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Monthly Archives: November 2015

Change is in the air.

First, a haiku:

 

Dancing words on page,

Literary merriment,

Sooth my soul in print.

 

I was raking a zen pebble garden for an hour before composing that.

I contemplated my fourth shakra the whole time.

Why so negative?

I am dedicating the blog to a higher conciousness.

A more positive perspective of the people on spaceship earth as we journey together.

Like the Zen philosopher Basho’s concept of Dual Oneness describes, the center of balance is within and without.

I also dipped my yoga mat in bleach.

Because when I contemplate? I contemplate commando style, people!

And I don’t want to put my taint at risk for staph while I am ommmm-ing.

It occurs to me that I am not fooling anyone.

There is a part of me that is lamenting the fact that ALL of the above is total horse shit.

It would be nice if at least some of that was true.

Alas and alack.

And if there was a Lass, there would be no lack. (Oh COME ON! You people are so hard to please!)

Yesterday was Thanksgiving here in the US.

A day to give thanks.

Not really my style.

There is more of a selfish prick angle to my roll.

Its not nice or even easy to admit, but it at least approaches honesty.

But is it funny? Really?

Got a little bit of a brood going on today.

There are a lot of things I would change about myself, not just the blog, if I could.

The Bitter mind is a twisted miasma of baggage and knee jerk reflexes that makes it hard to be me sometimes, much less date and deal with someone else.

So maybe the point of this little screed is in sending out the proper thoughts of apology to those wronged. (Jeez, that list is LOOOONG.)

To those I have interacted with, going all the way back to high school, my sainted ex wife, and any woman who had the misfortune of deciding that this hot mess looked like a day at the beach.

Sorry. You all know who you are.

For those of you who have been offended by the blog, and are waiting for an apology, keep waiting.

You got on this bus of your own free will, and you don’t get the luxury of bitching about the destination.

I have long maintained that the blog is a mental chamber pot that I empty out of the window of the internet every Friday morning at 0500, to be dumped on the ignorant and the dumb.

There are a precious few of you that have the nimble feet and dodge it, taking what little of value you can find in it and leaving the rest in the gutter.

One man’s shit is another man’s, well, shit.

But it might be a little funny.

So at least thats something.

Namaste bitches.

 

(FOOTNOTE- Molloy gets the assist for the blog above. I rarely edit after posting, but it has been pointed out that I am an ungrateful shit. Turns out thats true.)

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Posted by on November 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Till death do we part.

“You aren’t listening to me, are you?” (Angry)

“What?” (Too loud)

“You never listen to me, do you?” (Angrier)

“What?” (Louder)

“I could drop dead and you wouldn’t lift a finger to help me, would you?” (Kind of a simmering cold anger that is even worse.)

“What?” (Like a freight train, brutal and unstoppable.)

There is a magical kind of drama, and drama is such an inadequate word, to a couple that have been married and lasted long enough to grow REALLY old together to the point of hatred.

It is awesome to behold.

They hate each other, they really do.

But divorce is not even in their vocabulary, not a chance.

Love, honor, cherish, till death do they part.

The only thing left is the Till Death part.

And they are both waiting, nay HOPING, that the other dies soon.

It is a vile and beautiful thing to witness.

She looks a lot like the Crypt keeper from that old horror show. (Google it, I’ll wait.)

Got the visual?

He has a look of permanent terror on his face.

He has been seated the whole time I have been observing him and the missus, but I am willing to bet he takes 2 inch steps when he walks.

We are a weaker generation that we think Fuck You is the ultimate verbal attack.

There is a true gladiator’s feel to the skill of a true Fuck You conversation.

I am in awe.

This pair of wrinkled old warriors are lions, to be feared and respected.

This kind of fight is not a sprint, its a marathon and you cross the finish line when you opponent keels over.

I am in a dark place right now, and its a brutal place, scary and forbidding that makes you look at the beauty of a long time marriage and then stew in these kind of seriously vile thoughts.

And salvation is just around the corner, in the form of coffee.

Hot and fresh and available for just pennies.

Live is good, sun is out, birds are chirping, and the adorable old couple could not be cuter.

I love caffeine as a drug, it can fill the tank in a ridiculously short amount of time.

Addiction, with cream and two splendas.

And then they try to chip away at my drug induced Dome of Solitude.

“Did you hear what I said?” (Its him being angry this time.)

“What?” (She is truly playing this card.)

“I just told you something!” (Angrier.)

“What?” (This is a masterstroke of the fuck you genre of hot mess replies.)

“Ah, you are to old to talk to!” (He even waved his hand at her in dismissal. I almost shit myself trying to keep from laughing.)

“What?” (Now I KNOW they are just fucking with me. You could see this scene playing itself out as if it was written on a page.)

But it has not touched my euphoria.

And I am leaving before I am sucked into the vortex of negativity.

Because if you ungrateful shits know anything about me, you know that I am all about being positive.

I try to keep the bad stuff from staining my Disney-like purity and innocence.

Outside, there is a breeze, on the chilly side, but the sun is out. Low 70’s with a wind chill.

I am dressed in Southern California winter wear.

Shorts, running shoes, and a hooded winter coat.

Mmmmm good coffee.

 

(Here is how twisted up my head is. I have been laughing for the last 5 minutes because of the line immediately above this one. All of that shit, then “Mmmmm, good coffee.”  Once again, it occurs to me that this blog is a lot of the time, just for me.)

 

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The smell of doom.

I am not sure how much more I can take.

Everyone has been acting all week like this is no big deal.

Like I have not been in danger of shitting myself at any moment.

Friday the 13th, like its nothing to worry about.

Here is a fact:

  1. 18 years ago, on FRIDAY THE 13TH, I broke a toe on the doorjam of my kitchen.
  2. 22 years ago, on FRIDAY THE 13TH, I not only walked into a spider web, but I inadvertently swallowed a spider. (Pucker factor alone made me throw up a little in my mouth just now.)
  3. In the last 30 years, the following job-ending activities have happened within a few days of FRIDAY THE 13TH: 2 layoffs, 1 boss died, 1 fire and the accidental killing of the boss’s wife’s cat by my own negligence. Lotta negative shit here, people.

Now that you have a little back story, you can see the clear connection to a random number on the calendar and how it will be directly responsible for my oddly suspicious death.

So feel free to tempt fate and wander around today while death tries to fit you onto its schedule later today.

I will be hiding under the bed with my coffee and numchucks.

What I don’t get is that people wander around like everything is fine.

Would I be under the bed if everything was alright? Of course not.

Which reminds me, I need to sweep under the bed.

But I think we have all forgotten the fact that the FEAR of bad things happening on Friday the 13th is founded on scientific principles, proven as fact again and again.

I read that on a website on the INTERNET, so you know it’s true.

The only thing that would make it more true is if someone posted it on Facebook, the you know its a fact.

And there are those that choose to be ignorant and belittle those of us with the experience and wisdom to see the foul karmic shit storm today poses. Let them stew in their silly denial of the truth, then cry like slow children when fate takes a shit on them.

Me? Safe under the bed, highly caffeinated and heavily armed.

Outside? Zombie holocaust. Or something. I wouldn’t know, really. Not gonna look. Its horrible, whatever it is.

But, if the fates are kind, it won’t be too bad.

I gotta go to work tomorrow.

 
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Posted by on November 13, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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You won’t even notice I’m gone.

Vacation?

Blogging and potty humor don’t take a vacation, so let me explain.

Let me bring you into a nerdy little side of me.

Bare with me, because this gets stupid, but I promise there is a reason for this.

I will take you to the Wicked Witch’s castle, but then straight to the Emerald City, Scout’s honor, pinky swear.

I first started the Bittermac blog to build an audience for a really bad novel I had written.

My goal was to suck you in with the blog and then abuse that trust to sell books.

It still is, but its taking longer than I planned.

Anyway, the novel was written during a yearly internet challenge called the National Novel Writing month.

The challenge is to write 50K words, from the beginning of November to the end.

To date, I have won 3 times and have written 3 novels.

And I am trying it again, with a difference.

Previously, I wanted to do fantasy or sci fi. (Side note, I have written a vampire romance. Don’t fuck with me, I WILL make you read it.)

But this year? I am writing a humor book.

Seems to be something that I can do, at least, I like it.

The blog has about a half a million words written, even if they suck, that is a lot.

So, this blog has been pre-written and scheduled.

Like frozen food, its still food, but some of you will bitch that it is not fresh.

Bite me, deal with it.

Think of it as sex with someone you are not into.

Like payback sex or a pity fuck.

Just get thru it and it will be over soon.

The good thing is, you won’t need a shower when its over, but you still might feel dirty.

Moving on.

And its not like this is easy for me, either.

Blogging has its fine moments where you really feel like you have done something beautiful.

And then there are those moments where you feel like a jaded hooker, emotionally detached from the service you are providing that has a somewhat dirty feel to it.

Before you get all Social Justice Warrior on me for belittling the human sex trafficking problem, keep in mind that I am the victim here. (I even shut down the email on the blog site, and you whiny fuckers found my personal email. The bitching never ends with you people.)

Being politically correct has never been one of my strengths.

In fact, one of the worst things you can do is let me know that something bothers you.

At that point, my focus sharpens to just trying to upset you.

I mean, the only reason I ever use the word tard, retard or the phrase half-a-tard is because I got hate mail 2, count em, 2 times, and now I am just doing it to piss them off.

Are you seeing the pattern here?

So, for the rest of November, you will be getting the blog, on time, but a little stale.

Might I suggest some salt?

 
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Posted by on November 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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