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The pissed off game is afoot.

There is a special magic in seeing a group of angry old men playing chess in a Starbucks midmorning.

They play cut throat chess here.

Once the game begins, each player has one minute to make their move, then slap the big red button on the timer and then talk shit for 1 minute until the button is slapped again.

And the shit talking is stunning to behold.

Sexuality, race, geneology and hygene are on the table and are free play here.

I even heard a few mother slams thrown in there.

The distraction level is somewhere up in the rafters. But the game play is high level.

I used to study/play chess and I have seen several high end named strageties going on.

Add the distractions to the game restrictions and you have a setting that even Bobby Fisher would be someones prison bitch inside of an hour.

I saw video of Fisher playing once and he looked brittle like a chihuahua.

The high point of the morning was when the fight began.

For the sake of brevity, (And you know how I love to be brief) Iwill simply use the names they used.

John, it seems, tried to finish a move when time had run out, and refused to move his piece.

T, his opponent, is not having it.

Mel, observing/on deck to play next, is on John’s side.

Hack, observing but not playing, doesn’t seem to be doing anything, except talking shit.

John: My piece was moved. I made my move!

T: You have you hand on your piece, that is contemplating a move, NOT finishing a move! Time Ran Out. Put your piece back!

Mel: Man had his piece in place, thats a move.

Hack: Did you eat my cookie? (Not said to anyone in particular.)

John: You losing the game, just have some dignity, T.

T: Talk to yo momma about dignity, and while your at it, tell her you a cheat.

Mel: Aw, that ain’t right.

Hack: My mother died when I was 12.

At this point, the edge of the board was “Accidentally” bumped by the agitated T, who was TOTALLY losing at this point, knocking over most of the pieces.

And all hell broke loose.

T proclaimed his innocence, John proclaimed his guilt, Mel made generic guilt statements, and Hack found his cookie. (Who buys a cookie and puts it in his pocket?)

And then, the really big offense was made.

T gestured with his hand and knocked over the timer.

Holy shit.

You would think someone hopped up on the table, dropped trou and took a dump on the board.

And the “Fuck you, T!” was almost anti-climatic.

But the game is over for today, everyone is leaving like there was a fart in the car.

And then they were gone.

All except Hack, who just sat there eating his cookie.

Sorry never underestimate how serious some people take their hobbies.

Because nothing ruins morning coffee quicker than foul mouth old men.

And thats a damn shame.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on July 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Bow to the DD Goddess

There is a special magic in a well endowed woman who makes the conscious decision not wear a bra.

Just a t-shirt.

God bless you, miss, you’re doing the Lord’s work here.

Don’t get all preachy on me, this is more of a natural, primal thing.

Like watching geese flying North in formation.

Or seeing the first 400lbs woman wearing a tube top in the Summer at a Walmart.

But this woman has a serious A game going on.

She is totally aware of what she is doing.

Allow me to set the scene.

About 5’4, dark brown hair, pretty face with an earth sensuality that makes her stunning, eyes that are dark and beautiful but have malicious glint that reminds me of a storm warning.

Now for the serious description.

She is a DD cup, maybe bigger.

Mid 20’s, so some weight sag, but no age sag as of yet.

And they are natural.

Not that there is anything wrong with enhanced breasts.

But there is a difference in movement.

A braless woman with breast enhancement? They both move together, like synchronized swimmers, beautiful in their precision.

But a pair of DD without a bra?

Like puppies wrestling under a blanket.

Gloriously, there is no synchronicity.

Each breast has its own agenda.

And the lady in question not only understands the effect that she is having on the men and a few women around her, but she is reveling in it.

She is moving abruptly, waiting till she sees someone boldly staring, then reaching for things or gesturing suddenly.

All with a vicious little smile on her lips.

This is a dangerous woman.

Inside of 3 weeks, she could be running the world.

The cashier is an 18 year old guy that may or may not have orgasmed briefly a moment ago.

If he didn’t have a stutter previously, he does now.

She just waggled her shoulders at him, creating a lovely display that may have just made me cum a little bit.

But this is not about me.

You may have noted that I have not given her a nickname like I do to most people.

There is a reason for this.

I am at a loss for words.

What name could capture the complexity of the moment?

She is like a pagan goddess, manifested in a Starbucks.

Thank God she isn’t recruiting followers. (Or is she? I would worship at that alter.)

I can forecast conversion for anyone with a pair of testies.

Amazing that blog writing is still possible when most of the blood leaves your head, I thought is was a necessary thing? (Wait for it, wait for it…….there you go, welcome to the party.

The true power that this woman holds is both up front and subtle.

Every man in here is lusting after her.

And she will occupy many lurid thoughts throughout the day.

And that is a form of power that is stunning in its complexity and the fact that there is no way to fight it.

And why would you?

 
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Posted by on July 15, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The art of being a Rotten Bitch.

Save me the whiny comments about my prominent use of the word bitch, in this context, it fits.

Feminists would have you believe that the moment you ladies are out of the room, all men can do is call you a bitch and discuss rape as a sport.

That would be like all women waiting until the men leave the room and then talking about how people you don’t know are at their core.

Oh, wait, thats what goes on now. My bad.

Live your life, believe what you want, just try not to be an idiot about it.

Now that thats out of the way, let me describe Dale to you.

Dale is a piece of work, is what she is.

She is an artist of sorts, working in anger and shittiness the way another artist might work in clay or stone.

She was on the phone outside of Starbucks when I got there.

As I passed by, I heard the semi-crappy comment being said almost in a whisper.

“I realize that I promised to help with the planning, but I am not a fan of family parties to begin with.”

Maybe I am just over-reacting to one of my own pet peeves. I come from a really close family that, if you ask for help, it will be provided. Its what family does.

Back to Dale.

Just before the door closed, her suddenly too loud voice yelled into her phone.

“Fuck you, Mary!”

I have no idea who Mary is or what crime she committed.

I figure she has had the shitty karmic luck to be related to this circus side show, but sister/cousin/niece? Who knows.

She finished soon after and came in, getting into line right behind me.

I happened to look back and made the fatal mistake of eye contact.

She seemed to recognize that she had spun every head in the place with her outburst.

“Sorry, you know how family are.” With a shrug.

I do know how family are, I have one of my own, and even as in your face and out of hand as we get there is a base respect and the understanding that you don’t shit on them by phone in public for asking for help with a family party.

But thats just me.

How it is in whatever passs for her dysfunctional trainwreck of a clan is anybodies guess.

And, as the line progresses, Dale is one of those people that talks to herself.

She is looking at the shelves of coffees and knick-knacks as we walk and commenting as we go.

I hate her even more, now.

Top 3 Dale comments:

  • “$15 for a bag of coffee beans? I don’t want to have sex with them, just coffee.” (I don’t know what sort of Craig’s List male whore she is hooking up with, but I hope wore a couple of condoms. You don’t want a lingering gift with this little honey.)
  • “Chocolate covered coffee beans? Ugh.” (Its a fucking coffee house! What is she expecting?)
  • “You could hold a gun to my head and I wouldn’t buy this.” (Don’t tease me.)

And then we got to the cashier.

Her coffee drink is a long, convoluted throw together of conflicting statements and half jokes that make no sense but makes her laugh.

She could have had a root canal in front of the register and it would have been less awkward.

And then the cherry on the Sunday of the order.

“My name is Dale. Dale. D-A-L-E. Dale.”

How could we ever forget?

She waits for her coffee like a mangled cat staking out a mouse hole.

When her coffee comes, she looks at it like someone took a shit on it.

She makes no move to reach for it, but she begins to question the barrista about each ingredient with a pissy scowl on her face.

The only question she did not ask, and maybe should have, was “Did you spit in this?” (And with her attitude, she should ask that question a LOT.)

A few minutes later she reluctantly takes her coffee.

The last thing I heard as I walked out the door was her on the phone with, presumably, poor Mary.

“No, I wasn’t upset at all, I just want you to understand that this is not a priority in my life. Dad and I have never gotten along well.”

Sorry, but even serious Daddy issues do not explain, excuse or exorcise this evil spirit.

It was less than a 10 minute encounter, but I will hear that voice in my nightmares.

“dale. Dale. DALE. D-A-L-E.”

May God have mercy on the world.

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Have some freedom.

This is a don’t ask, don’t tell blog.

The two ladies coming into my favorite breakfast place appear to be a couple. (“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Seinfeld circa 1993)

I wear my hair short and one of them even have me beat.

One lady is wearing mom jeans and a tshirt, shoulder length hair.

Lets call her Julie. (Why not?)

Her partner is close to 6 foot. Broad shoulders. Super short hair. Scowling.

Khakis, steel toed chuckaboots, and a faded Springsteen “Born in the USA” tshirt.

Let’s call her Mike.

They stand in front of the menu, looking at the breakfast goodies.

Julie says, in a soft voice, “Breakfast burrito sounds good.”

The cashier takes that as a sign to start taking orders.

“Breakfast burrito, would you like ham, bacon or sausage on that?”

Julie takes 1.9 seconds to open her mouth to answer.

And that is too fucking long for Mike.

Angry mouth 2 inches from Julie’s ear, Mike has had it with her shit.

“Are you going to fucking order?”

Wow.

0 to 60 1.9 seconds has to be a record of some sort.

There are 2 more explosions from Mike before the order is taken.

The cashier looks a lot like a horse in a forest fire, eyes rolling, stuttering and looks like she might bolt at any moment.

The weird part is that it is a large open room that seems to absorb the tension so that no one around them seems to notice.

Except for me.

But only because I notice everything.

The Fates are kind at times and today is one of those days.

Mike and Julie take a seat at the table behind me.

I can hear pretty clearly.

And it is a conversation that makes ADD look stable by comparison.

Here is a 5 minute sample:

  • Shitty comment.
  • Inquiry about upcoming 4th of July Party.
  • Inquiry about the time thru angry clenched teeth. (Still don’t get that one.)
  • Compliment about patriotic tshirt purchase.
  • Shitty comment that included the use of the “C” word.
  • Mention of interracial porn likes/dislikes.
  • Shitty self deprecating comment.
  • Desire to see a movie tonight.
  • Shitty comment.

It was exhausting to follow and keep in mind, I talk to the homeless on occasion.

In the end, it was simply a couple in a bad relationship, having a bad morning.

And the take away for all of you is, no matter what your choice of relationship is, avoid the toxic ones if you can.

But it was entertaining.

There is a joke that plays on the observation that a lot of lesbians get serious way too quick.

What gift does a lesbian buy for a second date? A Uhaul truck. (That joke was told to me by lesbians that I hold in high esteem and in the right circles, that joke kills.)

The take away for me, is the image of Mike, angrily eating pancakes and muttering fuck into her coffee.

And that is what America is all about.

Happy 4th of July.

 
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Posted by on July 1, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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No brains, no headaches

There is an interesting dichotomy that most people exist in while at Starbucks.

It is a coffee house, so there is always a certain element of social interaction as you walk thru the door.

People talk to strangers in line and while they wait for their coffee.

But, once they have their coffee in hand, if they are alone and not leaving, there is a mental “Leave me the hell ALONE!” vibe that springs up. (I have purposely avoided the word Fuck in this sentence.)

Some more than others.

There is a woman sitting at the end table at my local starbucks.

Pretty without being beautiful, well dressed without being chic.

But there is a vibe going on there.

It is a palpable menace that exists in a bubble around her.

You don’t realize it is there as much as you just realize that your pucker factor goes up a couple of notches if you get too close.

So much so that, even in a medium busy Starbucks, the table next to her is empty.

I have named her the Ice Queen, because she is cold.

“Let it go” is playing in my head as I watch her.
She is using a tablet and ignoring the world around her.

Enter Magoo.

Magoo is the perfect name because he is oblivious and squints at everything. (Don’t bother Googling, you either know why this is funny or you don’t and getting an answer from Google won’t explain it.)

And Magoo is in everybody’s shit.

He is talking to everyone in line, people near line, the employee rolling the garbage can past him, the cashier, the barista and 4 people waiting for their coffee.

He is not dumb, but you would never call him smart.

Magoo is entirely too happy about the mundane shit. (There may be something to be envied there.)

And then he spies the empty table next to the Ice Queen.

Beeline.

His sits and sips his coffee, being quiet for the first 30 second period since he came thru the door.

“Good morning! Is it a beautiful day out or what? Hot coffee, hot day, talk about paradise.”

The Ice Queen says nothing, she doesn’t even look up.

Total ice off. Not unexpected, but impressive.
Few people have the ability to tell the modern social contract to go fuck itself, but the Ice Queen just did.

99.999% of society catches the clue at this point and awkwardly moves on.
You find something interesting to look at on the other side of the room, suddenly become engrossed in your cell phone, something, but you have to remove yourself from the awkward.

Not Magoo, like emotional water off of a ducks back, he begins talking about the beach area in the Summertime and his favorite vacation spots.

And there is a noticeable paradigm shift.

The Ice Queen no longer holds sway here.

She senses it too, you can tell from her body language.

Finally, she looks up.

The look on her face is lifeless, like that of a mob hitman, staring down at you as the truck lid closes.

“Do you mind? I am reading.”

And she goes back to her tablet.

And Magoo doesn’t miss a beat.

“What are you reading? I just finish an amazing……”

It was beautiful to watch, like geese flying in formation, something majestic that took her icy facade and poured a hot cup of Social on it.

And it didn’t end there.

Magoo kept talking.

And then, she broke.

The Ice Queen did not look up, but she began answering questions.

I could not hear clearly, but it didn’t sounds like rephrasings of “Leave me the hell alone.”

When I left, Magoo and the Ice Queen were still doing their little dance.

They will probably be married in less than a year.

The Magoo’s of the world live in an oblivious bubble that the rest of us can barely understand, much less try to emulate.

Me? I would still be clearing the pepper spray out of my eyes.

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Shut the fuck up.

For God’s sake lady, shut the fuck up.

A radical new treatment to make yourself less annoying, brought to you by the caring doctors from the Bittermac medical center.

I am sitting in a favored Starbucks, getting a migraine.

There is a vile yenta at the next table that has been talking nonstop into her phone for 15 minutes.

She may or may not be breathing, there are no discernible pauses for breath.

It seems that if there is a thought in that fleshy head of her’s, it will come spilling out of her mouth.

Her voice reminds me of Gladys Kravitz from the old Bewitched show, always pitchy and a little too dramatic.

And she does not seem to have a topic, she just talks.

Think of a statue in a fountain, but instead of water shooting out of its mouth non-stop, day in, day out, its words.

She has talked about her job, whoever she is talking to on the phone’s job, her cat, her sister, her mother (Who she had the balls to call annoying. You hypocritical bitch, she would have to be a serial killer to be annoying compared to you.) politics, guns, pudding, Isis, Italians, Jews, (And prefacing your comment with “Not to be racist” is TOTALLY racist. But you are right about the Italians.) the police, rap music and last but not least, buying online.

She just abruptly got up and left, but her stench lingers.

I can still hear her voice.

Like a form of coffee shop PTSD, this woman may have damaged me.

There is only so much that the human brain can put up with before it snaps.

I may become some sort of deviant now as a coping mechanism.

Ok, more of a deviant.

Thank god for coffee.

When in doubt, have a solid cup of coffee and shit will sort itself out.

Opiate of the masses.

Some more than others.

“Was she  a yappy bitch or what?”

And a hush fell over the room.

Like a unicorn appearing to rescue you from evil, a homeless man at the next table has decided to voice what we all have been thinking.

Like a smelly prophet, he puts words to the feeling, the emotion that we all feel, but did it in a way that has spooked the herd.

Awesome.

And then the smell hits.

Ripe BO takes a little bit of the awesome out of the situation.

LIke lemon air freshener, it puts a little spin on the stench, but the stench is still there.

I wish I had some lemon air freshener.

What is the social stigma to pulling out a can of Lemon Fabreze and spritzing someone at the next table, all without saying anything?

Perhaps it is the type of thing that I could buy a pine tree air freshener and hang it around his neck as a gift?

But then it would smell like a pine tree with a dirty ass.

I realize that he is staring at me.

Great, I am his new friend.

No sudden moves, just keep it friendly.

“Right?”

That made him happy.

Happy homeless are less likely to attack and try to eat you. (Those who follow the news know this to be true. Why do people who use “Bathsalts” smell like that?)

The homeless guy left and I realize the similarity of Chatty bitch and the homeless guy.

Both left and their stench remains.

But, and this is an important thing, the smell of the homeless guy will fade.

But the psychic stench of Chatty Bitch will live on.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The love hate relationship

There is an arrogant charm to being a hypocritical shit.

There isn’t really a depth to my shallowness at this point.

Maybe, when I first started writing this blog, there was.

I might have felt an embarrassed flush if someone brought up a particularly heinous remark.

But now? I have no shame and pretty much take delight in the things that make most people cringe.

I will make up fact and polls and scientific findings, often for no reason other than to amuse myself.

You can call me out on it, but that is only going to make it worse.

I will laugh in your face and take the next hour to explain why you are the idiot.

Its like a moral anarchy that knows no boundary.

Thought in my head? (No matter how vile) Its on the page.

And it has caused a noticeable distance between some acquaintances and me.

And I didn’t say “friends” because I didn’t mean “Friends”.

Acquaintances fits.

And there is a part of me that, during those rare moments that I reflect with the innocence of a former alter boy, that I feel bad about it.

But then I move on and think of something evil about that person to justify the situation in a way that makes me the good guy.

As for friends, my true set of friends are a twisted bunch of fuckers.

Not only do they get it, there are a couple that feel the worst of the blog is much too tame.

Were they like that originally and we fell in together?

Or were we kids with diverse paths that fell in together due to geography and slowly warped each other?

Either way, here we are.

Moving on.

I find myself reading the hate mail again.

Like a heroin addict, I stayed clean for a few months, even shut down the email feature for the blog.

And they found me thru facebook.

They never missed a whiny beat.

And the email that set me down this path of reflection?

It was from one of the dedicated critics that was among the first to complain.

Tiny Mouse. You rotten bitch.

Tiny Mouse has about 60 cats and a retarded child and lives in New Zealand.

Why New Zealand? Probably to escape US Justice.

Animal rape is illegal in the US, always has been.

At least, that is my theory.

Tiny Mouse’s first email was over my use of the word “Retard”.

She maintains that it harms a child that cannot read in New Zealand if a blog from the US uses that word.

I have come to understand that she is retarded and her kid is most likely more normal by societal standards.

She also claims that a phrase that ignored all content around it was advocating violence towards cats.

She loves cats, I suspect in an unnatural way.

My response to her emails usually begin with a reply from me that is simply a photo of cat-themed road kill.

Its childish, and possibly a little beyond twisted, but it did accomplish my goal.

She lost her fucking mind.

She actually contacted my webhost and asked that the blog site be shut down.

I know this because tech support emailed me to let me know that they would not be honoring her request.

Thanks guys.

Fast forward to today.

Tiny Mouse sent me an email that talked about how she rarely reads the blog, but she did today. (She has written me almost 60 emails. I am ALL she reads.)

And she is going to stop reading me forever.

Boo fucking who.

I read that line in her email and got a chubby.

I think I even came a little bit.

I truly hope she stands by her principals on this one.

It will not happen, because she has sworn off the blog a few dozen times.

This blog is her meth, without the danger of losing her teeth.

Trust me, she will be back, probably because of this post.

I have mentioned the keywords.

“Retard”, “Cat rape”, “Roadkill”.

But I can still hope.

She needs me more than I need her.

She just doesn’t see that yet.

 
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Posted by on June 10, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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