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Monthly Archives: June 2019

The performer enters the stage

It’s Armageddon my friends.

The world is ending, the seas are drying up, the animals are all extinct and all of humanity will perish.

All for the lack of a power outlet.

There is a meltdown of sorts going on in Starbucks.

Not some random, out of the way, middle of nowhere Starbucks, but my favorite one, close to home.

I will call him Power Tie.

Power Tie is important, you need to know that, first and foremost. 

Power Tie is wearing a 3 piece suit on a hot day. (For the record, its a cheap suit.)

Power Tie has 2 laptops because he is SO FUCKING BUSY! (However, they are really old laptops. I checked the model when he went to use the bathroom and Googled it. It was originally sold in 1997 and used Windows 95.)

That is where the problem came from, the old laptops. 

There is an excellent chance that the batteries no longer hold a charge, so they need to be plugged in at all times. 

When Power Tie first came in, he set up shop on a double table and began to unpack.

It took him 10 full minutes to completely unpack and set up his 2 laptop setting. (External mice on both, mainly because one of the laptops didn’t have a touchpad. Power cords carefully plugged into a power strip.)

And then he realized that the spot he had chosen didn’t have an outlet.

What started as a low level rumbling mumble with the occassional “Fuck” thrown in, has become a full blown obscene hissy fit that would embarrass a retarded sailor. (I have a friend who is a marine and is of the opinion that all sailors are retarded. Seems to have a grudge there.)

I rarely get involved, but I am a little shocked at the severity of the butt-hurt display in front of me.

“There are outlets right there.” I point at the tables across the way.

Karma loves a good joke as much as anyone. 

The tables across the way just opened up and no one has taken them. 

Power Tie eyed them for a long moment with that look you get when you are contemplating some shit on your shoe.

What follows was the oddest combination of grown man/petulant child throwing a fit and stomping his whiny ass back and forth, each trip taking only one item to the other table. 

The scene was a cautionary tale for how not to raise a child to become this kind of a pathetic adult. 

But, to be honest, there was a part of me that was honestly enjoying it along with my coffee, like a flakey pastry.

I felt like I was witnessing a fine performance art piece, majestic and raw. 

And Power Tie stayed in character, truly committing to the scene.

Bravo, artiste, bravo.

 

The books are out! Check them out here!The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on June 28, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The aroma of a disreputable God.

I may be cursed.

I have tried to find an old gypsy woman to verify this, but have come out with snake eyes so far.

I usually live a life that is an interesting cross between golden-child kind of charmed and red-headed bastard son of a medieval lord.

Odd combination, but I usually come out on top.

Until today.

I have mentioned my sense of smell, or rather lack of, before?

For those who are new or not paying attention, I have had some unfortunate breaks of my nose that have ruined my sense of smell.

Among the many scents I cannot enjoy, body odor, affectionately known as BO, is one of them.

I also cannot smell most flowers. (This is almost a crime.)

But not being able to smell BO? I am ok with that. (It almost, but not quite, makes up for no flowers.)

Again, until today.

I am in a Starbucks I have never been in before. (Is that even possible?)

I set up my laptop, grab my coffee, cream and sugar to perfection and head back to my seat.

And then it hits me.

The smell.

I have never smelled a human like Crepitus before.

Crepitus has BO on the level of decomposition.

Check that fucker for a pulse, if you dare to get that close.

Crepitus, for those who don’t have time to research ridiculous crap like this, is the Roman God of Flatulence.

Might be the walking dead for all I know.

Good show, but who knows where the extras on that show go between seasons? (I can’t prove they are not using real zombies in that show.)

Anyway, the smell is an overwhelming thing, like a person unto itself.

A really obnoxious person.

With a personality (Smell) that is aggressive and in your face.

Like an olfactory version of a used car salesman.

They say that the course of human events changes because of the deeds of great men.

I disagree.

I think the course of human events changes because of the stench of random people.

Smell makes the world go around.

However, smell is currently making me lose interest in my coffee, its THAT bad.

There are those people in life that have such a narcissistic view of the world that they have no clue about how they affect the world around them.

No man is an island.

Bullshit.

I can name ten that are land-locked islands with no sense of the other islands on all sides.

And they are not going to change any time soon.

And then, as it always does, shit changes. (Do you see the irony here?)

Crepitus gets up, possibly shits himself, and leaves.

The door opens a few times, letting a little more fresh air in each time.

A woman sits at the next table that has what I would normally think of as too much perfume.

But not today.

Today, even shitty perfume in quantity is a delight.

Now that Crepitus is gone.

And I can get back to my coffee.

 

The books are out! Check them out here! The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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New book! 3rd of the series! Collectors edition!

The 3rd book in the Caffeinated Humor series! Read it at the beach, poolside in Vegas, grandma’s funeral, its the perfect quick read to get you thru the day! Awesome stocking stuffer, gift for your doorman, mistress, bookie, you name it!
Share the link, tell a friend, break the internet if you can. (I would consider it a personal favor.)

Love and Coffee

(As always, if you don’t like it, keep that shit to yourself.)

 
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Posted by on June 21, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

Escaping the cult

HOW I ESCAPED THE CULT OF APPLE

Hello, my name is Will, and I used to have an iPhone.

Hello Will.

As the twelfth step of my electronics rehabilitation, I will explain how I got out of the IOS cult.

I came to the iPhone from an abusive relationship.

Metro PCS. (Lovingly referred to as Metro POS. [POS=piece of shit])

The phone was called an Android, but I cannot be sure that was true because the phone rarely functioned enough to know.

I left POS and went to the Sodom and Gamora of phone carriers, Sprint.

They gave me an iPhone for free, part of a promotion of some sort.

In reality, it is considered polite for a drug dealer to give you your first hit free.

But then you are their property, and they abuse the relationship.

So you spend the next two years under contract, figuratively on your consumer knees, servicing your provider.

It is rare that anyone gets away from their slimy clutches, but it happens.

You hit rock bottom and finally say enough is enough.

You break your digital chains and run to the promised land. (Slavery/religious metaphor? Really?)

The promised land is T-Mobile, by the way.

I went back to Android like a man making a jailbreak.

It was liberating, it was exhilarating, I finally felt like a free man.

For the first time in years, I stopped checking my data usage everyday like its a checking account that might have been hacked.

And maybe got a little crazy, who wouldn’t?

I may or may not have bought an international phone that competes with the $1K phones, but only cost about a third because they don’t sell it in the US. (Not sure if that’s illegal, but I don’t fuck with the feds.)

Here is the simple truth.

iPhone is cool if you are old or electronically retarded. (Yeah, I went there.)

Android is for adults who know how to find and use the settings on their phones.

If this sounds arrogant, sounds like you are paying attention.

I am not one of those, I got out and you can too, I believe in you.

I am more the “Later Losers!” as I slam the door.

By the way, it is shocking how fast you get used to the fingerprint reader on a cell phone and you wonder how you ever survived without it.

Let’s go over what we have learned so far:

  • Metro PCS = Piece of shit.
  • Sprint = Carrier pimp
  • There is but one cell God and Android is his prophet. (Should I be nervous about this one?)

I will be nurturing for a moment.

If you have an iPhone, its not really your fault.

You fell for the hype and let yourself be dumbed down. It happens.

The important thing is that you are now aware and can make plans to leave your digital pimp-daddy.

There are shelters and places to go where Apple will not find you.

And you can start your cell life over.

Just make sure they transfer your contacts.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Where is the Baby, Roy?

Where’s the baby?

Good question.

But, it’s a question that Roy cannot answer.

For those who came in late, take your seats and I will catch you up.

Roy, not his real name, is more than a little crazy.

I would say it’s in the eyes, but Roy may not have any.

Eyes, that is.

8pm at night, and Roy is wearing the darkest sunglasses you can buy.

Those odd, pitch black wrap arounds that the eye doctor gives you when he dilates your eyes.

Also, Roy is pushing a baby carriage.

Actually, it is the metal frame of a baby carriage without any fabric or padding on it.

So it’s either not done being made or it’s in the process of being dismantled.

And Roy?

Roy appears to be in the same state of being dismantled.

He just mutters and rocks back and forth, even when he walks.

I cannot seem to get anything out of him other than a word that sounds like “Roy”.

I began trying to find out about Roy like any good zoologist, befriending him with food.

You never try to hand feed a strange animal. (Especially one who might have a violent chemical load going on.)

I am a scientist, but I am not stupid. (Jane Goodall never had to deal with silverback meth heads, there’s a difference.)

So, after feeding him a cookie, some string cheese, and a banana, I am no closer to figuring out Roy’s secret language than when he arrived at the front door of Starbucks and rammed his baby carriage into the front door. (The millenial that was standing at the door all but shit his skinny jeans in shock. A twenty-something having a heart attack is worth seeing, trust me.)

Roy has all the earmarks of a long time homeless.

The smell is a gimme, face is a grubby mess, but his hands are oddly clean.

The clothes are dirty, baggy and many layered.

He has USC hat. I am assuming that he is an alumni. (So many USC alum end up like Roy. Go Notre Dame!)

I am on the far left, Roy is at the next table, and there are 2 skittish teens on the other side of Roy, studying like good children.

The kids are eyeing the door and trying to figure out how fast they can pack up all their study books if all this goes to hell.

Long experience has my best time of packing up and getting the fuck out of Dodge down to 1.1 minutes.

Roy just belched, then farted so loud, I am shocked he didn’t shit himself.

The teens are officially spooked and packing up.

And, it seems that it is time to go.

Roy did shit himself. (Now I will never find out what happened to the baby.)

I set a new record by being out the door in 58 seconds flat.

Just as the door was closing, the miracle happened.

Roy raised his hand and mouthed the words “Thank you”.

I am a fucking saint.

 
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Posted by on June 7, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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