Monthly Archives: March 2012

Death, funerals and everything.

There is a reason why funerals suck.

Think about it, have you ever really wanted to be there?

Of course not.

First of all, its about death and that scares the crap out of us.

And its about loss, and as humans, we hate to lose people.

You do see a lot of people you need to see at that point in time.

But you also see quite a few that you could do without.

The relatives you try to avoid, even on Thanksgiving.

Its actually a testament of devotion to whoever passed that you are willing to put up with this endurance test of people and crap.

This week, I have seen a good example of the devotion part.

Someone passed, its a sad thing.

Someone I knew long ago, but never stayed close.

And the outpouring of pain and love and regret is staggering that I really feel like I missed out for not knowing him better.

Its kind of an extension of the Facebook phenomenon.

I find myself more involved with people I went to school with than when I was in school.

Its an odd thing.

And the one thing I keep coming back to is that we are getting older.

And some of us are passing away.

Which leads us back to funerals.

There is a certain dark humor that runs thru my family.

If you are a regular reader of the blog, you understand this.

I have been to more funerals than any of my friends.

How sad that I don’t even need to check with anyone on that one.

But our funerals are a little different from other peoples, I realized that a long time ago.

Some of the funniest jokes I have ever heard were uttered at funerals.

One of my favorites was my great uncle Dave’s funeral.

The plot was on a bumpy hill, about 50 feet from the curb.

I was one of the pallbearers, along with my brothers and cousins.

Except for one tall boy who had just married into the clan.

We could have rolled the casket there on a little trolley they offered.

But it seems disrespectful and it was only 50 feet.

It was heavier than it looked.

About 20 feet in, I look across at my cousin Jackie, who is 20 years older, thin, short and not in the best health.

He is sweating and struggling to hold up his end.

He looks around and all of us and kind of explodes.

“Well, this was a stupid fucking idea, hey guys?”

We all laughed, we had all met Jackie and knew how twisted he gets.

The new kid in the family looked shocked.

Jackie takes a few more steps then looks down at the casket and blurts out,

“Jesus Christ, Dave! Seriously!”

Ah, family.

In the long run, we all die.

Hopefully, its later rather than sooner.

And for those of us who its sooner?

We will miss you.




Posted by on March 30, 2012 in Uncategorized


Eat at Joe’s

Some companies are shameless in their advertising.

But they seem to know their customers.

There is a local restaurant that has a billboard a block from their place.

The slogan is “Where quality meets quantity.”


Its an interesting thing when a restaurant openly admits that its main demographic is the morbidly obese.

A lot of companies are beginning to figure out that they maybe don’t need to hide their evil side.

Or maybe they knew it long ago.

As long as their customers get it, who cares?

Some of the better slogans were ones I saw growing up.

There used to be a hole in the wall pizza place in my neighborhood growing up.

Their slogan?

“Have you had a hot slice today?”

There is really no way for that not to be dirty.

And yet, their main customer was families with kids.

I think maybe the owner just thought it was funny and didn’t give a shit.

A funeral parlor had a sign out front.

“Drive safe, we’ll wait.”

Its funny, but there is more than a little creepy at the end of the funny.

There was a lot like that.

Radiator shops that say “This is a good place to take a leak.”

A plumber touting “We repair what your husband fixed.”

There used to be a place right next door to my dads transmission shop was a place called Hal’s.

It was a diner, sort of.

Hal’s made the finest roast beef sandwiches in the city.

But not much else.

I mean, I am sure he made other things, but nobody ordered them.

Mostly out of fear.

The place was filthy and smelled.

Why eat there? Because the sandwiches were that good.

And Hal’s was closed at least 3 days a week.

With a sign on the door that said, “Closed – Drunk”

Sometimes, you could see Hal himself, asleep on the counter.

God, I miss those sandwiches.

A place like Hal’s could not exist today.

Not without the owner being chased thru the streets by outraged mobs.

I wonder what the slogan would be?

“You can run, but you can’t hide.”

I have tried, again and again to come up with a snappy slogan for this blog.

Caffeinated Humor seems to be the most descriptive.

It explains how I got there.

1000 milligrams of caffeine a day would kill most people.

I do about 500 for breakfast and sip the rest throughout the day.

Keeps me manic and sane.

And you are going to have to settle for that.

I cut down on the milligrams and writers block rears its ugly head.

And then the blog doesn’t get written.

Which is not pleasant.

I learned a long time ago not to bottle things up if I can help it.

I can be polite and keep it to myself.

Or I can let it out and be rude, but not a danger to myself or others.

Until there is a better solution to my issues,

Caffeinated Humor it is.




Posted by on March 29, 2012 in Uncategorized


Modern day sacrifice.

Tax season is upon us.

Time for everyone to lose their mind.

Taxes scare the shit out of people.

Mainly because the IRS is a boogie man of gargantuan proportions.

Fictional monsters can do hideous things, but they aren’t real.

The IRS can do hideous things and they are as real as it gets.

In theory, there should be nothing to fear.

You have your employer take taxes out of your paycheck and that will pay the Feds off for another year.

Thats the theory, anyway.

However, there is a whole slew of things that can trip you up.

Things you never even heard of.

Fear of the IRS causes many people to seek out the help of a Tax Shaman, a numerical holy man know as a CPA.

Skilled in the tribal secrets of the IRS.

I don’t know how they do what they do, and I really don’t want to.

I am not sure if they commit sacrifices, roll the bones, play naked Johnny on the pony, its really none of my business.

But they make bank, even in a shitty economy so maybe they are on to something.

The Government, for their part, seem to relish the evil rep they have.

I never understood why, and then I realized that they are not in the business they are in to be loved.

Plus, I imagine being a feared entity makes it easier to get things done.

There also used to be the feeling that the Government was going to take those taxes and do good things with it.

Now? I am not so sure.

Who knows what goes on behind closed doors in Washington?

If the news reports are to be believed, I am certain various versions of Naked Johnny on the Pony, once again.

And the overwhelming majority of our elected officials are nasty to look at, much less imagine getting their freak on.

I threw up a little bit in my mouth just thinking about it.

Lets change the subject, shall we?

Back to taxes.

Back TO taxes, not back taxes.

Back taxes is when the IRS figures out that you screwed up in the past and didn’t pay enough.

And you have not seen overzealous prison rape activity like this before.

The IRS is insane at this point, and the things they can and will do make prison rape sound gentle.

But the nicest thing that can happen to you during tax season, is if the god’s are kind and you get a refund.

A refund is when you give the Government an interest free loan for the better part of a year, and they graciously give it back, without the interest of course.

Its close to when your parents save a little bit of money ever now and then for you, and then give it back unexpectedly.

It was money you didn’t have the opportunity to spend, like found money.

Its a good thing, just don’t think about it to much.

In the long run, the Government is a lot like a usefull 800 pound gorilla.

What it does, it does well, just don’t expect too much kindness out of it.

And it may suddenly turn on you without warning, and rip your head off.

Keeps it interesting, doesn’t it?



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Posted by on March 28, 2012 in Uncategorized


Crappy food and threats of violence.

Going out to dinner is a crapshoot at best.

If you have a favorite restaurant, you tend to stick with it.

Otherwise, you risk a nasty case of Ptomaine poisoning.

Which, if you have never had it, trust me, you are missing out.

I have never wanted to die in my lifetime, other than a two day bout of Ptomaine in my mid twenties.

Not that you should never try a new eatery past the age of 30.

You just seem to make better, more informed, food choices when you are out of your twenties.

But during your twenties? All bets are off.

In your twenties, you will eat and drink anything, without exception.

The big dating move in my twenties was Sizzler.

But, what you eat and drank depended on who you were with.

A date would be a steak, or chicken cordon bleu.

And perhaps drinks at a club later.

Jack and coke being popular.

Sizzler with your friends was an all you can eat ribs or shrimp.

And Sizzler shrimp is of a quality that was always dubious at best.

Like the head cheese of seafood.

And had the same chance of coming back on you as head cheese.

Beyond your twenties, you are almost more willing to try a new place.

But the cost had gone up as your tastes improved.

Quality wines begin to make their way onto the table as well.

Twenties? Spanish beer is the dinner beverage of choice.

Spanish beer can help wash down even the most rancid of food.

Were as a fine wine can help accent a meal.

I guess its a question of perspective.

I have a friend that once took me to a dive, hole in the wall, falling down building, resteraunt.

In a nasty ghetto section of Portland.

They served cheap beer, and you sat on long picnic benches.

But served some of the finest Cajun food I have ever had the privilege of eating in my adult life.

But I was pretty iffy until I tasted it.

That first spoonful had severe memories of Ptomaine dancing in my head.

But, don’t judge a book by its cover and all that.

The tip off should have been when the chef came out to make the rounds of the room.

Shitty restaurants have cooks, not chefs and they do not tour the dining room as a general rule.

They are illegal and afraid of being snatched by Immigration.

That sounds racist, but it is still pretty probable.

I often wonder where do Immigration guys eat lunch.

They go to a restaurant, sit down and order.

And half the staff is now missing.

I thought about not including that last line.

Screw it, it made me laugh, so it stays.

I don’t think I am shocking anyone with a little borderline talk.

Unless you are new to the blog.

In that case, welcome!

Sit down, shut up, take notes.

It should be mostly entertaining, except for one or two items.

But, if they piss you off, avoid emailing me, just comment below the blog.

I am a rude little bully when it comes to private emails.

I tend to call names and be insulting.

The phrase bite me shows up a lot.

Its good reading for everyone but you.

And God forbit you piss off the cheerleaders.

They can be vicious.

Beachmom will hold you by the arms while TrannyHooker beats you with both fists in print.

And LaVicki waterboards you.

All of this is in print, suposedly.

But they are capable of anything, really.

I try not to piss them off.




Posted by on March 27, 2012 in Uncategorized


Keep that bitch on a leash!

A the first few days of spring.

Nothing like it.

Everyone expects really good weather and are bitterly disappointed.

But the animals begin to act differently.

Its instinctive, they don’t really have a choice.

But humans think that animals have the intellect to make basic primal decisions.

Like the lady currently freaking out on the strand because her female Terrier is currently locked up with a Pit Bull.

I would help, but far be it for me to interrupt two animals heady with the fever of spring.

Plus, dogs tend to snap and bit when you interrupt their screwing.

And I would first like to nominate both dog owners for the “Attaboy Shithead” award for not having their animals fixed.

But the lady seems to know nothing about dogs.

She seems to feel that shouting “Got off of her, right now!” and slapping her own thigh will get them apart.

The Pit Bull’s owner is not working nearly as hard for his shit head award.

Maybe he knows that, once locked up, the dogs are not coming apart till they’re done.

The Terrier owner is going for broke on the ignorance side.

“He’s raping my poor dog!” She is sobbing.

Rape is a human concept, not an animal one.

The bitch is in heat, the male can smell it.

From there, its as natural as it gets.

She is exactly the type to try and sue him for this.

Who knows, as screwed up as the courts are, she might win.

The crowd seems to be on the side of the Pit Bull owner, including two local homeless who seem to be cheering.

Ah, the police have arrived.

And, in a beautifully karmic turn of events, are writing the Terrier owner a ticket for not have her dog on a leash.

At least with the leash on, you can yank your dog back prior to mounting.

Clearly she is the party in the wrong here.

The dogs are fine,

The Pit Bull owner is fine.

The crowd is noisy and jovial.

The two homeless guys are having a grand ole time.

The Terrier seems to be enjoying herself. (Do dogs enjoy sex?)

However, the Terrier now has a bun in the oven, and the owner is going to be on the hook for that one.

Statistics show that, no matter how devoted to animals she might be, there is a better than 50% chance that she will dump the puppy in an empty lot sometime down the road.

Great, another future Facebook Status complete with picture.

“This is Molly, she is a Terrier-Pit Bull mix that needs a forever home.”

I don’t mean to make fun of that whole group, the dog rescuers, they have their place in all of this.

It’s an obsessive place, but a legitimate place, none the less.

Dogs are the new children.

There is an entire paper to be written on this whole dog/child replacement phenomenon, but I am not the one to write it.

The closest I can come is to paraphrase Forrest Gump.

“Obsessive is as obsessive does.”

Had more wisdom when Tom Hanks said it.



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Posted by on March 26, 2012 in Uncategorized


Stalker Bitch on the prowl.

In a general sense, women are another breed of cat.

Women can be loving, caring, sweet, compassionate, and endearing.

On the other hand, they can be jealous, rude, contrary, bipolar, and obsessive.

Everyone has that friend that has dated the Stalker Bitch.

By definition, the Stalker Bitch is a poor girlfriend.

She is jealous of his guy friends, dislikes his mother, and god forbid he have any female friends.

In the majority of Stalker Bitch relationships, she is simply hated by all and unpleasant.

Taken to the extreme, there is a shot she will cut off his penis.

And in either situation, the Stalker Bitch has a tendency to get intentionally pregnant.

Trust me, I know of at least 4 Stalker Bitch pregnancies.

These are ugly relationships that can go on for decades.

And never end well.

Now, before you all get pissy about the lady slamming, lets address the guys.

Guys can be a different type of monster from the Stalker Bitch.

Lets call them Angry Klingon. (Sorry to the Trekkies out there)

The Angry Klingon is possessive and also hates her friends.

And they hate him.

Which is a little different from the Stalker Bitch.

The victim of the Stalker Bitch usually have a group of friends that dislike her, realize that she’s nuts, and just kind of accept the fact that his time is taken.

The victim of the Angry Klingon has a group of friends that actively hate him and constantly tell her to kick him the the curb.

Not that she’ll listen.

or him for that matter.

The one thing that seems to be common to both sexes is the fact that the involvement with the wrong person seems to go on a hell of a lot longer than it should, by all accounts.

The reasons are varied and all over the place.

Self esteem seems to be the reason du jour these days.

But, in my humble opinion, there are a lot of reasons, sane and insane, why people don’t end things.

I once had a friend that refused to break up with his Stalker Bitch despite her MANY short comings, because the sex was insane, bordering on dangerous.

Whatever floats your boat.

A girl I went to high school with stayed with an abusive Angry Klingon for over a decade for the odd reason that he got along with her brother.

Thats it?

I figured there had to be more, and I bullied her into a Q & A session that, in the end, yielded an answer that was as frustrating as it was bizarre.

The only reason was that he got along well with her brother.

Whatever happened to love, security, friendship, or any other reason but getting along with your sibling?

Don’t get me wrong, my brothers are awesome, but they don’t even enter into the equation of my love life.

In fact, I may find it an endearing trait to find a woman that can severely piss them off.

How twisted is that.




Posted by on March 23, 2012 in Uncategorized


Amazon, with a hint of evil.

There is something intimidating about tall women.

And being a short man may have something to do with it.

I am in my favorite spot in Starbucks, and the morning crowd is in full swing.

And then she comes in.

Picture a woman, mid twenties, honey blonde hair.

Not thin, but not what you would call heavy.

Dressed in a tight business skirt, conservative blouse, hair done up nicely.

And she is about 7 feet tall.

Okay, the 6 inch stiletto heels are getting her there, but still.

She is roughly two feet taller than me.

Absolutely lovely.

Standing behind her, almost overshadowed by her, is them.

The Evil Couple.

After all the thousands of words I have written about this couple, her viscious antics, his cruel comments, it is almost anticlimactic to see them standing quietly in line.

Especially since they were getting divorced just the other day.

This is such a soap opera its pathetic.

But the Amazon is hard to ignore.

While I come from the other end of the height spectrum, I imagine that the is just as much crap to deal with being really tall as there is being really short.

Although being a woman might make it easier.

Who knows.

But, a pretty girl is a pretty girl, no matter how tall she is.

There are several men in Starbucks that are quite taken with her.

And watching men try to discreetly flirt with a woman is an entertainment all on its own.

Men are nowhere near as good at flirting as women are.

Men just come across as clumsy when they try.

And she seems to know it.

Just a feeling, but this is not her first rodeo.

The tally now stands at 3 hits so far.

First was the guy standing ahead of her in line.

She was texting and ignored his comment about her phone, which happened to be eye level with him.

Second was the guy that tried to strike up a conversation while she waited.

Starbucks posts the daily astrology forecast on the bulletin board by the pick up window.

The Amazon was reading hers and the guy next to her asked which one she was.

A quiet voice replied Ares.

And finally was the guy who was sitting next me, when she sat down next to him.

I think he made some sort of comment about the weather or cats, I couldn’t hear it clearly.

And she gave him nothing.

But I didn’t get the sense that she was blowing anyone off, but more that despite being pretty, well dressed, and exceptionally tall, she was shy.

Which was nice to see.

It seems like everyone is a player these days, that actually running into an innocent soul is refreshing.

Especially when she is in the company of the Evil Couple.

And they are disappointing the hell out of me.

These two have had epic battles in this building, truly terrifying public displays of nastiness.

And they ordered, moved quietly over to the pickup area and waited like everyone else.

Talking quietly.

Then they took their drinks and walked out, still talking quietly.


And thats ok.



Posted by on March 21, 2012 in Uncategorized


Mary Poppins and the 1000 yard stare.

The concept of swamp ass is nasty to consider, its one of the reasons I use it as a description on this blog.

Paints a picture and sets the mood, as it were.

So that even if you have never experienced it, you still know what I’m talking about.

But why mention it?

Because I am knee deep in it as we speak.

Panda Express is the epitome of American food.

It came from somewhere else, was assimilated, put on an assembly line and franchised.

As far as good Chinese food goes, its so so.

But, it can be made in quantity, and troweled out fast enough to feed the masses and make a dandy profit.

Its the American way.

The particular Panda Express I am in has been invaded.

And not by Ghengis Khan.

But by day care.

There is a woman sitting in the corner, surrounded by children.

7 of them.

They can’t all be her’s.

She’s too young and none of them look like her.

So we are going to go with the idea of day care for now.

And she has had a day of it, from the looks of her.

She doesn’t move, she just stares straight ahead.

Even when the little asian kid sitting next to her turns and screams in a high pitched voice about 2 inches from her ear.

She has that thousand yard stare that Vietnam Vets get from having seen too many hideous things.

She is like a burnt out Mary Poppins.

And Mary, mentally, has left the building.

I don’t care what they are paying her, no amount of money is worth this.

And these little buggers are in charge, no fear of pushing the shit storm envelope.

There are two little girls, evil ones from the malevolent glint in their eyes, are spitting single pieces of white rice at another little girl that is alternating between crying hysterically and screaming “STOP IT!” at the top of her lungs.

There is a little Asian kid, the screamer from before? That has decided that he is hungry, for everyone elses food.

He is pulling plates and trays his way, to sample them, spitting out what he doesn’t want.

There is two little boys, twins, that are wrestling on the floor, trying to kill each other.

And finally, there is a little girl, hair almost pure white, that is choking down her food like she hates it like poison, but is being forced to eat it.

I recognize this one from when my son was little.

The teary eyes, the bulging cheeks, and every now and then, a little dry heave to let you know how she feels.

Except that no one is forcing her to eat.

Glassy eyed Mary Poppins certainly isn’t.

Watching this entire little cherade go down has made me happy that my wife was a stay at home mom.

Nothing is worth this.

If these were my kids and I witnessed this, I would sue Mary Poppins, (provided they find her fit to stand trial), spank my kids and sue the parents of those other little bastards.

By the way, when you refer to someone elses child as “That little bastard” in front of them, they get pissy about it. Just saying.

I was always one of those parents that teachers dreaded.

REALLY involved.

I view it this way, my child is the most important part of the teachers day.

And if they forget that, I had no trouble reminding them.

And they turned out awesome.

So, until I have compelling evidence to the contrary, I was an awesome parent and have much wisdom to impart on others.

You would not believe how that pisses people off.




Posted by on March 21, 2012 in Uncategorized


The House of Blue Hair.

Its not often you can walk thru the front door of a business and lower the average age buy 30 years.

And no, I am not talking about Coffee Bean.

I am talking about the house of blue hair.

Also known as Norm’s.

Blue hair being the hair color of choice of the female customers.

This crowd makes the Golden Girls look like girls gone wild.

I am meeting my parents for breakfast.

And they lower the average age as well, despite both being over retirement age.

You keep your eyes open in a place like this because there is lots to see.

As we are waiting to be seated, I notice that one of the cooks tends to have a little palsy shake as he reads orders.


It takes a little longer to be seated than most places, the clientele is not moving fast, not for decades.

And you have to look, but you can make out the not one, but two defibrillators are stashed in the busboy station.

Gotta cater to your clientele.

And the Trifecta is in full effect.

The Trifecta, for those who don’t know, is when someone has the blue hair, the oxygen tank and their little dog at the table.

It happens at the Coffee Bean all the time, but I have never seen it at a sit down eating establishment.

An old couple we seated ahead of us, rocking the Trifecta, and I got an eyeful of how they get the dog in without anyone saying anything.

As the couple sat down, the old man put a $5 bill on the table.

The waitress walked up, took the $5 and pocketed it, then took their beverage order.


I am willing to bet that the health department gives them a pass as long as the kitchen is clean.

Plus, the little dog never leaves the bag they have it in.

The coffee is good, that is something that I have in common with the older generation.

I will sip coffee all day long, much like a drunk hanging out at a bar.

The menu again, caters to a select clientele.

Salt free, sugar free and other delicate diet offerings are all there.

Along with specials and low prices.

The waitress is a product of a bygone era.

This is not the A team of wait staff.

Norm’s is where a waitress ends her career, not starts it.

That is another reason the service is a little slow.

Its because the service literally is slow.

But, the customers, with the exception of me, is not in a hurry.

Maybe the “Bygone era” comment is closer to the money than I first thought.

And there really isn’t anything wrong with taking a slower pace.

I am in the constant hurry that the Internet forces upon us.

Like brainwashing.

And thats not necessarily a good thing.

Breakfast was good, the coffee was excellent, and the busboy didn’t have to use the defibrillator on anyone.

But if he did, I would have tipped more.



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Posted by on March 20, 2012 in Uncategorized


The Politics of the Homeless.

This is not about the politics that make the homeless possible.

Every government since the dawn of time has had homeless, so lets just say its a human condition and let it go.

This is about the political views of the homeless, which are as interesting and in some cases, as crazy as they are.

No apologies here, just read.

The homeless know a lot more about the world than we do.

In fact, there is a homeless guy sitting in the patio of the Coffee Bean, explaining how the world works.

He is sitting alone, by the way.

Can’t imagine why, seems like a knowledgeable guy.

And yet, he seems to have made a few questionable calls in his own life that advising others seems a bit of a stretch and all.

Because, and I could be wrong on this one, but meth seems to be his best subject.

Then again, I am just going by that lingering urine smell and the dental hygiene.

“Obama was raised by the Aztecs, thats why he does poorly in the deep South.”

So its a good thing that I have a poor sense of smell, because with a tag line like that, I am intrigued to stay and listen.

“Aztec? I thought he was born in Hawaii?” I shouldn’t get involved, but if you don’t stir the pot, it will burn.

“Thats what a lot of people think, and they’re all wrong. The birthers are right, thats a fake birth cirtificate. Except that he wasn’t born in Kenya, he was born in the catacombs in Guanajuato, Mexico.”


Now THAT is a whole lot of crazy.

I ask the obvious question.

“But how do you know?”

He looks at me like I am crazy.

I love this part. This is the stepping across the line into crazy part of the conversation.

He lowers his head and looks at me out of the top of his eyes.

“As I said, he does poorly in the deep South.”

Ah, I should have seen that.

And all this time, I thought he didn’t do well in the deep South due to lingering racism.

“I told you, you need to leave or I’ll call the police.”

The Coffee Bean manager has decided to ruin my morning.

I move along before the trouble starts.

It never pays to aggrevate the homeless unless its your job.

Once they get pissed, they are likely to strike out at friend and foe.

However, as I walk down the street, I can hear the homeless guy and the manager yelling, then just the homeless guy.

The manager, I am sure, has fled the patio and gone to call the police.

Starbucks is much quieter and has no patio.

Patios tend to attract the crazy hang out crowd.

As we’ve seen.

I stop at the newspaper stand outside to read the headlines.

I can still hear the homeless guy, raving at the top of his lungs up the block.

Just over the top of the newspaper rack, I can see a cop car, parked right out in front of Starbucks.

As I turn to go in, the door opens and two officers walk out, huge shining examples of the law enforcement community.

They are moving in a quick step up towards the Coffee Bean, one officer talking into the microphone clipped to his shoulder.

I wonder if they know about Obama and the Aztecs?



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Posted by on March 19, 2012 in Uncategorized