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Monthly Archives: April 2015

Hating a stranger.

Its not often, but sometimes, when I least expect it, I instinctively hate people.

Case in point, I am in Starbucks, its not my favorite one, but its still a Starbucks.

For those of you that pay attention, its the “Icebox”, so named because the temperature is always at 60 degrees, Winter or Summer.

I used to think this was a bad idea, then I realized that on those days that I am there for an hour or more, I buy more coffee to keep me warm.

Maybe the manager is a genius.

And in she walks.

Something about her screams “Bitch”, loud and clear.

Of course she is on her cell phone, what else would she be doing?

And maybe it is just because I didn’t like her from the beginning, but I swear that the people around her moved just a touch more away from her than you would normally.

Maybe its an unconscious thing, just some sort of evil presence, like a low level fart in an elevator that you don’t know who did it, but you know it wasn’t you.

Anyway, she gets thru the line, gets a spinach quiche. (Red flag – Spinach quiche is the food of choice of pedophiles, serial killers and overly monied coffee hoes.)

Her drink, when it came, had a lot of foam, another red flag but I’m gonna let that go.

As luck would NOT have it, she sat at the seat next to me.

Conversation still going on.

Here are the highlight quotes.

  • “Marshal is having problems at school, he failed a test and the teacher is being a bitch about it. I told him he could stay home this week and calm down.” (My comment is to fucking long to put here, so its below.)
  • “Jack is still arguing about the alimony, I mean, I gave that asshole my life, and thats going to cost him.” (Lesson learned boys, some people, not all, just some people, when they are flat on their backs the meter is running. Talk amongst yourselves.)
  • The car is still not running right. Every time I put it in gear, I have to let off on the gas COMPLETELY. (You mean revving it and dumping it into gear is NOT good for the tranny?)

It was the Polish astronomer Copernicus who first offered the model of the universe that had the Sun at its core and not the Earth.

And it was the shithead sucking down a frappuccino sitting next to me that first offered the model of the universe that had Marshal at its core.

That means the center of the universe was somewhere local, still in his pj’s during mid morning and crying like a pussy.

For a long moment I was outraged.

We are currently raising a generation of kids that are being taught that, God forbid they ever encounter a problem, the only proper response is to freeze in place and over analyze it until someone comes along and either solves it for them, or it goes away on its own.

That was a shitty long moment.

The highlight was when I made her leave.

Its called the creep move.

It is a beautiful study in low level emotional intimidation.

I began to furiously scratch my armpit, the one closer to her.

I grunted slightly.

Once I could see her staring, I stopped scratching and smelled my fingers.

Wait for it……..

I scooted a half an inch towards her.

Then I turned my head, locked eyes, and smiled.

If you have ever seen someone fleeing a burning building, that is a lot like how she left.

Hung up her phone, stood and stomped her little feet out of Starbucks.

Even left her coffee creation behind.

I would feel bad, but, after all…

I didn’t like her to begin with.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Getting to the cruel part.

There are two different types of bad behavior in this world.

There is the rare one, at least admitting it is rare, it actually happens quite a bit. Its the type of bad behavior that you do and then secretly relish the shitty thing you have done.

I am well acquainted with that one.

Hell, because of the filter eliminating effects of this damn blog, I often brag about it.

But today, we are here to talk about that other type of bad behavior.

Its that type of bad behavior that you do it and don’t secretly relish in it.

In fact, you don’t get it. Even when someone points it out to you, you don’t get it.

Like a shitty form of karmic water off of a cosmic ducks back, just to make it sound all new agey.

Here is an example: (Come on, you saw this coming, right?)

I was recently visiting on an excursion to a weird alternative museum.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Its kind of like a freak show on Xanax.

Its the stuff that legitimate museums and freak shows took one look at and said, “It’s not for us, thanks.”

One display is two mummified mice on toast. (Draw your own conclusions.)

Another is a collection of clear glass globes that have floating figurines in them, all in different stages of drowning, complete with mood lighting and odd bubbly sounds effects.

The last example is a steel ferris wheel suspended from the ceiling. Its made of steel and every moving surface on it has a bell attached. Ever few minutes it begins spinning and the room has no sound proofing.

So any conversations you have go on a time out until the ferris wheel is done.

But the museum is not why we are here.

It what happened when we left the museum.

And then we met Earl.

Not sure if that is his name, but that is what I am calling him and who the fuck are you to argue? Sit down, shut up, and let me finish, jeez!

Earl is homeless.

And he is a homeless ninja.

We had not taken 10 steps from the shady museum’s front door when Earl struck.

His walker is on wheels, and they roll silent as a whisper.

“Hey there! How you boys doin’?”

He is not blocking our path, there is plenty of room to go around, but you have to.

We mumble some platitudes and begin our evasive maneuvers.

Earl is having none of that shit.

Side-spinning a walker does not take up more space at all, but it is a psychological block.

We stop.

“I don’t want money.”

As an opener, this is sloppy, but good. It doesn’t work, I mean, I KNOW he wants money, but what is his pitch? I was in sales long enough to know that everything is a transaction. Money, sense of accomplishment, pride…etc. Money is just the most obvious.

“Could you buy me a meal at the In’n’Out?”

There is a burger place just up the street.

“Sorry, I don’t carry cash.”

You might think this is the cruel part, BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

So off we walked.

“Why didn’t you give him food?” My oh so innocent companion asked.

The reasons are long and drawn out, but based on advice from a professional in the “Dealing with the homeless in the most compassionate way” industry. The incomplete simple answer is, anything I give him enables and perpetuates his addiction and makes me an active party in killing him.

But that is still not the cruel part.

“Because,” I said as we headed in to the same burger place to get lunch.

“I don’t want to see him try to smoke a burger.”

And THATS THE CRUEL PART. (And its a hell of a long walk for a punch line, but it is what it is. Write your own blog.)

 
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Posted by on April 17, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The coming of the Fat Man

This is the world as we know it.

People are not bad at heart, they just do bad things sometimes.

But, they don’t seek to do bad things.

And people that drink coffee like it piping hot.

And then there is the alternate universe going on at the next table at Starbucks.

The Fat Man, not the one from the Maltese Falcon played by the immortal Sydney Greenstreet, but the 450lbs guy sitting in the Starbucks in Manhattan Beach this morning, is eyeing his 3 cranberry orange scones like a pedophile eyeing a playground.

He has been on the phone for the last 20 minutes with someone who, for lack of a better term, is his evil minion.

Here are the atrocities that I have so far heard:

  • At 12:01am on the first of May, any of the tenants (See also, poor unlucky bastards) that have not paid rent are to be evicted. He actually stabbed his chubby little finger in the air for enphasis.
  • Shut down his daughters credit account. Apparently, she is 18 and got a job. The atrocity part of this is that he specified that the evil minion was NOT to let her know. Typically you don’t see parents actively seeking to shit on their own children.
  • The Fat Man crumbled up two of the scones and put the pieces into his coffee, INTO HIS COFFEE, and let them sit and soak. The end result will be the coffee being soaked completely into the crumbs and the cup will be filled with cranberry orange coffee oatmeal, sans oatmeal. While that might sound somewhat tasty, it was the slow, lurid sucking of his fingers to clean them off that lent the air of unclean dirtiness to the whole thing.
  • He informed his evil minion that he had a while to wait before he could drink his coffee because he likes it at ROOM TEMPERATURE.

His look, his speech, his mannerisms, the very air around him is repellent.

If Hitler had a brother that he considered to be a little too extreme, the Fat Man would be it.

I have begun to wonder if others can see him, or if he is just a figment of my imagination, a demon of sorts, sent to torture me as a warning to live a better life. (Much like a twisted version of It’s a wonderful life.)

The man appears to be exceptionally well off, but I hate to use that term.

The words “Well off” seems contradictory.

Plus, he just farted.

I realize everyone farts, but most people try to hide it or at least apologize when they can’t.

He didn’t even lean over on one cheek and let go, it was just a mid-sentence mini-explosion that may well have been a part of his speech, like a comma.

He never paused.

In the back of my head, the part with the vile little voice? There seems to be A LOT of whispering that the Fat Man had just shit himself and that by my not commenting or leaving, I was showing my approval.

Why the voice does that to me is confusing.

I mean, the voice likes being in Starbucks, there is so many things to see and talk shit about.

So, I pack up and leave in protest.

But, I did not manage to get out before I got a whiff of the Fat Man’s rectal cologne.
There is a realization you get when you cut yourself really bad.

Its that split second before the nerve ending explode and pain begins, its the mental realization of how bad it is going to be.

Now, add that the the feeling of being kicked in the balls. (Bear with me, ladies.)

Combine the two and you are in the right neighborhood of me right then.

When you are trying to pack up a laptop and accessories there is only so much speeding up you can do.

Also, the Fat Man began eating his coffee/scone/oatmeal.

I have written and erased several descriptions and 75% of them used some sort of creepy sexual imagery.

Suffice to say it was not pleasant and just left me feeling dirty. Like I needed both a shower and an exorcism just to feel clean enough to begin therapy.

I used to like those scones too.

 
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Posted by on April 10, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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How hot is your hell?

Scrap-booking is some sort of evil cult, of this I am fairly sure.

I have a friend that is going away for a “Weekend Scrap-booking Retreat”.

Its going to be at a B&B, with scenic views, wine, and hours of scrap-booking.

I will let that digest for a moment.

For me, that is not going down easy, like a shot of some foul liquor that gets half-way down your throat and then locks up and your whole body convulses in the effort not to spew it back out.

B&B’s exist for one purpose and one purpose only.

They are a getaway spot for room service and sex.

A place you go to live naked in the room for 2-3 sticky days, waited on by deaf and dumb servants, living on wine and baskets of food left at the door at regular intervals.

The kind of place that can have a defibrillator at your room in under 2 minutes, no questions asked.

But Scrap-booking? That is a form of twisted that even 50 Shades of Grey would think is creepy.

Its like the Swedenborg version of hell, but instead of the cruel intentions and desires of the denizens of hell, they have massive scrap-booking parties.

But maybe that is mean on my part.

Its always dicey business to hassle one of the 5 people who actually reads and likes the blog.

Pissing off 20% of my readership is more than a little self-destructive.

As for the several dozen that read and hate the blog?

Doesn’t matter, they will still email and bitch about everything under the sun.

Swedenborg was homophobic, that will come back to haunt me.

B&B’s are an element of “White privilege”.

Sex is evil, bible says so.

It does stun me sometimes what people will focus on when they stop fussing with one of their dozen cats and climb up on their rickety soap box to pontificate in their screetchy little voices.

Stuff that defies logic or maybe because it defies logic.

Mentioning Sweden means I am pushing the Swedish ideal of massive daycare as Plato envisioned in “Republic”. (Yeah, someone trotted that little theory out on me 6 months ago because of a single Swedish reference. )

None of this is valid or relevant, but that will not keep these whining fucking maggots from bitching at me on Friday morning.

When I first started this blog it was simply to have an outlet for vile thoughts and witnessed events. And that is what it still is.

Its main purpose has never been for anyone elses enjoyment, only my own.

The fact that some like it/hate it is just a lucky side effect.

But, and here is the shitty side of my personality, I really enjoy pissing people off.

And maybe I cater a little too much to the asshole within.

So be it.

I am numb at this point point, its like the email version of white noise at this point, background, barely heard.

What I need is a vacation.

A getaway.

Like a B&B.

Suddenly, a little scrap-booking doesn’t sound so bad.

But maybe thats the coffee talking.

 
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Posted by on April 3, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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