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Monthly Archives: November 2019

The coming of Bridezilla

Bridezilla is a real thing.

You see that word and you envision a reality show, some over-indulged, moderately privileged bride snapping at people as she plans her wedding.

And then you are in Starbucks right now and you realize that the most over the top episode of Bridezilla is a best case scenario. 

Because she is here.

The bride to be.

Amber.

The name conjures a Britney Spears image. 

A pretty blonde with good teeth in suggestive clothing.

The suggestive clothing is there, and that is all.

In your head, replace Britney Spears with a chunkier Roseanne Barr with bad hair and a serious overbite.

Take a second and let that sink in. 

If a shudder just went down your back, understand that its just being described to you, I am actually here.

And her entry is epic and befitting the name Bridezilla.

The front door of Starbucks opens with a little too much force and in she comes, talking on her phone to Lorraine. (How do we know her name?)

“Because I’m the fucking bride, Lorraine!” 

The phone being an inch from her mouth did not stop her from yelling. Loud.

Is the situation made better or worse that Amber is about 6 months pregnant?

That is a rhetorical question.

And the argument could be made that it doesn’t make it worse, but it does add to the comedic value of the entire situation.

Also, call me old fashioned, but the soon to be mama should go easy on the caffeine.

A soy latte with a triple shot seems excessive. 

But she is drinking for two. 

To each his or her own.

Sure you risk low birth weight, but have you HAD a triple shot soy latte?

It’s divine.

Lets check the obscenity board while we have a moment.

Things Lorraine (Maid of Honor) has been called in the 2 minutes since Bridezilla came into our lives. 

Cunt 3 times. (To be specific, 1 cunt, 1 dumb cunt and 1 response of cunt when responding to what I believe was Lorraine objecting to being called a dumb cunt.)

The list will end here. It seemed like a great idea, and then it got entirely too sad when viewed as a societal comment of millennials in general. (Plus, Bridezilla is sitting next to me and I am in fear for my life that she will lean over and read this.)

So, after the longest 10 minutes of my recent life, during which a triple soy latte was guzzled, 6 petite vanilla bean scones and 1 Gogurt from her purse, Bridezilla got up and stomped her way out of our lives. 

I was going to make a joke about missing her already, but its a little late in the game to start lying to each other.

In parting, let me throw some wisdom your way. 

Call your mom, if you are married to the mother of your kids, kiss her, send a text if she is your ex-

And thank her, from the bottom of your heart.

For not being Bridezilla. 

(Unless she is, then you are just fucked, my friend.)

(And if she is Lorraine, dim the lights, get her a glass of wine and rub her feet. You’re fucked too, but in a different way. And if you can get me an invite to the wedding, I would consider it a solid. Thanks bro.)

 

The Caffeinated Humor Books – CLICK HERE

The PODCAST – CLICK HERE

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Just in time for the holidays!!!

You might be sick of hearing this, but I AM NOT sick of telling you!

Book 6 of the bestselling series is now available on Amazon!

Click this link! ——>Laugh until the coffee shoots out your nose: Caffeinated Humor 6

This is where the begging for loyalty comes in. Do this for me.

 
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Posted by on November 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

My how you’ve changed, Tiny Tim

(Tiny Tim was kind of a main-stream side show freak that played the ukulele and sang in a high enough soprano made dogs howl. The importance of this will be apparent soon.)

The one thing you never want to do when out clubbing in Vegas is cross a line.

Let me set the scene for you.

Ceasar’s is one of the higher end casinos in Vegas.

The crappiest bar there is still better than 80% of bars elsewhere.

The pretty people are out in droves.

Some of the dresses cost as much as a bottle of high end wine.

The drinks are amazing, but cost a bloody fortune.

The breasts that are on display are expensive, not common work at all. (I am not saying I have extensively studied this subject on numerous websites, but it is important to have a hobby.)

So the last thing you want to see….. is Tiny Tim.

If I had to make a guess, I would say that Tiny Tim is the manager of tech support at a Best Buy is Walloby City, Kansas. (Walloby City is technically not the middle of nowhere, but you can Uber there for under $5 even during prime time.)

The best thing you can say about Tiny Tim is that he has plenty of confidence and he is thoroughly convinced that he is a “Hot Piece of Ass”.

The worst thing you can say is that he has never been, is not and will never be a “Hot Piece of Ass”.

The casino is high 60’s, on the comfortable side of chilly. 

But Tiny Tim had a good sheen of sweat going on when he walked into the bar.

And once he started dancing, flop sweat is the term that came immediately to mind.

Knowing that you are prone to flop sweat, you would thing Tiny Tim would avoid bright cottony t-shirts. 

Bright red cotton shirts darken if you sweat even a little bit. 

But they create dish plate sized sweat stains around your armpits the second you use the phrase “Flop sweat”.

The second worst thing you can say about Tiny Tim is his dancing is a visual affront to the senses.

That is why this next line is going to come off as fat-shaming.

Its not, but let me explain.

If you are just under 6 feet tall, your weight could be an average of 160lbs to 220lbs, depending on what kind of build you have.

So Tiny Tim’s bowling ball like shape puts a weight at over 300, but not more than 400lbs puts an idea of exactly what type of dancing you are expecting from him. 

White guy shuffle, right?

WRONG!

Tiny Tim loves to twerk it seems. 

Yeah. Let that sink in.

If you suddenly feel an urge to shower and scrub your skin raw, resist it. 

No amount of soap will make you feel clean after this. 

There is a group of guys on the edge of the small dance floor.

They look like mid-level managers for a manufacturing company. 

One guy looks like a beefy Ichabod Crane. (Sleepy Hollow? No? Fine, tall and geeky looking)

Ichabod is standing in place, bopping to the music, but is not noticing Tiny Tim’s ass, moving closer with each twerk.

And then it happens.

Tiny Tim’s ass makes contact.

To say that Ichabod flinched is to ignore the definition of the word. 

Ichabod’s entire body torqued and he shot back about 3 feet.

“WHAT THE…!?!?!?”

Tiny Tim knew what happened, judging by the little smirk, it was his intention.

Ichabod has several emotions going on at once. 

First, he’s pissed. (Somebody touched him on his naughty bits without asking for permission to come about.

He never expected his trip to Vegas to include his own personal #MeToo moment.)

Second, he seems like he wants to be confused, maybe praying that he is reading the situation wrong.

(Keep praying, sluggo. Tiny Tim rubbed his ass on your junk. In certain cultures, your are now engaged.)

Third, he seems……disappointed? (Was he perhaps thinking that he deserved a hotter dude? Your dress shirt and jeans look is really not that studly.)

The interesting thing is, Tiny Tim has not stopped dancing. In fact, he has turned away from Ichabod.

Ichabod has been used and cast aside like a cheap one night stand. 

And he didn’t even get breakfast.

Poor guy. 

I hate it when relationships don’t work out.

I am a romantic at heart. 

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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