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Monthly Archives: July 2016

The four horsemen of ignorance

“Try to be a rainbow in someones cloud.” Maya Angelou

Possible the shittiest bumper stick or facebook meme ever.

I saw that online today and laughed out loud.

The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with caution.” Albus Dumbledore

JK Rowling is responsible for 40% of everyone currently reading.

Of the two, I think she beats Angelou like a prison snitch.

Sometimes, who says it has more value to people than what they say.

But there is nothing worse than something dumb that an idiot thinks is deep.

“I don’t want to just be, I want to be HERE.”

That was the empty headed, dip shit comment that caught my ear.

The patio at Starbucks is a dicey thing in the summertime.

Pick the wrong spot on the wrong day and you are drinking hot coffee at a sweat fest.

But a Summer breeze and some shade and damn that coffee tastes better.

Enter the morons.

First year college students are a notably ignorant bunch, but God save us from the induced retardation of first year liberal arts majors.

These kids are not goth, but they are trying so hard to be intelligent and deep, there is an actual pain associated to listening to them.

The lead pussy, lets call him Tristan, is an emaciated tall kid with stringy black hair, a touch of mascara, and if my nose is accurate, does not believe in that whole bathing thing.

Great, BO and mommy told him he is brilliant.

This is a bad combination for survival.

Pray he never goes to jail, because he has “Prison Bitch” written all over him.

His worthless liberal arts degree will fast track him for supervisor at Kinkos shortly after his first decade at the counter, making copies.

I don’t normally hate someone at first sight, but today I will make an exception.

His posse is an impressive bunch in the realm of ignorant wanna-bees, but they rank below Tristan in the Order Condescendi.

First is Molly.

Molly is the remora student of the bunch.

A Remora is a fish that cannot fend for itself, so it attaches itself to another fish, usually a shark, and feeds off of the scraps.

While I hate the thought of classifying Tristan as anything as impressive or aggressive as a shark, it seems to fit.

Molly seems to feed off of Tristan’s half assed comments as if they were manna from the heavens.

Also, chocolate and fried foods, if her skin is any indicator.

Then there are the Twins.

I say twins because they sound so much alike, if you are not watching, you are not sure which one spoke.

They are like the supporting characters in a Socrates play.

“Yes, Socrates.”

“How wise of you, Socrates.”

But no actual thoughts of their own.

This is prime Occupy [Insert name of someplace people work for a living] protesters.

Tristan is concerned about his existential placeholder in the cosmos.

He really shouldn’t worry, his place in all of this is assured, the fix is in.

He is a loser, wear that badge like a medal boy, you have been working hard for the failure in your future.

And someone should track down your parents, sober them up, and slap them both in the mouth for raising this little cross for society to bare.

If it were not for the coffee, I would have left by now.

Mmmmm coffee…

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Posted by on July 29, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The pissed off game is afoot.

There is a special magic in seeing a group of angry old men playing chess in a Starbucks midmorning.

They play cut throat chess here.

Once the game begins, each player has one minute to make their move, then slap the big red button on the timer and then talk shit for 1 minute until the button is slapped again.

And the shit talking is stunning to behold.

Sexuality, race, geneology and hygene are on the table and are free play here.

I even heard a few mother slams thrown in there.

The distraction level is somewhere up in the rafters. But the game play is high level.

I used to study/play chess and I have seen several high end named strageties going on.

Add the distractions to the game restrictions and you have a setting that even Bobby Fisher would be someones prison bitch inside of an hour.

I saw video of Fisher playing once and he looked brittle like a chihuahua.

The high point of the morning was when the fight began.

For the sake of brevity, (And you know how I love to be brief) Iwill simply use the names they used.

John, it seems, tried to finish a move when time had run out, and refused to move his piece.

T, his opponent, is not having it.

Mel, observing/on deck to play next, is on John’s side.

Hack, observing but not playing, doesn’t seem to be doing anything, except talking shit.

John: My piece was moved. I made my move!

T: You have you hand on your piece, that is contemplating a move, NOT finishing a move! Time Ran Out. Put your piece back!

Mel: Man had his piece in place, thats a move.

Hack: Did you eat my cookie? (Not said to anyone in particular.)

John: You losing the game, just have some dignity, T.

T: Talk to yo momma about dignity, and while your at it, tell her you a cheat.

Mel: Aw, that ain’t right.

Hack: My mother died when I was 12.

At this point, the edge of the board was “Accidentally” bumped by the agitated T, who was TOTALLY losing at this point, knocking over most of the pieces.

And all hell broke loose.

T proclaimed his innocence, John proclaimed his guilt, Mel made generic guilt statements, and Hack found his cookie. (Who buys a cookie and puts it in his pocket?)

And then, the really big offense was made.

T gestured with his hand and knocked over the timer.

Holy shit.

You would think someone hopped up on the table, dropped trou and took a dump on the board.

And the “Fuck you, T!” was almost anti-climatic.

But the game is over for today, everyone is leaving like there was a fart in the car.

And then they were gone.

All except Hack, who just sat there eating his cookie.

Sorry never underestimate how serious some people take their hobbies.

Because nothing ruins morning coffee quicker than foul mouth old men.

And thats a damn shame.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on July 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Bow to the DD Goddess

There is a special magic in a well endowed woman who makes the conscious decision not wear a bra.

Just a t-shirt.

God bless you, miss, you’re doing the Lord’s work here.

Don’t get all preachy on me, this is more of a natural, primal thing.

Like watching geese flying North in formation.

Or seeing the first 400lbs woman wearing a tube top in the Summer at a Walmart.

But this woman has a serious A game going on.

She is totally aware of what she is doing.

Allow me to set the scene.

About 5’4, dark brown hair, pretty face with an earth sensuality that makes her stunning, eyes that are dark and beautiful but have malicious glint that reminds me of a storm warning.

Now for the serious description.

She is a DD cup, maybe bigger.

Mid 20’s, so some weight sag, but no age sag as of yet.

And they are natural.

Not that there is anything wrong with enhanced breasts.

But there is a difference in movement.

A braless woman with breast enhancement? They both move together, like synchronized swimmers, beautiful in their precision.

But a pair of DD without a bra?

Like puppies wrestling under a blanket.

Gloriously, there is no synchronicity.

Each breast has its own agenda.

And the lady in question not only understands the effect that she is having on the men and a few women around her, but she is reveling in it.

She is moving abruptly, waiting till she sees someone boldly staring, then reaching for things or gesturing suddenly.

All with a vicious little smile on her lips.

This is a dangerous woman.

Inside of 3 weeks, she could be running the world.

The cashier is an 18 year old guy that may or may not have orgasmed briefly a moment ago.

If he didn’t have a stutter previously, he does now.

She just waggled her shoulders at him, creating a lovely display that may have just made me cum a little bit.

But this is not about me.

You may have noted that I have not given her a nickname like I do to most people.

There is a reason for this.

I am at a loss for words.

What name could capture the complexity of the moment?

She is like a pagan goddess, manifested in a Starbucks.

Thank God she isn’t recruiting followers. (Or is she? I would worship at that alter.)

I can forecast conversion for anyone with a pair of testies.

Amazing that blog writing is still possible when most of the blood leaves your head, I thought is was a necessary thing? (Wait for it, wait for it…….there you go, welcome to the party.

The true power that this woman holds is both up front and subtle.

Every man in here is lusting after her.

And she will occupy many lurid thoughts throughout the day.

And that is a form of power that is stunning in its complexity and the fact that there is no way to fight it.

And why would you?

 
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Posted by on July 15, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The art of being a Rotten Bitch.

Save me the whiny comments about my prominent use of the word bitch, in this context, it fits.

Feminists would have you believe that the moment you ladies are out of the room, all men can do is call you a bitch and discuss rape as a sport.

That would be like all women waiting until the men leave the room and then talking about how people you don’t know are at their core.

Oh, wait, thats what goes on now. My bad.

Live your life, believe what you want, just try not to be an idiot about it.

Now that thats out of the way, let me describe Dale to you.

Dale is a piece of work, is what she is.

She is an artist of sorts, working in anger and shittiness the way another artist might work in clay or stone.

She was on the phone outside of Starbucks when I got there.

As I passed by, I heard the semi-crappy comment being said almost in a whisper.

“I realize that I promised to help with the planning, but I am not a fan of family parties to begin with.”

Maybe I am just over-reacting to one of my own pet peeves. I come from a really close family that, if you ask for help, it will be provided. Its what family does.

Back to Dale.

Just before the door closed, her suddenly too loud voice yelled into her phone.

“Fuck you, Mary!”

I have no idea who Mary is or what crime she committed.

I figure she has had the shitty karmic luck to be related to this circus side show, but sister/cousin/niece? Who knows.

She finished soon after and came in, getting into line right behind me.

I happened to look back and made the fatal mistake of eye contact.

She seemed to recognize that she had spun every head in the place with her outburst.

“Sorry, you know how family are.” With a shrug.

I do know how family are, I have one of my own, and even as in your face and out of hand as we get there is a base respect and the understanding that you don’t shit on them by phone in public for asking for help with a family party.

But thats just me.

How it is in whatever passs for her dysfunctional trainwreck of a clan is anybodies guess.

And, as the line progresses, Dale is one of those people that talks to herself.

She is looking at the shelves of coffees and knick-knacks as we walk and commenting as we go.

I hate her even more, now.

Top 3 Dale comments:

  • “$15 for a bag of coffee beans? I don’t want to have sex with them, just coffee.” (I don’t know what sort of Craig’s List male whore she is hooking up with, but I hope wore a couple of condoms. You don’t want a lingering gift with this little honey.)
  • “Chocolate covered coffee beans? Ugh.” (Its a fucking coffee house! What is she expecting?)
  • “You could hold a gun to my head and I wouldn’t buy this.” (Don’t tease me.)

And then we got to the cashier.

Her coffee drink is a long, convoluted throw together of conflicting statements and half jokes that make no sense but makes her laugh.

She could have had a root canal in front of the register and it would have been less awkward.

And then the cherry on the Sunday of the order.

“My name is Dale. Dale. D-A-L-E. Dale.”

How could we ever forget?

She waits for her coffee like a mangled cat staking out a mouse hole.

When her coffee comes, she looks at it like someone took a shit on it.

She makes no move to reach for it, but she begins to question the barrista about each ingredient with a pissy scowl on her face.

The only question she did not ask, and maybe should have, was “Did you spit in this?” (And with her attitude, she should ask that question a LOT.)

A few minutes later she reluctantly takes her coffee.

The last thing I heard as I walked out the door was her on the phone with, presumably, poor Mary.

“No, I wasn’t upset at all, I just want you to understand that this is not a priority in my life. Dad and I have never gotten along well.”

Sorry, but even serious Daddy issues do not explain, excuse or exorcise this evil spirit.

It was less than a 10 minute encounter, but I will hear that voice in my nightmares.

“dale. Dale. DALE. D-A-L-E.”

May God have mercy on the world.

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Have some freedom.

This is a don’t ask, don’t tell blog.

The two ladies coming into my favorite breakfast place appear to be a couple. (“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Seinfeld circa 1993)

I wear my hair short and one of them even have me beat.

One lady is wearing mom jeans and a tshirt, shoulder length hair.

Lets call her Julie. (Why not?)

Her partner is close to 6 foot. Broad shoulders. Super short hair. Scowling.

Khakis, steel toed chuckaboots, and a faded Springsteen “Born in the USA” tshirt.

Let’s call her Mike.

They stand in front of the menu, looking at the breakfast goodies.

Julie says, in a soft voice, “Breakfast burrito sounds good.”

The cashier takes that as a sign to start taking orders.

“Breakfast burrito, would you like ham, bacon or sausage on that?”

Julie takes 1.9 seconds to open her mouth to answer.

And that is too fucking long for Mike.

Angry mouth 2 inches from Julie’s ear, Mike has had it with her shit.

“Are you going to fucking order?”

Wow.

0 to 60 1.9 seconds has to be a record of some sort.

There are 2 more explosions from Mike before the order is taken.

The cashier looks a lot like a horse in a forest fire, eyes rolling, stuttering and looks like she might bolt at any moment.

The weird part is that it is a large open room that seems to absorb the tension so that no one around them seems to notice.

Except for me.

But only because I notice everything.

The Fates are kind at times and today is one of those days.

Mike and Julie take a seat at the table behind me.

I can hear pretty clearly.

And it is a conversation that makes ADD look stable by comparison.

Here is a 5 minute sample:

  • Shitty comment.
  • Inquiry about upcoming 4th of July Party.
  • Inquiry about the time thru angry clenched teeth. (Still don’t get that one.)
  • Compliment about patriotic tshirt purchase.
  • Shitty comment that included the use of the “C” word.
  • Mention of interracial porn likes/dislikes.
  • Shitty self deprecating comment.
  • Desire to see a movie tonight.
  • Shitty comment.

It was exhausting to follow and keep in mind, I talk to the homeless on occasion.

In the end, it was simply a couple in a bad relationship, having a bad morning.

And the take away for all of you is, no matter what your choice of relationship is, avoid the toxic ones if you can.

But it was entertaining.

There is a joke that plays on the observation that a lot of lesbians get serious way too quick.

What gift does a lesbian buy for a second date? A Uhaul truck. (That joke was told to me by lesbians that I hold in high esteem and in the right circles, that joke kills.)

The take away for me, is the image of Mike, angrily eating pancakes and muttering fuck into her coffee.

And that is what America is all about.

Happy 4th of July.

 
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Posted by on July 1, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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