Monthly Archives: June 2013

Gay Marriage is killing the Amish.

Gay marriage is going to destroy us all.

Conversation overheard on my way to Starbucks.

Conversation from a seemingly 90 year old woman that I am NOT related to is rarely something that interests me.

I kind of hold everyone to the same standard as I do children.

If I am not related to them, they must be damaged and slow, and in many cases, sort of Fugly.

Pretty narrow minded, but I come from the good genes.

The woman walking with the 90-something crypt keeper looks as old as hell, but I can’t tell if she is a friend, daughter, sister or some sort of age experiment that went horribly wrong.

Anyway the ancient duo made several observations that I found amusing, not offensive, (Not sure I am capable of that) but somewhat ignorant.

Top 3 old lady statements:

1.  Gay people are just so loud about that whole “Gay” thing.

2.  Betty’s son is gay, and has an odd smell. (I laughed out loud and they turned to glare at me.)

3. Gay marriage will lead to animal marriage. (Just continued laughing at this point.)

They stopped in for coffee at the Coffee Bean, which is the local version of God’s waiting room.

There is something subtly disturbing about watching an Amish man, black suit and wide, flat brimmed hat, full beard and all, checking out the ass of a woman in yoga pants.

Not to say that her as isn’t hot, in all reality its downright sinful to look at, and I am not even Amish.

But I can only imagine the hellfire and brimstone sermon brewing in this guys head.

But what the hell is he and the missus doing in a Starbucks in Downtown Manhattan?

They seem more than a little out of place.

And yet, why not?

But the local property values seem to be a trifle pricey for an Amish couple looking for some bottom land.

What the hell is bottom land anyway?

It sounds vaguely dirty, but then, most things sounds dirty to me, not sure why.

It is entirely possible that the concept of gay marriage is just too much for those with a tightly wired mindset.

All it takes to push some folks over the edge to a life on Xanax is just one more thing their mind cannot wrap its cerebral fingers around.

Flexibility seems to be the key these days.

I rarely talk about my political beliefs, other than my disatisfaction with the current administration.

But someone asked me how I felt about the whole thing.

Fine, here you go.

I think the whole concept of the government being involved with your family needs a rework.

Religiously, I am iffy on it.

Politically, I believe your rights trump anything the government says.

The government should be a clerk of sorts, writing down what we the people tell it we are doing with our personal family/business arrangements.

There, said my piece.

Lets move on.

I was also asked what sort of cool things might happen because of the gay marriage rulings.

There is some buzz in the media right now about what hot lady singers/actresses might come out and get married now.

And that could be really cool in a strictly pervy sort of way.

Leave a comment

Posted by on June 28, 2013 in Uncategorized


Leaving, on a jet plane.

There is a certain frantic edge to the airport.

Everyone is coming or going or just killing time in between.

Waiting at the gate for someone to arrive is kind of relaxing.

Its an odd mix of humanity that are waiting all around me.

I imagine this is how a tropical fish feels in a new tank.

There are your pretty fish, the professional drivers in their suits and ties, waiting for their clients.

And then the pretty civilians, the hot wives and worked out guys, waiting for their loved ones.

And there is the bottom feeders, the clown loaches of the crowd, probably awaiting for the arrival of their drug mule. (A miscreant with a full butt load of meth in little balloons.)

A sprinkling of all those in between.

There is an old man who is a dead ringer for Tony Bennett.

He is either here to pick up Frank Sinatra or an aging Vegas Hooker he was once married to.

There is an even older man in the corner that is so old that he has that permanently shocked and terrified look on his face.

Something for us all to look forward to.

A young mother a stones throw down my row of seats is desperately trying to wrangle 3 completely out of control rug rats.

It only reinforces my belief that everyone elses children besides mine are more than little slow.

Judging by the tension level of this woman, she may castrate the traveling husband the second he makes it out of the corridor from the plane.

And he would deserve it.

Raising two was enough for me and the missus, raising 3 is a yet to be seen episode of Fear Factor.

Personally, I would rather eat 12 reindeer testicles than babysit this ladies kids for a half hour.

Just the thought of it has caused a mild case of nervous swamp ass to break out, and these vinyl airport seats are not helping.

The airport is a surprisingly easy place to sit with a laptop and write rotten shit about those around you.

It uses the same protocol as the men’s room, everyone carefully minds their own and avoids eye contact.

Fine by me.

And if you have never seen a 6 foot 5, 400 pound Samoan limo driver in a “Men in Black suit”, you are seriously missing out.

His sign says Bartelli.

I imagine he is here to pick up some visiting mob boss, in town no doubt to set up the new West Coast mob.

Its like the Godfather 4, staring an unknown, Robert De Pacino. (Work with me.)

Its a tawdry little tale of family and corruption and betrayal.

And then Mrs. Bartelli came thru the doors.

An 80 year old woman who appears to have been pried out of her apartment in the Bronx against her will.

As she walks away with her mountainous driver, crushing my Godfather storyline, I realize something very basic and true.

You can’t have it all, where would you keep it?

Leave a comment

Posted by on June 24, 2013 in Uncategorized


When is fugly hot?

Fugly is as fugly does.

In Starbucks, at this very moment, is possibly the most attractive woman I have ever seen.

Like a Sport Illustrated model with more of that classic bombshell mystique.

At the same time, is just about the ugliest woman I have ever had the displeasure of being stuck in a room with.

And they are both the same woman.

I don’t care how hot you are, being a truly unpleasant person makes for a lot of ugly.

And, trust me, I am more than willing to put up with a lot for hot.

I am your typical pig when it comes to this sort of thing.

When she first came thru the door, every set of testicles in the building turned to look.

But within 2-3 minutes they stopped looking.

It was subtle, but you could see it.

So I began watching her for a different reason.

She was arrogant, but when a woman looks like that, it is not out of place to be a little diva-ish.

It was about another couple of minutes before I caught it.

There is a set to the eyes that some people get when they truly dislike something or someone and they are briefly reminded of it.

And this woman had that look every half second or so.

Like she hated the whole world.

Its like a peek into an ugly soul and has the same effect as dumping dogshit on a bouquet of roses.

I have thought a lot about this subject before and have come to the conclusion that Its ok to hate a total stranger.

Might even be healthy, in a way.

A lot of people will try to tell you that you have to be positive, that negativity never solves anything.

Bullshit, good or bad, negative shit does a lot of things in this life.

Ask the survivors of Hiroshima if negative shit didn’t change the course of their lives.

Not a good thing, but still.

Now, you may be asking what an insanely hot woman with oily feeling soul has to do with an atomic bomb?

No clue, I just work here.

Its more of a karmic comparison more than anything.

You have to wonder about the man she has at home, if there is one.

He is a mental emotional thrill seeker of sorts, because you KNOW she is half crazy, in bed or out.

The kind of crazy where you end up with her lovely, delicate hand gripping the base of your scrotum will her other hand is gesturing wildly with a straight razor.

An ugly way to wake up, but the make up sex is mind blowing.

How the hell did I end up there?

Must be spring in the air.

Or I could just be a twisted asshole.

Take your pick.

Either way, keep it to yourself.

Leave a comment

Posted by on June 21, 2013 in Uncategorized


Mob vomit mentality.

Alcohol is a wonderful drug of sorts.

Kind of like that line from the “Dave Chappell” show on Comedy Central.

They show skits recreating the wilder moments in Charlie Murphy’s (Eddie Murphy’s brother) memories of partying with an out of control Rick James in the 80’s.

It shows all sort of vile happenings then they go to Rick James for commentary, he denies it, then a half second later, he admits to it.

And then for an explanation, they go to his quote of “Cocaine is a hell of a drug.”

Alcohol is the same thing sometimes.

Absolutely obscene behavior goes on once the vino starts flowing.

And tequila, and vodka, and jagermeister…etc.

We are at the beach.

I am sober, but have spent the last 30 minutes trying to play badminton in a high wind. (Bad idea, but lots of fun with the right company.)

However, the brightly t-shirted mob making their way down the bike path next to the sand is barely keeping it together.

Its an even mix of men and women, various sizes and ethnicity, but sharing one critical thing.

They are all shit faced drunk.

Not “Tipsy” or “Feeling it”, but one member faceplanting into the ground and the rest laughing their asses off type shit-faced.

Their bright neon yellow shirts proclaim that they are aerospace employees on the annual Defence contractors pub crawl.

For those not in the know, (Like I am), a pub crawl is like a mobile riot that is semi sanctioned by the local businesses. (Mainly bars, but the restaurants hope they will buy food at some point.)

The police do not love these people, but they tolerate them.

Not as much as the cops in Vegas or Reno, but close. (In Vegas and Reno, they will simply remove you from the bad place you are and reinsert back into play back at your home casino. Don’t tell me no, I have had it happen to me.)

The mob has to pee.

I know this because, due to some construction going on at the beach bathrooms, there are 4 port a johns on the sand.

The moment the mob saw them, a howl of sorts went up, like a wolf pack that scented fresh blood.

Several broke into a run for them.

One severly inebriated asian woman was at a high sprint when she contacted the three foot high wall separating the bike path from the sand.

I am not sure what her plans were, hopping over the wall or what, but she did a painful looking full flip over the half wall and landed face first in the sand.

1 down, 9 more to go.

The next victim splatted into the door of the porta while trying to get the door open.

It looked painful, but there was no way to tell as the guy landed on his ass, wedged the door open and crawled in.

The other portas were filled without further casualties.

The asian woman crawled off of the sand and got to her feet, staggering over to a bench with blood and sand staining her ugly neon shirt.

It was then that one of the occupants of a porta, not sure which, began to vomit.


I was 50 feet away and I could hear that poor bastard retching clearly.

It was like watching a man on tv getting kicked in the nuts, you felt sympathy pain for him, self induced though it may be.

The pub crawl mob was heartless.

They surrounded and began pounding on the porta, yelling.

You never want to make any sudden moves that might draw the attention of this type of mob, they can turn on you in a heartbeat.

The bout of vomiting was a short one, thankfully, as the vomiteer exited the porta to the cheers of his coworkers.

And then they set off, presumably to the next bar.

God help us all, these people are building F-16’s.

Leave a comment

Posted by on June 17, 2013 in Uncategorized


The sinister plot.

I seriously thought I was in a hold up at Starbucks this morning.

Let me set the scene for you.

This particular Starbucks is in downtown Manhattan Beach.

The female demographic locally is well monied beauties that fun the gamut from big business alpha females to barely conscious living sex dolls.

And they all take yoga.

A couple of fairly cruel lines, but fairly true.

I watch people, its a little creepy, but its my thing.

So imagine my shock as I watched someone totally out of place for the area, walk into Starbucks.

Its morning primetime, so the line was to the front door, hooked a U turn and was three quarters of the way to the bathroom at the back.

Jeans, not fashionable ones, but more of the no name JC Penny type, stained.
Work boots.

Faded pendelton with the sleeves rolled.

Mullet, slightly greasy.

And the only two clues she is a woman is the lack of facial hair and the swell of breasts beneath the pendleton.

An old school dyke, rare in these parts.

Shouldn’t she be at Lilith Fair?

Ok, enough cheap shots.

But imagine my shock when a second woman, dressed EXACTLY the same, comes in.

As she passes the first woman, the both nod slightly, but pretty much ignore each other.

What the hell?

They are both in line, now.

Its like suddenly realizing that you are in an episode of Twilight Zone.

And then two more women came in, dressed exactly the same.

Same bare nod and then ignoring each other.

Screw Twilight Zone, this just became on of those shitty Quenton Tarantino films.

Like Kill Bill with Dykes instead of ninja’s.

I waited for the guns to come out.

It kind of has to be a robbery, doesn’t it?

Otherwise, this might be final proof that I am some sort of sexist asshole. (Like this is the only thing stopping you from thinking this for the last couple years.)

One by one, each butch got their coffee, meandered around a bit, then left.

And none of them ever acknowledged the other.

Weird? To say the least.

And maybe it is just a product of my vile imagination,

But if there are headlines tomorrow about a bank robbery pulled off by a crew of militant bull dykes?

Bittermac, witness for the prosecution.

(You will all owe me an apology.)

Leave a comment

Posted by on June 14, 2013 in Uncategorized


Days of wine and horses.

I like horses.

Note the lack of the word “love” in that sentence.

Yeah, I get that, noble majestic creatures and all that jazz.

Bottom line, they are huge, shit in piles and have monster sized penis’s that sometime show up in illegal porn.

However, alcohol is involved, So I am game.

Groupons are both good and bad for you.

Good because it gets you out and into activities you wouldn’t normally.

And bad because it gets you out and into activities that you wouldn’t normally.

I fear change like the villagers in Frankenstein, nothing good can come from it.

But here is the pitch:

Get on a horse and ride to two separate wine tastings.

Massive animals and alcohol, I’m in.

Temecula is in Southern Calfornia, out in wine country.

Not Napa, but a hell of a lot prettier than I expected.

Compared to the cheap gypsy horseback outfits that I have rented a fleabitten glue factory candidate from in the past, this outfit is higher end.

And since they are associated with a massive winery, you would expect that.

It will be a guided group, they evidently don’t want random strangers wandering thru the vineyards on the backs of large expensive beasts.

Its a formula for mayhem that few situations can equal.

The group is a little iffy fust from the looks of it.

There are two German Tourists that speak no English at all, and, If I am reading the signs right, the wife is absolutely terrified of the idea of being on or around horses.

To be cruel for a second, I can imagine her husband’s horror at being on or around his chosen frau.

The next 6 people are fairly generic, with the exception of Tamra.

Tamra is that always slightly drunk friend of your wife’s/girlfriend’s that is too loud and has the REALLY annoying habit of being startled by everything to the point that she emits a shriek about every 30 seconds.

Normally, I block that out, but continual shrieking startles horses and makes for a tense ride.

I am writing this 2 solid days later and my balls are just starting to talk to me again.

My riding posture is not the best, so the occasional trot is kind of like jumping up and down on your nut sack for fun.

Once again, only because alcohol is involved. (At least its consistent.)

Riding thru the vineyards is actually a hell of a lot more beautiful than I expected.

The horse, Izzy, and I have come to an understanding.

If she won’t stop in the middle of a light trot and fling herself sideways to eat vines, I will let her graze whenever we stop to wait for the German couple.

The German wife is not bonding with her horse.

The look on her face is a combination of terror and a desperate need to take a shit.

Not a pretty look for a late 50’s house Frau from the Fatherland.

That and the fact that her horse is reluctant to be out, it keeps turning back.

On about the third stop to retrieve Helga, a horsefly flew too close to Tamra and she shrieked.

Two horses went left, one right and the lead horse my girlfriend was on shot straight ahead.

Tamra was bottom feeding in the popularity department.

Her husband/boyfriend/unlucky bastard she was with was even getting tired of it.

“Tamra, jeezes!” It kind of became his mantra.

I began wishing for her to have a Christopher Reeves-type of accident.

Just saying.

The ride ended with no one dead.

And this was when my right eye started to swell shut.

Horsehair, ragweed, or bitten by something unknown, my eye looked like I lost the fight, badly.

I spent a quick half hour in the bathroom, flushing with cool water, which kind of helped.

On to the wine tasting.

I have no palette for wine and tend to prefer sweet dessert wines.

But high end desert wines are incredible.

In the end, in a shocker, my favorite was an almond infused champagne.

Not a big champagne fan, but this was exceptional.

Add to this about 5 hours total of wandering thru downtown Temecula, which is a lot of restaurants, bars, and really cool curio shops.

I can pick thru shit in these shops for days.

Add to that a Starbucks right at the head of main street and you had me at hello.

I love Temecula, although due to the absolute shit weather 98% of the time (Heat and sheet lightening) I could never live there.

All in all, a pretty awesome weekend for something mostly unplanned.

Serendipity and I are old friends.

Leave a comment

Posted by on June 10, 2013 in Uncategorized


Sweaty sex and a lack of caring.

People sweat when they work out, I get that.

I am trying to get into better shape myself, and I sweat a lot.

But hardcore runners tend to sweat more than others, thats a fact.

Its hard work to destroy your knees on a consistent basis.

People also like to kiss.

Making out is one of the dying arts.

Couples who have great affection from each other often make out in public, thats expected.

But don’t do both at the same time.

This seems like a simple rule, like don’t stick your tongue in a wall outlet.

There is a couple outside of Starbucks violating this very rule.

They have been running, hard.

And they are sweating profusely.

They are making out like its seven minutes in heaven on the brick stoop out front.

Sweat is literally dripping down their backs, its kind of gross.

And they are macking like a hungry teen from out of town on her first porn shoot, pure excitement.
Get a room kids.

How about just a shower at least?

I hope he is at least wearing a condom, running clothes material is so thin these days its best to be safe.

I just needed to get that off my chest.

Total change of subject.

The “Leave my balls alone!” post from Monday went viral and got about 10 times the amount of views they normally get.

This is both a good thing and bad, from my point of view.

The good is that at least somebody is reading this damned thing.

The bad is that more people are reading this damned thing.

Which means more complaints.

I got more blog email from Monday to Thursday than the blog has received this year.

Mostly positive.


But, there were a number of negative emails, mainly the “You suck” kind.

Top 5 opinions about Bittermac:
1. I’m an asshole. (I realize they just “met” me, but the rest of your are laughing at this.)
2. I’m a racist. (Not true. I kind of hate everyone if they’re not my family or at the least Irish.)
3. I’m a misogynist. (Ok, I will give you that one.)
4. I hate children. (GUILTY. Well, not mine, just yours.)
5. I am age discriminatory. (Only if you count my hatred of Kids, Teens, and 20-somethings.)

A number of them had some suggestions about how I could make the blog better.

Here is the least boring 5:
1. I could be more positive. (I could, I just find it boring.)
2. I don’ t need to use so many curse words. (Bite me, and fuck off)
3. I should write blogs about popular causes, like gay rights, or the homeless. (Gay? I don’t tell you what I do and I don’t care what you do. As for the homeless? HAVE YOU READ THIS BLOG? I am ALL about the homeless.)
4. I should have ads to rescue dogs. (Actually considered it. However, I wouldn’t want people to confuse that with a joke.)
5. Stop writing the blog. (I would LOVE to be paroled from this piece of shit some time in the near future.)

To sum it all up, if you are new to the blog, welcome.

Sit down, shut up, read the blog, keep it to yourself and if you really feel a strong urge to chastise me for anything you red?

Bite me.


Posted by on June 7, 2013 in Uncategorized


Leave my balls alone!

Picture this.

You are sitting in your house, its early morning, you just finished breakfast and you are thinking about a nap.

One of your room mates suggests you go for a ride.

You don’t really want to go, but what the hell, you didn’t have any plans for this morning other than hanging out, eating and chasing some stray pussy.

You arrive at some generic looking doctors office and go in.

You are not really sure why you are there as they shuttle you thru to a back room.

The shot they give you, they never really explain what it is.

You fall asleep.

And when you wake up, THEY CUT YOUR BALLS OFF!

Think that can’t happen to you?

Happens to thousands yearly.

Happened to my parents dog this morning.

Poor Rocky, your days of staring at some hot bitch thru the fence are over, my man.

And why do this to him? What crime did he commit?

Snuck out of the house to sniff some lace.

Why that dirty bastard!

Why stop at his balls, why not slit his throat, for God’s sake!

Justice seems a little overly dramatic these days.

Karma on steroids, if you will.

Moment of silence for Rocky’s balls. (My Blog, my rules)

Back to the practice of removing the ability to breed by surgery.

I had it done myself.

My vasectomy was something I thought about quite a bit before doing.

Nervous as hell.

Greatest thing I ever did.

I have two kids, and I look at it like a hunter in season.

Bagged my limit, I am done.

And the really weird part is, there were several men who were shocked and confused why I would ever do such a thing.

And all of them did the same thing within 6 months after I did.

Now, a vasectomy is nowhere near as bad as what happened to poor little Rocky.

I just had a snip, they castrated the little shitsu.

Rough trade, for an animal that we claim to love.

Could you imagine the procedure we would come up with if we didn’t like dogs?

Thank God they are no longer as big and vicious as their wolf ancestors.

I can’t imagine how the first dog to have this done felt.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Rocky’s de-balling only took a few minutes of surgery and an hour of recovery, then we took our dazed little dog home.

He has one of those ridiculous plastic cones on his head, to keep him from chewing his stitches.

And even in his groggy, drugged little head, he knows that we did something evil to him.

And he won’t quit staring at me.

Stop it.


Posted by on June 3, 2013 in Uncategorized