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Monthly Archives: October 2015

600 is a lot of anything.

“Into the valley of death, wrote the 600”

Lord Tennyson would shit himself in his grave if he read that, he was never a fan of paraphrasing.

So why the arguably dumb paraphrase?

Because the number is 600.

Since starting this vulgar little blog over 4 and a half years ago, with this post, I have now written 600 posts.

That is a LOT of public mental masturbation in print.

I am not sure if I should be proud or ashamed.

Its an accomplishment, but so was 2 girls – 1 cup and that was nothing to be proud of either. (Side note. Despite all of my references to that film over the years, I have never actually seen it, till recently. I am damaged because of it, no bullshit. You go to hell for things like that, even if you are atheist.)

I mentioned this little milestone to someone who has never read the blog before, and they asked an interesting question.

What the hell have you written about for 600 times?

Good question, so I did some research, basically, I read the blog, something from every month, from the beginning till now.

God, I am a fucking genius.

Once my erection subsided, I began to see a few recurring things.

  1. People are horrible to each other and their environment. Caligula had a better command of common courtesy than most of modern man.
  2. The only thing people mistreat more than each other and their environment is themselves. There are people that treat themselves like a split personality that is half crack hoe/half angry pimp. And someone has a beating coming.
  3. My views of the world vary wildly from an almost a sociopathic emotional conscious to a Christ-like benevolence. (Take a moment for that one to sink in. I’ll wait. I know, its a disturbing sentence.)
  4. I have some sort of thing about the homeless. (It has been argued that I both care deeply about them, yet view them as pets. Both are true. However, I view most people as pets and toys to be messed with.)

In a nutshell, thats it. Its an emotionally damaged nutshell, but you take what you can get these days.

As far as blogs go, this is closer to the movie Max Headroom than anything else. Random thoughts and odd sound bites that exist for no reason other than to upset the dumb and stimulate the few intellects that seem to get it. And TRUST me, you fuckers are few and far between.

The one thing missing from the “Recurring things” list is caffeine,

Ah, caffeine, what can I say?

Its the founder of the feast, as it were.

Without it, I am grumpy, mean and don’t like to write.

With it, I am grumpy, mean, and like to write.

As far as addictions go, its a mellow one.

Like a pimp that doesn’t leave visible bruises, the concern is appreciated.

Coffee is the most polite form of caffeine addiction, to be seen at church socials and fine restaurants.

Red bull is like shooting up in a dirty alley.

Both accomplish the same thing, but at least coffee allows you to keep lying about it not being an addiction.

But at its worst, you are just risking insomnia and being irritable.

You are never in danger of having to perform oral sex on your dealer just to get your fix.

And that is a pretty big difference.

So, just to bring things to a close, I wanted to take a moment and thank everyone who has ever read the blog, whether you liked it or hated it.

Without you, this is just a sad rambling to the universe.

Like a literary tree falling in the woods with no one to hear it.

So, in a rare show of gratitude…

Thank you all.

Sincerely, bite me.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The politics of being a polite asshole.

Interesting conversation the other day.

Having lunch with a few friends, 1 who is a huge blog fan and a friend of her’s that is not.

Just to choose a name at random, lets call the non-fan Shiteyes.

The subject turned to the blog and this was the comment Shiteyes had on it.

“I have never actually read your blog, but I hear its entertaining.” This was said with a scrunched up nose.

Translation? “I have an agenda based on hearsay I am going to try to force on you because I am convinced I am an intellectual.”

I’m not dumb, I can recognize my cue when I hear it.

“It’s not for everyone. I enjoy writing it.”

“I’ve heard you like to hurt people’s feelings.” Ah, here we go.

Social Justice Warrior. Don’t step on toes, never hurt feelings, passive, passive, passive.

My response freaked her out a bit.

“Like it?” Leaning forward, hands on the table, intense.

“I fucking love it.” Said without heat or anger.

I spent the next hour baiting and screwing with this adult child’s head.

Fuck her sensibilities. Gangbang her sensibilities with a vengeance.

Got her to the point of crying twice.

I look at it this way, if you can’t fight, don’t go looking for one. But if you do start it, at least be able to take a punch.

But, it got me thinking.

I don’t like to hurt everyone’s feelings, rampaging like a mad dog. I am a little specific about the feelings I choose to rampage on.

More like a boxer or a soldier, there are rules of engagement.

Here is what I have figured out:

  • I am allowed to defend myself. That is where the whole “You came into my yard” “Welcome to Thunderdome, bitch” I will be moderately polite until I hit the defensive point, then I become an asshole.
  • I never swing first unless I know for a fact that the other person is up for it.  For instance, I have a brother that honestly looks forward to being screwed with by me at family BBQs. Its a sick thing, but he thinks I must be angry at him if I don’t.
  • My restraint is lacking. It really is a joy when someone who thought they were going to verbally put me in my place gets to a point where, no, they can’t deal with it. And it is that point in time that I get vicious. Nothing to be proud of, but it is what it is.

Its important to understand yourself, even if your an asshole. It makes it easier to figure out how others will react to you.

Plus, and this one is pretty important, if you don’t know what is lurking deep inside your subconscious, you are going to be reacting to what someone tries to stick you with emotionally instead of intellectually, and that is where vulnerability lives.

Jeez, this is like Superman describing how to make kryptonite.

But, before you toddle off to take a swing at creating the mental weapon of mass destruction, understand that the overwhelming mass of humanity are REALLY not ready to crawl around inside their own heads.

It can get ugly.

And most people don’t handle ugly well.

Mainly because its, well, ugly.

 

 
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Posted by on October 23, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Pride goes before getting fucked over.

It is an odd thing to watch someone losing their fucking mind in public.

And before we go any further, I realize there is a percentage of those reading this that have their panties in full twist mode just because I may or may not have prematurely F-bombed in the first sentence.

And I tried not to, I really did.

I rewrote the opening line several times.

And it just doesn’t work without the “fuck” in there.

So here is where we are at, physically and sarcastically.

Panera Bread in Redondo Beach.

The outside patio.

I started off inside, glorying in the delicious air conditioning because its hot out. (Its the middle of October, for fucks sake!)

And then I saw him.

The salesman.

And when I say, “Losing his fucking mind in public.” maybe I am sugar coating it a little bit.

He’s a suit, expensive one, the shoes have a power shine on them and his tie defines “Success”.

Except that the suit is slightly off

The tie has been loosened.

The first two buttons on the shirt are undone.

This opens the shirt more than the loosened tie will let it and makes the whole look even more off.

His face is twisted up into a painful grimace. (Not even that somewhat creepy Grimace from the McDonalds commercials, circa 1970.)

He is pissed.

I will call him Suit, because it really is a nice cut. He has taste.

But I gotta see this up close.

I have my headphones on, its important that he think I can’t hear him, and I carry my open laptop outside and park at a nearby table, completely engrossed in what is happening on my screen.

There is nothing on my screen, but he doesn’t need to know this.

“Lanny! You are a fucking rapist!”

This is the first thing I hear him say and as far as opening lines go, it is hands down one of the best I have ever heard.

A quick internet search for the proper manners or etiquette for publicly shitting yourself yields nothing concrete, so I am going to have to wing it and just keep listening.

Here is what I learned over the next 5 minutes:

  • Lanny, a business partner, has just screwed Suit over to the tune of $10’s of thousands. (The salesmen that are reading this are nodding their heads, its the nature of sales.)
  • Suit is somehow convinced that Lanny will give up those untold thousands if Suit berates him long enough.
  • Suit keeps referencing “Dan and Lori” and that they will not sit still for this. (They may be the bosses of this little evil empire. Jury is still out.)

In the end, Suit wound down and it finally seemed to settle in that he was fucked.

What really struck me was how long it took him to accept the fact that he was fucked.

Lanny was never going to give the money/sale back. I never even met the man and I figured it out well before Suit did.

Dan and Lori, being the bosses, don’t give two shits. They care that the sale was made. Thats it. I have worked for more Dan and Lori’s than I like to remember.

But, like the business version of a goldfish, Suit will forget his pain 30 seconds later when he closes another deal.

Sales is like that. It has no mercy and recognizes no friends other than money, and the relationship could hardly be called friendly.

I wish Suit well, and hope he closes something wonderful soon.

While I don’t particularly care for him, I do admire his taste in clothes.

Lanny, rot in hell you retched bastard, I have also worked with a lot of Lanny’s before.

And they are all assholes.

 
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Posted by on October 16, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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On my best behavior, sort of.

There is a certain magic and stupidity that comes over people when they travel.

I live in Southern California, pretty much in the place that everyone else either moves to, or goes to on vacation.

And if you just asked the silly question of why would people move here, spend a weekend in Wisconsin in the dead of winter and you will realize where the phrase “Dead of Winter” came from.

So, since this is pretty much a sunny paradise, you can understand why I would jump at a trip to a place that is that much more paradise-esque.

Catalina Island.

And not just a random day trip, which can be fun, don’t get me wrong.

But this is for a wedding.

And weddings rock.

Catalina holds the Guinness book record for most bars per square mile in the world.

And the party starts on the boat ride over.

Its not often you see a ferry with a cash bar, but it is a nice idea.

And when you find out that the aforementioned bar is fully stocked with quality craft brews, it is just wrong not to drink.

The short version of this is that the ferry ride was good, and I arrived with a few cocktails in me and in the company of old friends.

The irony of living in a sunny paradise, but being descended from a pale people who have had the ability to tan bred out of them is not lost on me. While I don;t mind the sunlight, there is a certain point that I hug the shadows like a vampire forced out in the daytime.

You tend to fall into a slower pace when you are on vacation, no matter how short that vacation might be.

And much like Olympic diving, your score goes higher when the difficulty factor is higher as well.

So for this little vacation Olympic event, the difficulty is raised by being on that vacation for the purpose of going to a friend’s wedding.

Another difficulty factor is that there are a number of not only old friends, but some old high school peeps that have hated me for years.

So the stage is set for possible mayhem.

It is now the day after the wedding/reception.

Good lord. The shame is bordering on overwhelming.

A few thoughts.

Alcohol? Bad. Very bad.

There is a special section of hell for a single man that maneuvers an insanely hot married woman into giving him dirty dancing lessons in front of her really pissed off husband.

Also, seafood will never be my friend.

Food poisoning and alcohol poisoning have remarkably similar symptoms for some people.

Also, having a ticket for the 6:45 ferry back to the mainland does not mean they will hold the boat for you.

4 days after the wedding/reception and being all but deported back to the mainland.

I love weddings. There is something awe inspiring about seeing people at that apogee of happiness.

This is the time before, God forbid, hideous fights, harsh words, insane in-laws, baggage causing events.

Everything is gold. pure and clean. Frost was onto something there.

I wish them well, I wish them the toast I have managed to utter at pretty much every wedding I have ever attended.

I wish you luck, I wish you love, I wish you patience, and most of all, keep in mind that you chose them.

Stay gold, Pony Boy. Stay gold.

 
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Posted by on October 9, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Hopefully, beauty has no sense of smell.

Odd how some things hit you out of the blue and you suddenly remember something you had forgotten.

Here is the chain of events.

I bicycle commute, mainly because I am lazy.

Because if I don’t have a 45 minute bike ride in the morning and again in the afternoon, I would find myself compelled to “Go to the gym” and I am too lazy to go to the gym.

So I ride a 100 miles a week in order to properly be a lazy shit.

The logic is twisted but even Manson would agree with it, so I am good with it.

So, it follows that after work, I would ride to Starbucks to write.

I like my bike, so I lock it up like armed gangs are lurking to swoop in should I forget.

Two young ladies are walking away from Starbucks, drinking their chilled overpriced creations.

And talking shit.

“Sorry to tell her, she is not that hot.”

“Yeah” (Evidently, the second girl is the straight man, the first girl is the color commentator.

“I mean, it looks so phony. An Asian girl with blond hair. Seriously?”

“I didn’t want to sit there anymore.”

And off they went.

She’s still there?

I am always looking for the oddities in life, especially if they are getting their caffeine on at Starbucks.

Nothing more fun than reporting a freak show in the Temple of Legal Speed.

I walked into Starbucks with a bounce in my step.

And there she was.

Whoa.

I have the age range of women I am attracted to. Older women, not girls, who have seen the world a bit.

But there is an age women hit that is just out of the teens and just shy of what you would call “Older” that is breathtaking in its beauty.

Stunning is a word you would use.

It is effortless in it simplicity and loveliness.

To correct the young lady outside, yes, she is that hot.

For that brief moment, even the most jaded perverted men among us can only stop and admire what nature decided would peak at this moment, this critical apogee in time.

Well done nature.

Even I hesitate to besmirch that memory with shitty words and childish smacking.

Trust me, even that lazy bastard Karma would get off of his ass and give me an Ike Turner style tune up for daring to open my cake hole.

Nuff said.

 

On a side note, there is an old man in Starbucks who is not allowed to poo.

That sounds weird, but it appears to be true.

When I came in, he came in the opposite door.

While I was getting settled at a table, he made a beeline for the bathroom.

The somewhat tippy toe way he was walking gave you the impression that he was clenching his asscheeks together to avoid shitting himself.

And then he encountered the door lock.

It is a number pad, punch in the number, and the door will open.

Unless you don’t know the code.

Like him.

But that is not stopping him from stabbing his finger at random numbers then pounding on the doorknob.

And then he goes to the cashier. I would have gone their immediately, but thats me.

And the cashier really can’t wait to give it to him.

She announces the number when he gets 10 feet away.

So he marches back, asscheeks clenched to the point that he is walking stiff legged.

And can’t remember the code.

So he heads back to the cashier.

He is angry, not at the cashier, but maybe at the metamucil he takes 3 times a day that makes double parking a deuce in the lower intestine an impossible act.

But the cashier will bare the brunt of this.

“What’s the damn number?” He snaps.

The cashier smiles and gives it to him.

The training program at Starbucks rivals the Stepford Wives for automatic responses.

The stiff legged walk is a tad more pronounced this time.

This is getting ugly here.

There is a real possibility that the old guy may end up twisting out a growler in public.

Ewww.

Just as his 3rd attempt at the door code fails and you can see visible trembling in his hips, the bathroom door opens and a homeless guy comes out.

And just like that, the day is saved.

Except that now the old timer is sitting in a poorly ventilated room taking a backed up retirement shit while being smothered in some world class BO.

I bet he is wishing he had shit himself out here.

At least it would smell better.

Oh well, you can’t have it all.

 
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Posted by on October 2, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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