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Weeping for the future.

I realize that my attitude and general intellectual elitist attitude can put some people off and throw their panties in a twist.

Which is kind of why the email war happened this week.

First of all, I was an alter boy.

If that doesn’t tell you what kind of moral high ground I am coming at you from, I can’t help you.

So trust me when I tell you, I know me some morals.

So you can’t send me a hate email proclaiming my general evilness while doing so in much the same way I crossed the evil finish line.

Because I will be the first to call bullshit.

Thats like trying to end gun violence by shooting every gun owner.

Stabbing would most likely be allowed, but I am not on the rules committee.

Please understand that I am not here to engage in a debate on the subject of your choice.

And if you email me with complaints, my whole goal becomes this twisted revenge filled plot that even Machiavelli would have had trouble sorting out.

My email responses take on the equivalence of a literary sucker nut punch.

I am not necessarily proud of that, nor am I ashamed.

And my victory comes when you are to angered to continue and I get your final response of an obscene phrase, all in caps, with some sort of claim that this argument that you started is somehow beneath you now.

Pussy.

Don’t step up if you can’t throw down.

And then I can get on with my day.

Because I have shit to do.

But Katy, however, does not.

Katy? Who the hell is Katy. you may be asking?
Katy is just the girl who can’t can’t say no, to steal a line from Oklahoma.

She has six kids, she has 2 inch long nails, a pair of what should be illegal daisy dukes and the total inability to keep her legs together.

And she is parked on the stone patio sipping a latte with her evil brood.

And evil they are.

First of all, there is a BO stench coming off of them that is criminal in nature.

That alone puts her on my shit list.

It takes time to bath young ones, I raised two of my own, I know the drill.

But Katy is not putting in the time.

She is too busy being popular to mess with that shit.

And the Lord of the Flies re-enactment going on in front of me is tearworthy at the least.

The Saga of Katy’s kids:

Two of them are involved in digging the flowers out of the planter.

One of them has had his right finger up his nostril for so long, I think it may be attached.

What appears to be the oldest will not stop pushing one of the little ones down onto the ground.

One baby girl child has taken off her fouled diaper and is walking around with a naked bottom.

And what is Katy doing?

Texting and Snap-Chatting, because she does not have anything else to do.

Aside from raising a generation of serial killers or at least minor league felons, she may be the poster child for the fall of Western civilization.

I usually listen in, but rarely get involved with the animals in the zoo.

Today, I may make the exception.

Raise your kids any way you want as long as you are actually raising the kids and not just sitting on your ass making more kids and collecting more checks.

Is there any fucking morals left in the world or is it not PC to call this little honey a ho?

Its like an episode of Jerry Springer going on right in front of me.

You know who would get a kick out of Katy and her unique method of child rearing?

Children’s Services.

But I get the feeling that they already know Katy pretty well.

However, there are times that Karma gets off its lazy ass and does its damn job.

I began to see more than a few faces at the windows inside the Starbucks.

And then I saw them, murky thru the glass.

The Sheriff’s are here.

Along with a mystery guest.

She is a very tired looking woman in a plain semi-business suit.

She has children’s services written all over her like a tattoo on her forehead.

As the sheriff’s enter the patio, I recognize one of them as an acquaintance who I have done obstacle course races.

He gives his head a quick jerk to the inside and I recognize my que.

I move my little party to the inside.

My sheriff friend knows I blog, and doesn’t mind it, so if he thinks my being in here is better, I will roll with that.

As the door closes, I know why.

Katy erupts with language she should in all rights, never allow around her kids.

It is muted, but I can hear her call the Children’s Services woman by her name.

It appears that they are old friends.

“Sorry about that. Hopefully, this helps make up for the unpleasantness.”

The voice pulls me out of my musings.

The manager is holding a plate with a cookie and a steaming cup of coffee.

I smile and nod and take the plate.

I am amused that the manager thought this bother me.

I bite into the cookie and chase it with a sip of coffee.

Thru the window, I see Katy yelling in the children’s services lady’s face.

Dinner and a show.

And the coffee is hot.

PART 1 of 2

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Room for one more, honey.

I don’t remember feeling paranoid when I used to go to the airport.

The rules of the airport have changed since I was a kid.

It used to be drive there, maybe slow down the car on your way in, park and walk them to the gate, a quick kiss (Or wave, be repressed if all you like) and head back to the car.

Not how it is now.

A half mile away from the airport, stop and go traffic begins.

And this is LA “Fuck you” kind of traffic.

This is throat punch road rage country, people.

After 15 minutes spent travelling a distance that I could have walked in 5, I am stop and go rolling down the ramp onto the approach to departures.

It is at this moment that you realize that LA is the only major airport in the US that does not have easy commuter train access to the airport and it shows.

But at least the Los Angeles City Council has 24/7 limo service, I am glad that we could make that happen.

At the bottom of the approach ramp is a checkpoint manned by 3 commandos in bullet-proof vests, AR-15’s and beer bellies.

We are safe as long as the threat is not a 100 yard run away, because the boys do not look like they are up for it.

I keep my hands on the wheel and smile, trying to look as non-terroristy as possible.

I look very IRA but not very Jihady, so I am waved thru Checkpoint Charley.

Stop and Go looked wildly free-flowing compared to this molasses inspired flow.

5 minutes later we have rolled another 100 yards and I am at my terminal.

I feel bad for my ride, it must have taken another hour to get out of the airport.

The airport is a shambles and you wonder if the cleaning staff is on strike.

Like the corporate version of “Barter Town” from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome everything seems official, but dirty and shoddily done.

The only ray of sunshine is the automatic ticket kiosks.

Slot the credit card you over-paid online with and your ticket is printed out without the joy of waiting in line with pissed off travellers to finally deal with the plastic talking head at the airline counter.

I say plastic because I meant plastic.

I have felt more warmth from the Jack in the Box Clown before they blew him up in the 80’s.

I stood on the fringe for a moment and watched one particular “Customer Assistance Team Member” at the counter.

She took resting bitch face to a new level and had a habit of not looking at people as she spoke and speaking as she noisily exhaled.

The only smile I saw what when a bag weighed more than 50lbs.

Her face lite up like Christmas come early.

“I’m sorry, your bag is over-weight.”

This was delivered like Pennywise from the Stephen King movie “IT”.

And was every bit as chilling.

Moving on.

The modern day cattle line has a new twist.

Every now and then, the TSA agent will pick a few people at random to go thru the “Easy” line.

This is the line where you can keep your shoes on and they don’t xray you.

I am one of the few that does not hate TSA.

Mainly because I have flown thru privatized airport security and its the same.

9/11 is the problem, not TSA.

The line goes quickly, mainly because I was capturing Pokemon the whole time and I hatched an egg. (Sure, I am the only one doing it.)

Once I got thru the xray, explained the oddities that you cannot recognize by shadows in my bag and got my shoes back on, I now have an hour to kill because it went too fast.

And then, I see it.

Starbucks.

My faith in the Almighty is reborn.

Java is my God and I am its prophet.

Mmmm Coffee.

 

(PS – You get extra points if you got the title.)

 
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Posted by on August 19, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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My whore-like existence

The brilliance of this blog is a lot like an orgasm from a celibate man. It’s more than you expect, a little overwhelming and will most likely get you right between the eyes.

Like an intellectual money shot that gets in your eyes and blurs your vision for a moment.

FYI, some of these images are meant to be disturbing.

A little like a mental Rolfing that leaves you refreshed, but in a little or a lot of pain.

So, that being said, here is the wisdom.

Your shit is not that fucking important.

Before you dismiss that, think about it, not read it and sip your soy milk, 2 shot, caramel latte with cinnemon and sprinkles that you paid $6.99 no less, and actually think about it.

Let me define “Shit” for you.

Shit is a generic term with rude imagery for a purpose.

It denotes your politics, food choices, pets, children, religious beliefs, and anything not covered previously in this sentence.

Now for the other shoe.

Not that fucking important means Not that fucking important to anyone else.

This whole train of thought was brought on by some over the top statements on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram by some serious attention whoring drama queens that all make the same sad desperate “Look at me” statements.

If you like (Insert person, cause or belief) then unfriend me now. (Insert a whiny point of view usually based on poorly reported biased news.)

It wears on you after awhile.

One particularly stunning woman I know made this comment to anyone thinking about voting for a political candidate that they don’t like.

I didn’t unfriend her, but I did unfollow her, she is a fan of the blog. (I truly hope she reads this and understands that its nothing personal, but she is a dipshit. She also like to post lingerie pics that are worth seeing. Don’t judge me.)

Unfollowing is a good way of making sure that when I post, they get my post, but I don’t have to be bothered with their fleshy-headed bullshit any more than I have to.

At first glance, you might think there is a mean edge to this post, today.

Far from it.

This is more of the blogging version of tough love.

Like a stern parent or a tough cop, occasionally, I have to go upside your head to get your attention and change your perspective.

And, like all children of stern parents, you try to rebel, bitch about how harsh it is and then, years later, you realize how goddam right I am.

Your welcome.

And yet, there is also a seedy side to this.

Like I have said before, to achieve the pure innocence that I have, you have to travel just as far down other side of the scale so it all balances out.

And yet, I never rebelled against my parents.

I don’t view that as a weakness of character, especially when its the opposite.

You would have to know the absolute forces of nature I call mom and dad just to understand that synchronicity made total sense.

Mom is a total therapist, been a professional psychic for over half a century, and dad is the original man, a mechanic with a rock solid lock on how a man behaves in the world.

My gratitude for the luck of my birth and my parents is boundless.

And here we are.

I do not view their influence as having to do with the cruder side of this blog, that unfortunately, is all me.

I have taken what they gave me, and turned myself into some sort of sex worker in print.

You come here, once a week, do your business, avoid eye contact, then leave awkwardly.

You could at least leave the money on the dresser on your way out.

Or a cup of coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 12, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The travelling freak show.

Travelling can be a great way to broaden your horizons.

And by horizons, I mean people watch in a new location.

I am over a thousand miles away from my usual stomping grounds.

The Pacific Northwest.

The region responsible for inflicting Starbucks on the world. (That is one of those blessing/curse things.)

The nicest thing about people watching in a new place is that you get to see the local freak talent.

They may be blending into the background for the regulars around here, but I am getting my eyes on them for the first time.

So, here is a round up of the locals in beautiful downtown portland.

  • There are two homeless guys in line behind me that left their signs propped up next to the front door. “I’m not gonna lie, I just want a cold beer” and “Give till it hurts, I don’t mind”
  • The guy standing next to me as I wait for my coffee is so stoned he keeps dozing off and almost falling.
  • This is a general thing. Half the population of this Starbucks is women. And ALL of them are wearing glasses. Not a one with proper vision or contacts in the bunch. I happen to be of the opinion that women with glasses are the hottest thing this side of long thick hair, (Along with the nervous tendency to play with that hair when you think no one is looking. You know who you are.)

The two homeless guys are the most annoying.

The guy that wants the cold beer is a liar, he ordered a coffee drink.

And being a begging homeless guy pays a lot better than it used to, he ordered a $7 coffee drink.

The stoner guy may have hurt himself.

He got his coffee and made his way into the bathroom.

Soon after the door closed, I heard a crash like he fell headfirst into the toilet.

I would have checked on him, but I am not my brother’s keeper.

At least, not this one.

As for the bespectacled women?

I sat and sipped my coffee with a full chubby for the better part of an hour.

And then I saw her.

Or him.

Or it.

Not to be bigoted, and everyone is free to live whatever life you want, but if your basic sex is not within the realm of even guessing, I reserve the right to judge the shit out of you.

Man, women, man, women…… ADAM’S APPLE AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

He/she had a great ass, I will give he-she that much.

I finished my Venti house drip, thats 22oz of caffeinated goodness, and took the cashier’s offer of a free refill for being a visitor and got more caffeine.

There is a certain giddy edge to ingesting 950mg of caffeine in a short period of time.

The State of California defines being “Under the influence” of caffeine at an unsafe level as having more than 200mg in a 4 hour period.

This is how bad things happen.

There is a streamlined cerebral frenzy that goes on when your brain is mainlining legal speed in quantity that only meth heads or astronauts can understand.

Shitty, sarcastic lines so vile you tend to avoid eye contact with others for a few hours just from the sheer travesty of the imagery.

Music is awesome and really annoying at the same time.

You want more than anything to argue with people you don’t even know.

The safe move is just to keep typing and don’t inflict this kind of random mayhem on strangers.

Mainly because you might want to come back to this Starbucks before you leave town like a man making a jail break.

It is wildly hard, almost impossible to be asked not to come back to a Starbucks without an arrest being made, their corporate whore-like money greed is that strong.

I have been banned twice from various Starbucks.

One for, and I quote, inciting an insurrection.

The manager had a flair for the dramatic, but basically, my crime was egging on a crazed homeless man who was arguing with a painting on the wall.

The second time was making comments under my breath to the ultra-sensitive liberals having a meeting at the big table.

They complained bitterly to the manager and then I did it again while he was asking me to stop, and that made me laugh so hard I got the hiccups.

None of this is illegal.

The last thing Starbucks wants is the police involved.

Starbucks just wants to sell coffee.

And I just want to drink it.

Mmmmm coffee…

(Tastes different up here, must be the water.)

 
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Posted by on August 5, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The four horsemen of ignorance

“Try to be a rainbow in someones cloud.” Maya Angelou

Possible the shittiest bumper stick or facebook meme ever.

I saw that online today and laughed out loud.

The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with caution.” Albus Dumbledore

JK Rowling is responsible for 40% of everyone currently reading.

Of the two, I think she beats Angelou like a prison snitch.

Sometimes, who says it has more value to people than what they say.

But there is nothing worse than something dumb that an idiot thinks is deep.

“I don’t want to just be, I want to be HERE.”

That was the empty headed, dip shit comment that caught my ear.

The patio at Starbucks is a dicey thing in the summertime.

Pick the wrong spot on the wrong day and you are drinking hot coffee at a sweat fest.

But a Summer breeze and some shade and damn that coffee tastes better.

Enter the morons.

First year college students are a notably ignorant bunch, but God save us from the induced retardation of first year liberal arts majors.

These kids are not goth, but they are trying so hard to be intelligent and deep, there is an actual pain associated to listening to them.

The lead pussy, lets call him Tristan, is an emaciated tall kid with stringy black hair, a touch of mascara, and if my nose is accurate, does not believe in that whole bathing thing.

Great, BO and mommy told him he is brilliant.

This is a bad combination for survival.

Pray he never goes to jail, because he has “Prison Bitch” written all over him.

His worthless liberal arts degree will fast track him for supervisor at Kinkos shortly after his first decade at the counter, making copies.

I don’t normally hate someone at first sight, but today I will make an exception.

His posse is an impressive bunch in the realm of ignorant wanna-bees, but they rank below Tristan in the Order Condescendi.

First is Molly.

Molly is the remora student of the bunch.

A Remora is a fish that cannot fend for itself, so it attaches itself to another fish, usually a shark, and feeds off of the scraps.

While I hate the thought of classifying Tristan as anything as impressive or aggressive as a shark, it seems to fit.

Molly seems to feed off of Tristan’s half assed comments as if they were manna from the heavens.

Also, chocolate and fried foods, if her skin is any indicator.

Then there are the Twins.

I say twins because they sound so much alike, if you are not watching, you are not sure which one spoke.

They are like the supporting characters in a Socrates play.

“Yes, Socrates.”

“How wise of you, Socrates.”

But no actual thoughts of their own.

This is prime Occupy [Insert name of someplace people work for a living] protesters.

Tristan is concerned about his existential placeholder in the cosmos.

He really shouldn’t worry, his place in all of this is assured, the fix is in.

He is a loser, wear that badge like a medal boy, you have been working hard for the failure in your future.

And someone should track down your parents, sober them up, and slap them both in the mouth for raising this little cross for society to bare.

If it were not for the coffee, I would have left by now.

Mmmmm coffee…

 
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Posted by on July 29, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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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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