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Monthly Archives: September 2016

As plain as black and white

A stray comment from the next table caught my ear this morning.

“I don’t want this to sound racist, but”

And I swear, I almost laughed out loud.

The reason for my barely controlled outburst is that, when someone starts a sentence with that phrase, you KNOW that the following sentence will be racist as hell.

This morning, the second half of that sentence was…

“That black guy has complete advantage in this heat.”

Backtrack for a second. The questionably racist millennials at the next table, are dumb, being in their early 20’s thats a given, but they are also white and insecure.

They have an expensively grunge look to them.

So we know that they come from money, but have issues with that.

It is hot out.

Southern California in late September can be a bitch.

When the two Twitterheads walked in, they mentioned the two homeless guys out front.

I didn’t think much at the time, but now that is a key point here.

The two homeless guys are your usual homeless, dirty and smell like piss, by coincidence, they happen to be black and white.

So to put the story together, they feel that the black guy has an advantage in the heat.

Here is the simple facts.

It doesn’t matter what color they are, the fact is they are both drug addled as to be wearing several layers of clothing and that sitting in the blistering sun without shade to beg for change makes sense.

No matter what color you are, its a bad idea.

For a $1.15, they could get a small coffee and sit in the air conditioning for several hours.

However, that would take $1.15 away from their drug of choice. (This comes from the professionals that work with the homeless. You have good intentions, but you are dumb and don’t know.)

Back to our young and dumb kids.

I would call them racists except they are too dumb to get it.

And I don’t have the time.

Every second I would spend trying to belittle and educate them would take away from amusing myself and quite frankly, I am more selfish than I am socially conscious.

With the exception of my kin, the youth of today are a sadly misguided bunch, raised by retards and fed the kind of silly shit that makes Bernie sound like a good idea.

Its like the whole ethanal debate. (Its a joke, and a dumb one at that.)

So, as I watch the two kids and sip my coffee, a question pops into my head.

Should I get another cup of coffee?

I mean, this one is almost empty and I am really not feeling that twitchy edge of caffeine that I like.

If you have enough caffeine, there is a natural twitch bordering on tourettes that, in my case, causes me to type horrible things, often against my will.

But it is important to have a hobby.

In the end, there is nothing to be done about the dipshits.

The are young and part of what they think is a much more accepting culture.

They will protest that they meant nothing by it.

Like Louis Armstrong said, “Some people, if they don’t know, you can’t tell them.”

Smart guy, played a wicked horn.

All that, and here is another reason to hate these kids.

Who the hell comes to Starbucks and gets a $5 juice packet.

You are in a legal crack house, kiddies.

So buy some goddam crack.

There is only one thing to do.

Get another cup of coffee.

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Posted by on September 30, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Your unsightly unmentionables

There is an ad on an internet site for Scrotox, botox for the testicles.

I have no idea what I was going write about prior to reading that.

Gone, all that is left is Scrotox.

Its disturbing, and nasty and has a tangible feeling of ewww to it.

The gist of the ad, once you click on it, is that there are men who feel bad or embarrassed by their wrinkly testicles.

Go back and read that last sentence again, I will wait here.

I am staring at my screen and shaking my head.

I’m not sure where to go from here.

Is this a thing?

I have never looked at my scroti in terms of their attractiveness.

What is worse, wrinkles or the sparse pubic hair?

If I get Scrotox, and I am not saying I will, will I need to get them waxed?

I mean, if they are going to be smooth, they should be hairless.

It makes for a better photo.

Pubic hair, no matter how much conditioner you use, will never behave.

Now, if you are going to take your scroti to the salon and to use the English term, “Smack your bitch up”, you should definitely have some head shots taken.

So off to the mall for some tacky head shots, maybe even with a big hair wig like your balls are a backup dancer in a White Snake video.

The alternative to waxing would be a comb-over, and that would be worse.

Anyone who saw your scroti with a comb over would see that as desperate, trying too hard.

It would be obvious that your balls are past their prime, no longer able to just roll out of bed, run your hand thru your hair and out the door.

You would have to buy “Product” for your hair, and that is a whole other thing.

I would recommend taking your nuts to a high end salon for a consultation.
Don’t fuck around here, get a professional consultation about testicular grooming products.

Just saying.

But, you ask, how do I know if my “Orbs” pass muster?

How can I tell if my “Makers” lack that “Come hither look” that the “Bits” of male models possess?

Its not like you can just wipe the out at happy hour and begin asking random strangers what they think.

That sounds like a recipe for getting gang tackled and held for observation.

Besides, what does your average Jane and Joe know about truly good looking “Bait”?

But who do you go to for that expert appraisal?

If you are 50 or older, I should think that Antique Road Show might be of help.

But you might have to be a little vague about things until you are sitting across from the expert and the cameras are rolling. (Also may end up in a gang tackle by the production staff.)

There is one suggestion that none of the ads seems to even allude to, and it seems to be so obvious.

Just keep in in your pants, no one wants to see that shit.

Seriously.

No BS.

Don’t.

No.

Just don’t.

We good?

 
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Posted by on September 23, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The Slut version of Forrest Gump

There is a difference between ignorant and dumb.

Ignorant has a connotation of lacking experience while dumb doesn’t get it, will never get it, experienced or not.

And then there is “Dignorumb”, a mix of the two.

Enter the girls, named for simplicity, Dumb, Dumber and Stupid.

Words come to mind as I listen these young ladies discuss life, the universe and someone named Carlo’s dick.

Dumber, it seems, has discovered sex.

Dumb and Stupid are more slut-sperienced than Dumber, but there is a Jerry Springer-esq trashiness to then that adds an almost charming ambiance to the affair.

The ladies, if you can call them that, are somewhere in their 20’s, but not far out of their teens.

Its like watching three conspirators talk about assassinating a president, except that the victim is a penis and – no, a Lincoln’s head exploding metaphor is just too easy.

I guess what ruins this whole situation is that there should be a dirty old man aspect to the listening in here, and there just isn’t.

I am sporting a big ol soft of over this one, which is a little disconcerting.

I should be at half mast, at least.

Its not sexy, just kind of sad, in a “Decline of Western Civilization” kind of way.

God, am I getting old.

Or maybe just too old to be dumb anymore.

Back when I was young, dumb and full of cum, my dick and I had adventures that would make Frodo Baggins flinch.

We tossed the “The one to rule them all” into the fires many a night and lived to tell the tale.

But this lacks that same excitement.

Dumb, Dumber and Stupid, not knowing any better, are excited as hell, but with that kind of semi-fake “Game show” excitement.

A gameshow with STD’s for prizes.

And the “Lightening Round” is illegal in the state of Georgia.

Now, and here is why I am calling Bullshit to Dumber’s claim that the legendary Carlo and his mythical schwantz.

I happen to know a girl who lost her virginity to a horse-like guy.

And she was seriously sore for a few days after.

At no time during Dumb, Dumber or Stupid’s conversation did any discussion of pain, swelling or soreness come up.

Which means that it either Carlo is not a horse from the waist down or he is and has no control and fouled his under-roos before the deed could be accomplished.

And that is as uncomfortable and gross as it sounds.

But happens all the time.

And yet, give it time, 20 years down the road, these unruly sluts will be someone’s wise and sweet mother.

God help us all.

There is a kind of an ugly equation at work here.

Take Dumb, Dumber and Stupid, add sex, minus common sense, and you have a frightening answer.

Here is a hint, it will raise your taxes and increase the head count at the Occupy rally 18 years from now.

But, at least my coffee is still hot.

No matter what else happens, they can’t take that away from me.

At least not yet.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on September 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Oh, the places you will go… on caffeine.

The odd things that stick in your mind and come back to you at the weirdest of times.

I sat down to write and realized I didn’t have a solid topic picked out.

So I closed my eyes.

And the circus began.

Three things hit me almost at once at random.

And I realized that they were so different from each other, that I was done, I had my topic.

Or topics, plural. 3 of them, in fact.

  1. Just a fleeting memory. I was bicycle commuting (Which sounds better than “I was riding my bike” like I am 5 years old or something.) thru a somewhat more ghetto-ish section of town. (That sounds racist, but I am seriously trying for it not to be.)

I pass a car lot that has loud hip hop/rap playing. A salesman in a shirt and tie leads a couple to see a car at the front of the dealership, on the street. Husband and a wife with a lot of “Junk in that trunk” (This is an important fact.)

Just then, the song changed. A serious twerking song started. Without missing a beat, the wife bent over and started shaking that ass. Also without missing a beat, the salesman began miming smacking that ass.

And the husband’s smile never faltered for a second.

And my first thought was, what a salesman.

A sales mentor told me years ago, as long as your customer is right there with you, in congruence, you can say/do pretty much whatever you want.

Same goes for ass smacking.

  1. The second scene takes us to far away Venice beach. A beautiful local in Southern California, a massive vacation spot. There are sights to see, people vacationing, absolutely stunning weather….

And the homeless. Venice and Santa Monica, among all the beach communities, encourages the homeless. The police are handcuffed, to use an ironic comparison, and basically leave the homeless alone.

There is a beautiful outdoor cafe, right on the boardwalk, a third of the tables in the cafe are indoors, with the remaining two-thirds out on the covered patio. The view is the boardwalk, the sand and the ocean. Truly scenic.

Street performers are plying their trade about 10 yards away. I have been watching a truly gifted guitar player/singer make his way thru covering most of Simon and Garfunkel’s best hits.

For some reason, I happen to look behind me and see a homeless guy making his way up the alley next to the cafe. It is either a homeless guy or a shabbily dressed grizzly. The hair/fur has not been cut recently if ever, and I am thankful that I am upwind. For some reason, despite my love of live performance, something about the homeless guy catches my eye. He just cleared the building and stopped right next to the wrought iron railing of the cafe. There is a well-monied couple sitting just on the other side of the railing. These are important people, you can tell by their dress and comportment. I don’t mean actually important, I mean they feel they are important. The key giveaway is when the guy signals the waiter, he snaps his fingers. He is either from New York or Europe, because that is the only place that kind of shit is not considered rude.

And then, the show begins. The Important couple does not seem to see the homeless guy, or are at least ignoring him. But, the homeless guy decides it is time to take a shit.

So, with no hesitation for his surroundings, he drops trow, squats and begins to shit. I can hear at least one grunt, but my mind is perfectly capable of making that up in the effort to enhance the moment.

And then, the true magic begins. The homeless guy wobbles a bit, like he is losing his balance, and reaches out with his right hand, and grabs the rail of the cafe, along with the back of the Important guy’s lightweight jacket. It pulls him back slightly. He peers over his shoulder and sees what is going on behind him.

And loses his shit, figuratively, compared to the literal one going on behind him.

The Important guy yells and tries to stand, but can’t because he is kind of pinned to the rail by our unwashed, defecating minstrel. The Important woman begins screaming, and you really cannot blame her, she has the straight on view of what is landing on the pavement.

The entire scene is tailor made for a movie starring Jim Carrey.

Enjoy your meal.

Welcome to Southern California.

  1. The final scene is a quick one. The title of this scene is, When is a Victim Not a Victim?

A mother and daughter are in line at Starbucks. The daughter is looking at yogurt and fresh fruit parfaits. Mom is just scowling for an unknown reason. The daughter picks out her selection and turns back to mom just as the spot in front of the cashier.

“Eating those will make you fat.” Mom says in a monotone bitch voice.

“Tough taking advice from a fat woman.” Daughter says in that same monotone as she walks past her.

Suck it, you belittling hypocritical bitch.

 

So much for a random sampling of the caffeinated thoughts of a true addict.

But at least the coffee is hot.

Mmmmmm coffee…

 
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Posted by on September 9, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Katy, take a bow.

It turns out I am 13 years old.

I must be, that is the only thing that explains it.

I bowed to peer pressure.

I wrote a one-off blog last week.

One and done, my favorite kind.

A single turd, cast into the river of the internet and pulled away by the current, never to be seen again.

I got two complaints almost immediately.

One from someone I consider to a moron.

He could have been blowing bubbles and shitting himself and I would have taken him more serious.

But the second one was from someone that gets me, understands the humor.

Plus they texted me, that means they are trusted, I restrict who can text, most I just ignore, if I respond, that is a level above the rest. (I am like an onion, many layers and peeling them will make you cry.)

And they said one simple thing.

“That can’t be it, the story isn’t over.”

So I looked at it.

And dammit if they were not right.

So here we are, like retarded migratory birds, flying by instinct back to this literary Capistrano.

Why? Good question.

Because the story isn’t over.

I thought it was, but I am half a tard MOST of the time, so what do I know.

So, without further adieu, here it is.

The Saga of Katy – part 2

Places everyone!

Action!

And……

I got nothing.

I really should take better notes.

But the overwhelming majority of these are put stream of consciousness.

Like a fart in a high wind, makes an ugly statement, but just as fast, its gone.

So, when in doubt, start at the beginning.

And where is the beginning.

Simple.

Coffee.

A free cup of coffee, given to me by the manager, along with a cookie for being out on the patio when the Sheriffs and Children’s Services arrived to deal with the most out of control baby factory I have ever seen. (The manager must be new. Most managers will apologize profusely for bad happenings, but as a general rule, they will NEVER give you free product.)

Half naked, filthy, ill-mannered brood, the lot of them.

Everyone likes to say, babies and children are all beautiful.

To this, I ask:

Why is your head up your ass? Is it for the warmth? Then put on a coat, AND PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS.”

Katy is a shitty mother with ugly kids.

You’re goddam right I said it.

Some kids are fugly and Katy’s kids have a dose of fugly that matches their mother’s attitude.

Speaking of attitude, thru the glass, I see that Katy has given up berating the Children’s Services agent, and gone after the larger of the two sheriffs. (The Children’s Services is like an emotional duck, letting all that shit slide off of her back.)

She is up in his face, in a manner of speaking. (She would have to be a foot and a half taller to actually be in his face, they are both terrifying specimens of Homo-Sapian. The smaller one is 6’4 or so.)

Sheriffs are an amazing bunch.

They are quite often the most gentle of the law enforcement officers you will run into.

Right up until you touch them.

Which Katy just decided was appropriate.

Balling up her long nails into a fist, she pulled back her hand and swung it at the upper chest of a man wearing a bullet proof vest that is rated for heavy caliber.

What she hit, was the top of his palm as his fingers closed around her wrist.

It was so smoothly done that it was like they had practiced it.

Whatever Katy officially did to get them here is now a secondary charge.

Attempted assault of a sheriff is dumb in and of itself.

But then it hit me.

Katy was dealing with possibly the only authority figure she has ever dealt with.

Because you can tell from her demeanor and bearing that she definitely had no respect for the shitbag that raised this little honey.

I was just finishing my cookie when they were feeding Katy into the back of the Sheriff’s cruiser.

Another sheriff and a nondescript woman in a cheap suit that screamed “CHILDREN’S SERVICES M-FER” pulled up in a large SUV.

In short order, they fed Katy-brood into the back of the SUV.

The kids did not even appear to be upset, like they were used to it.

And thus ends the Saga of Katy, or maybe its just the beginning.

So thats the end of my viewing of the Saga of Katy.

The cookie is gone, Katy and the kids are gone, and the coffee is cold.

And coffee, unlike vengeance, is never enjoyable when its cold.

 
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Posted by on September 2, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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