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Monthly Archives: December 2011

You are in my yard now.

There is an old adage that says you should always begin with a joke.

Here goes.

A woman walks into a bar with a hog on a leash. The bartender says, “Get the pig out of here!” The woman says “He’s a hog, not a pig.” The bartender says, “I’m talking to the hog.”

Now that half of those reading are pissed off, lets begin.

I have been percolating on something for a few days.

And while they say a watched pot never boils, but what if it is the intensity of your stare that will make it boil?

In a nutshell, I am pissed off.

When you go out to see old friends, you have a tendency to let your guard down and “let it all hang out” so to speak.

Some personalities thrive in this environment.

I am one of them.

Loud, noisy, lots of laughing, a couple of drinks, and I am happy as a pig in shit.

I do not, however, think of myself as a drunken piece of trash.

I write a sometimes vulgar blog.

But please don’t assume that every thought word and deed is like the blog.

There was, in my opinion, a personality there that seemed to be there, and I could be wrong, to prove to them-self what a scumbag I am.

That I am the blog.

Eye rolling.

Prolonged sighing.

That really annoying way of laughing at your jokes that tells you they obviously did not think it was funny.

I felt like any of my long time female friends that I talked to were viewed as my trying to screw them at the table.

It was like having dinner with one of your grandmother’s friends from church.

An old school church lady.

And was just about as uncomfortable.

But, being a gentleman, I was polite.

But I am not there, I am here now.

First off, bite me.

Second off, and I mean this in all sincerity, sweetie, I am a grown fucking man who you are not engaged to, related to, or dating.

So bite my ass.

Not on the outer cheek, get in there and lock your jaws.

I am not writing this blog, or living in this world for that matter, to seek the approval of anyone other than those I choose.

So at the end of all of this, here we are.

And you have so disappointed me.

The whole point of a humor blog is that it is not something you hear or see everywhere or everyday.

Take what you can from it, either humor, wisdom, or revulsion.

And then, let it go.

If it truly offends you, DON’T READ IT ANYMORE!

Sincerely, no one is forcing you to be here.

I would rather have a small audience of people who get it and intellectually know what to do with it, than a larger group who try to niche it to fit into a box that it doesn’t fit in.

So, take your box and cram it up your own ass.

And THAT is meant to be filthy as hell.

On a side note, I just read this to my girlfriend.

Her first comment, “Who pissed in your Wheaties?”

And I do think thats funny.

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Posted by on December 30, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

The battle of Good vs. Evil, with coffee.

Zombie Hordes are invading Starbucks.

And before the guy who hated the “Werewolf vs. vampire” blog starts bitching, this is something different.

I am in a Starbucks I don’t normally frequent.

Getting out, seeing the world more, and trying to find new situations to blog about.

This is the same Starbucks that I was in a week ago when I heard the cashier utter that amazing phrase that I am still in awe of.

“I’ll cut a bitch.”

Unfortunately, she is not working today.

The cashier this evening seems to have real eyebrows and her hands lack homemade tattoos.

So I am looking for inspiration.

I am in line when I hear it.

“Dude, shoot the hostage and get out here!”

That is a bit of an attention grabber.

I look around, and there is a group at the big wooden table.

High school slash college boys.

Laptops all around, and if the logos on the laptops are an indicator, some pretty high end laptops at that.

Evidently, they are fighting world war three.

Some comments from the boys:

  • “Just shoot the hostages before they escape!”
  • “My coffee is cold, I am not killing anything.”
  • “I have to go to the bathroom, but the basement is crawling with zombies.”
  • “Dude, you are so greedy, I sometimes accidentally shoot you.”
  • “I would blow up the church, but we gotta hide somewhere.”

Anywhere else in the world, the police would gang tackle you and you have a fifty fifty of having a cell in Guantanamo all to yourself.

You don’t have to be a Muslim, but it helps.

Back to the boys.

Just to finish going racial, the table is top heavy with Asian, with a sprinkling of Caucasian and one lone Indian kid.

The Starbucks staff is pretty oblivious to them, and that could be either apathy or they are here a lot.

You never know.

An interesting note is that the other patrons, and the place is fairly packed, are paying them no mind.

And if you think about it, why should they?

The boys are tech kids, really no threat to anyone.

They are waging war on the internet, not gang banging or getting high in any way I can see.

One of the boys is wearing a t-shirt that says “Cyber bullets don’t kill anyone.”

He’s got a point there.

Maybe these are the good kids of the modern age.

Kind of a new millenium Eddie Haskel.

(Leave it to Beaver, circa 1950)

For some reason, the phrase “Ward, I think you were a little hard on the beaver.”

Ok, cheap shot. Sue me.

And call me a freak, but June Cleaver was a milf.

But I will still make an argument that, pound for pound, Leave it to Beaver is the most innocent show in the history of television, with the possible exception of the Hobo Kelly show.

And I am not going to explain that show, mainly because I can’t.

But clowns freak me out.

As I get my laptop up and running, I realize that the boys are now background chatter.

“I hacked that guys head off and he is still chasing me!”

Didn’t even notice.

Weird.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

We can see you, Dumbass!

We have all been in this situation before.

At least I have, and I arrogantly assume that means everyone else has too.

But you are at the stop light, waiting for the light to change, along with everyone else.

Except for the person next to you.

They are rockin like they are in the shower at home and no one can see them.

Except that they are in public.

Perfect example.

I was traveling home from a stay over at a friend’s house a few years ago.

It’s way early in the morning, and I am barely coherent as I drive along.

I come up on a traffic light on the outskirts of the city, in semi farmland.

There is a pick up truck in the lane next to me.

One of those 1970’s, big ole Chevy trucks.

The guy driving has all the symptoms of being a serious redneck.

Stetson hat, the Chevy truck itself, gunrack, NRA sticker on the back window, alone with a matching”Cold dead fingers” sticker on the other side.

And as I pull up, I notice that the passenger window is rolled down.

I would not be shocked to hear the country twang of Willie Nelson or Conway Twitty coming out of that cab.

So when I hear the soprano falsetto of Justin Timberlake cranked to the max, I am a little caught off guard.

And Justin is not alone.

He is singing a duet with the guy behind the wheel.

I roll my car up slowly, I gotta see this.

And what I see makes me a little uncomfortable.

The Marlboro Man is behind the wheel.

He is wearing a white stetson.

Sporting a black goatee and a red Pendleton shirt.

This is a man’s man.

And he is singing in the highest pitch he is capable of, complete with seated dance moves.

Awesome.

The entire scenario is ratcheted up another notch when he looks over and finds me watching.

In his world, he just sprouted a vagina.

He turns eight shades of embarrassed and immediately runs the red light, anything to get away from this moment.

Luckily, we are in the middle of freaking no where, so he does not he broadsided by opposing traffic.

Thank god he didn’t know me, because in his world, he may have to kill me before his secret gets out.

What is that secret, you may ask?

Its a simple one.

There is no room for metro-sexual in country.

The men are men, and the women are women.

And God bless America.

And none of that is subject to change.

See also the Dixie Chicks.

Talk about a cautionary talk.

Know your audience slash demographic, Ladies.

(And for the record, I am embarrassed that those rotten bitches are from Texas.)

Oh, and put Nascar in that too.

Can’t forget that.

(And for those that don’t know, the number three has more significance to these people than the number 12 does to biblical conspiracy theorists.)

So, the moral of this story, if there actually is one, is that, yes, this is America and you are free to do what you like, within the structure of the law.

But be prepared to be embarrassed when you are caught doing your best-

Bringing sexy back.

 
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Posted by on December 28, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Is Alice in Wonderland kiddie porn?

“The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things. Of Sailing ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings.”

Lewis Carrol was high as a frickin kite when he wrote Alice in Wonderland.

It seems that Carrol was a “Short Eyes” and had a thing for his niece, Alice.

Short eyes is a prison term for a man that likes the younger teens.

See also pedophile.

He also was a drug addict, lets not leave that part out.

Various drugs are mentioned in connection to his name, but if I had to make a guess, based on the imagery and period of time he lived, I would say Opium.

That would explain the talking caterpillar smoking the hookah.

Or maybe he was just a twisted individual, with a unique imagination.

But I doubt it.

The one thing I have noticed about people that are into drugs, is that they assume that everyone else is into them also.

I once had a guy on a MAX train in Portland explain to me why driving while stoned is not dangerous.

Because everyone else on the road will recognize that the guy who is swerving is stoned and make allowance for him.

Sounds simple doesn’t it?

I meant the guys mind sounds simple, not his bullshit logic.

Addiction makes for a great ice breaker.

Stoners will begin babbling at each other without hesitation, unless they suspect that the other person is connected with law enforcement.

Then you can’t get a pin up their ass with a jackhammer.

A shrinking percentage of stoners will go down that, “Uses for Hemp” road that Woody Harralson does.

This is the same mentality that claims that he has no clue why pot is not legal, because everyone wants it.

People on either side of an argument usually have a reason why they feel that way, otherwise why bother?

Unless you write a sarcastic blog and just like to start trouble.

When I took debate in college, my professor recognized immediately that I loved to argue, even if I agreed with the speaker.

I began to realize that every time he called on me, he was looking for an attacking rebuttal.

What better training for this blog could you have?

But enough about me.

Back to Lewis Carrol and his taste for the young stuff.

If he were alive today, he would be an avid watcher of Toddlers and Tiara’s but for an entirely different reason.

Ewwwww!

Every now and then, I get a little shocked at where this blog leads me.

I can’t figure out why that still shocks me, though.

Writing this blog is a lot like laying on a therapy couch or regularly visiting an upper class hooker.

It gets your issues out and helps you maintain with the stresses of life.

And for those that think the two are not similar, let me ask you this.

You go to a nondescript location, spend an hour with a total stranger, dealing with personal stuff and in the end, leave several hundred on the end table as you leave.

Which one did I just describe?

Does it matter?

 
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Posted by on December 27, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

The Devil children.

Ok, twins little girls that speak at the same time, saying the same exact thing are just creepy as hell.

And their mother is making it worse, dressing them in identical outfits.

Its like some sort of horror story going on in my Starbucks.

Mom, being a Manhattan Beach mom, is on her cell phone.

Its almost like a rule.

I am fairly certain it is written into the home owners association rules, right below “Keep your lawn free of dogshit.”

“All home owners with children will talk/text at ALL TIMES when in public with your children.”

I would not be shocked if you showed me that in print tomorrow..

Another thing that may be in the rules, “It is HIGHLY SUGGESTED that children shall be ignored, until their misbehavior far exceeds societal norm. ONLY THEN will said parent get involved, following a strict ‘too little, too late’ standard.”

I am always more than a little disturbed by the parenting skills you see being practiced and passed on.

Much like a battered child psychologically looks for a batterer for a mate, I can only imagine that these little girls will be at home with their Barbies, without a ken doll around.

Because why would you need a significant other when you were born with one?

Does that make you unable to marry later in life?

See also, Olsen Twins.

On a side note, I can never tell if the Olsen Twins are strung out on heroin or just skinny and tired.

Or both.

Either way, they went from being cute little girls that amassed a serious fortune, to being hot for  about 30 seconds after their 18th birthday, to being a cautionary tale on the evils of child acting.

Sad really.

And yet, had they not been twins, you can’t help but think they might have gone that Lindsey Lohan route.

Talk about your cautionary tale.

The girl may be a hot mess, but she is at a point where if you heard she was the suspect in a mass murder, it would not shock you.

It finally hits me what the freaky factor is to these little twins.

The movie the Shining.

In a nutshell, Jack Nicholson plays a writer who takes a job as the off season caretaker of a hotel in the middle of nowhere. His wife and son are there. The son can see ghosts, Jack goes nuts and tries to kill everyone.

Here’s Johnny!

Anyway, a pair of little twin ghosts freaked me out when I saw the film.

And here we are, back in Starbucks with the twins.

Once I make this mental connection, I am a little more freaked out and I begin to think that maybe I am the only one that can see them.

Starbucks might be haunted.

I’m not saying it is, I’m saying it might be.

Am I the only one that picks up on this stuff?

Possibly.

I have to say I was more than a little relieved that Mom got her coffee and took her devil children and left.

Harsh?

Maybe.

But in all seriousness, My ass cheeks did not unclench for an hour.

 

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Posted by on December 26, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Be afraid, be very afraid.

You’re dead asleep, middle of the night.

You hear a noise, loud enough to wake you up.

Someone is in the house.

You slide out of bed, careful not to wake the wife.

You grab your gun out of the nightstand, scared shitless because it feels heavier than at the range.

Maybe because the wife is 5 feet away.

You go into the hall.

The kids room door is open and you can see them asleep in their beds.

You make your way over to the top of the stairs, stopping to look over the railing and down into the front room.

There is some huge guy with a bag, and one of the kids presents in his hand.

Its go time, you or him.

Without hesitation, you put 3 slugs into his back and snap on the lights.

You just killed Santa Claus.

Am I the only one uncomfortable with the thought of a total stranger manhandling my kids presents in the wee hours, illegally entering and all that?

Sounds like a villain created by Stephen King.

Santa may be loved by millions, but add a little fresh blood to his beard and you have the scariest serial killer photo I have ever seen.

And what country is the North Pole in, anyway?

Santa could be just some crazed foreigner, after all.

This is getting worse as we go.

If there was some hairy old guy on your block that only wore red and lived with the misses and a bunch of midgets, kept a bunch of odd livestock, you would freak, be honest.

You would definitely check the candy he gave your kids on Halloween for needles and razor blades.

Getting chills here.

It would be like living on Michael Jackson’s street.

No you didn’t, yes I did.

Awwww, didn’t see that one coming, did you?

Despite my paranoid and weird nature, Christmas remains one of my favorite times of the year.

It usually costs a fortune, especially if you have kids.

But you don’t really mind.

I mean, you spend your hard earned money all year long, but this is for gifts to make your kids screech in total chaos in the early morn.

Doesn’t get much better.

At least, thats how it is in my family.

Christmas is a wildly loud cacophony of laughing, screaming and wrapping paper flying.

The first christmas I brought my ex wife to, we weren’t five minutes in when her eyes were rolling like a horse in a forest fire.

But to me its like home.

This year, I have more than a few things to be thankful for, heading into Christmas.

And this blog is one of them.

Merry Christmas and thank you for reading.

 

 
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Posted by on December 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Divorcing for Dollars

Divorce is a horrible thing.

Not to hear Natalie tell it.

Natalie is going thru a divorce, it seems.

And all of us that are sitting in Starbucks as she talks about it on her phone are there for her.

“He acts like its all about money. He is refusing our initial alimony request.”

Actually, sweetie, alimony is ALL ABOUT MONEY.

I can only assume that the “Our” she mentioned is her lawyer and her.

Not sure who she is talking to, but one thing is abundantly clear.

The world owes this bitch a living.

That may sound harsh, but I have been listening to her for the last 30 minutes and you haven’t.

So trust me on this.

Here are some of the basic facts.

  • They have been married for 5 years.
  • Natalie was the other woman that broke up her husbands last marriage.
  • They have no kids.
  • He already had a profitable business.
  • Natalie has not worked in the marriage, and in fact, has never had a job.

Let me dissect this for you.

5 years of marriage is not all that long. I once had an ingrown toenail for 5 years. Given the choice of that or Natalie for 5 years, I would rather limp around and hope it goes away.

Natalie started out as the other woman. Oddly enough, I do not throw the moral hit on her for that, I put it squarely on him She didn’t swear to love honor and cherish his last wife, he did. Shame on him.

As for the no kids, thank god. Not because of the looming divorce, but because I really think the community gene pool takes a serious hit when she reproduces.

So, he has a profitable business and I am going to go out on a limb and say that she did not give up a quarter million a year career to marry him.

So you have a marriage that she has brought nothing to the table other than bedroom skills, and while those are definitely an asset, they do not necessarily equate to financial terms.

At least they don’t in any other areas of life other than the porn industry or divorce.

That is an incredibly harsh line, but, since I am still laughing at it and as near as I can see, is pretty brutally true, it stays.

Deal with it.

I guess I would feel different about it if I didn’t just find her whole attitude to be one of crocodile tears and self entitlement.

Back in the old days, and by old days, I mean the days when your grandfather first met your grandmother, women did not work, and other than keeping the home and raising kids, had no marketable job skills.

Alimony made sense.

Plus, divorce was rare.

Nowadays, if one of your grown kids gets married and has no job skills, never develops any and needs alimony or they will end up homeless, feel free to consider yourself a failure as a parent.

Raise your kids to stand on their own feet, taking care of themselves. Never losing sight of that individuality and ability to survive on their own.

Because divorce happens more often than not when one member of the marriage is convinced that every year of marriage carries a dollar amount.

To paraphrase Dan Akroyd, when Natalie is flat on her back, the meter is running.

As cruel as it sounds, the best thing, learning experience wise, that could happen to Natalie is that she gets screwed in the divorce.

Then, she would be forced to enter the world of the worker.

And, hopefully, grow up a bit.

Because the spoiled self-entitled monster I have been listening too makes my teeth itch.

And, if you look at it from the right angle, there is a child involved in this divorce.

Natalie.

Except that nobody wants custody of her.

 
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Posted by on December 22, 2011 in Uncategorized