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Monthly Archives: August 2013

The Panty Move.

The panty move is always impressive, to say the least.

A panty move is one where a guy (Or girl), throws out a line so smooth, you just KNOW panties (Underwear) and the naked sweaty is happening at some point.

The stunningly hot Japanese woman from the a previous post must have started working in the area, because she has become a regular.

Talk about your eye candy.

And whatever she does for a living, it requires that she dress to the fucking hot nines every morning.

There is a guy that is a regular in Starbucks, lets call him Brandt (Just the right mix of money and youth.)

And I don’t know what he does for a living, but he makes ungodly bank and it has left him cultured and well spoken.

In other words, major player.

And he happened to be sitting next to me when Ms. Japanese sex bomb got her coffee.

As she turns to go, he catches her eye and gestures at her shoes.

“Are those Cesaere-Paciotti’s?”

And her face lit up with somewhere in the vicinity of about a million lumen’s.

PANTY MOVE.

Going for the shoes does several things.

It shows her that he is cultured enough to know women’s shoes.

It compliments her taste and the fact that she can wear such gorgeous shoes.

It also shows her that he is familiar with incredibly expensive shoes, probably from buying them for women.

All of these are panty move worthy, but together, they are the “one two punch” of set ups

A panty move of many layers and levels.

Incredible.

Without being asked, she sits and they begin the dance.

Its as old as time.

By the time I left, she was sitting next to him and they had all but consummated the relationship right there on the table.

It would be worth seeing.

And you wouldn’t even be able to call it public sex.

At this level of hotness, it goes beyond porn, its like art.

You uncultured ape.

Its kind of like natural selection.

The pretty people have been jockeying for coital position for centuries.

I could have that kind of panty move, but it would involve me being about a foot taller and being in a higher tax bracket.

Make that 2 or 3 higher tax brackets.

But, to get back to the real world, that will never happen.

The reality of it is, other than being a solid masturbatory fantasy, the Japanese hotness is rarely available to the common man.

Its just the way of the world.

I get that. I don’t like it, I hope they give each other diseases and their genitals fall off, but I get it.

I wrote the line just before this one a full day ago and just re-read it.

I wish I could say that I have rethought such juvenile pettiness and wish them well.

Nope, I am sticking with the genital leprosy and would like to add a wish for general bad luck.

Bitter much?

Bittermac.

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Posted by on August 30, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

I do hold you in contempt.

Court is in session, the honorable (Maybe) Bittermac is presiding.

You may be seated.

This is the court of Bittermac.

Real courts are run by laws and rules.

This one is ruled by sarcasm and whatever I feel is funny.

Sometimes, everyone else agrees with the funny and sometimes I go it alone.

A prophet is never revered in his own land.

I get that.

Courts are also interested in Justice.

I view Justice the same way I view Karma, they both rarely pull their weight like we want them to.

Justice in its mercy, is not vengeful.

Not me, I prefer Old Testament Justice.

Kinda going in the other direction.

I bet you are wondering whats up my ass today.

Excellent question.

I am judgmental.

I have that on good authority that judging others is one of my issues.

This was told me in a judgmental email from someone who states “I never read your blog, but-”.

Right.

I swear, if we took a show of hands, more people read this piece of shit that hate it than like it.

I have gone back and forth with this woman thru several emails, and I have actually been nice thru most of them.

Except for the one reply that was just the C-word, all in caps, underlined, bolded and using a larger font. (Its so easy to take that out of context.)

The fact that she was judging me in her email was an irony that, even when pointed out to her, was ignored.

I view any interaction with people in connection to what is written here to be the same thing as the “Cutting heads” scene from “Crossroads” starring Ralph Macchio. (Actually a killer film)

If you’ve never seen it, the film is about a young guitar virtuoso (Ralph), who finds an old blues man in a rest home and helps him bust out and go home to the deep south. The short version is, the blues guy sold his soul to the devil and wants to get it back. The devil shows up and says that he will let Ralph play a guitar battle for both their souls. Ralph doesn’t believe it and agrees. Shit gets real after that. Turns out the devil is real and they are in the shit. The duel for their souls is called “Cutting heads”.

So that is how I view this.

You come into my yard and throw the email or comment gauntlet down, its on. I win? I get your soul.

You win? I don’t know what you get, you don’t have a blog to crow about it in.

While that might not seem fair, please keep in mind that I have never seen any reason to fight fair.

If I can hit you from behind, in the balls, while biting you and pulling your hair, its all fair.

My mother said so.

I was always smaller than everyone else, so the standing philosophy was that, whatever I had to do to hold my own, it was warranted.

(Let he who has never been suspended from school for stabbing someone with a no. 2 pencil cast the first stone.)

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

There’s hot and then there’s hot.

You have to appreciate the effort.

There is a Japanese woman in Starbucks that is stunning.

Dressed for the sexy impress and has the body to do it right.

She looks incredible.

But that is kind of a gimme, isn’t it?

But 6 inch stilettos at 7am is a bit much.

The girl behind her in line is just as hot, but on the other end of the spectrum.

She got up this morning, put on sweats, a tank top, ugg boots, took a quick pass at the mirror and headed out for a latte.

And she is smoking hot.

But, at 22 or so, isn’t she supposed to be?

2 people back in line is a much more subtle hotness, if I might continue my misogynistic rant.

Maybe early 40’s. Hair done nice, without being loud.

Dressed nicely, business casual.

The shoes have a two inch heel and the top of the skirt is above the knee, but not in a “Trying to still be 20” kind of way.

But the overall effect is one of classy, sensual and got her shit together.

Stunning, in some ways, the hottest woman in the building.

The blessing and the curse of Starbucks is that everyone comes and goes on a fairly quick basis, myself include.

This either works for you or against you.

The next woman who came thru the door got up, took that same quick pass at the mirror and threw on whatever to come get a latte.

And she is one of those that really needs to take the time.

There is a critical window of your life that you can doing nothing and still look hot.

And that time has passed for many of us.

There is also an awareness that some people have, that that time has passed.

And then again, some people are clueless.

Like this woman.

This is the same mentality that gets plastic surgery again and again on into her late 60’s, but her mind tells her that she is still looking like a 20-something.

I once heard a woman that was obviously in her late 60’s and was trying WAY too hard, with those nasty injected duck lips, proclaim that she had been out with her 20-something grand daughter and that they looked like twins.

You would have been proud of my reaction. I was straight faced, with no reaction.

The guy sitting behind them choked on his coffee and walked off ranting about delusional women.

And that one shining example of awkward situations is one of the main reasons that I write this blog.

People behaving badly.

Gotta love it.

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Beware of my car.

I love lazy Sundays.

There is such absolutely unwatchable crap on television, it boggles the mind.

My bad show is interrupted by an emergency broadcast.

Thunderstorm and flash flood warning.

Oh my.

Time to assess the situation, so I head outside.

Not a cloud in the sky.

Mid 80’s, blue sky.

You never know, however.

So I head into the pantry to take stock of my canned goods supply.

I have 2 cases of bottled water, so I feel my hydration will not suffer.

If at all possible, you want to avoid being forced to drink your own piss should all hell break loose.

Canned goods are a different story.

Chili and corn, in quantity.

Evidently, I went to Costco a few months back and they caught my eye.

The refrigerator is a little more grim.

Two packages of questionable bacon that went out of code 2 weeks ago.

The chili and corn are about 50% likely to give you the shits while the bacon has a 3 out of 4 shot of giving you uncontrolled quacker shits for a prolonged period. (And while the quacker shits are never enough to kill you, your rectum will pray for death before you are through.)

I am iffy on any of those odds from the get go.

Perhaps I should go shopping.

Although, judging from the condition of my pantry, this is not an area I excel in.

 

It is now a full day after I wrote that last part.

I was going to finish it this morning and post it immediately, but life interrupted.

I usually head in to Starbucks an hour or so before I have to be at work.

Plenty of time to write and post.

However, when I put my key in the ignition and gave it a turn?

Click, click, click, click.

Sigh.

However, several months back, in a fit of maturity, I renewed my AAA.

The guy showed up in 10 minutes.

My battery went out.

Luckily, I know how to read the diagnostic machine they hook to the battery.

It was toast.

The guy had the right battery for an ok price, plus he put it in for free.

So, its night now, my writing time this morning having been spent on car maintenance.

AAA is the shit.

I love the idea of having someone come bail me out “whenever”.

It’s less than a $100 a year and its less likely to bail on you late night than your drunken wingman.

Same principle as why I will never purchase a care that runs on cannabis. (Google it, its out there.)

I would never buy it because I have friends that run on cannabis and the reliability factor is pretty shaky.

I can almost see the warning light on the dash that blinks and says “Dude! I flaked!”

No thanks.

 
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Posted by on August 20, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

The 20’s are the new toddlers.

You ever stop and wonder why the hell I do this?

The caffeine, right.

Good to see some of you are paying attention.

Caffeine is a wonderdrug of sorts.

There is a writing challenge online every year during November called National Novel Writing Month.

NANOWRIMO for short.

The challenge is to write 50K words during the month of November.

I try to do it every year, and as a result, I have written several novels.

There is a common catch phrase among the NANOWRIMO crowd that large amounts of caffeine can increase your word output every day.

There is more truth to that than you know.

Caffeine is the opiate of the literary masses.

Which would make Starbucks a fairly clean opium den.

I am ok with that.

I actually heard two women discussing caffeine the other day.

One of them made the statement that “Caffeine really shouldn’t be classified as a drug.”

Whatever you need to tell yourself.

We all lie to ourselves every now and then about caffeine.

She said this, by the way, as she sipped a Latte.

I can quit anytime.

Keep telling yourself that, sweetie.

Personally I have no intention of reigning in my caffeine intake.

I get a lot of shit done by being a hyper, edgy dick.

One thing I am not doing is packing for Burning Man.

(Google it, the explanation is a post all by itself.)

It will be the first time in 6 years that I will not be attending.

Long story, equal parts finance, timing, drama…etc.

So I suddenly find myself with a spare week at the end of August that I have not had for awhile.

And my dance card is full.

I have the whole period of time filled, but I cannot say why.

So I will at least be busy and not thinking about incredible works of art, great bands, wild experiences and that soul refreshing clarity that comes with unplugging for an extended period of time.

A midget just walked into Starbucks. (Can you say ADD?)

That was a little abrupt, but a little person coming into Starbucks is a legitimate squirrel.

As opposed to those things that distract you and were bullshit.

Bumper stickers, billboards and anything on your iphone when you are having a face-to-face conversation with someone is not a legitimate squirrel.

Back to the midget.

This is interesting.

She’s hot!

Thick long black hair and a pretty face.

I don’t know that I have seen a little person before that I found attractive.

At least if we start dating, we don’t have to worry about whether we will have little children or not.

My having been snipped decades ago kind of ends that discussion.

This woman is fascinating.

A very elegant face.

I am entranced.

I would introduce myself and hit on her, but she appears to be in her twenties and I am an age discriminator.

Sad, but true.

A woman might be pretty as all get out, but if she is young enough that I could have realistically fathered her, game over.

And yet, I have a few friends that are in their 40’s and try to only date women in their 20’s.

Good luck with that.

It’s mean, but twenty-something are usually dumb like a stick and hile thats ok, they are supposed to be, it is also a turn off.

I miss the days when I was a sexual butterfly, floating on the breeze and banging whoever, whenever.

I was in my 20’s.

 
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Posted by on August 16, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Enjoy your food, M-Fer!

Subway Sandwich Shops devolved out of a missing episode of Fear Factor, which is either true or total bullshit.

I have been known to be in line and almost make it to the counter before THE FEAR sets in and I bolt.

I have yet to find it, but I am sure that botulism is on the menu.

The lady ahead of me is a disturbing piece of human oddness that takes a moment to absorb.

3 kids. One in the stroller. All screeching. A faint shit smell that makes me certain someone shit their diaper.

And the woman herself is a vision of trailer park loveliness.

400lbs on the low side, 450lbs if we’re being honest.

Muumuu’s may have gone out of style decades ago, but don’t try telling that to this little honey.

But the most noticeable thing about this lady is the one thing you cannot see.

She is pissed.

About what, who knows?

The sighs, the mutters under her breath.

As near as I can figure, she is convinced that the sandwich makers are wasting time and fucking around.

Even with my “Looking for something wrong” critical eye, they are not.

The order starts out ok, 3 kids meals, minimal substitutions.

And then its time for her sandwich.

Double meat. Not that unusual to ask for extra pulled pork on a sandwich.

But on a turkey sandwich? Really? Ok then.

The manager gets involved the second after the sandwich maker said “Que?” for the second time.

After a short, awkward moment, the manager relented and the meats were mingled.

But the best was yet to come.

It was after toasting, and during the condiments portion of the process that it happened.

“Mother-fucker! Did I ASK for pickles?”

Direct quote.

Said loud enough that the entire room came to a halt.

It was an awesomely awkward moment, even her kids stopped trying to kill each other for a second and looked around confused, along with the rest of us.

It is not often that you see a human being spew that kind of vile shit in public.

Its usually the type of thing you hear about from a friend of a friend that swears they saw it, or on a Youtube video. (And you are convinced it was staged.)

But to see it live is a wondrous event, well worth jotting down in your diary or perhaps your blog.

The one thing I am missing is why this chunky diva is pissy in the first place?

They have agreed to everything she has rudely demanded.

But her answers are short and snappy, her demands spat out and backed by a glare.

In any other setting besides one that you can see your food the whole time, guarantied it would be spit on, and maybe garnished with pubic hair.

And before you start moaning that that sort of thing is just in movies, think again.

Pull your head out of your ass, its not a hat.

With my mouth, I am certain my food has been fucked with, and while I am not ok with that, I at least recognize that it goes on.

Enjoy your lunch.

 
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Posted by on August 12, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Pissing off my Chola barber.

So I had a bad moment with my Chola Barber.

It was awkward for a few moments and then we were past it.

Its the type of thing that we can’t stay tense for long.

I can’t find someone who does all the same shit she does for me.

Cuts the head, eyebrows, nose, ears, neck, goatee and mustache.

It used to just be the head, goatee and mustache.

And then, I started getting old.

Hair began sprouting out of places it never had before.

I have always had a little hair on my back, but it began creeping up my neck.

My eyebrows, ears and nose began growing hair like an old Italian man. (And you KNOW how hairy that bunch is.

And my Chola barber never missed a beat.

Although, I have made cutting the hair on my head easier for her by just having her shave is down to just stubble.

Easier to deal with, never gets messy during Judo or working out, all around simplicity.

I consider it a trade off.

But, really, what is the alternative?

Fantastic Sams? Really?

One of the Starbucks I go to has a Fantastic Sam’s next door, so if I sit outside, there is a table that looks directly into the lobby.

And here is what I have noticed.

There are two types of people that go into Fantastic Sam’s.

The first are people who are new to town.

They show up with the address written down like they have never been there before.

So they don’t know any better.

The second type, and I know I am going to take some heat for this one, are chubby house frau’s with their “Special” children.

(Please note my lack of the use of the word “Tard” here. The furious emails I received last time has shown me that the parents of tarded children have NO sense of humor.)

And the really funny part is that these house frau’s go to Fantastic Sam’s for the budget cut, then they go next store to Starbuck’s for a complex coffee creation that costs more than their hair cut.

And coffee, wonderful though it is, doesn’t last as long as a sloppy haircut.

However, these ladies have it hard enough as it is, so I try not to antagonize them.

Which sounds like BS given my continual use of a word that infuriates them.

Actually, it is just that one little word, in that one little area.

And yet, I seem to have this Tourettes syndrome issue when it comes to the women in my life, even the ones as remotely connected to me by just reading this blog.

I run my mouth and piss them off at a rate that you have to wonder when one of them is going to take a swing at killing me.

I spend a massive amount of time formulating new and interesting ways of saying “Sorry about that, my bad.”

Eventually, I will have to clean up my act, if only because I need to get my hair cut.

And a Chola barber is not someone to piss of.

Push it too far, you get a hair cut and get stabbed.

 
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Posted by on August 9, 2013 in Uncategorized