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Monthly Archives: June 2016

No brains, no headaches

There is an interesting dichotomy that most people exist in while at Starbucks.

It is a coffee house, so there is always a certain element of social interaction as you walk thru the door.

People talk to strangers in line and while they wait for their coffee.

But, once they have their coffee in hand, if they are alone and not leaving, there is a mental “Leave me the hell ALONE!” vibe that springs up. (I have purposely avoided the word Fuck in this sentence.)

Some more than others.

There is a woman sitting at the end table at my local starbucks.

Pretty without being beautiful, well dressed without being chic.

But there is a vibe going on there.

It is a palpable menace that exists in a bubble around her.

You don’t realize it is there as much as you just realize that your pucker factor goes up a couple of notches if you get too close.

So much so that, even in a medium busy Starbucks, the table next to her is empty.

I have named her the Ice Queen, because she is cold.

“Let it go” is playing in my head as I watch her.
She is using a tablet and ignoring the world around her.

Enter Magoo.

Magoo is the perfect name because he is oblivious and squints at everything. (Don’t bother Googling, you either know why this is funny or you don’t and getting an answer from Google won’t explain it.)

And Magoo is in everybody’s shit.

He is talking to everyone in line, people near line, the employee rolling the garbage can past him, the cashier, the barista and 4 people waiting for their coffee.

He is not dumb, but you would never call him smart.

Magoo is entirely too happy about the mundane shit. (There may be something to be envied there.)

And then he spies the empty table next to the Ice Queen.

Beeline.

His sits and sips his coffee, being quiet for the first 30 second period since he came thru the door.

“Good morning! Is it a beautiful day out or what? Hot coffee, hot day, talk about paradise.”

The Ice Queen says nothing, she doesn’t even look up.

Total ice off. Not unexpected, but impressive.
Few people have the ability to tell the modern social contract to go fuck itself, but the Ice Queen just did.

99.999% of society catches the clue at this point and awkwardly moves on.
You find something interesting to look at on the other side of the room, suddenly become engrossed in your cell phone, something, but you have to remove yourself from the awkward.

Not Magoo, like emotional water off of a ducks back, he begins talking about the beach area in the Summertime and his favorite vacation spots.

And there is a noticeable paradigm shift.

The Ice Queen no longer holds sway here.

She senses it too, you can tell from her body language.

Finally, she looks up.

The look on her face is lifeless, like that of a mob hitman, staring down at you as the truck lid closes.

“Do you mind? I am reading.”

And she goes back to her tablet.

And Magoo doesn’t miss a beat.

“What are you reading? I just finish an amazing……”

It was beautiful to watch, like geese flying in formation, something majestic that took her icy facade and poured a hot cup of Social on it.

And it didn’t end there.

Magoo kept talking.

And then, she broke.

The Ice Queen did not look up, but she began answering questions.

I could not hear clearly, but it didn’t sounds like rephrasings of “Leave me the hell alone.”

When I left, Magoo and the Ice Queen were still doing their little dance.

They will probably be married in less than a year.

The Magoo’s of the world live in an oblivious bubble that the rest of us can barely understand, much less try to emulate.

Me? I would still be clearing the pepper spray out of my eyes.

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Shut the fuck up.

For God’s sake lady, shut the fuck up.

A radical new treatment to make yourself less annoying, brought to you by the caring doctors from the Bittermac medical center.

I am sitting in a favored Starbucks, getting a migraine.

There is a vile yenta at the next table that has been talking nonstop into her phone for 15 minutes.

She may or may not be breathing, there are no discernible pauses for breath.

It seems that if there is a thought in that fleshy head of her’s, it will come spilling out of her mouth.

Her voice reminds me of Gladys Kravitz from the old Bewitched show, always pitchy and a little too dramatic.

And she does not seem to have a topic, she just talks.

Think of a statue in a fountain, but instead of water shooting out of its mouth non-stop, day in, day out, its words.

She has talked about her job, whoever she is talking to on the phone’s job, her cat, her sister, her mother (Who she had the balls to call annoying. You hypocritical bitch, she would have to be a serial killer to be annoying compared to you.) politics, guns, pudding, Isis, Italians, Jews, (And prefacing your comment with “Not to be racist” is TOTALLY racist. But you are right about the Italians.) the police, rap music and last but not least, buying online.

She just abruptly got up and left, but her stench lingers.

I can still hear her voice.

Like a form of coffee shop PTSD, this woman may have damaged me.

There is only so much that the human brain can put up with before it snaps.

I may become some sort of deviant now as a coping mechanism.

Ok, more of a deviant.

Thank god for coffee.

When in doubt, have a solid cup of coffee and shit will sort itself out.

Opiate of the masses.

Some more than others.

“Was she  a yappy bitch or what?”

And a hush fell over the room.

Like a unicorn appearing to rescue you from evil, a homeless man at the next table has decided to voice what we all have been thinking.

Like a smelly prophet, he puts words to the feeling, the emotion that we all feel, but did it in a way that has spooked the herd.

Awesome.

And then the smell hits.

Ripe BO takes a little bit of the awesome out of the situation.

LIke lemon air freshener, it puts a little spin on the stench, but the stench is still there.

I wish I had some lemon air freshener.

What is the social stigma to pulling out a can of Lemon Fabreze and spritzing someone at the next table, all without saying anything?

Perhaps it is the type of thing that I could buy a pine tree air freshener and hang it around his neck as a gift?

But then it would smell like a pine tree with a dirty ass.

I realize that he is staring at me.

Great, I am his new friend.

No sudden moves, just keep it friendly.

“Right?”

That made him happy.

Happy homeless are less likely to attack and try to eat you. (Those who follow the news know this to be true. Why do people who use “Bathsalts” smell like that?)

The homeless guy left and I realize the similarity of Chatty bitch and the homeless guy.

Both left and their stench remains.

But, and this is an important thing, the smell of the homeless guy will fade.

But the psychic stench of Chatty Bitch will live on.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The love hate relationship

There is an arrogant charm to being a hypocritical shit.

There isn’t really a depth to my shallowness at this point.

Maybe, when I first started writing this blog, there was.

I might have felt an embarrassed flush if someone brought up a particularly heinous remark.

But now? I have no shame and pretty much take delight in the things that make most people cringe.

I will make up fact and polls and scientific findings, often for no reason other than to amuse myself.

You can call me out on it, but that is only going to make it worse.

I will laugh in your face and take the next hour to explain why you are the idiot.

Its like a moral anarchy that knows no boundary.

Thought in my head? (No matter how vile) Its on the page.

And it has caused a noticeable distance between some acquaintances and me.

And I didn’t say “friends” because I didn’t mean “Friends”.

Acquaintances fits.

And there is a part of me that, during those rare moments that I reflect with the innocence of a former alter boy, that I feel bad about it.

But then I move on and think of something evil about that person to justify the situation in a way that makes me the good guy.

As for friends, my true set of friends are a twisted bunch of fuckers.

Not only do they get it, there are a couple that feel the worst of the blog is much too tame.

Were they like that originally and we fell in together?

Or were we kids with diverse paths that fell in together due to geography and slowly warped each other?

Either way, here we are.

Moving on.

I find myself reading the hate mail again.

Like a heroin addict, I stayed clean for a few months, even shut down the email feature for the blog.

And they found me thru facebook.

They never missed a whiny beat.

And the email that set me down this path of reflection?

It was from one of the dedicated critics that was among the first to complain.

Tiny Mouse. You rotten bitch.

Tiny Mouse has about 60 cats and a retarded child and lives in New Zealand.

Why New Zealand? Probably to escape US Justice.

Animal rape is illegal in the US, always has been.

At least, that is my theory.

Tiny Mouse’s first email was over my use of the word “Retard”.

She maintains that it harms a child that cannot read in New Zealand if a blog from the US uses that word.

I have come to understand that she is retarded and her kid is most likely more normal by societal standards.

She also claims that a phrase that ignored all content around it was advocating violence towards cats.

She loves cats, I suspect in an unnatural way.

My response to her emails usually begin with a reply from me that is simply a photo of cat-themed road kill.

Its childish, and possibly a little beyond twisted, but it did accomplish my goal.

She lost her fucking mind.

She actually contacted my webhost and asked that the blog site be shut down.

I know this because tech support emailed me to let me know that they would not be honoring her request.

Thanks guys.

Fast forward to today.

Tiny Mouse sent me an email that talked about how she rarely reads the blog, but she did today. (She has written me almost 60 emails. I am ALL she reads.)

And she is going to stop reading me forever.

Boo fucking who.

I read that line in her email and got a chubby.

I think I even came a little bit.

I truly hope she stands by her principals on this one.

It will not happen, because she has sworn off the blog a few dozen times.

This blog is her meth, without the danger of losing her teeth.

Trust me, she will be back, probably because of this post.

I have mentioned the keywords.

“Retard”, “Cat rape”, “Roadkill”.

But I can still hope.

She needs me more than I need her.

She just doesn’t see that yet.

 
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Posted by on June 10, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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A half century of greatness.

Turned 50 this morning.

Half Century mark.

As I sit here, I can feel wisdom imbruing my mind and oozing from me like an intellectual diarrhea.

And sometimes just as smelly and inconvenient.

However, I find myself blooming like an intellectual rose at this point in my life.

So, and I mean this from the bottom of my somewhat shallow heart.

Whatever wisdom you find here is golden, take it to heart and realize that if you disagree, its only due to your ignorance, and that isn’t your fault.

And I forgive you.

Moving on to the blog.

 

The Man is in the M-er F-ing HOUSE!

The Starbucks closest to my house is a big one, couple of dozen tables.

Busy, even during the off hours.

And you would think that with that mass of humanity, it would lower the instances of crazy, safety in numbers and all of that.

Try not to think.

Turns out that it just makes crazy up it own game.

Enter the Man.

He is either badly aging 50’s or normal aging late 60’s.

He has swagger to his walk, like he is the Shit.

Let me describe his outfit.

White short shorts, bordering on booty shorts.

Pasty white legs that would need several weeks of a proper diet and then a workout program to look even ok in booty shorts.

As it is, its more than a little creepy.

Moving on.
His shirt appears to have slipt thru a time portal from the 80’s.

OP poloshirt, white with faded blue seagulls.

His hair has a little bit of Pomade in it, giving it a slick and greasy look.

He has an original Ipod, complete with the vintage headphones, vintage to the point that the cord to one of the earpieces has a little ducktape repairing it.

Here is the cherry on the Sunday for this little scenario.

He is a big Journey fan and is singing along to Wheel in the Sky.

Out loud.

And he does not sing well.

Journey was only tolerable if it actually is Journey, but when its sung by The Man (AKA Freakboy) it becomes creepy and a little frightening.

The voice is like a serial killer’s, like its the last one you will ever hear as the trunk of the car closes.

And then there is the straw.

The Man fancies himself as a drummer of sorts with a green straw from the cream and sugar kiosk.

So he is singing out loud, pretty poorly by the way, and smacking this straw onto the table like he is beating on a snare drum, out of beat, of course.

Now I don’t want to assume too much hear, but lets go out on a limb here and say that the Man has, or has had, an issue with various chemicals in his life, most likely for a long time.

Long term abuse of any drug makes you hard to take, case in point, me and caffeine.

But there is a loss of self awareness that comes with the more mentally damaging drugs.

In other words, you lose sight of just how weird you have become.

Like a meth head that has scratched holes in his face, then hits you up for change with some convoluted story that, to him I am sure, makes it seem like he is just a regular guy who needs a couple of bucks to get out of a jam.

All the while, continuing to scratch new holes in his face.

And if the thought actually entered your head, “Don’t judge.” Grow the hell up. And if you think the bible says don’t judge you aren’t paying attention.

Uh oh. Looks like there is the potential for mayhem, the federales have arrived.

In classic form, The Man is not shocked to see them.

With almost no words bing said, they all head outside to talk.

Perhaps they are all friends.

Everyone is smiling and friendly.

The meth head with the heart of gold.

Maybe this will be the sequel to Pretty Woman, a new vehicle for Julia Roberts. (Hooker with a heart of gold scenario)

Maybe not.

 
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Posted by on June 3, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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