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Monthly Archives: August 2017

Drowning kittens doesn’t sound so bad.

Stupid is as stupid does.

That is an iconic line from Forrest Gump, the story of a slow man who has wild adventures by simply being.

Deep thoughts there.

And then there is the college students sitting next to me.

There is a HUGE difference between being intelligent and thinking you are intelligent.

Someone told these two they were brilliant and they ran with that.

But the stupidity is mind numbing.

Think I’m kidding?

Top 3 brilliant utterances of the Mensa twins:

  1. “The professor doesn’t understand that you can know all the different elements of a subject and not be able to express them in test form.” (You mean that point where you acknowledge what you know?)
  2. “It’s a sexuality class, I shouldn’t have to discuss sex, I KNOW sex.” (How silly of the professor to discuss sex in a sexuality class. Hang it up, teacher! You missed the point!)
  3. “Calculus is misogynistic at its core. It should be illegal.” (Its fucking math, sugar! I agree it should be illegal, but for different reasons.)

I truly weep for the business community when this generation is five years out of school.

The amount of wrongful termination lawsuits will be staggering, right before all of them are thrown out of court.

Because you are allowed to fire people for being slow, lazy, dumb and self entitled.

Thats not illegal, thats smart business.

An entire generation you can label “Dead weight”.

I feel dumber for sitting next to these empty vessels.

I now feel bad for the “Empty Vessel” analogy.

Because it goes both ways.

You can fill an empty vessel with knowledge and facts and its a wonderful thing.

Or, as in this case, you can fill it full of shit and garbage and this liquidy stuff that has equal parts of shit and garbage in it.

Bad analogy, and a scary visual, shit and garbage actually have a purpose in life.

What is the purpose in life for these two mouth-breathers?

After they graduate with diplomas in women’s studies, they will flit from one job to another, not being good at any of them.

They will go to ANTIFA protests and get their topics wrong.

They will finally settle into non-paying volunteer work, because “Thats their passion”. (And charities are notoriously forgiving if you are willing to work for free.

And in the end, you and I will have to pay for their healthcare and student loans.

But, to get back to the empty vessel, whats wrong with filling it with coffee?

Mmmmmm coffee.

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Posted by on August 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Now go wash your hands

Let me say, first and foremost, I am AGAINST goat rape.

Glad I got that out of the way.

And if you happen to be a goat rape enthusiast, I am judging you, sorry but it is what it is.

This twisted little train of thought came from a Facebook link a friend of mine posted.

It was a link to a news article about a man caught raping a goat.

It was a typical FB echo chamber of 20 people saying the same thing, but within the range of total outrage on one end to the ironically humorous hipster douchebag comments.

And then theres me.

My goal is not to contribute to the conversation, its to break it down into angry response discussion groups.

You find out a lot about people when they are pissed to the point of not being PC anymore.

“The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, the heart wants a goat.”

That was the opening line of my defense of the goat rapist.

On a positive note, I like to think that it truly united the entire group into a unified front of anger.

Directed at me.

Somehow, not denouncing the goat rapist made me the following things, all at once:

  • A racist.
  • Pro human rape.
  • Pro sex trafficking.
  • Anti feminism.
  • Pro elder abuse.
  • Pro misogyny.
  • A hater of all animals.
  • A Trump supporter.

And those were just the public comments.

The private messages were more fun.

One of the first called me the “N-word”.

I am still not sure of the connection between Goat rape and the N-word, but they repeated it a few times.

My favorites are the animal rights people.

Their strings are so visible and easy to pull.

Simply find out what their animal of choice is and disagree in an aberrant way.

The level of outrage when a “Sea Shepherd” type is told that dolphin is delicious can be heard from space.

In my defense, I don’t attack anyones belief system that didn’t come to me first.

It is selective bully-ism employed on the people that usually bully others, so its justified in my mind. (My perspective is wonderfully streamlined to make me the hero in almost all settings.)

I read the article and it took an odd turn.

The goat owner suspected his neighbor was sneaking into the barn to abuse the goat.

So you lock the door, right?

No, this guys plan was to hook up motion detector cameras and chain the goat out in the yard.

This is like suspecting your neighbor is a pedophile so you dress your little boy in a Catholic school girl outfit and play on his pogostick out in front of the neighbors house everyday in the hopes of catching him.

The goat owner is culpable in all of this, like a beastiality pimp of some sort.

By the way, if you explain this reasoning to people, it will not go well.

Some people are not ready to hear these kinds of revelations.

At least, not without coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 18, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Gentle versus a solid ass kicking.

Dylan Thomas was an English poet in the 50s.

Like all poets that means he was all about the pent up, whininess that permeated the overwhelming majority of poetry from that era. (Test reader is a poet, after reading that line I was told to go fuck myself. I think I am onto something here.)

However, in the realm of pent up emo angst, Thomas was a god and should have sacrifices made in his name. (There has to be perks for being the top of your field, even if its whiny.)

But, and this may be a valid question, why should morning coffee and Dylan Thomas go together?

Good question, let’s ponder that over a cup.

Heading into my favorite “Coffee and healthy sandwiches” place is difficult, there is a shopping cart blocking the door.

I tried to move it slightly, only to find that the back wheels are locked up. (This happens when you take a cart away from the boundaries of the supermarket.

Magnetic locks are cheap, easy and impossible to remove without disabling the cart.

Unless you are willing to pick up the back wheels and carry.

Like a wheelbarrow that is totally back heavy and unwheldy.

I take in the pile of garbage in the shopping cart and suddenly it hits me.

Homeless, and he parked his cart out front.

Like a homeless valet service was tipped an extra $20 and told to “Keep it up front.”

I went in.

Ordering was delightful.

The nervous young lady at the counter was splitting her time between me and the collection of people at the end of the counter.

  1. End of counter roll call:
  2. The manager.
  3. The assistant manager.
  4. A kitchen helper whose attendance might be just cuz.
  5. A large gentleman of Samoan descent whose button up, collared, untucked, white shirt says “Security”. (I wanted to call him Boagrius after a warrior from ancient Greece, but no one would get it. I hate being the only one who reads. Plus, Achilles killed him in glorious combat.)

“So what do you want?” Boagrius is big, but polite. (Fine it stays.)

“He needs to go. He is scaring people from using the bathroom.” (I am not sure this is a bad thing. Most men’s rooms look and smell suspiciously like an uncleaned monkey hut at the zoo.)

“Ok.” 

Good, I didn’t miss the opening scene. I hate that, it ruins the movie.

Boagrius saunters over to a table on the far side of the room.

It is pure serendipity that as I cream and sugar my coffee and then move to a table, that I have a perfect vantage point to watch.

The “Person of interest” is sitting at a table right next to the bathroom entry hall.

And interesting, he is.

Homeless is a gimme on the basis of BO alone. (If my busted nose can get a whiff more than 10 feet away, you need a serious delousing and a bubble bath. (And no toys, you are in there to get clean, mister.)

Older, natural aging or meth? (Both?)

There is a small cup of coffee on the table. (It has however, been torn up. This says meth to me, something I have seen them do. I don’t get it either.)

Along with 3 notebooks that I can see words and drawings on from 20 feet away. (This appears to be one of those homeless researchers. Usually, they focus on conspiracy theories. Chem trails are big with them for some reason.)

Bogrius is a big kid, Samoans are not a tiny people.

But he is polite and professional.

“Pardon me, sir?” (Leading with a polite “Sir” is a solid move, right up until it backfires.”

“WHAT?!?!” (Backfires)

As an opening line, that is a line drive home run.

The pure angst and whiny persecution in his voice immediately makes me name him Dylan. (And you thought I forgot about the Dylan Thomas shit at the beginning, didn’t you?)

“Sir, management would like you to leave.” (I like Boagrius because he stays on script, no deviation. A nice quality in a huge security guard.)

“But I bought a coffee!?!?” (Universally, this will be even the most unacceptable homeless guy at least an hour or two in the majority of coffee places. Like a low price ticket for admission.)

“Management called security, sir.” (Solid argument. Boagrius is not new to this.)

“What if I call security on you?!?!” (Plot twist, some of you saw that coming.)

“I am security.” (So who would you call?)

What happened next really bothers me.

Mainly because I didn’t hear it.

Boagrius leaned in and spoke very softly.

It couldn’t have been a threat, his body language was wrong. If anything, Boagrius and Dylan both relaxed halfway thru the comment, whatever it was.

And then Dylan got up, and gathered his notebooks.

He and Boagrius left together.

Dylan lifted the back end of his shopping cart and began to roll away.

He stopped.

Turning, he reached out and rapped on the window, pointing at the manager.

And flipped him off.

Defiant to the end.

“Do not go gentle into that good night”
“Old age should burn and rave at close of day”
“Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Dylan knew his shit, I wonder how he took his coffee? (The poet, I mean. The homeless guy is drug addled to the point of possibly not knowing anything of value anymore.)

 

 
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Posted by on August 4, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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