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Monthly Archives: February 2017

Don’t forget the roses, asshole.

Valentine’s day is one of those days where people freak out for a variety of reasons.

Saint Valentine must have been a sadistic son of bitch, setting aside the whole sainthood thing.

A quick Google search says that Saint Valentine lived in Rome when Emperor Claudius decided that soldiers were not allowed to marry because single men fight better, so Valentine was captured and tortured for performing marriages on the sly.

He was captured, imprisoned, and tortured.

That sounds about right.

Dating and sex, done right, can be some of the most uplifting things in your life.

Done the way almost EVERYONE does it, can suck the soul out of you and make you wish you were dead.

(Side note – I am in a coffee place that does bagels. The manager has been explaining to a homeless woman at the counter that the bagel toasting machine does not have settings. There is a nob on the front that says “LIGHT-MEDIUM-DARK”. So either the manager is just trying to get rid of the homeless lady or he is un-able to read, yet they made him manager. Go figure.)

Couples that go out on Valentine’s Day have a whole butt-load of stressful things to worry about.

If they have been dating for a long time, this whole night is just a farce.

If they just started dating, the pressure is on.

He will either drink too much out of the stress of wanting the night to go well, setting up a “Whiskey dick” scenario for later. (Good luck with that, buddy.)

Or, he will not drink enough and just be a stressed piece of shit for the night. (Doesn’t matter if he can get it up or not, he ain’t gettin any.)

For the single folk?

Even worse.

Because alone is when your inner voice tells you shit about love and relationships.

Not the good, hopeful stuff, either.

But the vile, evil shit that leads to bad behavior and obsession.

Stalking comes from this.

Guys and girls, no one is immune to the crazy bug.

And the crazy bug is something that is resistant to even the strongest antibiotics or bleach.

Stalking is kind of the middle of the road, generic thing that goes on.

Its kind of the safest one of the bunch.

The worse behaviors are extreme stalking and the “Fatal attraction” scenario.

And if you have never woken up in the middle of the night and dis-armed a lover before she can stab you, you really do not have an understanding of the mind set.

(Side note – Ignore the tears when there is a steak knife in her hand, they are crocodile tears and only meant to confuse.)

Moving on.

Romance is a bit of a cage fight.

Keep swinging and hopefully you will win and not end up dead.

Or castrated with a steak knife.

Cause that would be bad too.

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Little Orphan Meth-Head

“Its a hard luck ROCK, for us.

Its a hard luck rock, FOR US!”

 

“The pipe will come out, tomorrow.

Bet your bottom bitch that, tomorrow, there’ll be crack….”

 

This visual is killing me.

Out in front of the supermarket, is a folding table.

Taped to the front of it is a poorly xeroxed pictures of smiling kids.

A sign on the table asks for donations for foster kids.

The little honey behind the table, I assume to collect the donations as they roll in, is a human being that has lived a hard life.

Meth is not even in question, there has DEFINITELY been meth.

Missing teeth tell a story all their own.

But, and here is the kicker, this is all about her.

Meth will do that to you, make you the main character in every story.

And she is on the phone.

Angry.

Practically yelling.

“These fuckers want me to sit here like a retard, begging for change for minimum fucking wage!”

Wow.

Let that sink in.

Take a minute.

Got it?

Lets move on.

If we take our clues where we may find them, we have the tragic tale of Little Orphan Meth Head.

She is not homeless.

How do I know this?

She has a house arrest ankle bracelet, so she lives SOMEWHERE.

She is making minimum wage, but has not walked off the job, so, at some level, she gives a shit.

Lots to love, lots to hate.

Plus she has a potty mouth and doesn’t give a shit who hears it.

Sliding over into love here.

I am hiding just inside the automatic doors in the store, out of sight.

However, my presence is making the automatic door stay open.

When no one comes out but the door stays open, eventually she will notice and the jig will be up.

Next epic line.

“I don’t give a fuck where they put those little bastards!”

Big step to the hate.

Do what you want, but don’t fuck with the kids.

They have a hard life too, but they had no choices, unlike our orphan.

Run your whiny mouth all you like, addiction is still not a disease.

I contemplate for a few minutes what to do.

Do I get involved? Complain? Try to talk her down? Something?

Something it is.

I play wallet roulette.

I reach into my wallet and grab the first bill from the middle and pull it out.

I don’t organize my money, so today, it could be any one of 3 ones, 2 fives, a ten or 2 twenties. (I am really sweating the $20s. I am charitable, not rich.)

In the end, I folded the ten and stuffed it into her box while holding my finger over my lips.

Crazy bitch actually smiled at me.

I left before Annie attacked Daddy Warbucks.

It was a beautiful moment, but lets not try and fool ourselves.

The sun will come out……Tomorrow!

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Sorry would indicate regret…Nope

All hell is breaking loose, people!

We are talking scorched earth, end of days, shit going down kind of stuff.

Because PEOPLE ARE UPSETTING US!

There is a growing current of people who don’t want to hear one more word of politics on Facebook.

They are sick of it.

It is upsetting, it ruins their day, its also childish.

Screeching about politics on people’s Facebook page is some of the most entertaining shit you will ever read.

It starts out innocently enough, somebody posts a totally non-political comment, possibly with a photo.

And then the extremist shows up, and the whole thing goes nuts.

I bullshit a lot, but the following happened.

A friend posted a pic of their daughter who just got her driver’s license.

Under it was the caption “Look out world, she’s on the road!”

It was cute and got cute replies, as it should have.

(The new driver was a pretty girl of Latin heritage. There is a reason I am mentioning this and its not racism, at least not by me.)

Enter the pitbull.

“She better enjoy it while she can, cause Trump hates Mexicans and she is going to be rounded up! NOW IS THE TIME TO RISE UP!”

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love to fuck with people and say upsetting things to other people on Facebook.

But you don’t go after someones kids, that is just rude.

Come after mine and I will kneecap you and you’ll never walk again.

The comments after that were off the chart ugly after that, it was awesome.

I am kind of an agent of chaos in all of this due to one basic fact that escapes most people.

A large amount of the people you see and interact with on Facebook don’t actually exist.

They are like swamp gas or weather balloons, they make people see whatever their mind wants them to see.

So you can fuck with them, twist them around, friend and unfriend, block or unblock and it doesn’t make one bit of difference in the world.

About 2 years ago, I wrote a post that, in the opinions of people I really don’t respect if we’re being truthful, was obscene, vulgar and rude.

And it was.

But it set a personal record for highest number of complaints and unfriendings in the blog history.

And I actually never noticed any impact on my life.

And thats when it hit me.

They don’t exist.

They aren’t real.

Like characters in a book, when you put the book down, their world is over.

This blog is like a microcosm of Facebook, but my own personal that you have chosen to peek in on.

I bask in the praise, giggle at the outrage and write for the simple fact that it gives me a masturbatory pleasure without chafing.

And its also a great excuse to sit in a Starbucks and sip coffee for hours.

Mmmmmm coffee.

(Never lose sight of why we are here.

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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