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Ho, Ho, Hoe

Sometimes the holiday season can come upon you like an STD, painful and embarrassing.

And you find yourself worrying about it on the toilet a lot.

Its a lot like stages of grief.

Denial. “It can’t be Christmas already?!?!” (Stop posting affirmation memes on FB for 2 fucking seconds and look at the calendar.)

Anger. “I hate how commercial it is!” (And yet YOU feed the beast, every year.)

Bargaining. “Alright, I can skip the gym 2 days a week and just budget my time tighter, that will work, right?” (It is one of those lines that you know are a lie when you say them. Its your baby, sure I’ll pay you back, I’ll pull out, that sort of thing.)

Depression. “Fuck it, I don’t care, this year is just fucked because of blah, blah, blah.” (There is a certain charm to being totally fucked, but that statement makes no sense to those who have never bottomed out.)

Acceptance. “I am going to get a good tree this year!” (Control the shit you can control.)

That being said, Christmas is coming, time to start fat shaming the goose just prior to his death.

Personally, you couldn’t make me eat goose with a gun to my head.

I once ate foie-gras (Goose liver, but God knows what they do to it.) in Paris during my peace mission to France. (My Great grandfather was a war hero and hated the French with a passion he usually reserved for the English (We’re Irish) or the Italians (Just because).

Foie-Gras was so foul I suddenly understood my great grandfather and the French. (2 bottles of wine later, I tried foie-gras again. Still nasty.)

I work with one of those annoying vegetarians that claims to be much healthier but is always out sick.

I am an unapologetic carnivore.

Meaning that it wouldn’t bother me to be in on the kill, but my work schedule prohibits it. (For the record, the last time I was sick was 2 years ago. Sinus infection that cleared up in a few days.)

My immune system is a lot like a 6’8 special forces soldier, its not afraid of anything, it just figures out how to kill it.

But go ahead and eat your fucking bean sprouts.

Can you feel Christmas in the air?
People are spending money and planning for the day.

It quit being a religious day for the masses awhile ago.

And I am ok with that.

Faith is Faith, you either have it or not, regardless of what day you get off of work.

But, when the day comes and you end up roasting in Hell, don’t come bitching to me.

I will be having a steak with the Almighty while you and the vegetarians get yours.

I am not wishing hell on you, just to be clear.

Vegetarians, yes., fuck those guys.

Oh, and coffee, there will be coffee.

I am fairly certain the Almighty is a dark roast guy.

Happy holidays.

Mmmmmm coffee.

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Posted by on December 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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One for the ladies…

There is a holiday show on right now that has a penniless single mom who gave some woman CPR on the way to work, saves a life, is fired by the shitty Grinch she works for for being late and after a LOT of HIGHLY improbable “Notebook” type shit, she finds true love and the woman she save sends her a Christmas card with a few grand in it.

And I found myself changing my ways.

My caffeine soaked, Grinch-like heart has grown three sizes and I am about to toboggan my hairy ass down the mountain to Whoville.

Because that’s where the money is.

The next well monied old biddy that goes tits up in front of me has my full attention.

I will suck start that old broad back to life.

Right after I run her credit.

She’s turning blue, I will get eye contact for a sec.

“WHAT’S THE LAST 4 OF YOUR SOCIAL? THE LAST 4?!?!”

She has over a 750 and I’m jingling her chimes for the holidays.

I will be in the will before the paramedics get there. (I am a registered minister. I can perform it all myself. I am also a notary.)

Have I upset anyone?

Awwww, and don’t I just feel terrible about that?

It is officially that period between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

That time of year when anyone connected with retail laments their life choices and plots their suicide.

If you are a parent, you might be lamenting your life choices and plotting your suicide.

While the rest of us give thought to what to get our kids for Xmas. (I used Xmas on purpose. Lets leave Christ out of this, its more about the shopping. He was never a big shopper anyway.)

Stock market is booming, people are working and life is good, right?

Depends on who you talk to.

Half the government is denying they wiggled their dick at anyone and the other half is busy apologizing for it.

Thank god they are not outing regular Joe’s like me.

Have I wiggled my dick at the opposite sex on occasion?

You’re goddam right I have!

But, while I have never been prosecuted or forced to step down from a job, I might hesitate to run for office.

What is so sad is, the first accusation comes out and these entertainment bigwigs/politicians immediately claim it never happened, they don’t remember it and never met the accuser.

And then more accusations come in, like there is a line forming in the hallway.

And then their career goes the way of Bill Cosby.

Now, I would like to take a swing at Bill Cosby and his 54 rapes, but it suddenly occurs to me that I have a daughter.

So fuck that guy and his brother Russell.

Its almost upsetting enough to ruin my coffee.

I said almost, lets not get crazy.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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The new Walking Dead

The Walking Dead surround me.

Eyes glazed, faces slack, open sores on exposed skin, its not pretty.

You avoid eye contact, not wanting to attract attention.

But there are worse things.

The ones that pray upon the walking dead.

One of them spotted me just as I left the parking garage, making a bee line for me.

“Yo, my man! You want a free phone?”

This was said to me by a guy wearing an obnoxious purple tie.

Some backstory would probably help here.

I am doing a favor of paperwork delivery for someone and it has led me to a government facility.

The belly of the beast itself.

Nothing scarier than the phrase – “I am from the government and I am here to help you.”

Now imagine that you go to the monster’s den and bitch slap the beast awake and tell him “Time to go to work, MF-er!”

I stood in line for 10 minutes just for the metal detector.

The twitchy guy ahead of me was going to walk out of line twice, but seemed to talk himself into staying each time.

I knew how he felt, I didn’t want to be here either.

Turns out, our reasons for wanting to leave are different.

I want want to leave because my nose can’t decide if BO or urine is more offensive and he wants to leave because…

HE IS CARRYING METH!

When you walk up to the metal detector, the bored security guard shoves a tray at you and repeats “Empty your pockets into the tray and proceed thru the metal detector.”

This is where the drug mule ahead of me loses his shit.

The security guard repeats his line and the fun begins.

“Uh, what is, if I, just metal? Right? No? I should go…”

Out of nowhere, a security guard that may or may not have been a 300lbs ninja put his hand on the tweeker’s shoulder.

“Empty your pockets.”

The security badge makes you immune to the walking dead, apparently.

In the end, he was arrested, basically for being stupid enough to attempt entry into a government building while carrying:

  • A Meth pipe.
  • A weed pipe.
  • 2 separate baggies containing weed.
  • A very small baggie that contained a small white rock that I have seem on many episodes of Cops.
  • Yet another baggie of multi-colored pills.

The charge should have been felony stupidity.

An interesting thing happened once they busted him for being a retarded drug mule.

Half the line walked off.

When I was on the other side of the metal detector, putting my belt back on, I asked one of the security guards why they grabbed him, but didn’t even look at the people who left line.

“He set foot in the building, that changes it all.”

And I guess it does.

Even the beast has its rules.

You can fuck around all you like out there, but when you step thru the gates of hell, you better step correct.

On with my mission.

I got to the help desk and stood in line for 15 minutes only to walk away when I got to the front without asking my question.

Why?

Because the help desk lady smelled worse than BO and urine.

Any help coming from her had to have some sort of karmic stank on it.

Lord helps those who helps themselves and all that.

The directory on the wall told me where I needed to go.

Turns out the higher you go in the governmental tower of Babel, the more efficient the minions of evil appear to be and the nicer they smell.

The lady that date stamped the envelope and gave me a receipt was actually wearing perfume.

When I got outside, I paused to text the person I was there for, letting them know that they owe me WAY more for this favor.

I heard one of the walking dead trying to get people to get a “Free phone”. (Sadly I realized that the phones were not free. I was paying for each one of them. Sigh.)

“Naw man, I got a phone, I just need to get me some weed.”

The answer should not have shocked me.

“Over by the parking garage there a dude with a purple tie…”

Dammit I need some coffee and Xanax.

But I will settle just for the coffee.

I don’t have access to Xanax.

But the guy with the purple tie probably does.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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I can be dumb, but I’m not stupid.

Someone texted me this week and said I should write a blog about the Vegas Massacre.

Are you out of your fucking mind?

As it is, I get around 100 hate emails a month from people that take exception to the crap I trowel  out on this blog.

That is down from its heyday when I used to post every weekday.

There are some subjects that you don’t fuck around with.

Because writing a hate email is one thing, but you stoke that fire high enough and people begin to seek you out for the purpose of getting a pound of flesh.

And I like my pounds where they are.

Mass tragedies are a dicy thing to spin humorously.

Same thing with pedophiles.

I once knew a stand up comic who’s comedy was based on his level of drunkeness.

I went to one of his shows, and he was supposed to go on at 10pm, so he was pacing his drinking appropriately.

But, at 9:45pm, the bar owner said some friends had come in and were going on ahead of him.

My friend didn’t go on until 1am.

He could barely make it up the stairs to the stage.

What followed was the most vile, upsetting 10 minute spew of truly obscene pedophile jokes I have ever heard.

At the end of his set, the entire room was silent, except for the sound of a woman crying softly in the back.

Half the bar wanted to hold his arms so the other half could beat him with both fists.

It was an ugly night.

And that is how I view Vegas.

Don’t touch it unless I am prepared to talk my way out of an angry room that wants to gang stomp me as part of some sort of cosmic penance for my sins.

 

That being said, HOLY SHIT!

Its Friday the 13th.

And that has its own circus side show of terrifying shit going along with it.

I like to board up the windows on on Friday the 13th just on principal, just on the off chance that some sort of random Purge event erupts around my house. (Roaming gangs out for government sanctioned blood. That sort of thing.)

I see nothing unmanly about cowering behind barred doors with piss dribbling down my leg.

The vile things that happen on Friday the 13th are well documented, so the facts are on my side.

The biggest event that I could care less about, but did happen on the 13th was the shooting of Tupac.

So there you go.

Add that to the homeless guy outside Starbucks with the sign saying he needs money because “Raped by Weinstein, need money for therapy” and you have a bit of a bitch’s brew of evil going on today. (I gave the homeless guy a buck, by the way, for originality and for keeping up on current events. I appreciate dedication to craft.)

There is just something about this day that sets me off on an instinctive level.

On a gut level, I am firmly convinced that the world is out to get me.

I am even giving my coffee the stink eye.

So you KNOW its bad.

 
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Posted by on October 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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You cannot prove it

I don’t think of myself as a heartless fuck of a human being, but when the homeless guy with the sign asking for help is sporting a fresh haircut, clean clothes, and nicer sneakers than me? I refuse to help him.

I have nothing but heart for the truly needy, but fuck that guy.

Before you send me email and Facebook messages telling me that I know nothing about him and he may need the help, save it.

There has to be someone out there that gives less of a shit than I, but they will be hard to find.

There is a really brutal answer as to why.

Its honest, but you aren’t going to like it.

And here it is.

I prefer my homeless a little more pathetic.

I am driven by the visual as a general rule.

If they don’t look like they desperately need my help, I don’t have the heart.

It is not my role to help someone going thru a little bit of a rough patch.

The only thing that gets a dollar out of my wallet is the thought that this dollar is the only thing keeping them from either committing an atrocity to get their drug fix or eating their own foot out of cannibalistic starvation.

That sounds cruel, but keep in mind, I am comfortable with cruel.

My test reader made the point that my last line may not be nice, but at least its honest.

Lucky accident, honesty was not my goal.

Karmically, there has to be a category for people who beg for change when they could totally hold down a job.

Or at least they look like they could.

Karma is normally a lazy shit that rarely carries it own weight.

But every now and then, karma steps up to the plate and knocks one out of the park.

So, that being said, what would karma do? What would satisfy the universe at large when faux beggars abound?

A disease would be sufficiently horrible, but raped in prison would also suffice. (Thats not from me, I just know how karma works.)

Ok, now it has been pointed out that I am somehow wishing for horrible things to handle this total stranger based solely on my fabricated scenario of his life.

Yeah, like that.

Why would I need to know anything about him other than what my mind has generated?

That last line has stuck in my head until I realized why it doesn’t bother me.

And there it is, the answer.

It doesn’t bother me because I suddenly realized that he may not be real.

We are now back to my popular theory that most people you see in life, mostly the homeless, do not really exist.

This is an off-shoot of the main theory of nothing on Facebook being real.

That whole line of reasoning makes ignoring this homeless guy that much easier.

I even had to talk myself out of running him over with my car, a Honda Civic that I know for a FACT actually exists.

In the end, I did not run him over, nor did I give him a dollar.

But I did feel a touch guilty on the drive home.

And then it happened.

Redemption.

I pulled up to a stoplight and saw him.

Walker.

Walker is a crazed homeless guy that walks, back and forth, non-stop.

I have never seen him standing still, sitting, or passed out on the ground.

He is a pure breed.

He doesn’t ask for money, doesn’t talk even if you ask him questions, doesn’t give a shit about those around him.

Almost like we don’t even exist.

Food for thought.

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Nuns and hidden agendas

I often wonder what is the driving force behind old school shitiness.

I bring this up mainly because I found an old picture of me as an alter boy and I was reminded of what a better person I am than most. (I was an altar boy for a total of 10 days and then I was dismissed as part of the “Sacrificial wine scandal” of 1976. I was a victim.)

And then I came to Starbucks and just got in line in time to catch the tail end of a “How hard is your job?” berating of an irate dick head directed at my favorite barrista.

I was about to say something when the nun spoke up.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?”

She was loud, she was angry, she had the most delightful jersey-girl accent.

And she was in full habit.

Nothing more intimidating than an angry nun in full habit.

Like a pitbull armed with a straight razor.

Bad memories, like PTSD, come boiling up from my past.

If you never went to Catholic school, its a lot like being a former resident of hell.

But going to Catholic school that is taught by nuns it like being in a prison and wearing a pretty sun dress that shows off your legs.

You know you are getting screwed at some point.

And its your fault.

Before you ask “What is my fault?” understand that EVERYTHING you do in Catholic school  is a sin and you are guilty!

Nuns are married to God, and it looks like a bad marriage.

Now, before my mother weighs in on this subject, let me state that I am a deeply devout man, or I am at least close.

But nuns have a general hatred of anyone with a spark of excitement for life.

And that is when I met them.

The penguins.

It started in first grade and continued to 8th grade graduation.

I had nuns continually riding my ass like a chronic hemorrhoid in a black habit and rosary beads.

First grade was when I was first expelled for accidentally stabbing someone in the neck with a pencil.

And blood is one of those things that cranks up the screaming.

You can apologize all you like on that one, you are not getting away with a slap on the wrist.

3rd thru 5th grade was the hayday of silly reasons to expel me.

There was the gambling ring, the extortion ring, truly innocent slave trading, and a misunderstanding involving a game of show and tell in the girl’s room. (All excuses are ignored when you have no pants on.)

My mother was a slick horse trader and alternated between being the school nurse and substitute teacher for 8 years, never being paid. (The penguins even had fact teaching credentials made up for her that evaporated when I graduated.)

The deal was understood.

Shut your mouth, tow the line and we will let that little bastard stay.

Not bad as far as back room deals go.

Back to modern day Starbucks and Sister Mary-Goomba.

She followed Mr. Rudeness over to wait for his coffee, glaring at him like a mad woman the whole time.

If anyone else pulled this kind of shit, they were either homeless or dealing with a different type of crazy.

Nuns get away with everything.

I got my coffee and began writing this, delighted at finding a solid blog subject.

They can be hard to come by.

“Friggin lesbians!”

This little muttered tidbit came from the guy sitting next to me.

I took out my earbuds, I had nothing playing, and turned to look at him.

Stir the pot.

“I know, right?” Apparent agreement is the quickest way to find out what makes someone tick.

He looked at me, maybe for the first time, then nodded slightly.

“They have a whole fuckin agenda!”

I sipped my coffee and tried to figure out if he was homeless or not.

Crazy was already a gimme at this point.

Some days you rack your brain trying to figure out a subject to blog about.

And then some days, they fall out of the sky, like some sort of literary coffee cake, to be paired with a delicious roast.

Mmmmm Coffee.

 
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Posted by on September 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Drowning kittens doesn’t sound so bad.

Stupid is as stupid does.

That is an iconic line from Forrest Gump, the story of a slow man who has wild adventures by simply being.

Deep thoughts there.

And then there is the college students sitting next to me.

There is a HUGE difference between being intelligent and thinking you are intelligent.

Someone told these two they were brilliant and they ran with that.

But the stupidity is mind numbing.

Think I’m kidding?

Top 3 brilliant utterances of the Mensa twins:

  1. “The professor doesn’t understand that you can know all the different elements of a subject and not be able to express them in test form.” (You mean that point where you acknowledge what you know?)
  2. “It’s a sexuality class, I shouldn’t have to discuss sex, I KNOW sex.” (How silly of the professor to discuss sex in a sexuality class. Hang it up, teacher! You missed the point!)
  3. “Calculus is misogynistic at its core. It should be illegal.” (Its fucking math, sugar! I agree it should be illegal, but for different reasons.)

I truly weep for the business community when this generation is five years out of school.

The amount of wrongful termination lawsuits will be staggering, right before all of them are thrown out of court.

Because you are allowed to fire people for being slow, lazy, dumb and self entitled.

Thats not illegal, thats smart business.

An entire generation you can label “Dead weight”.

I feel dumber for sitting next to these empty vessels.

I now feel bad for the “Empty Vessel” analogy.

Because it goes both ways.

You can fill an empty vessel with knowledge and facts and its a wonderful thing.

Or, as in this case, you can fill it full of shit and garbage and this liquidy stuff that has equal parts of shit and garbage in it.

Bad analogy, and a scary visual, shit and garbage actually have a purpose in life.

What is the purpose in life for these two mouth-breathers?

After they graduate with diplomas in women’s studies, they will flit from one job to another, not being good at any of them.

They will go to ANTIFA protests and get their topics wrong.

They will finally settle into non-paying volunteer work, because “Thats their passion”. (And charities are notoriously forgiving if you are willing to work for free.

And in the end, you and I will have to pay for their healthcare and student loans.

But, to get back to the empty vessel, whats wrong with filling it with coffee?

Mmmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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