Monthly Archives: April 2012

What an ass!

Pleased to meet you, my name is asshole.

I am finally coming to grips with the fact that my personality makes it hard on those around me.

I think it may be the fact that I view those around me as playthings to be messed with for my amusement.

And I really am trying to feel bad about it, but I cannot find anything wrong it.

Can you?

Perfect example.

I had to drop off something to ship from the Post Office.

I had the airbill and the items I was shipping, so all I needed was a small Flat Rate shipping box, which they provide inside.

I didn’t even need to get in line, just put it together and leave it on a side counter.

And boy was I glad I didn’t need to wait in line.

The line stretched out the door, and down the hall.

And no one was happy.

There was a lot of grumbling and only 2 tellers.

Out of 10 windows, only 2 open, with a line out the door?

Tax dollars at work.

And, unfortunately, the tellers did not appear to be the sharpest tools in the shed.

Like, at all.

I got my box, put it together, put my stuff in, sealed it, slapped the airbill on, and put it on the side counter.

And then, I was seized with a really stupid idea.

What I should have done, was quietly leave the building without saying a word.

Should have.

What I did was turn around from the side counter, located right at the head of the line, throw my arm out wide and say, loudly and firmly…


“HA HA HA HA HA!” (Arrogant pirate laugh. It’s really obnoxious.)

and walked out.

A few people laughed out loud, but they were the minority.

The majority looked at me like I had dropped trow and crapped on the floor.

Maybe I had.

On my way out the door, a girl on her cell phone was describing the whole thing.

“This guy is an asshole.”

I have to agree.

I would love to disagree, but it is what it is.

I’m lucky I didn’t get shot.

People at the Post Office, workers and customers alike, are not immune to the shitty karmic pressure the place puts on people.

Its almost like they build the Post Office on desicrated indian burial grounds.

Because something is going on.

They call it, “Going Postal”.

It is the act of losing it publicly in a public place.

If you lose it in private they call it marriage.

Piss and moan all you like, there is some truth to it.

I realize that my inappropriate behavior leads the overwhelming majority of those reading to vote for ass. (Hole being optional.)

So be it.

But it is entertaining.




Posted by on April 30, 2012 in Uncategorized


And if they knew a damned thing, they’d be dangerous.

The Weather man needs to die.

I would be alright with the idea of an angry mob chasing the Weather guy on the news down the street with torches and farming implements.

I might even be so inclined to pick up a pitch fork and join in.

I am tired of being mind screwed by these snake-oil salesmen.

I am told to expect sun, I get clouds.

I am told to dress warm for the coming cold and its hot out.

I understand that its not an exact science, but at least get it close.

Someone is paying these ass-clowns good money, and in this economy.

Hell, fire the current Weather guy and hire some crazy homeless guy to guess at the weather.

Or have some wacked out shaman come in and roll the bones during prime time.

Can it be any worse?

They say even a broken clock is right 2 times a day.

Only if its not predicting  the time, then it can be wrong perpetually.

Thats when you throw the clock away and get a new one.

Most jobs involve guessing in one way or another, based on specific training or experience, but the Weather guy is a huckster from the old school.

And some of them don’t even keep up the pretense, this is the shameless brand of con man.

They give themselves names of major cities or weather conditions, like that establishes their credentials.

And no, I am not singling out Dallas Raines, or maybe I am.

And I know I am being rude about both his name and profession.

But this is the modern equivalent of being a carnival barker on prime time TV.

Perhaps a better method would be to pay them for their accuracy.

Guess wrong, you don’t eat tonight.

Accurately call a hurricane?

Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

(I look for excuses to use that phrase, by the way.)

But, to be realistic, very few other professions are held to any sort of accountability.

Take your stock broker.

You make money, he makes money.

You lose money, he makes money.

You get pissed and take your business to another generic, cookie cutter stoke broker, they both make money.

Maybe that is a bad example.

Not that its untrue, but the simple fact is, I don’t like stock brokers.

And yet, I wish I was one.

There is something admirable about that sort of money-driven, whore-like profession.

One of my many twists.

But, to take a quick skip back to the Weather guy for a second.

They remind me of a few of my mother’s hippy friends from when I was little.

They had all sorts of wacked out beliefs and persuits, that they took very seriously.

Crystals, pyramids, herbology, Tarot…etc.

Just to name a few.

And the would present it like it was the common truth, that everyone gets, and what is your problem.

They were, for the most part, full of shit then and are full of shit now.

I have it now, that’s the connection.

They always presented it like, “Look at how clever I am for doing this!”

Like they were waiting for a pat on the head.

Enter the Weather guy.

Why didn’t I see this before?

The Weather guy is a silly bohemian in a suit.

Glad we figured that out.

Feel free to go about your day now.



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Posted by on April 27, 2012 in Uncategorized


Save the dog but kill the owner.

Selective killing is all the rage these days.

I have a friend on Facebook that continually has dog rescue pics and also happens to be pro death penalty and anti-abortion.

Take a minute and let that one soak in.

If I understood her correctly, and I know I will hear from her tomorrow, bright and early if I am wrong, it all seems to boil down to performance.

Make the wrong moves, you deserve to die.

She also believes that, no matter how evil a dog may be, it should be forgiven, sight unseen.

Also, she feels that dogs are too dumb too make any decisions.

(While I don’t agree with the dumb comment, I do wonder about the dogs making conscious decisions thing.)

Life has value only if you make the decisions in your life that she feels you should have.

In short, if she becomes dictator, watch your ass.

If you commit a crime, your life is worthless.


And yet, the first thought that comes to mind when I watch one of those death row shows, the first thing that comes to mind is what a bunch of worthless pieces of shit.

There is every chance that there are a few innocent men there, but I am ok with that as well.

There are those that say that, rather than put an innocent man to death, you should let all of them go free.

I am pretty happy that none of the people that believe that are in charge.

Yes, it sucks that someone might pay for the crime of someone else with their life.

But someone has to pay the fiddler.

As an animal, man has always had some sort of sacrifice, in one way or another.

And if you think we don’t have sacrifices nowadays, open your eyes.

Think about life like a living chess game, there are more pawns than anything else.

Lots of fodder for the cannon.

I will leave that one for you to figure out.

Back to Death Penalty girl.

While I, personally, have never heard of an infant going on a meth-induced killing spree, that doesn’t mean it hasn’t or will never happen.

I mean, kids today! You know?

I once posed the statement that, perhaps all of those dogs slated to die were slimy pedophiles in a previous life.

I said that I posed the “Statement” because it was not an opinion, I certainly didn’t believe it.

It was more a lure, like on a fishing line.

The people who bit that lure were interesting.

One of them told me that the line pissed her off and upset her, and that, yes, she knew I was only messing with her.

That impressed me, that a line can mess with you to the point that you know its bullshit, but it still trips you up.

I love that.

If writing this blog has taught me anything, its that there comes a point that you forget where the line came from and just ponder the line itself.

And for the record, I am in favor of non-killing dogs and babies, murdering death row inmates in their sleep, and of speaking your mind.

But you knew this already.



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Posted by on April 26, 2012 in Uncategorized


The game of sex is an old one.

I find that I hate my waitress and wish her ill.

I suppose that make me a bad person, but the fact remains that if you stand around with my drink on your tray, trying to eye-screw the  married guys at the table across the room either to better your tip or in a valiant effort to become the “Other woman” Seek another line of work.

And don’t bitch when your tip is small enough to make a homeless guy whine.

There is a special look your average waitress gives you when you walk up and just take your drink off of her tray without saying anything, is priceless to say the least.

And yet, you don’t want to be that asshole that doesn’t leave a tip, so you do.

After all, my mother was a waitress, so I always tip more.

But will I be forced to tip every low-skilled waif that picks up an order pad just because Starbucks is not hiring?

I think not.

I would much rather selectively Shit-tip the slackers.

The word is not in Webster’s and you can’t Google it.

But it fits.

Besides, it bring a little exciting drama to the meal, like a little salt or an odd spice.

I think I have an odd quirk to my psychological make up that make me push others societal boundaries.

In layman’s terms, its called asshole.

And I am ok with that.

I have a prepared line to give her when she brings my drink, which is no doubt warm by now.

And just when I am ready to feed her that line, she bends at the waist, no knees involved.

And a foot of cleavage sits about 6 inches from my nose.

Game, set, and match.

Well played, miss.

It is purely sexest, but I have to say, it iis what it is.

Basic sexy is a solid play that is both strong and about a thousand years old.

She knows it and I had forgotten.

The fact that her tip will be generous is simply the way of the world.

So, I focus my dislike on the bartender, who no doubt served me a warm drink, setting up my favorite waitress for failure.

That bastard.

When it comes to the sexual politics of life, the rules are set in stone.

So I kind of think I may be fairly exempt from judgement here.

Whats the phrase, don’t hate the player, hate the game.

And what a game it is.

The longer the blog goes on, the lower on the scumbag totem pole I am getting.

I think I will quit while I am ahead.

The evening ended and I tipped well for good service.

The end.




Posted by on April 25, 2012 in Uncategorized


The world needs ditch diggers, too.

“I believe that children are our future.”

The future is shaky at best.

And I don’t think I am talking out of my ass on this one.

There is a study group going on in Starbucks.

But, you would think that, if they had the ambition to put together the study group, these would be some good students.

Not so fast there.

Its a sloppy bunch here.

And not the sharpest tools in the shed.

I’m not just saying that to be mean.

Even though I am more than capable of being mean, even taking pleasure in it at times, I am merely observing here.

The leader seems to be a girl with bad skin and piercings.

She is scribbling in her notebook with a blue pen and black fingernails.

At the other end of the lazy spectrum is a boy with a unkempt hair and a closed book.

He is texting non-stop and seems confused by what he is reading.

This kid works in confusion the way another artist might work in clay or stone.

The other two members of the study group are goth kids.

Or maybe just come by a tragically whiny look naturally.

Either way, it just doesn’t give you that merit scholar feeling.

Makes me wonder who they’re mad at more, mom or dad.

Because they are obviously punishing someone.

The saying used to be, “Cut off your nose to spite your face.”

Now its “Pierce your lip so you can be an angst filled individual, just like everyone else.”

Spite is spite, even if it looks stupid.

I have been evesdropping for ten minutes and I have yet to figure out what they are supposedly studying.

Mainly because there is no studying going on.

Leader girl is totally lost in a systematic repositioning of some of the hardware she has stabbed into her face and head.

Trust me, sweetie, the black stud earring looks just as bad on the left as it did the right.

The Goth twins are embroiled in a seemingly typical student discussion about if a teacher of theirs was secretly gay.

Except that their outrage was that he was hiding it.

Everyone is free to be who they are, and if you feel like keeping it to yourself, thats your call.

Just for the record, this is a don’t ask, don’t tell blog.

And I have saved the best for last.

Confused boy started a phone conversation about five minutes ago and is heavily embroiled in an argument.

Based on his tone and whispering, I vote that his girlfriend is on the other end of that call.

Maybe ex girlfriend, just judging by the angry whispering.

I hate whispering, its difficult to hear.

The only reason I say they are a study group is that Leader girl proclaimed that they were when they first sat down.

Otherwise, I would have to say they are just poor students, screwing around on a Sunday at Starbucks.

Maybe they’re both.

So, like I said, future, shaky.

Got that?



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Posted by on April 24, 2012 in Uncategorized


Death is a bitch.

I feel I am starring in a zombie film directed by George Romero

I am surrounded by death.

When I am sitting in a Starbucks, there is no better way to get my attention than to throw out a really obscure line.

“Everything is going to be so much better, now that Grandma is dead.”

As far as an obscure, shitty, cold, rotten-bitch line goes, this one is pretty strong.

The only saving grace, and that is assuming that saving graces can be found in this instance, is that at least the fact that she was “Grandma” might just mean this was not a life cut tragically short.

But that is a pretty big maybe.

However, my track record with maybes is better than most.

But this seems to be the season of death.

Let me explain.

A good friend of mine is dealing with an apparent suicide of their ex.

Normally, when the ex dies for whatever reason, you through a party.

But, there are children involved.

And that changes everything.

No matter how screwed up a path you travel in life, there is always a little hope in the back of your kids mind that you will one day get your shit together.

But the odds are never good on that one.

Another friend is dealing with the death anniversary of a dear friend.

That is never an easy one.

Pain and loss is pain and loss, no matter how you slice it.

You can put things off emotionally for a long time.

But eventually you gotta pay the fiddler.

And that line of thought has me remembering my own dead.

There sure is a lot of them.

Long story, but I was in the Funeral/Cemetery business for a number of years.

I once counted, and between work and my own massive immigrant Irish/Scottish family, I have been to over 100 funerals in my life.

That is kind of sad.

In the midst of life we are is death.

Some of us more than others.

Back to life being better now that Grandma is dead.

To be totally judgemental for a minute, this woman is a cold, money grubbing bitch.

Listening in, it seems that Grandma was a very well to do woman.

Evidently, Grandpa and her had built their little mini empire.

And the kids and grandkids?

Not so much.

The woman is detailing the millions that are going to Mom and Dad, and how much she, herself, will get.

But never once is there any mention of how thankful she is to Grandma, or how much she’ll miss her.

Not even the ritual “I would give anything to have her back”.

Even if she doesn’t mean it, she should still throw it out there, just for the sake of it.

“I knew going to Thanksgiving at her house all of those years would pay off.”

That one floored me.

What a bitch.

Grandma was probably thrilled to have the family over for the holidays.

But would she have been as thrilled if she knew that the meter was running?

I was kidding about the zombie film at the beginning of the blog, but I wish Grandma would dig her way out and come looking for her heirs.

Karma is a bitch, but that one is a little steep for anybody to pull off, short of the Almighty.

But this never the kind of game he would stoop to.

This is more the Devil’s area and flavor.

There is one bright spot, and this one is definitely the Almighty’s area of expertise.

The friend that is dealing with the anniversary of her loved one passing?

One of her best friends just gave birth on that day.

Life replacing death, that is kind of the way of things.

As opposed to death chasing life down the street with great special effects and a bumping soundtrack.

I hate zombie films though.




Posted by on April 23, 2012 in Uncategorized


Have that animal put down.

Men and Women are different creatures.

This is not even close to a revelation.

I don’t want to go down that stupid “Men are from Mars” crap.

Both Dr. Phil and Oprah can smooch my butt cheeks on that one.

Lets just say we’re different and leave it at that.

Women are the nurturers. The softer of the two.

Got a cold and need some care?

Women are generally who you want.

Men? Different breed of animal.

More of the macho, stay tough, don’t cry, rub some dirt on it and get back in there form of support.

And these are in general terms.

You will find men who are soft and nurturing, mostly gay, but they ARE out there.

As well as women who can kick my ass any day of the week and may (Or may not) have a penis.

But for the sake of the argument, lets stereotype everyone and go down that road.

The bathroom is an excellent example of the base nature of the sexes.

For example, the dirtiest women’s room is generally cleaner than the cleanest men’s room.

Women’s bathrooms have things like scented soaps, potpourri, couches, and fancy hand towels.

Men’s rooms have piss on the floors, shit on the walls, and occasionally, a hole carved in the wall for men to put their penises thru for anonymous oral sex from closeted gay men.

There is nothing more disconcerting than just sitting down to deal with a serious BM then realizing that you are being observed.

There is an eye in the hole in the wall that you did not notice.

It is a wholly creeping thing.

And if that happens to be what you are into? Yuh nasty!

The first time I explained this one to a lady friend of mine, she was confused for the first ten minutes.

Then she realized that she was understanding it the way I was explaining it and it made it worse for her.

She was sure she had misunderstood it from the beginning.


Weird sex has a habit of entering into everything men are involved with.

Remember that part about Men being a different breed of animal, well the animal has a hard on.

Pretty much all of the time.

Even the non-sex weird stuff that goes on in the bathroom might be tied to the psychological aspects of sitting there naked.

I walked into the men’s room in a business building the other day and saw a sign on the wall in one of the bathroom stalls.

It was written in black sharpie marker, on copy paper and held to the wall by two postage stamps.

“Guy who keeps peeing on the floor and not flushing…..CUT IT OUT.”

I find it interesting that, judging by the note, whoever wrote it thinks that its all one guy that is peeing on the floor, and in the toilet, and then not flushing.

Maybe it is, who knows?

It is also possible that the note is meant as a joke. That is also possible in the men’s room.

But, the most likely thing is that some guy is actually peeing on the floor and then the bowl, then not flushing.

Probably not washing his hands either.


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Posted by on April 20, 2012 in Uncategorized


Phone predators.

I have a general rule about phone calls.

Anything that anyone needs to tell me is not important at all if it uses a recorded message to tell me.

I have been hanging up on them for years.

I have never missed out on anything important, as far as I can tell.

Besides, I can’t help but think that, should I win the Lottery for untold millions, they just might view that as being important enough to call.

Or not call.

If you don’t claim the prize, they get to keep it.

Sometimes, you have to fight them for it.

I read a story about a waitress in Iowa,  who was left a shoebox as a tip.

Inside the box was $10K.

The waitress followed the customer to their car.

The customer said, yes they knew how much was there and they wanted her to have it.

Just to be safe, she called the police.

They came and took the money and said if no one came forward to claim it in 30 days, it was hers.

At the end of 30 days, they wouldn’t give it to her.

They said it was probably drug money and would be donated to the department.


She took them to court and the judge gave it to her.

Let that be a lesson to you.

If you ever come across serious “Found” money, hide it like a drug lord and bury it in the yard.

As for phone calls.

There are two categories of auto calls.

The first is crappy businesses.

Carpet cleaners, maid services, auto detailing…etc.

Basically service people.

Due to the Do Not Call Registry, they can’t call the regular residents, but businesses are fair game.

I’ve never used them, but I can see why they do it.

The other category is political calls.

And its an election year.

Both sides are pretty slimy when it comes to this.

The recorded message always sounds like you would expect the narrator for a kiddy porn film to sound, describing all of the evil the other candidate is planning.

It always leaves me feeling like I need a shower.

Sometimes the political call is made by a human being, sort of.

It is usually a retiree, who can read the script.

But, I have noticed that these people are not wired for fun.

And by fun, I mean me screwing with them.

I got a call the other day from an older woman who said her name was Betty and she was calling for Barak Obama, and did I have time to talk.

I thought for a quick second.

I could hear people in the background, so I knew she had to be in a little call center somewhere.

I almost started laughing.

“Betty? I am on my way to where you are at to make calls, too. I think you and I sat together before.”

This went on for 5 minutes, during which, I did the following:

  • Got Betty to save me an open seat.
  • Got Betty to say that she thinks she remembered me from high school.
  • Got Betty to admit that she had been shopping with my wife.
  • Got Betty to find out if there is any decaf from whoever the Supervisor is there.
  • Attempted to explain myself for the 3 seconds the Supervisor before he hung up on me.

That is better than a cup of coffee to perk you up.

I would be ashamed, but when you pick up the phone and call me, you came into my yard to cause trouble.

All bets are off at that point.



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Posted by on April 19, 2012 in Uncategorized


Jumping the shark.

After a long day at work there is nothing more mind numbing than being put in the perfect storm of crap television.

The controller gives you the illusion of control, that is your first mistake.

It starts slow, catching the last 15 minutes of Charlie Sheen’s old show.

Its a good show, one that I like, but I have seen this one in excess of a dozen times.

Somehow, I find myself 20 minutes into Property Virgins.

This property virgins are always a stones throw to 20 years old, and invariably have expectations that no house on the planet can meet, for their meager budget.

I have never seen them before this, and yet I hate the couple with every fiber of my being.

So I change the channel and found myself watching some white-haired Southern lady make a soufle that I would not touch with a ten foot pole.

Its not hell, but you can see it from here.

The next show is a reality show that seems to revolve around a half dozen gay prima donna seamstresses.

Evidently, the contestant that says the least bitchie thing is voted off.

I don’t think it is gay bashing to say that these rotten queens would get their asses kicked in any demographic, gay or straight.

A brief ray of light comes from watching the final 10 minutes of an old episode of MASH.

God, I miss that show.

However, it is soon over and the next show that comes on doesn’t hold my attention for long.

I am comfortable with the fact that I have the attention span of a gnat at time.

Not to offend anyone, but the Golden Girls show sucks so bad that I begin to imagine watching the final episode, the one where they all die.

It would be the highest ratings that the show ever had.

Alan Alder could kick Maude’s ass in a bare knuckle Fight Club match.

And if you understand that reference, you are OLD!

Television imploded about 20 years ago and has sucked ever since.

Or maybe it was just that period of my perspective.

Everything seems better when you are a kid.

I think it is because you don’t pay as much attention as you do as an adult.

Life will do that to you.

Its like my mother’s cooking.

I have teased my mother for decades about her cooking.

And yet I look forward to family dinners at my folks when they happen.

Maybe the crap television is just a metaphor for life.

Grass always being greener and all that.

And yet, while watching a rerun of the Voice, I cannot for the life of me figure out if Christina Aquilara is a hot mess or not.

She has that delightful hot and damaged look to her that makes it hard to look away.

And Cee Lo Green is just plain wierd.

And I cannot sing a note to save my life.

But the odds are against having to.



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Posted by on April 18, 2012 in Uncategorized


I was released unharmed. Kind of.

My captors don’t give me a lot of information, but that goes with being a hostage.

Their psychological torture techniques are subtle and effective.

I am not sure how much longer I can hold out.

That incessant muzak playing non-stop in the background numbs the mind and you begin to think up things to tell them that they haven’t even asked you.

And then a voice comes onto the line, the recording is bad, a man’s voice, speaking in heavily accented English.

“Thank you for holding, you call will be answered by the next available representative.”

I begin to cry like the broken man that I am.

Such is my life on hold.

There is a problem with my laptop, so I called the toll free 800 number.

And that is were it began.

I know that, in reality, I simply heard a recording and then muzak, but my mind has had a different experience.

First, they kicked in my front door, I ran down the hall, but they tazered me.

A sack was roughly pulled over my head as they dragged me out of the house, and threw me into a vehicle.

It happened so quickly, I really couldn’t fight back.

I realized I was stuck in windowless room with harsh lights and a faint urine smell called “Hold”.

And I have been here for days.

Or 45 minutes, but that clock might be one of their tricky devices.

At some point I became dimly aware of the fact that I have shit myself.

While I wait, I try googling possible fixes on my internet pad.

No dice, I am stuck waiting for my Indian captors to give me their demands.

I am not being reflexively racist, I am simply going by the voice on the recording.

It is morning in Mumbai, India.

It used to be called Bombay, but they changed it for reasons unkown.

You would think that everyone in the call center would be full of energy and cranking thru their morning calls.

Not so.

I loved Slum Dog Millionaire, but that does me no good if I never get a chance to talk to a live human being.

The recorded voice comes on again to tell me that many answers to what they are sure are MY questions are available online.

However, as I cannot connect to the internet, this advice in cruel and belittling.

As I am sure they are aware.

I am not sure who set up their Customer Service process and procedures, but I am sure he is a former German SS researcher who fled to India after the war.

He is known only as the Director and his rage is legendary.

I am purely guessing at this point, but this subtle torture has his feel to it.

They will kill me eventually, dumping my body and defective laptop off in an unknown location.

The line clicks.

Dead line.

They hung up on me!

You rotten bastards!

It is now on like Mumbai Donkey Kong, MF-er!



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Posted by on April 17, 2012 in Uncategorized