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Monthly Archives: April 2017

Attempted innocence – FAIL

I just finished watching one of the worst stand up comedy concerts Netflix has to offer.

I will not say the name, mainly because I don’t want the karma that comes with making someone even mildly curious enough to watch it.

It would be same if I was encouraging a pedophile.

So, I will not name the shameless hack out loud, just say that when you take a mediocre talent and promote her, nay, ram her down the throat of the public, despite talent, you end up with what I call the “Beyonce Effect”.

Enough with that.

 

Here’s the problem with Thai food.

They use spices that exist nowhere else in the world. (Meaning in anything I would eat regularly enough for my system to be used to it.”

This leads to a condition the experts call “Asinus praesepe mortem certa explosione” (The ass explosion of certain death. Its Latin and fuck you if you don’t get the humor there.)

Its not a pretty sight, or smell, for that matter.

Picture this, if you dare.

Constipation.

For the first few hours.

Your stomach begins gurgling like an angry newborn after the first 5 minutes and the pressure/pain builds and builds.

The final 15 minutes is like giving birth without anesthesia. (Or so I’m told.)

The pressure gets so bad that for the final 2 minutes, your body produces the symptoms of stroke and your whole left side goes slack.

What happens to the toilet is a damn shame.

At this point, even atheists will thank God for the discovery of bleach and Febreeze. (Pro tip- Avoid Lemon scented room fresheners. The only thing worse than the smell of ass is a lemon ass.)

Luckily, much like a sudden storm, it fades by the next day.

The only thing left to deal with is the psychological side effects.

I am not saying that you can be outright traumatized by a dose of the quacker-shits, but it is a near thing.

Seems to be a lot of potty talk lately.

I am sure there is some sort of Freudian reason for it. (I doubt it, but anything is possible. There really isn’t anything I hide from myself.)

But it should never shock women when men get weird sexually.

Its kind of a deeply ingrained thing with us.

Begins early, around 12 or 13.

We discover that the penis has a secondary feature that we never knew about.

AND THE GAME IS ON!

What follows is a lifetime of shame, guilt and wondering if your lazy eye and near-sightedness is self inflicted.

As far as obsessive hobbies go, masturbation does not mind sharing.

It doesn’t mind you having a girlfriend, a wife, a job, or other passions in your life.

Its like the sexual version of Cheers.

Happy to see you, never forgets what you like and is willing to try new and freaky shit in a judgement free atmosphere.

Masturbation is the best friend who will never leave you.

Ok, potty talk morphed into a creepy jerking off tangent.

Time to get back on track.

 

Coffee.

Today is blue collar, 7-11 coffee.

Kudos to 7-11 for realizing that shitty coffee is a poor seller.

They stepped up their coffee game awhile back.

Now it is one of the main profit sites in the store and they recognize that.

Flavored creamers, a variety of roasts and sizes so large that even the true stimulant freaks (Holler!) can get their fill.

I went with a solid Columbian roast, nothing better for the morning.

3 pink packets and a little half n half later, Bittermac is a happy boy.

To quote a hot friend of mine:

Coffee up, motherfuckers!

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on April 28, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Because something died up there.

There is a cloud of doom hanging over the day, and whatever died in your ass is where it started.

Starbucks is a public place, populated with random people, I am ok with that.

But, whatever freak dietary lifestyle you live that can render a bathroom uninhabitable for upwards of 30 minutes after you drop a deuce becomes everybody’s problem.

I was writing and sipping coffee-

Wait, let’s be honest.

I was sipping coffee THEN writing when I felt my fiber supplement change my agenda.

We will be shitting NOW, please.

I headed to the bathroom.

It was a single seater and occupied, so I waited.

No more than a moment later, I heard the toilet flush.

Soon after, the door opened and a business suit walked out.

I would give more of a description, but I either didn’t care enough to look, or wasn’t paying attention, so “business suit” is all you get.

I made it to the door jam when the smell hit my nose and my entire body locked up.

I was unable to enter the bathroom.

I broke my nose several times over the years and my sense of smell is greatly diminished.

This unholy stench bitch-slapped its way past all that, and gang-raped my olfactory system in a truly brutal fashion that made prison rape look like a sensual massage by comparison.

And this was just in a second at the door.

I went and sat back down at my table.

I was in danger of shitting myself, but it would be preferable to entering the feces slaughterhouse at the back of the room.

I managed to sit at my table in full rectal clench for 10 minutes, watching a total of 3 people approach the unisex bathroom only to be turned back at the threshold like souls denied entry into heaven.

Finally, I got to the point that I HAD to go.

I stood and pointed myself towards the back of the room.

The shitting myself danger was hitting critical and it was painful to stand up straight.

At the doorway, I realized just how poor the HVAC in a Starbucks bathroom could be.

I have heard of people under great stress speaking in tongues.

As I moved to the unholy porcelain seat, I became aware of a muttered, low level string of obscenities streaming from my mouth.

To say that it stank of shit would be an insult to ordinary shit.

This was first round hall of fame stink.

I will not be going into the gory, smelly details here, some things, especially rancid things are better left unsaid.

I finished, washed my hands in a daze, and staggered from the room, like a man surviving an explosion.

I considered myself lucky.

I would have to go home, burn my clothes and may never smell again, but I survived.

It wasn’t until the next morning that the miracle happened.

I decided to get a Sumatran blend, a pour-over, as a treat for my brush with death the day before.

And as I got to the cream and sugar kiosk, out of reflex, I took the lid off and raised the cup to my nose.

And inhaled a glorious dark roast from Sumatra.

Its was a miracle.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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