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Anatomy of a pickup

The setting is almost as important as the seduction itself.

Your moves lose momentum in a shitty setting. 

For example, you spend an evening putting your moves on a desirable member of the opposite sex. (Or same, we are progressive here.)

Pick the perfect setting:

In a sports bar, with a group of friends to relax with, bumping soundtrack in the background to lighten the mood and a game on the giant screen to give that illusion of an important event.

That is a strong play.

Here is the opposite.

Her grandma died, you are a distant friend of the family, and decide that her grief stricken behavior gives you the green light.

If you hesitated longer than a second about which one was perfect, you really need to pay attention. (If it was the funeral you are either brutally ignorant or playing a darker game than most.)

While the previous two examples were just a test, it gives you a perspective to appreciate the awkwardness of the following.

Its a taphouse/grill/sportsbar setting.

Both parties have had a few drinks. 

It is a festive setting.

All the signs are there.

  1. She is doing the hair flip WITH the giggle. Everything he says is hysterical. (I can hear the conversation, it is NOT hysterical.)
  2. She is emphasizing sentences with a touch to his arm, he is responding with leaning in to touch her left shoulder and speak into her right ear. It is not that loud.
  3. He has his wallet out and keeping the alcohol flowing. She discretely told her cock-blocking wing woman to take the night off. (She didn’t say that, but its more fun than saying she mouthed the word “GO” to her friend.)

The scene is set for a romantic evening. 

If it goes on too long, they both run the risk of getting too drunk.

For him, that means that she may drift past horny and enter an emotional state where she just cries and talks about her ex.

For her, that means he exits perpetual hard on state and enters what is known as “whiskey dick”. It means that the alcohol robs him of his erection at gunpoint, demanding a ransom of sleep and will not return it until then. (Alcohol seems friendly, but it is NOT a friend.)

However, it doesn’t look like that will be a problem.

Even over the noise of the crowd, I clearly heard “Would you like to go?” along with her immediate head bob.

There is no game of “Go talk” or “Check out my friend’s party” or even the completely ridiculous, but shockingly successful “You should hear the new speakers in my car”. (That is pulling out of a pretty successful playbook right there.)

So they go. 

I wish them well.

He risked a lot of embarrassment if she shut him down loudly and publicly.

She risked a crapload more just because the biggest danger to her is, well, him.

You always hope they are having a fun and lively sexual romp for the evening and might even be the beginning of something for them.

Or she might have smelled chloroform for the first time and he is feeding her into the trunk at this moment. (He better hope her dad isn’t Liam Neesen. Because he doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you want. If you’re looking for ransom, I can tell you he doesn’t have money… but what he does have is a very particular set of skills. Over 10 years and that movie still rocks.)

So lets hope we see them having grand slam in the morning and talking about their second date.

(But just in case, I know somebody who claims they know Neesen’s publicist, thats a start..)

 
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Posted by on December 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Judgement Day

Don’t judge.

In my own judgmental way, I try not to. 

It’s like that phrase, “Don’t hate.”

This is always said by people who judge and hate so much that, as a person, it defines them. 

These are the same people who also claim they can’t stand “Drama”.

This is because they exist in a hip deep pile of drama and drag that shit along with them.

And if you just thought “That’s not me”.

Yes it is, quit being a pussy and at least be honest with yourself, even if you can’t with everyone else.

And if you still can’t agree that this is how you live, what you need is what alcoholics call a “Moment of clarity”.

Here is the bonus for you.

Addicts need to hit rock bottom before they find their clarity. 

Emotional rock bottom is less messy on the outside and easier to hit. 

Inside you are a mess, but on the outside? You didn’t shit yourself, got yourself in a bar fight you really should have known better and (most of?) your relatives are still talking to you. (So you still get an invite to Thanksgiving.)

But how do you recognize if you are a broken train wreck.

Here is a HUGE indicator.

If someone has ever told you “That’s rude.” in response to something you just said, and your response is, “Truth hurts”.

Then you’re a bitch.

And that is not directed at any particular gender. (Guys have the capability to be much bigger bitches than the ladies.)

But there is hope. 

The silver lining in all of this is that salvation is just a short distance away.

Stop being a bitch. 

Simple phrase, complex concept, especially if you have been existing in a bubble of negativity for a decade or more. (Most have and its a pretty wretched place to be without realizing it.)

I can hear your denial from here.

And your accusations.

What about you?

Are you familiar with the phrase “Water off a duck’s back”?

It takes not caring to another level.

Take this test. 

Have you ever had someone tell you that you are an asshole?

How did that make you feel?

If you answered the question at all, you have no choice but to stop being a bitch.

It’s the difference between viewing it as judgement or observation/identification.

Like asking a frog his opinion of the water.

So here is the recipe for Shakubuku. (Buddhist term for the path of a happier nature.)

Shut the fuck up. 

That simple.

And while you are shutting up, start listening.

Not to words, those spew out of most people’s mouths at a rate consistent with the flow of a large sewage pipe.

But what do they mean?

This isn’t Avatar, but you need to make the bond. 

Phrasing, body posture, eyes respiration, all the basic skills of an FBI profiler go into truly listening to other people.

And only then, do you realize the truth.

Most of them don’t have anything to say.

The Caffeinated Humor Books – CLICK HERE

The PODCAST – CLICK HERE

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The coming of Bridezilla

Bridezilla is a real thing.

You see that word and you envision a reality show, some over-indulged, moderately privileged bride snapping at people as she plans her wedding.

And then you are in Starbucks right now and you realize that the most over the top episode of Bridezilla is a best case scenario. 

Because she is here.

The bride to be.

Amber.

The name conjures a Britney Spears image. 

A pretty blonde with good teeth in suggestive clothing.

The suggestive clothing is there, and that is all.

In your head, replace Britney Spears with a chunkier Roseanne Barr with bad hair and a serious overbite.

Take a second and let that sink in. 

If a shudder just went down your back, understand that its just being described to you, I am actually here.

And her entry is epic and befitting the name Bridezilla.

The front door of Starbucks opens with a little too much force and in she comes, talking on her phone to Lorraine. (How do we know her name?)

“Because I’m the fucking bride, Lorraine!” 

The phone being an inch from her mouth did not stop her from yelling. Loud.

Is the situation made better or worse that Amber is about 6 months pregnant?

That is a rhetorical question.

And the argument could be made that it doesn’t make it worse, but it does add to the comedic value of the entire situation.

Also, call me old fashioned, but the soon to be mama should go easy on the caffeine.

A soy latte with a triple shot seems excessive. 

But she is drinking for two. 

To each his or her own.

Sure you risk low birth weight, but have you HAD a triple shot soy latte?

It’s divine.

Lets check the obscenity board while we have a moment.

Things Lorraine (Maid of Honor) has been called in the 2 minutes since Bridezilla came into our lives. 

Cunt 3 times. (To be specific, 1 cunt, 1 dumb cunt and 1 response of cunt when responding to what I believe was Lorraine objecting to being called a dumb cunt.)

The list will end here. It seemed like a great idea, and then it got entirely too sad when viewed as a societal comment of millennials in general. (Plus, Bridezilla is sitting next to me and I am in fear for my life that she will lean over and read this.)

So, after the longest 10 minutes of my recent life, during which a triple soy latte was guzzled, 6 petite vanilla bean scones and 1 Gogurt from her purse, Bridezilla got up and stomped her way out of our lives. 

I was going to make a joke about missing her already, but its a little late in the game to start lying to each other.

In parting, let me throw some wisdom your way. 

Call your mom, if you are married to the mother of your kids, kiss her, send a text if she is your ex-

And thank her, from the bottom of your heart.

For not being Bridezilla. 

(Unless she is, then you are just fucked, my friend.)

(And if she is Lorraine, dim the lights, get her a glass of wine and rub her feet. You’re fucked too, but in a different way. And if you can get me an invite to the wedding, I would consider it a solid. Thanks bro.)

 

The Caffeinated Humor Books – CLICK HERE

The PODCAST – CLICK HERE

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Just in time for the holidays!!!

You might be sick of hearing this, but I AM NOT sick of telling you!

Book 6 of the bestselling series is now available on Amazon!

Click this link! ——>Laugh until the coffee shoots out your nose: Caffeinated Humor 6

This is where the begging for loyalty comes in. Do this for me.

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

My how you’ve changed, Tiny Tim

(Tiny Tim was kind of a main-stream side show freak that played the ukulele and sang in a high enough soprano made dogs howl. The importance of this will be apparent soon.)

The one thing you never want to do when out clubbing in Vegas is cross a line.

Let me set the scene for you.

Ceasar’s is one of the higher end casinos in Vegas.

The crappiest bar there is still better than 80% of bars elsewhere.

The pretty people are out in droves.

Some of the dresses cost as much as a bottle of high end wine.

The drinks are amazing, but cost a bloody fortune.

The breasts that are on display are expensive, not common work at all. (I am not saying I have extensively studied this subject on numerous websites, but it is important to have a hobby.)

So the last thing you want to see….. is Tiny Tim.

If I had to make a guess, I would say that Tiny Tim is the manager of tech support at a Best Buy is Walloby City, Kansas. (Walloby City is technically not the middle of nowhere, but you can Uber there for under $5 even during prime time.)

The best thing you can say about Tiny Tim is that he has plenty of confidence and he is thoroughly convinced that he is a “Hot Piece of Ass”.

The worst thing you can say is that he has never been, is not and will never be a “Hot Piece of Ass”.

The casino is high 60’s, on the comfortable side of chilly. 

But Tiny Tim had a good sheen of sweat going on when he walked into the bar.

And once he started dancing, flop sweat is the term that came immediately to mind.

Knowing that you are prone to flop sweat, you would thing Tiny Tim would avoid bright cottony t-shirts. 

Bright red cotton shirts darken if you sweat even a little bit. 

But they create dish plate sized sweat stains around your armpits the second you use the phrase “Flop sweat”.

The second worst thing you can say about Tiny Tim is his dancing is a visual affront to the senses.

That is why this next line is going to come off as fat-shaming.

Its not, but let me explain.

If you are just under 6 feet tall, your weight could be an average of 160lbs to 220lbs, depending on what kind of build you have.

So Tiny Tim’s bowling ball like shape puts a weight at over 300, but not more than 400lbs puts an idea of exactly what type of dancing you are expecting from him. 

White guy shuffle, right?

WRONG!

Tiny Tim loves to twerk it seems. 

Yeah. Let that sink in.

If you suddenly feel an urge to shower and scrub your skin raw, resist it. 

No amount of soap will make you feel clean after this. 

There is a group of guys on the edge of the small dance floor.

They look like mid-level managers for a manufacturing company. 

One guy looks like a beefy Ichabod Crane. (Sleepy Hollow? No? Fine, tall and geeky looking)

Ichabod is standing in place, bopping to the music, but is not noticing Tiny Tim’s ass, moving closer with each twerk.

And then it happens.

Tiny Tim’s ass makes contact.

To say that Ichabod flinched is to ignore the definition of the word. 

Ichabod’s entire body torqued and he shot back about 3 feet.

“WHAT THE…!?!?!?”

Tiny Tim knew what happened, judging by the little smirk, it was his intention.

Ichabod has several emotions going on at once. 

First, he’s pissed. (Somebody touched him on his naughty bits without asking for permission to come about.

He never expected his trip to Vegas to include his own personal #MeToo moment.)

Second, he seems like he wants to be confused, maybe praying that he is reading the situation wrong.

(Keep praying, sluggo. Tiny Tim rubbed his ass on your junk. In certain cultures, your are now engaged.)

Third, he seems……disappointed? (Was he perhaps thinking that he deserved a hotter dude? Your dress shirt and jeans look is really not that studly.)

The interesting thing is, Tiny Tim has not stopped dancing. In fact, he has turned away from Ichabod.

Ichabod has been used and cast aside like a cheap one night stand. 

And he didn’t even get breakfast.

Poor guy. 

I hate it when relationships don’t work out.

I am a romantic at heart. 

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The podcast is live!!!!

The Caffeinated Humor Podcast is Live!!!

Read and listen! The blog that does it ALL for you!

https://anchor.fm/caffeinatedhumor

 
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Posted by on October 28, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The Turd Burglar

Usually, I get to Starbucks and then things happen.

But today, everything started without me. 

When I got to Starbucks, the police had been there for awhile. 

Nobody got hurt, but it was an odd little shit show for a brief period.

Now, I am not one to judge…..

Ok, even I can’t bullshit that one, I am nothing but judgement. 

I think I would be happier if I could add jury and executioner to the list. 

But let me continue. 

In my completely unbiased opinion, the tweaker piece of shit in the back of the patrol car was not a good looking guy before he discovered his deep and abiding love of meth.

Let’s call him El Diablo.

The broken table I am still trying to figure out.

The urine on the sidewalk is also a mystery. 

According to several people who responded to my inquiry of – “What the hell was that?”

  • El Diablo was briefly in line at the cashier and was “Gacking bad”. (Still Googling that one, no clue.)
  • El Diablo may or may not have had his dick hanging out. (The couple that told me this are split on this. She says no, he says yes. My opinion? Why is he checking out El Diablo’s package?)
  • El Diablo (Let’s jump the gun and just call him The Suspect, shall we?) anyway, the Suspect then knocked  over a display of expensive coffee beans, then began screaming and cursing until the police arrived. (Actually, it was just a display of coffee beans, they are all expensive. When was the last time someone said “I can’t believe how cheap coffee is these days.?”)
  • The Suspect, when officers were taking him to the car, stopped in one spot on the sidewalk, refused to move, then pissed himself. (This is one of the greatest protest moves ever. Kind of like a karmic “You can’t fire me, I quit!”)

Police officers are notoriously closed mouthed about what goes on when they are investigating something.

However, you catch the right cops on the right day…

I walked by two cops laughing quietly off to the side. 

“So I told him that if he has any drugs on him, its a felony to take them into the station. He immediately ponies up that he has a baggy up his ass. I ask why, and he says – I always keep my drugs in my ass, then I can’t be robbed!” (This sentence is just wrong. I keep looking at it to see if there is spelling or grammar issues. There are none, my mind is just balking at the content.)

Then the other cop’s reply made my day.

“Except by the turd burglar!” 

Oh my God.

I almost pissed the sidewalk myself.

Take him away boys.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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