Monthly Archives: December 2012

The holidays shit storm.

The day after Christmas is often a blurry ordeal.

If you are mom and dad, you are trying to get the house cleaned up after the kids have destroyed it.

If you are a single woman, you are cleaning up the tear soaked Kleenex and empty Hagen Daaz quart containers that are everywhere. (This is based on the true story of a girl I know who’s biological clock began ticking at age 16 and now finds her single, kidless, boyfriendless and jobless at 43.)

If you are a single guy, your place looks the same, mainly because you go to other peoples houses for the holidays.

Use your own place? Fuck that nonsense.

Single guys usually have an issue with anyone else coming into their personal space for any period longer than sex.

Its a shallow point of view for anyone other than single guys.

And, once the feel good holiday of Christmas is over, the in between period starts.

This is that awkward, two days after Christmas, but before New Years that kind of has that dull feeling like you just got invited to watch your aunt have her feet scraped.

Let that one sink in.

It is during this period that most people get that malaise.

The emotional shit storm of Christmas and the parties to come on the horizon.

And you are stuck in the middle.

It can get ugly.

I seem to be that person that people mistakenly think is a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.

This is true only if you think that a true friend is someone that would listen to your problems and either use them against you in order to get you into bed, or belittle you in a blog.

Or both.

Don’t judge, we’ve all met, people.

This is usually a really easy time of the year to feel down, even for those of us who are hyper and bubbly due to a really twisted metabolism.

However, I am a firm believer in stacking the deck.

Just on the off chance that my mind decides I am its whipping boy this holiday season, I will plan activities that leave me no choice than to be in a good mood.

I will do this even if I am heading into the holidays with a great attitude.

My mind can and will turn on me like an angry snake, and it doesn’t play fair.

Read a few of these blog posts and consider the fact that I filter a lot of the more offensive crap out in the name of trying to retain some readers, rather than drive everyone away.

Now think of what my mind will do when jini is out of the bottle and its trying to hurt someone.

Not pretty.

Better to be safe than suicidal.

Speaking of, this is about the tenth year in a row that I have heard of the holiday suicide of someone I have met at least once.

This years victim is a guy I worked with about 20 years ago.

This guy had it all back when I knew him.

Employed, kids, house, nice car, and possibly the hottest wife outside of a porn film I have ever seen.

He was alone and homeless and it would appear divorced when he checked out.

Sorry to hear.

He was a good guy and always laughed at my jokes.

And to an attention whore that is golden.

I wish him peace.

Moving on.

Now that everyone is in an upbeat mood, let me finish this post with a thought that will get you through the holidays.

Our taxes are DEFINITELY going up, we’re screwed.

Happy New Year!!!

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Posted by on December 27, 2012 in Uncategorized


Time to get your Christmas Cheer on.

Its Christmas day.

Ok, so this is being written the day before, but you get what I mean.

I love Christmas.

A lot of people get cynical and harsh around the holidays, but not me.

I spend most of the year in that mode, so the holidays are when I let it go.

Besides, I get to indulge my biggest addiction.

Bigger than caffeine, and THAT is saying something.

Nope, this addiction I have been battling for a long time, going back into my childhood.

And Christmas is when I can have it as much as I want an no one says a word.

Egg nog? Nope.

Champagne? Nope.

Candy canes? Nope.

It’s a Wonderful Life.

Jimmy Stewart is the shit.

One of the top five best films I have ever seen.

I don’t even argue this one with people.

If its not in your top five, you are just wrong.

George Bailey is the man all men should aspire to be.

And yet, we all fall short.

And his wife was hot.

Evil as it is to be lusting after Mrs. Bailey, there is no getting around that one.

(Not everyone gets what they want for Christmas. People don’t get the pony they wanted and I don’t get my session of “Bad Baby” with a liqoured up Mary Bailey. Life goes on.)

But I gave some serious thought to why I love that movie so much.


It is a story of hope.

Not that “Hey, you look stupid enough to vote for me” Hope and give me all your change.

But the hope that everything will work out.

Nothing does what it is supposed to these days.

Hell, even the end of the world didn’t go like it was supposed to.

Damn the Mayans and their silly calendar.

I have a cousin that said he didn’t buy any gifts because he was kind of counting on the end of the world.

That may make you laugh for a minute, but he was still up at 5am today shopping for all of Christmas in one day.

More power to you.

Took a little break just know and I am halfway thru Its a Wonderful Life.

This will be my fifth time this year.

And I just discovered something.

Old man Potter, in addition to being the epitome of the rich bastard, is also a big time racist.

The scene is a pivotal one.

George Bailey is sitting in Potter’s office, and Potter is trying to get him to give up on the Savings and Loan. (Subtext – Metaphor for his soul. )

“Yes, sir, trapped into frittering his life away playing nursemaid to a lot of garlic-eaters. Do I paint a correct picture, or do I exaggerate?”

Its a classic hate the shit out of me line.

It removes any guilt you might have for hating Potter outright.

Maybe that is the secret to Christmas.

Hate is ok.

At least it will keep you warm at night.

Winter can get cold.

However, rather than risk offending the shade of George Bailey, I will leave you with this.

There is some good out there, you kind of just have to look for it.

I am fairly certain it doesn’t exist here, but its out there.

Its not something a politician can take from someone else and give to you, but its something you have to make happen for yourself.

But their very nature, victories are won, not given.

And you tend to appreciate them more.

Merry Christmas to you all.

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Posted by on December 25, 2012 in Uncategorized


Shopping, the new extreme sport.

I hate shopping.

I realize how shallow that sounds.

There was a lot of evil crap going on over the weekend, so being pissy about shopping seems a little shitty on my part.

But while I acknowledge my shallowness, and I also avoid talking about it.

Moving on.

I had to venture to the mall for a Christmas gift.

Why? Because I am a moron.

Everything in the world is available on Amazon and Ebay, and at a better price.

So your christmas shopping is just a question of timing.

Maybe the caffeine got to me and made me a little loopy.

So, I am standing in the mall Starbucks, staring thru the front window at the “Unwashed masses”.

Its a scaring thing to contemplate.

I have been standing here for the last five minutes, sucking down caffeine courage and getting ready to enter the fray.

I throw away my empty venti cup, that has to be some sort of record for sucking down scalding hot coffee on my part.

My mouth is a little raw from the heat and dry from the fear.

Into the breach.

There is a Gamestop on the other side of the first floor that I need something for my boy.

The woman in front of me is shaped like a 1979 AMC Pacer, the one with the funky windows.

And she is taking baby steps, one inch at a time.

It occurs to be that chop-blocking the elderly in the mall is a sure ticket to jail, but the thought stayed in my head a little longer than was proper.

Best to distract myself.

I am also dealing with asthma this Xmas.

Nothing like wheezing in a crowded mall.

All I need to do now is get a serious case of the shits and I will have what I call the “Christmas Trifecta”.

On an odd note, the Pacer-woman has turned off, going into a store to shop.

Victoria Secret.

That is one of those vile mental pictures that is going to stay with me for awhile.

So much for the holidays.

Gamestop is every bit the overcrowded nightmare I expected, and it has the added bonus of having more than a dozen screaming unmanaged kids running around.

I can’t stand other peoples kids.

You can find them as special as you like, all I can see it the kids that will one day work for my kids if they’re lucky.

Its a wildly arrogant viewpoint, but it works for me.

The Gamestop cashier has that look of the small town boy going off to fight the Germans, kind of that, “I know I’m gonna die” kind of look.

Retail will do that to you.

But its the holidays.

Almost unbidden, it pops into my head, like I knew it would.

Twas the night before Christmas, yadda yadda yadda.

It has begun.

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Posted by on December 20, 2012 in Uncategorized


Side effects and the Stranger

I have ADHD, kind of off the charts.

If you have followed this blog for any length of time, this is not shocking you.

And I don’t mean, some Dr. made a snap judgement to appease his drug rep and get a kickback.

I mean, I have been a hyper insomniac since birth prone to ripping the drapes off of the wall as a child kind.

Due to being a premmie, I spent a lot of time at Children’s hospital Los Angeles.

Before I could walk, they had my little walker on rollers secured by a length of twin, and I ran back and forth for hours.

That kind of ADHD.

Now I have more of a can’t shut my mouth and have a serious filter issue.

Never medicated as a child, mom never trusted ritalin, and she has pretty good instincts.

However, when we got my kids diagnosed, the Dr. decided to medicate me.

I tried to explain about my caffeine addiction and how I have the mild stimulant I need, but the Dr. was very persuasive.

She was pretty hot. (Sorry, but I am who I am. I also have a thing about lady Dr’s. Remind me to tell you about the hernia check story some time.)

So, I ended up with a 2 week supply of Wellbutrin.

I was not wild about the idea of it, the list of side effects was a pretty long one, and some nasty shit too.

This is from the literature:

“Call your doctor at once if you have a serious side effect such as:

  • seizure (convulsions); (Yeah, I have a seizure, the doctor is going to hear from me.)
  • fast heartbeats; (No way to know if thats just me, I do that without the Wellbutrin.)
  • fever, swollen glands, rash or itching, joint pain, or general ill feeling; (Luckily, I don’t drink like I used to, that could just be a hangover.)
  • confusion, trouble concentrating, hallucinations, unusual thoughts or behavior; (I would be shocked if I didn’t have this on a daily basis.)
  • severe skin reaction — fever, sore throat, swelling in your face or tongue, burning in your eyes, skin pain, followed by a red or purple skin rash that spreads (especially in the face or upper body) and causes blistering and peeling.” (Sure thats not a good sunburn after an all night drunk? Mace will do that to you.)

There is one that they do not have on that list, and I really think they should put it on the list and highlight it.

Premature ejaculation.

There is an evil side to me that used to think that premature ejaculation would be an awesome thing.

Don’t get me wrong, I try to be a generous lover, but sometimes, its all about me.

Now, and here is where we get personal, I have mentioned my mastabatory habits before, so it will not shock anyone that, 3 days after I started on the Wellbutrin, I decided to engage in a little self abuse.

And I wasn’t planning anything freaky, either.

No grapefruit, mechanical devices, sit on my hand till its numb and give myself a “Stranger”, nothing like that.

Just a good honest jerk, as God intended.

Except that the Wellbutrin had other plans.

3, count em, 3, strokes into it, I had the odd sensation of being spit at, alone in a locked room.

Are you shitting me?

Oh, HELL no!

So, Wellbutrin was out.

I never went back to the hot lady Dr., despite her habit of wearing blouses with lots of cleavage and a Dr.’s lab coat. (Total porn film wardrobe, and I think she knew it.)

I decided to give coffee another try, and it has been good to me.

I know, a lot of people claim its not all that good for you.

Kind of like the beverage version of Ike Turner. (Another Ike Turner reference?)

While I am thinking about it, I should explain the Hernia check story.

I used to work in environmental clean up, mainly Asbestos and lead paint.

It is an industry that requires a yearly physical and a chest X-ray.

So I went because they paid me to go and it was like free money.

I am a money whore from way back.

Anyway, one year they made me an appointment at new clinic for the exam.

I filled out the paperwork and was shown to a dressing room and told to strip and get into a gown.

So, I am naked under a paper gown, wandering around the back room of the clinic, doing their tests.

And then they did it, they played their hole card, their big hand.

The nurse they assigned to me is an unbelievably well built, beautiful Latina.

The doctor is an incredible Nordic blonde.

And there is a LOT of touching going on when they pass each other.

Maybe its my evil mind generating fantasies, but dammit, you didn’t see them.

In the end, I was laying on an exam table, and told that the doctor would be in in just a moment for the hernia exam.

And then about 5 minutes passed.

And I started daydreaming.

And then the daydream turned filthy, we’re talking flat out porno going on in my head.

And then the doctor came in for the hernia exam.

I realized that I am rigidly at attention and creating a tentpole situation under the paper gown.

And there is not a damned thing I can do about it.

The doctor immediately went dead eyes at the sight, like a vietnam vet or a long time hooker.

I felt like such a sleazy asshole.

But then, it got worse.

I started laughing.

Call it a nervous reaction, but I could not stop.

With a “I am sick of your shit, asshole” sigh, the doctor pulled up the gown and checked my hernia, a little too briskly, but thats just my opinion.

It took literally 3 tries before I could stop laughing enough to cough.

By this time, she wasn’t even trying to hide her contempt.

She started then stopped herself from ripping me a new one before she finally stomped out of the room.

And that is the Hernia check story.

This blog may be a little longer than you are used to, but there was a lot of fairly embarrassing stuff to cover.


Now go wash your hands.


Posted by on December 18, 2012 in Uncategorized


Retarded Vampires

The vampires are holding court at Starbucks.

Funny line, now let me explain why its cruel.

I am standing in line at Starbucks, and I happen to notice 3 ladies sitting at one of the small rounds near the cream and sugar kiosk

One of them I have rippped apart in the blog before.

These women are the epitome of what I like to call the MMF. (Manhattan Money Frau. A financially well to do woman who has no real use in life other than to take yoga classes and spend money.)

Its kind of a mean title to slap on someone, but I have yet to regret naming them so.

Anyway, the woman in question is the grandmother who has had about as much plastic surgery as Joan Rivers and is convinced she is a piece of ass.

Tight shorts, low slung tops, make up done in that “Slut ho of the living dead” style that frightens more that attracts.

And, much to my cruel to delight, she likes to have her lips plumped once a month.

Thats right, Duck lips.

And she is sitting at a table of like-surgery minded ladies.

And they all have duck lips.

I am not sure if this is a coordinated thing or just luck of the draw.

But what should be funny is actually kind of chilling.

There is not a lot left on these ladies that is still real.

Its like they are undead.

But what kind?

(Sidebar. This is the kind of shit that runs thru my head in the space from the front door as I enter till I cross the 10 feet to the line. I am at peace with it.)

They have been feeding off of whoever has been paying the bills for all this shit for all these years, so vampires is the first thing that comes to mind.

Also, they have that skin tone that tells me that they either self tan or sleep during the day on a tanning bed.

Tanning bed types usually avoid actual sunlight.

Vampires it is.

By now, I am giggling to myself and on my way to the cream and sugar kiosk with my coffee.

And thats when I heard it.

“If the economy gets any worse, we may have to sell one of the houses. The thought of being destitute makes me ill.”

I hadn’t realized she was retarded.

Don’t get up in arms, it fits in this situation.

Three points:

  • Having to sell “One of the houses.” does not make you destitute. Not having ANY house makes you destitute.
  • Cutting back on your various surgeries could probably by a small summer home in Boca.
  • Saying that with a duck lipped slur to your voice really cranks up the tard quality factor.


The next few minutes was an odd time warp period of time as all the MMF’s added their examples of hard luck stories.

But they were just as bad as the first lady’s example.

Well monied with no clue.

Not often you run into this, but its stunning when you do.

Now, a quick disclaimer.

If you find yourself offended by the word Retard because you have one in the family.

You don’t.

What you have is a mentally challenged member of the family.

But these vampires are retarded.

See the difference?

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Posted by on December 13, 2012 in Uncategorized


Hit me again, Jobs.

Ever pick up your phone and find out that your phone, thru no fault of yours, has dialed someone?

You always hope to catch it before it rings, then you can hang up with no penalty.

And if it rings once or twice, you have a quick decision to make.

Stay on the line and wait for the other side to answer, explain the whole thing and be embarrassed.

Or, you could just hang up and hope they don’t call back to find out why you called at all.

The absolute worst is when you suddenly realize that you dialed someone, because you can hear then shouting hello into the phone.

On par with that one is when you get someone that calls you back to tell you that you dialed them.

I have had people do this and describe conversations I had with other people that they could hear.

What is the proper tact to take at that point?

Kind of like, no matter what tact you take, you are just going to be embarrassed.

I like to think that is why they call it butt dialing.

I refuse to accept responsibility for this.

Mainly because no one else ever butt dials me.

Which either means that everyone is more competent than me and I am ignorant, or the phone company has some vast conspiracy to disparage me.

But which one is it?

Conspiracy theory it is.

Curse you, Sprint.

Although, I do love my Iphone.

Hard to complain about a phone that does pretty much everything you ask it to.

And trust me, I have had phones that have crapped on me like a parrot with diarrhea.

I was with the company that used to be LA Cellular for a long time.

I forget what they were called, but the got bought up when Verizon first came to town.

They sucked.

I was with Verizon for about 10 years.

They were famous for taking my request for a “New on the market” phone and giving me phones that had just been discontinued.

And those phones always crapped out on me but could not be replaced because that model was no longer being made.

They sucked.

I was with AT&T for a long time.

They were kind of like off white wallpaper.

Boring, never stood out, never rocked it, but never super bad.

So they sucked by default.

And then, I went with sprint, for the Iphone.

Sprint rocks it more than they suck.

Or maybe thats just the Iphone talking.

The really shitty part of it is that I don’t have any will power when it comes to the marketing.

The commercials are being made, just for me.

The speak to me. Lie to me. They say things only a child could understand.

Sometimes, after I go into the cell phone section at Bestbuy, I cut myself.

Its a vicious circle.

Mainly, the conflict is this.

Everything I want to get needs to meet the bar set by my current phone.

The Iphone bar.

I hate the company, their corporate structure, the Foxcon factory they use, all of it.

Steve Jobs, when he was alive, was a lot like Ike Turner on a mean drunk.

Sometime after a new phone release, he would slap us around like we had the bad luck of being named Tina on the wrong day.

And then, a few weeks later, he would come around with a new phone in hand.

Take me back, baby! You know I didn’t mean it!

And we did, again and again.

But I love my Iphone.

So the question becomes, lets say I find another phone that I like.

It has sweet features, and killer ease of use.

And maybe the company isn’t quite as evil as the Apple empire.

And their factory doesn’t put Haitian underage sweat shops to shame.

Maybe then.

Or maybe you can have my Iphone when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

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Posted by on December 11, 2012 in Uncategorized


Yes, Virginia, there is a Bittermac

I have a soft spot for polite homeless people, this is a documented fact.

You might complain that I treat them like pets, to be screwed with for my own amusement, except that I do that with everyone, so I am treating them the same.

But, I mainly deal with Manhattan Beach Homeless.

Tonight, I am in Hollywood.

And this is where the homeless bring their A game to the table.

Hollywood and Vine is kind of like the Vegas strip of Hollywood, lots for the eye to see.

So for a homeless person to make it here, they have to catch and hold your opinion.

Like the guy coming up.

I am a half block from Skoobies hot dogs.

Skoobies, for those who don’t know, is an infamous hot dog fixture on Hollywood Blvd since forever.

When I am nearby, I go to Skoobies.

And this is where I found Virginia. (Yes, he’s a guy. However, you will see in a second.)

And Virginia has a sign.


Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

However, it is not me.

Call it a quirk, but I dislike rude homeless people.

Yes, you say, but he may have a drug problem or a mental issue.

Thats not my problem.

He is a salesman.

He has to sell me on the idea of me giving him money.

So it is all about presentation.

Funny sign? It can help, but I feel that profanity can alienate your audience.

I used to train sales people, so you while I don’t mind profanity, I mind that he is not going for the biggest demographic.

So no money for him.

And then his presentation went into overdrive.

“You ever had a dream, man?”

His voice is surprisingly plaintive and sad.

I slow down.

I look.

Eye contact is the first step to money and he knows it.

“Yeah.” I answer without consciously thinking about it.

“I didn’t get a lot of stuff I wanted, but a pony, man that woulda been nice, man.”

I shit you not, TEARS in his eyes.

It is an illogical thing.

I KNOW he is not saving to buy a damned pony. For a fact.

But, he struck a note.

And got a dollar from me.

I am a sucker for a solid presentation.
Now for Blog business.
Starting this week, there will only be a blog posted on Tuesdays and Thursdays going forward.
The reasons for this are many, but mainly I am beginning to move into another area of writing that I am really enjoying.
Sketch Comedy.
The Tuesday/Thursday posts will be a bit longer, perhaps fleshing things out in that manner you seem to like.
I know some of you are going to be a little bummed about this.
But I would rather cut back and continue to give you a solid post, than keep trying to put out a daily post that I am burning out on.
Thank you for your support.


Posted by on December 10, 2012 in Uncategorized


The hitman on the bus.

If you are looking for quiet, mind your own, low crime neighborhoods, Hollywood and Vine is the wrong place to be.

Why I am here is a long story, and why I am waiting for a bus is a short story.

Once upon a time, I made a stupid decision, the end.

I had decided to see if the bus/rail setup in LA would help me get out here in a timely fashion.

This would save a bit of cash as I have to be out here a few times a week for the next few months.

I lived in Portland, OR for a few years, and say what you like about the soft headed hippies of the Pacific Northwest, they know some public transit.

Not so LA.

However, I am stuck up here without a car and am looking at an hour and a half jaunt to get home.

No bueno.

So I have begun amusing myself with examining my fellow travellers.

Nobody really stood out except the guy with the severe facial tick until the pretty girl walked by.

Early 20’s, pretty, long hair, kind of a slutty playboy bunny aura to her.

And the sound of sloppy kissing noises fills the air.

There is a guy leaning up against the building, waiting like we all are.

Mid 50’s, bad skin, black shoes/jeans/tshirt/hair, hair slicked back and greasy looking.

And he has his hand to his mouth making really rude noises.

And the girl walks by, no more than a foot from his, staring straight ahead, totally ignoring him.

Was there a shot in hell that this was going to work?

I mean, you tell me ladies, is that method of pick up the serious “Paintie dropper”?

And then she turns the corner and is gone, and we are left with the guy.

Lets call him Nicky (Mainly because Douchebag is a description, not a name. Lets just say its implied.)

Nicky is a sad substitute for the pretty girl.

At least he has the entertainment potential to somewhat make up for it.

And almost like he could hear my thoughts, like a diva taking to the stage, like Elvis entering the building, Nicky steps up.

He gets on his phone.

What follows is his phone conversation with someone named “Monique”.

I usually use lists and try to keep it to 3, but I am going to break that rule today and simply post his crap with my comments until I have conveyed the wonder that is Nicky:

  • I will kill that guy, I need the practice. (Evidently, this is concerning a co-worker who got promoted over him. The death threats went on for 15 minutes. Shooting, stabbing, blowing him up, strangling, and at one point, a threat to kill his cat and then beat him with the carcass.)
  • I love you. (Went on for 10 minutes, seriously, nothing else was said, just I love you, over and over again.
  • Ronnie isn’t gay, Jamal isn’t gay, and I’m not gay, thats all bullshit. She is lying. (I would love to find out the back story on this one.)
  • I am gonna take you to breakfast tomorrow and they have a jukebox that has a lot of Wham on it, I am gonna sing you “Last Christmas”. (I don’t know about Ronnie or Jamal, but Nicky just outed himself in a big way. This was followed by several attempts to sing the song, but he kept forgetting the words.)
  • I am drunk. No really, I am drunk. I have been drinking all night. (He tries in vain for 5 minutes to convince Monique that he is drunk. Monique evidently listens to all of this shit and thinks he’s sober?)
  • No, I am not on the bus, I am driving my brother’s Mercedes. (LIES!!!)
  • No, I didn’t hang up on you, my battery keeps dying. (Then the phone wouldn’t work, dipshit.)

I will admit that Nicky made the whole crappy ride go a little faster.

Especially since he was sitting with the guy who had the severe facial tics.

Putting the two together is an epic thing.

Like a mutant Zigfried and Roy.


Posted by on December 7, 2012 in Uncategorized


When Evil looks you in the eye.

I am hiding in the line at Starbucks.

I am not proud of hiding from a little old woman, but in these circumstances, you do what you gotta do.

I got caught watching Mama Evil evict some poor business guy from his seat.

And the glare of an old Russian woman, possibly a gypsy, is not something to be shrugged off.

Thru the display racks, I can see Evil Couple settling themselves in with Mama Evil.

Mrs. Evil Couple does not look happy.

More of a pissed off wet cat vibe going on.

I can’t prove it, but I still think Mama Evil was fixing it so her daughter got wet on the walk into Starbucks.

Anybody else you would say this about and you would give them the benefit of the doubt.

And before you accuse me of being vile in the mind to a little old lady, step a mile in my Nikes and consider what I have seen and heard with this bunch.

So, anyway, since I am hiding on the other side of the display case, this is not stalking.

The only down side, is, I can’t hear what is being said.

However, it appears that Mama Evil is ripping the kids a new one for something.

I get my coffee and head to the cream and sugar kiosk.

I take my time, but I really can’t hear anything significant.

Other than Mama Evil using the word shit once.

As my crap luck would have it, there is not a table within spitting distance of the group and I end up on the other side of the room.

So, I hunker down, swill my caffeine and begin typing away, recording the goings on.

In a bit of a creepy running gag, several times I look up and find Mama Evil, glaring at me.

Its like getting caught masturbating before you are old enough to feel guilty about it.

You know you might be in trouble for doing something wrong, but you aren’t sure what.

And, as happens sometimes when the caffeine starts to kick in, I get into these writing jags and forget everything around me.

You know that feeling you get when you are sure someone is staring at you, and it feels so strong that you don’t want to look up, because if you don’t see them, they aren’t there, like you are invisible.

If that last line doesn’t make sense to you, this is just a little insight into the crazed crap that goes thru my head.


Mama Evil is standing in front of my table, glaring at me live and in person.

I can see the Evil couple over at the door, getting ready to go out into the weather.

Mama Evil is wagging a finger at me.

“You need to mind your business, it is very rude, what you do.”

And with that, she turns and walks off.

I realize I am sweating.

The feeling of relief that comes over you when something scary is over and your mind finally freaks out is a strong one, and not easily shrugged off.

She is right though.

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Posted by on December 6, 2012 in Uncategorized


Mama said there’d be days like this.

We are back on the corner, in the rain, with Evil Couple and Mama Evil.

(This is a part 2 so go back and read yesterday if none of this is making any sense)

I have water dripping down my face.

As we all wait for the light to change, Mama Evil moves a little forward, it seems like a perfectly normal move.

Mr. Evil adjusts the umbrella to cover her and in doing so, leaves his wife just a little more uncovered.

Mrs. Evil does not seem to be able to ignore the rain, she has what I like to call the wet cat response to the rain.

In other words, she is miserable.

There is no way to know if this was intentional on the part of Mama Evil, but I have to go by the track record and hideous karmic cloud that must follow this bunch around like the plague.

I wonder if I were to walk a block away from them if it would even be raining?

The light turns green and we make our way across the street and into Starbucks.

Mr. and Mrs. Evil stop at the door to shake off the wet and close the umbrella.

Mama Evil doesn’t even break stride, she just walks in like its nobodies business.

Thats how she rolls.

There is a fair line, but that doesn’t seem to slow her down.

She walks to the front of the line and holds a hand up to the cashier, who is writing on a cup for a customer, you know, the one that is actually in line and who’s turn it is to order?

“I would like a small coffee, black, my son in law will pay you. I will be sitting over there.”

She idly gestures at Mr. Evil, just coming thru the door, and the occupied tables near the cream and sugar kiosk.

Then she walks off.

The fuck you is implied at this point, I think we all get that, right?

I leave the line to go watch.

I am excited and a little nauseous. I mean, this point, you could not get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.

The small round tables are all occupied.

The one in the middle has a business guy sitting against the wall, reading the paper.

The chair at his table is unoccupied.

Mama evil sits down without invite at the table and just sits there.


The uncomfortable clock is ticking for this poor bastard, and I think, deep down, he knows it.

He folds up his paper and leaves, looks confused and a little ashamed.

(I had a phenomenal line about altar boys and shame, but my mother still reads this blog and I don’t need that kind of self inflicted shit storm in my life)

Mama Evil moves over to the previously occupied seat, and settles in.

And catches me watching.

Oh shit.

The narrowing of the eyes is unmistakable.

I fade into the line with as much salvaged dignity as I can muster.

PART 3 coming tomorrow.

(Did you just pull that cliffhanger shit again? YES I DID!)


Posted by on December 5, 2012 in Uncategorized