year sucked, consider the alternative.

It could have really sucked.

Some people are pissed because a celebrity they liked died, or a politician they didn’t like won, or blah blah blah.

In reality, not a goddam thing actually went wrong with your year.

Happiness is a perception.

So if you are not happy with how this year was?

Get off your ass and get in the game.

Make next year a better one, by your definition.

And for fucks sake! Stop posting shit on Facebook, it makes you look like a douche.

Happy New Year.

Bite me.

 

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Sitting on Santa’s lap.

Christmas is coming, the geese is getting fat.

Holiday shit has gone South with the geese.

It certainly does not help that geese, prepared right, is kind of delicious.

Same goes for Dolphin. (I know, bad human. It is what it is and half of you are outraged.)

However, since its that time of the year that everybody is a little more prone to forgiveness, I have a shot at an existential kitchen pass on this one.

Maybe not.

Moving on.

There is a serious magic that goes on during this time of year.

I will give you a hint, it is not that holiday spirit, milk of human kindness or any of that shit.

Its called baking.

Holiday baking is a vanishing art that is a lot like magic, everyone claims they can do it, very few can and the rest is inedible crap.

The much sainted ex could bake like a fiend.

I should have argued for bakery visitation in the divorce, but I was drinking a lot.

Moving on.

There are only a few more shopping days till Christmas.

So get off your ass.

And get online to Amazon.

I don’t even leave the house anymore.

Amazon has made shopping too easy and God knows how lazy I can get.

Doesn’t matter what it is, you can find it at Amazon.

When your kids are little, the whole year revolves around Christmas.

You bust your ass to make it happen.

And then, they grow up.

Priorities shift and you find yourself getting more into the family side of it.

Like you finally caught your breath.

My big thing now is that I like to cook breakfast for the family.

Bacon, eggs, toast, hashbrowns and waffles.

A solid vegetarian offering.

There are a lot of folks who get into the holidays in a big way.

And some that don’t.

Very few have no opinion.

Its a lot like pissing in the shower.

You either do or you don’t.

And nobody is in between. (Except for a high school party where I stood outside the bathtub and peed into it. 3 people were already peeing in the toilet and there was no room.)

For those that don’t, go ahead and keep pissing and moaning about how annoying it all is.

The holidays are a lot like a steamroller, there is no stopping it, and if you stand in the way, it will just roll right over you.

The one holiday tradition that still bothers me is the Elf on the shelf.

Its a newer tradition and the reason it bothers me is that it is unnecessary.

Santa knows if you have been naughty or nice, the elf supposedly reports to Santa like a good behavior narc.

I am secretly holding out hope that, like all narcs, Elf on the shelf has a life-threatening boot stomping coming to him.

But alas, the best I can hope for is the occasional out of control 5 year old tearing him apart when mom is not looking. (5 year olds are a lot like socially acceptable velociraptors, blood-thirsty and terrible.)

But, once your shopping is over, you can concentrate on the important stuff.

Secret drinking and hating your relatives.

That sounds like a one off funny line.

More truth there the more you look, so don’t look too closely.

The holidays are like a bar pick up.

Its the setting and the alcohol that makes it attractive, just don’t look too closely.

If you are lucky, the holidays will not boil your blood pressure too much, and the gifts will not force you into bankruptcy.

And that is the true gift of the holidays.

Survival.

Merry Christmas.

 

 
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Posted by on December 23, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Hate and mimosas

There is hope for the world.

And its called Football.

Not European Football, not that I have anything against the LGBT community, I am a big supporter.

But Are you ready for some football?

It is Sunday and I am in a sports bar near the beach.

The place is packed and the NFL is on every wall.

And we are all Americans here.

There is a comradery among football fans that seems to be ignoring what the media tells us is impossible.

I just saw two Detroit Lions fans, total strangers of different races, embrace over a touchdown.

The fact that their team sucks is irrelevant to these men, they are tied together by their devotion to a team of ne’er-do wells who are mostly convicted felons.

Moving on.

There is a lot of smack talk, but, due to the setting, it is all but ignored.

Like the first hour of snow, it doesn’t stick.

However, like a decent snow storm, if it goes on for too long, it will not only stick, it will start to pile up.

The snow analogy might be a good one.

Because when it gets REALLY bad, these bastards will start eating people.

And that is when it all goes to suck.

Speaking of suck, my beloved Chicago Bears are currently losing their ass to that gang of thugs from Detroit.

Being a Bear’s fan is a lot like being in an abusive relationship.

You get hurt a lot, they are always sorry, and you hope for a better future.

In other words, its been a rough season.

Between the ambience of a great sports bar and the advent of online gambling, Sundays during Football season could not get any better.

And then you add mimosas.

Not something I would normally look for, the mimosa.

But, they are flowing like water and I love to go with the flow.

Champagne has the evil tendency to get you drunk quicker, its the bubbles, I am told.

It also makes the room loader, which makes me have to speak louder just to be heard above the din.

Plus, its a lot of fun.

And then, Myra came in.

Myra is not happy to discover she is in a sports bar.

I can see her confusion.

I mean, that REALLY FUCKING BIG sign out front that clearly states “Sports bar” can be misleading.

Top 3 Myra comments:

  1. “Is all the noise really necessary?” (Its a sports bar, you dipshit.)
  2. “Every TV is showing a different game, that seems so confusing. (This is a general sports bar, not a specific team bar. That is a fine point that I feel Myra is incapable of understanding.)
  3. “I am not really into sports.” (YOU ARE IN A FUCKING SPORTS BAR.)

So, beside frowning at everyone, Myra has been been making little comments to her neighbors.

And then it hits me.

Myra is sober.

There is nothing more irritating to a sober person, than a bar full of inebriated people.

Time for a social experiment.

I call the waitress over and have her take a tray of mimosas to Myra’s table.

She is not allowed to say who they are from.

This is not the high end move it sounds like, the mimosa special makes them ridiculously cheap.

After a little fluster and questioning of the waitress, the mimosas are accepted.

Myra and her table toast the room in a sign of good faith.

And the rest goes like clockwork.

They order the next round a few minutes later, alcohol being like potato chips, you can’t have just one.

In short order, Myra has stopped bitching and has become a rowdy personality.

Turns out she loves the Cowboys, predictable, but a good sign.

So, here are the results of my little experiment.

Alcohol can solve most problems.

The results don’t lie.

Are you ready for some football?

(And a few mimosas?)

 
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Posted by on December 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Because Christmas, asshole.

There is a point during the year that the holidays basically shit themselves.

There is the dread and tension leading into Thanksgiving.

Very few households are Ozzie and Harriet. (And very few people understand that quote. That may be a good thing.)

And then you survive Thanksgiving thru a combination of wine, verbal sparring and diligent use of Israeli Krav Maga for the nastier moments.

But its over, and the very next day, all hell breaks loose.

Black Friday.

The one day named after a color that is never called racist.

The holidays are touted by everyone who chooses to open their pie hole as that time of the year that we are supposed be better people.

So what better day to start the season than getting up in the middle of the night and going to stand in the cold, waiting for the doors of some place I would not shop at usually but the promise of door busters turns me into a miserable whore.

And then the doors open and the Hunger Games begin.

You would think that, with the advent of the internet and online shopping growing like it is, that Black Friday would be on the decline.

Take a moment and Google “Black Friday Walmart fight” and you would be stunned at the hundreds of videos that pop up. (The 500lbs woman from Queens fighting with the gang of skinny women was a classic.)

Nothing better to start off the season than putting the boot to people in the name of capitalism. (Don’t think I am smacking Capitalism, it is the only thing that will save us.)

Getting 40% off of something for the holidays is tempting but its not going to get me out in the cold for more than an hour, much less camping out for days.

True doorbusters are rare, but if fighting to the death with a 500lbs woman from Queens is the only way you can get a 60” LCD tv for your rent controlled apartment then maybe you shouldn’t have it.

You’re goddam right I said it.

If you are living on the government dole, living the good life is being kind of greedy.

(Wow, this took a nasty turn)

How about this?

If you do have a holiday that you value at some time during the year, try not to be a rotten shit in the period right before it.

Elf on the shelf made his bones on the guilt of people who act like assholes during the Xmas season.

Its a damn shame that we don’t have a mental Elf on the Shelf that could live in our heads.

Not to frighten small children, but to frighten the adult children.

A little mental baba yaga that threatens to rat us out to whoever is in control of your holiday.

That would have several effects.

Road rage would lessen, not go away entirely, but lessen. (You can’t get rid of human nature, just dampen it for short periods of time.)

Facebook wars would slow down. (Grow up)

Revenge sex would be oddly untouched. (Go figure)

The rolling of eyes and weary sighs would be on the decline. (Anyone under the age of 25)

And people could get back to the one thing that is really bringing us together this holiday season.

Bitching about Trump. (Whining fucking maggots.)

Merry Xmas

Bite me.

 
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Posted by on December 2, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Horseshoes and hand grenades

Here’s the thing about losing, in anything you care about in life.

It sucks.

Depending on how high the stakes are to you, it can suck like a 3 day case of the quacker shits.

Crude line, but I think I nailed it.

Winning is a lot better.

Winning is like milk and your favorite cookies on a rainy winter’s day.

I was so tempted to go dirty there.

This blog is becoming so wholesome, its just sad.

Or maybe that is a dodge.

Speaking of, Climate Change is in the news.

It used to be Global warming and the science was DONE, ask any snivelling tree hugger out there and you couldn’t shut them up about it.

The entire planet was supposed to be a barren desert by now, Al Gore said so.

Al Gore walked among us like a man for many years, travelling around in his G5 and leaving a carbon footprint the size of Texas as he admonished us about the evils of fossil fuel, even as he burns thru it like a meth head going thru a stack of rocks.

For awhile I thought he was just fucking with us, daring someone to tell the climate emperor he was naked and full of shit.

And then something funny happened.

It got cooler.

There are a lot of scientific reasons for this, but it kind of boils down to money, politics and being really full of shit.

But all of that is done.

I have it on good authority that the world will end in a fiery holocaust late next week and Donald Trump will gnaw on the bones of the dead in the penthouse suite of Trump Tower.

This little theory was ponied up by a crying hipster screeching into his camera phone all the way from Portland, Oregon.

Protests are going on in Portland.

It’s nice to see the Occupy Wallstreet crowd keeping busy, it gets them out of their parent’s basements and homeless shelters.

It has been a dark time since the election.

Not because of who won, but my guilt at how hysterically giddy I have been watching the whining and extreme butt-hurt wailing that has been going 24/7 ever since.

If there was ever a generation that needed to have been beaten with a stick earlier in life, it’s the Millennials.

You might be able to shut down all the protesting if you gave all of them a participation trophy just for showing up while repeatedly slapping them across the face screaming “You won!” into their ear.

However, much like a horse that gets the bit between his teeth and takes off, slowing them down may be a little difficult.

So, since tasing them en-masse is a legal grey area, we will have to wait for them to wind down.

At that point, we can get them some milk and cookies, put on a show they like, and have them enjoy some private time.

Because that always helps when you LOSE.

 
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Posted by on November 18, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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At least wear a condom

There is something to be said for old school making out.

There is also something slightly uncomfortable about not being one of the makeout participants.

But there is something evil in the delight washing over me as I watch other non-participants being REALLY uncomfortable about the aforementioned making out.

There is a thirty-something couple that is sitting on the cushion seats at Starbucks, making out like they are cheating on someone.

There is no inappropriate touching going on, everyone is fully clothed, but I am beginning to suspect that either their lips are stitched together or he is performing some sort of dentistry on her with his tongue.

Table to their right is inhabited by every disapproving old lady you have ever met.

Old ladies come in pairs as a general rule.

Its a lot like a buddy system, one to talk trash, the other to nod their head.

And, from the looks of it, these two old biddies are just about to shit themselves.

On the other side of our amorous couple is the Creeps.

The Creeps are just staring.

Creep #1, we will call him Peeper, he likes to descretely peep out of the corner of his eye and pretend no one sees him looking.

Creep #2, we will call him Alpha Creep, doesn’t give a shit, he is just blatantly staring.

Alpha Creep has enough of a pervy creep vibe to him that he may start masturbating at any moment, and it would not shock me.

Getting back to our carnal customers.

We could call them Romeo and Juliet, but that seems a little too easy and over done.

So, Fred and Ginger are going at it like he is leaving for the war tomorrow.

I would say get a room, but they have two untouched cups of something in front of them, so they have technically paid the rent on the 2 spots on the cushions they currently inhabit.

I mean, if a homeless guy can buy a small coffee and sleep in a chair, then two fully clothed patrons who DON’T stink can dry hump on the table.

Plus, its kind of sweet.

I mean, making out as an art form seems to have been on the decline for the last decade.

And I don’t understand why?

I mean, done right, making out is one of the more erotic things two people can share.

And we all seem to forget that in pursuit of the infamous “Hook Up”.

Evidently, hook ups are happening left and right.

By the way, they still don’t have cures for STDs, but they are all on the rise.

Which is why the hook up is not something I can do.

Remember the movie Jaws?
I stopped going in the ocean because of that movie.

I am sure that I will become that rare statistic that will be eaten by a shark.

Same thing with STDs.

It would be just my luck to catch something and my shwantz would fall off and scurry away like a frightened snake.

Who needs that type of stress?

But, I am liking Fred and Ginger.

To be perfectly honest, they aren’t boring, they smell nice and I am not worried that they might attack in a drug fueled rage.

So I say, let them stay.

 
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Posted by on November 4, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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