Monthly Archives: March 2016

That flash of brilliance

There is a really dumb theory that truly creative minds gravitate to drug use.

This little treasure of ignorance is always spouted off by someone who uses it to defend their idol.

Jimmy Hendrix, John Belushi and Kurt Cobain are the 3 sacred cows they like to trot out.

But here is the key.

I have never, ever, heard this theory trotted out by anyone who: A. Had an advanced degree. And B: Has a successful career.

You will never see all three of those together. Just saying.

But, this whole argument leads me to the little scene going on in front of me.

Using the argument from the sentences about, 2 of the most creative men ever to walk the planet are sitting on the patio of a Starbucks.

And these two genuses stink like someone dipped them in shit.

But the shining brilliance makes that ungodly BO bearable.

And what is the subject of our little think tanks roundtable today?

“If Bill Gates drops a $100 bill, he will lose money if he takes the time to stop and pick it up.”

Its like being in the presence of Stephen Hawking if he was being gang raped by Einstein.

(Personally, there is no way Einstein could maintain an erection with that kind of BO. Can’t be done.)

I know I am setting myself up for a bunch of whiny emails from the social justice warriors who will throw out the same tired catch phrases. “Walk a mile in his shoes, you don’t know what has gone on in his life… blah blah frickin blah.”

First of all, I would not be caught dead in those shoes.

Second of all the logic is something teenagers would come up with.

And slow teens at that.

I have never smoked meth or blown a dealer in an alleyway, but I am more than a little sure I would not like it.

Moving on.

The thing that keeps bringing me back to these two is that there is a specific spot that Bill would need to be dropping Franklins.

Creative genius number one has repeatedly smacked the same spot on the ground.

“Right here, right Fuxxxxx here.” Smack! “If Bill Gates dropped a $100 right here, he wouldn’t pick it up, couldn’t pick it up, he would lose money just doing it!”

And it wasn’t even an argument, they were agreeing with each other for the better part of an hour.

And here is the take away from this entire meth-fueled Algonquin Round-table:

Sometimes creative people do drugs.

And sometimes, smelly dipshits do drugs.

And it probably isn’t a good idea for either one.

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Posted by on March 25, 2016 in Uncategorized


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Murder and itchy teeth.

Some situations remind you exactly why waterboarding was created.

There is nothing more annoying than a grown-up talking baby-talk.

And the extreme level of my annoyance and itchy molars has nothing to do with not having had my coffee yet.

At least I think it doesn’t.


But when a grown man begins whispering baby-talk into his iPhone, in line at Starbucks, ahead of me, I begin to realize what the inventor of the taser had in mind, someone in massive pain, shitting themselves, with no permanent damage.

At least, that is what this moment makes me hope he envisioned.

“No-no-no-no, I wuv yu tu muchie.”

This was said out loud, where other adults could hear it.

Are you fucking kidding me?

And just to put a little stank on this sin, HE HELD UP HIS FINGER TO HAVE THE CASHIER WAIT WHILE HE SAID IT!

I don’t care what consenting adults do in the privacy of their own home, but don’t get between me and my coffee.

I will pull a “Java Coyote” on you and chew thru your arm to get to my coffee.

This seems extreme, but I made my peace with random heinous acts in the name of addiction a long time ago.

I finally got my order in and because I just get a house drip, they give it to me immediately instead of making me wait for the barrista to make it, so I don’t have to wait like the proles at the end of the counter.

I am peacefully cream and sugaring my fix when it starts back up.

“No-no-no-no yu gots to hung up first, sweetie-weetie”

He dropped his voice a touch out of some sort of sense of decency.

Maybe his parents are still alive or something. (And not that he is afraid to embarrass them, but that they will feel they have to do the right thing and put him down, like an honor killing or something.)

I am not one for the silent praying for a random gang beating in a Starbucks, but I realize that I have been doing just that for the last 5 minutes.

And the reality of it all is that his crime is not that huge in the grand scheme of things, but it hits a nerve that is lodged deep in my cerebral cortex. (That part of the brain that controls rage and swampass)

And sometimes you have to go with your instincts.

Primordial man had a reason for seeing the guy that lived in the cave next door, recognizing the beginnings of the pox and beating him to death at the water hole to protect the safety of the community.

I am ok with that.

Same thing here.

Unfortunately, there is a societal taboo about murder as a method of correcting annoying behavior.

Go figure.

Fine, have it your way, society.

But I know I am not alone on this one.

There will come a time that the percentage of cringing swampass will get high enough that some sort of atrocity at a major coffee house chain somewhere.

Part blog, part prophet.




Posted by on March 18, 2016 in Uncategorized


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Hold the curtain.


There is a certain element of this blog that reflects a darker side of my mind, psyche, soul, whatever you want to call it.

Think of it as a prolonged experiment in having an area of your life where there are no social/societal filters to what you say.

It can be as liberating as it can be vile.

And it has cost me, to a certain extent.

There is a polarizing quality to the blog that people either love it, or despise it, with few if any in the middle ground.

The despising part usually manifests itself in dislike and an almost childlike sullenness when confronted.

The usual method is to try and pretend to be on some sort of moral high ground, while non-specifically critiquing it.

The rare manifestation of disowning has happened several times.

Outright shunning.

Weird when you run into that in this day and age.

After researching the personalities involved in this angered disowning of me and the blog, I have come to see that there was damage, baggage of sorts that these fragile peeps had encountered that they have rarely been reminded of in their safe PC world, but that the lack of restriction of the blog grabbed their taboos and force fed it to them.

My bad.
I certainly don’t mind hurting feelings, hell at times, that is my only goal, but intention is everything.

Like real estate is all about location, location, location, this type of emotional manipulation is all about intention, intention, intention.

Same reason you don’t box someone with a mental disability, might be entertaining until you realize that it is all one sided.

And there is no joy there.

But, to get someone who has coasted thru life with a mediocre intellect, convinced of their superiority only because no one ever called them on it, and so twist them up with the words that they are run thru a gamut of emotions whether they are ready for it or not, I am running a biker train literary style on this eager initiate.

And that line alone is the entire reason I write this.

I seriously considered ending this experiment recently, just felt like I was done with it.

Hell, this post was due 4.5 hours ago.

But as I sit here, putting this down, looking at the people in this Starbucks that I use in the blog like a pimp, I am refreshed, reborn, and back on the job.

So, if any of this offended you because of some dark baggage in your past, my bad, not my intention.

But, if this made you laugh, cry, anger or confused you for the simple reason that you never had it thrown at you like shit off the ground?

Welcome to Thunderdome, bitch.

Its good to be back.

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Posted by on March 11, 2016 in Uncategorized


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Because you need your ass whipped.

I have always had an unnatural relationship with the time clock anywhere I have worked.

I took a moment recently to look back over my work history.

Despite having been born in the US, my approach to work has always been that of a starving immigrant.

I missed work the day I was born.

My father came by my hospital crib and told me to quit crying, there are no free rides.

Shortly thereafter, I had my first job, sweeping up at the hospital.

At multiple times in my life, I have found myself with several jobs, like some sort of albino Jamaican.

The family businesses were automobile repair and food service. So I was grubby but well fed.

It was better than our next door neighbor was in textiles so his children worked in the mill.

Their lack of hands due to mill accidents made them poor playmates.

I was never really allowed to play with children that were not gainfully employed.

I grew up in a time where child labor laws were much more relaxed and kids were allowed the privilege of bringing home a decent paycheck.

I have filled out a W4 with a crayon.

I have only been on unemployment 2 times in my life and it was embarrassing, both times. (No joke there, sadly.)

My kids have great work ethics, something that I am wholly proud of.

You may be wondering what has me waxing poetic about the workplace.

Because I saw someone fired today.

Fired for not showing up for work.

Usually that sort of thing is nipped in the bud fairly quickly.

However, when the person is hired to answer the phones at 4am when no one else is there, it takes awhile.

The thing I keep coming back to is the not showing up for work.

Its like deciding not to breathe anymore.

They are lucky they were not raised by my father.

I don’t care what age you are, man or woman, you get fired for not showing up for work in my family, you are getting your ass beat.

And you would have it coming.

Its getting to the point that if you have a strong work ethic, its so rare that its like you know magic.

In a certain sense, I guess my issue with them being fired is that I am incapable of understanding it.

At its core, the decision was made not to bring in an income.

Which hurts the family.

This is where the entire problem is.

It is tattooed into my DNA that above all, you don’t hurt the family.

I hope they learned their lesson in being fired.

Or any lesson, really.

Nobody seems to learn any lessons these days.

When I was a kid, there were a lot of lessons I learned.

All of them had the same moral to the story.

Don’t hurt the family.

Because family is everything.

Thus endith the lesson.



Posted by on March 4, 2016 in Uncategorized


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