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Monthly Archives: November 2013

The annual food coma.

Do you mind, asshole?

There is something wrong with people.

Some sort of cognitive breakdown that occurs when some people get in public.

Specifically, it has to do with cell phones and videos.

Get a headset, bluetooth or old school plug in, take your pick.

The Starbucks is not a familiar one.

Its one of those “Sort of” Starbucks thats inside a Barnes and Noble book store.

They have the logo, but they are B & N people.

Its like a crack dealer that sells more ice cream out of the back of the ice cream truck than weed.

You know their heart is not in it.

To deal the beans, you have to understand the beans.

If you ever want to talk coffee beans, go to the Coffee Bean and ask the cashier about their Costa Rican brew.

The education is worthwhile, I can assure you.

Starbuck’s people know there stuff as well.

But my B&N brew tasted a little off, I asked the cashier what kind of roast it was?

She looked confused and then, looked at me with a straight face:

“It’s coffee.”

Wow.

I take my addiction seriously and I expect my dealer to as well.

But enough of that.

It’s Thanksgiving.

Time to visit The Family.

Holidays with my family is a lot like swimming in a tank with trained sharks.

When it goes well, everything is fine.

But never forget that the whole crowd can turn on you in an instant.

But, and this is the really important part, these are my people.

That unruly mob I mentioned that might chew up the unsuspecting and spit them out?

I am one of them.

I am the peasant with the pitchfork and the torch, screaming “Burn her, she’s a witch!”

In a manner of speaking.

 

Morning after Thanksgiving.

I noticed something pretty significant last night.

I used to be a severe turk-aholic.

Turkey, God’s gift to the pilgrims.

I used to live and breath turkey, but only on Thanksgiving.

Now? Not so much.

Now its the wine and desert.

Last night was a delightful Riesling paired with a dish without a name.

“Chocolate Crack” comes close, but not quite.

Let me describe the taste bud-gasm in detail.

A layer of chocolate.

A layer of marshmallow infused with cinnamon whiskey.

A later of caramel.

Another layer of chocolate.

A crumble across the top made of bacon, black pepper and Cayenne powder.

To call it rich is like saying a homeless guy could use some deodorant.

It is not something you wolf down.

It is something you take a small bite of, chewing slowly, discerning all of the different flavors and textures prior to taking a sip of wine to accompany it down your throat.

Just the memory of it has me both aroused and hungry.

And yet, if they sold it in the bakery case at Starbuck’s, I would never by it.

Because it all has to do with time and location.

Like a sandwich made by your mom when you were little, you’ve eaten better since, but they still stand out.

Happy Thanksgiving, hope you all enjoyed your people, I know I did.

 
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Posted by on November 29, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Karma, we meet again.

Last year I wrote a post about a Starbucks on the edge of the “Other side of the tracks” with a cashier that “Don’t give a fuck, I’ll cut a bitch.”

That one.

Its not one I visit all that often, but my day ended up near there and I wanted some caffeine.

Well there she is.

Not a hair has changed.

She is in her early 20’s but has that aged look you get when you live a life that prematurely ages you.

Just about the oldest 20 something I have ever seen.

The last time I saw her, she had gotten married the week before and her boyfriend was arrested at the reception for being under the influence of something called “Booley”.

I have Googled, researched, and even asked a pro in the drug rehab biz, no one has a clue what “Booley” is.

Anyway, I am sad to say, while taking my order, I happened to notice that she is no longer wearing her wedding ring.

Sad when young love fails.

And yet, I would still give them better odds than the marriages of any of the Kardashians.

That is a family that gives each other new heads for Christmas.

Sorry, there is an ad for “Keeping up with the Kardashians on a website on my laptop.

I get easily distracted, blame the lack of caffeine.

The cashier, it seems, has a new dilemma, once again involving her guy. (Noticing a theme here?)

“My Abuella hasn’t heard from him. And he KNOWS I can’t get the baby, I gotta work.”

(Her ex is unreliable? Didn’t see that coming.)

And yet, as messed up as I may think her life is, she is gainfully employed and has been holding it down for at least a year.

My Spanish is dicey at best, but I at least know she is talking about her grandmother.

Daycare can be a bitch even with the right home situation.

Try doing it on your own and most single mothers are fucking magician/jugglers that handle crap that would break most others.

I am done being sarcastic about this girl.

I can be a dick at times, but even I have a heart. Somewhere.

Tough to find, but its there.

I rarely tip, but on my way out, I toss several ones in the tip jar.

Karma may be an unreliable bitch, but she sometimes pays attention.

Best to stay on her good side, never know when she might decide to get in the game.

The Starbucks has hideous parking, so I park around the block.

It is as I come around the corner that I see the cop, standing next to my car.

With complete clarity, I now see that I misread the sign and am now eligible for a parking ticket.

Crap.

“This your car?” At least the cop seems friendly.

“Yes, sorry, I misread the sign.”

“Thats ok, just pay more attention next time.” Not a look back as he gets in his car and drives off.

No ticket.

Well played, Karma, well played.

 
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Posted by on November 25, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Fabulously stupid.

Have you ever asked yourself why we do this?

I am not sure what “This” is, I am just wondering why we do what we do.

Motivation is always a mystery.

I write this blog for a fairly twisted collection of reasons.

The innocent ones are recognition, a desire to make people laugh and the satisfaction of doing it.

The evil side of me is a rotten fucking bully that really enjoys the sarcasm, occasional obscenity, and picking apart people and ideas in a fairly cruel way.

And I am good with that.

Best not to let stuff build up, better to let it out.

Like an asshole pressure release valve. (NOT a reference to my high fiber supplement.)

One of my issues that take up skull space is why OTHER people do what they do.

Because sometimes they do it for stupid reason.

And that is not just me being mean, it is, but the reasons themselves are stupid by any measure.

Case in point, the dizzy bitch at the next table.

I am in the newly remodeled Starbucks in downtown Manhattan.

The amount of wealth in this section of town is pretty intense.

It ain’t Brentwood, but at least OJ isn’t hiding in the bushes.

And this woman’s issue is this:

They towed her car for either parking illegally, or they repoed it for not making her payments.

This would be a normal fuck up for the rest of but for her, it is worse.

She is talking to someone on a new iPhone 5S, her bluetooth is a model that I am familiar with, it costs several hundred. The iPad on the table in front of her is the latest model. The car that got pinched is a 2013 Mercedes.

S Class.

In short, she has cash.

As the phone conversation continues, it becomes apparent that if it was towed for illegal parking, it was justified. (Quote: “YES, the sign says no stopping any time, but who reads those?” Hint – The meter maid does.)

And if the car was repoed for none payment, it was justified as well. (Quote: “I couldn’t figure out the auto pay thingy, but they act like I will NEVER pay it.”)

It would actually do this bitch good to have to hoof it across town for a few days.

I am not ready start Occupy Manhattan Beach, but this 1%er deserves some shit in her life.

And its all because of the attitude.

But what are her motivations?

They appear to be centered around money.

The money that she is evidently not paying to the bank, but the money that is coming from a source other than solid hard work.

My guess is daddy.

Daddy actually paints the picture that she is younger.

If I had to peg it, I would put her at mid-30’s.

That is past that “Old enough to know better.” Age that the rest of us recognize the need to get your shit together.

Daddy must have worked hard in order to provide the lifestyle she is both accustomed to and thoroughly fucking it all up, to listen to this brainless idiot tell it.

She is all kinds of stupid and has NO clue.

I thought for a moment about explaining it to her.

Not in the vein of trying to help, but more from the perspective of trying to piss her off.

Meh, too much trouble.

Besides, she’s not my type.

I prefer my women to be a lot less tarded than this.

Just a personal thing.

 
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Posted by on November 22, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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High fiber means a happy ass.

I recently began taking a fiber suppliment.

To put it bluntly, I was not being regular.

And I need a little regularity in my life.

So, Metamucil it is.

And the shit works, literally.

You should see my morning BM.

Color, consistency, firmness, its a thing of beauty.

I may start selling my dueces on Ebay.

And firmness? I may be only a week away from never having to wipe again.

(If I was not laughing non-stop during the writing of all of this, I might hesitate to post it. As it is, fuck yeah!)

My mother will not be happy with any of this post at all.

I just ran the Ebay line past her and I was glad my CPR card was up to date, because the woman practically shit herself. (Without the benefit of high-fiber. Her loss.)

So, this post is all about shit.

My shit, fiber-induced shit, the shit I will take for writing about shit, you name it.

The shit will hit the fan.

I wrote the section above roughly a day ago and even I am a little queasy about the idea of a post all about my bowel movements.

Not enough to keep me from doing it, mind you, but enough to worry me.

I get a fair amount of hate mail as it is.

The most consistent bunch that email me are the closet english teachers.

They all start their emails the same way.

“I am not an english teacher, but-”

The one thing none of them have ever written was “will my writing you make any difference?”

The answer is no.

If anything, my belligerent side kicks up and I find myself adding 1-2 more grammatical mistakes of the same sort, just to be a dick.

As I have said before, its important to have a hobby. Fucking with people is mine.

The second most consistent group that emails me to complain are the people who believe that if a subject is rude, inappropriate or politically incorrect, you should not mention it.

This “Stick your head in the sand and it will go away” philosophy has worked so well in every other facet of their lives, why not share the love.

Confrontation is not a polite way of doing things, but it does get shit done.

Maybe its not the slickest way of handling things, but there are less things keeping me up late at night because of it.

Just wanted to get all of that off of my chest.

Or out of my ass, as it were.

 
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Posted by on November 18, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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If you can’t say anything nice, blog about it.

I have written and deleted 4 different takes on the same subject and I can’t seem to finish the piece without it being the type of thing that would burn a lot of bridges.

Not just burn them, but nuke them, salt the earth, and leave it irradiated for eons.

Divorce, relationships, work, family, blogging…etc.

And some of these bridges I still need access to.

So, rather than let it go and forget about it, (Something I NEVER do.) I will just backburner the subject until I can do it without the “Scorched earth” result, or situations change and I no longer give a shit about the outcome. (And that is a dangerous frame of mind.)

So here is something different.

5 different reactions for the same thing.

The last blog post stirred up some “Stuff” for lack of a better word with a lot of you.

Since the preferred method of whining and bitching at me seems to be the anonymous email (You cowardly pieces of shit), I will address those first.

Response #1: First off, its ridiculous to declare yourself an “Ardent feminist” and claim you read the blog regularly. Either you are lying thru your teeth, mainly because no Feminist, ardent or not, would read this misogynistic swill without putting a hit out on me. Which means you are a wannabe ardent feminist. That is pathetic. Its like wanting to be known as the snappiest dresser in special ed. Bite me.

Response #2: You said in your email “While I am not a teacher” blah blah frickin blah. Therefore, you are not qualified to tell me what tense I am using, correct or otherwise. This is sadder than the wannabe ardent feminist issue. Your email was fairly grammatically correct and was as boring as cat shit on the sidewalk. Bite me.

Response #3: I am aware of the fact that Jesus loves me. However, if you are under the impression that the Almighty has an issue with this post or any previous posts, you are sadly mistaken. The Almighty not only gets me, he thinks I am a hysterical genius. One of his finer creations. (My mother said so.)

Response #4 Asking me to post something about your favorite charity tells me that you have so little respect for not just me, but anyone you send that poorly written email to, that you haven’t even taken the time to read the blog. If it doesn’t fit the subject matter or flavor of the blog, it will have the opposite effect of driving people away from your charity. Just showing it to people does not magically fix it. I was a salesman long enough to know that, with the proper presentation, you can sell anything to people. Especially ideas.

Response #5 My mother is right and I am deeply ashamed and sorry for scribbling this rubbish. Love you, mommy.

As time goes on, I have come to really enjoy and even look forward to the anonymous emails. Even if you are a pack of whiny pussies.

Let me leave you with this oft-time repeated reply to criticism.

Bite me.

 
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Posted by on November 15, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Age of unreason.

I am about to rub one out at my little table in Starbucks.

There is a hotter version of a young Sophia Loren, with jet black hair down to her ass, describing the art of erotic massage over the phone, all the while playing with her hair with her free hand.

As far as masturbatory fantasies go, this one is pretty solid.

And I am not the only one. The two old guys that were having a solid conversation on the other side of her have gone silent and are just sitting there and avoiding eye contact.

I feel no shame sitting in a Starbucks sporting a painfully rigid erection at my age.

I like to think its a sign of good health.

Its when you find yourself in these situations and you are sporting a “Limp biscuit” that you should worry.

Lust makes the world go round.

If I had to put an age on her, I would say 31 at the most.

Old enough to no longer be a child, young enough to know how to play properly.

I may be in love.

My heart (See also hard on) falls so easily sometimes.

Ok, so I have ruled out committing an obscene public act, but it was close.

On to other things.

They have just reopened this Starbucks after closing it for a week.

I have been sitting at the Coffee Bean for the last week, which I have grown to enjoy, even with its pretentious imported coffees.

The porno situation next to me has left and now it is just the two old guys next to me.

And these are some dirty old men.

They are having an animated discussion.

Given what I know of their generation and standards of morality, I am fairly certain that their discussion has gone obscene.

Heads huddled together, hushed whispers, furtive glances around, its all there.

I believe I just heard to word “Blumpkin”. (Google it, its filthy)

These are some filthy old men.

Good to see.

You might think that is an odd statement.

But in this overly politically correct society, it is refreshing to see some perfectly harmless dirty behavior.

Honestly, I hope thats me in 30 years.

Old enough to know better, to old to care.

Although I get the feeling my later years will be unpleasant at best, and a horror show at worst.

I will probably end up sitting there, day in and day out, no clue who I am, with that “Permanently terrified look on my face.

An interesting thing just happened.

Everyone that reads this that has family that has gone this route is now evenly split, half are pissed at my callousness, and the other half spit their coffee laughing.

Life is like that.

Being inappropriate is a trait in my family.

Some of the funniest jokes I have ever heard has been told to me at funerals.

There are times that the difference between laughing and crying is intent.

That being said, if I was only 10 years older, I would have given serious thought to rubbing one out when the porn goddess was here.

 
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Posted by on November 11, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Being inappropriate worldwide.

Evidently, dirty talk has a world wide audience.

One of the nicer behind the scenes features of the blogging software I use is that it tracks where someone viewed the blog from.

And it turns out I am big in Eastern Europe and North Africa.

Moldova. Ever heard of it? Me neither. I am HUGE there. At least 3-4 people.

Slovenia. I am the MAN in Slovenia. At least 2 people there. (Mad props to all my homies in Ljubljana.)

There is a serious Bitter army out there.

2 dozen strong.

Sorry, if you were looking for an actual army out there, you are shit out of luck.

This blog is still largely unknown.

Which is both good and bad.

Bad in that all of this semi-obscene crap only hits a small audience.

Good in that all of this semi-obscene crap only hits a small audience.

Same reason, goes both ways.

And in the top 4 countries with the most viewership are as follows:

1. USA. (This one in a gimme, the USA is my home ground and it leads the world in useless blog writers and readers.)

2. Indonesia. (Not entirely sure where this country is, but they are a cultured, beautiful people and I plan to visit once I figure out where they are.)

3. Canada. (Despite my distaste of the Canadians as a people, they love me. Its kind of a love/hate relationship.)

4. United Kingdom. (And yet, I despise them more than the Canadians. I come from Irish militants, so this one is also a gimme.)

I already have a passport, so the only thing holding me back from heading out on the Bittermac.com world tour is the fact the International travel is massively expensive.

And if you thought this blog made more than $.50 a month, you are deluding yourself.

(Cheap dick jokes rife with thinly veiled misogyny and sociopathic undertones are not chart toppers on ANY advertisers wish list.)

Like I have said before, this tawdry little blog is like a literary hooker. Just do whatcha gotta do, avoid eye contact, and leave the money on the dresser on your way out.

Also like a hooker, don’t make the mistake of thinking I care.

Julia Roberts is just an actress and it was only a movie.

I am not and will never be the blogger with the heart of gold that will change your life.

Or maybe I am wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, there is a post somewhere in here that will touch you.

Hopefully in a good way, but possibly it will touch you in a bad way, like that uncle with sweaty palms that you hated being alone with.

Ok, I will be the first to admit that maybe I crossed the line with that last line, but it is what it is.

I see nothing wrong with hating both the player and the game.

A decent question is, why are we playing games to begin with?

Are you picking up what I’m putting down here?

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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