RSS

Author Archives: bittermac

About bittermac

I am Irish, single, divorced, short, moody, funny, been known to have a drink, an author, a father, a son, have a talent for making my mother laugh, and have a deep personal faith that is none of your business. (All subject to change)

Girls gone wild, Guatemalan roast edition

I have joined a sorority.

At least, I think I have.

At any moment, a pillow fight in peekaboo nighties may break out.

Keep in mind, public masturbation is still a crime in the USA. (Europe? Who knows anymore.)

I know, I know, details.

I am in a Starbucks that is in a really nice part of town.

Translation? Money, lots of money in this area.

This is LA so the definition of money can hit ridiculous levels. (As compared to parts of the country where “Money” translates into an ac unit in front room AND the bedroom of your double wide.)

It was one of those days were I sat down to write and came up empty.

And then the front door opened and in they came.

12 young, well monied, college girls.

This might be the beginning of a porn film.

And then the “Basic bitch” shit began.

Coffee selfies were taken.

Ridiculously basic complaints were made and the shrill voice of my sorority sisters proceeded to ruin every vile thought in my head.

Very disappointing.

Why do basic bitches have to ruin everything?

Shouldn’t they be passing Facebook chain letters?
Poorly written cut and pasted messages that claim to have been hacked, so don’t accept a new friend request from them. (AND NO ONE GETS THAT REQUEST)

Or posting memes about how a real man or a real friend behaves.

You know, weak minded, basic bitch stuff.

But maybe I am being mean here.

So let’s look at the facts:

  • I am making fun of total strangers without knowing anything about them.
  • I am not related to any of them.
  • My coffee is cold.

Ok, I am absolved of all blame here.

How can I possibly be expected to be nice to total strangers with cold coffee?

I think you are asking too much of me.

The manager sees me approaching and pours me a venti Christmas blend.

I must look shakier than I thought.

When I am low on caffeine, I get twitchy and am capable of anything.

The girls begin shrill laughter about something Manda has on her phone.

Gonna be a long day.

This started out so exciting.

And now? Migraine is developing.

I am creamed and sugared and just settling back in at my laptop, when things change.

Two of the girls begin to quietly make out, and Manda is now getting teary eyed at something in her phone.

Sex and drama, the two things that could salvage this.

There is a part of me, the part that was an alter boy, the one that is thoughtful and kind, that realizes that its wrong to be both joyful at Manda’s pain and horny at the young ladies intimate moment. (Sporting a semi that no one knows about is NOT a crime.)

However, let’s not lose sight 2 very important things:

  • I was only an alter boy for 10 days before that whole scandal erupted. (And thank God for bad memories, no one but me remembers the details of that vile affair.)
  • A single tear making its way down Manda’s cheek, public tongue kissing by smoking hot collegiate girls and an amazing Guatemalan dark roast can make the disappointments of the moment evaporate like a humor blog with little to no readers.

Plus, the Guatemalan roast is THAT good. (God bless Guatemala)

Mmmmm coffee.

Happy New Year.

Advertisements
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on December 31, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

The Old Hoe Hall of Fame

“Who shows up at a blind date and can’t get it up?”

The line is epic, the tone is rude and the speaker is an old whore. (Disclaimer – The views expressed in this blog are based in fact and completely true, hand to God pinky swear on that one.)

Using the term “Old whore” is not because of her obvious promiscuity.

Its for being crass enough to say this in a Starbucks while sitting at a table with young children 2 tables away.

Here’s what we know so far:

  1. Betty is old enough to be my mother’s aunt.
  2. Betty is single and on the prowl.
  3. Betty is not aging well.

Online dating has done to dating what politics has done to civil discourse. (In other words, gang raped it and shit all over it.

Despite putting you in touch with thousands more people that you might have never met, it is now harder than ever to meet Mr/Mrs Right. (That includes Mr/Mrs Right Now. Patron saint of one night stands and non-lethal STDs.)

And the quality of people has gone thru the floor.

It used to be that if you wanted to meet someone of a certain class or economic strata, you simply went to a bar in a better section of town.

Catfishing seems to be the order of the day. (I would normally tell you to Google it, but its central to the story here.)

Catfishing is basically pretending to be who you aren’t.

The simplest form of Catfishing is posting photos that are not yours. (I once got catfished by a 76 year old woman who posted photos of her daughter. Even good coffee could not save that awkward little meet-n-greet)

People pretend to be wealthier, better looking, better place in life, better you name it.

But it may be a new and weird type of catfish that you present yourself as a player when your sexual function is gone.

The concept of the player who cannot play is new.

Or maybe very old.

Either way it does tone down the spotlight pointed at Betty the hoe.

Someone suggested that I am slut-shaming Betty the hoe.

It’s not shaming because Betty has no idea I did it.

It’s not like anyone she knows is going to read this.

So it’s like a private joke between me and the three people who actually read this shit.

Also, let’s have a slut talk, shall we?

Slut is a word that mean girls and assholes in highschool say to hurt girls that may or may not have slept around.

I know many a girl called slut in highschool who hadn’t done a damned thing.

And the girls calling names were usually the biggest sluts I knew at the time. (I was lucky enough to meet some truly epic sluts after high school.)

But a woman out of school who sleeps around?

She is empowered and knows what she wants.

More power to her. (I was also lucky enough to meet of few of these lovely ladies as well.)

Hoe-shaming would be more accurate.

Except for one thing.

Hoes don’t give a shit.

Not in a confident way, but in more of a ignorant of the fact that it’s an insult to begin with.

I sight as an example:

Betty sipped her coffee and let out a big sigh.

“Maybe I’m just some old hoe.”

Maybe?

Don’t sell yourself short, Betty.

You are a hall of fame Old Hoe.

Mmmmmm, coffee.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on December 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Me, my bitch and the drunken clown.

I am in love.

That pure, spring is in the air kind of love, not the hair-pulling, “spit in my mouth” type of lust you see in porn.

I’m talking innocent here.

Gracie is my bitch.

True, she belongs to someone else, but dats ma biotch!

She is also a dog.

Something about dogs this week.

I am in Starbucks and there is another dog in the store.

Gracie looks like a miniature doberman pinscher, but smaller that whats in your head right now.

And she is into me.

She has been licking my elbow for the last half hour.

In certain 3rd world countries, that is as binding as wedding vows. (Although it saves me the bridal price of 3 goats.)

But, as with any true and pure love, there are issues.

Gracie likes to fart.

Maybe like is the wrong word.

Must, must fits better.

Gracie must fart.

It is an odd ironic twist that my nose, broken several times over the years, has a wide collection of smells that are denied me.

With the exception of rectal potpourri, and especially that variety of canine eau de toilette they are so well known for.

Eh, I’ve dated worse.

She isn’t cheating, has a drug problem, crazy ex, or 10 kids without fathers. (I am assuming here, but she seems like a good dog.)

But there is someone trying to break us up.

Gracie’s owner.

No clue what her name is, but I want to call her “Hot mess”.

Except that the word Hot feels odd in this sentence.

She’s a heavy girl, not that that’s unattractive, but this is that unhealthy kind of heavy.

The makeup was done by a drunken clown on a meth binder with Hodgkins.

In a very old woman, iffy crazy makeup would be somewhat excuseable.

But the drunken clown appears to be an ill-kept 22.

There is a low level murmur that has been going on for awhile now.

Except when she suddenly becomes aware of Gracie and me.

“Gracie, NO!” and yanks her over beside her, then goes back to being oblivious as Gracie comes back to me, begins licking my elbow, and farting one more time.

It is my sincere hope that Gracie does not shit on the cushion beside me.

Who knows how long the drunk clown has had her in here?

I am interrupted from my musings by the fact that my coffee has cooled just enough to drink without blistering my mouth.

There is an almost orgasmic delight in that first sip of a properly done pour over with Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans. (And this is with clothing on, go figure.)

Mmmmmmm… coffee.

Gracie seems to share my excitement and snuggles up.

It is a good moment to exist in.

Even the drunken clown minds her own for that moment.

Which is good.

Sometimes, you just need that moment.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on August 27, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Till the service dog goes blind

There is something off-putting to other people when you lick your nuts in public.

Like a social faux-pas that is a little too blatant to ignore.

Before this goes much further, this is not about me.

I am not that flexible.

And if I was, I sure as hell would not have time to be writing a blog.

I would have “things” to do.

Doug, however, has no issues with licking himself in public, he’s been doing it since I got in line at Starbucks.

“Its obscene!”

The stage whisper ahead of me is from Gladys. (Google “Gladys Bewitched” and it makes sense.)

Gladys is all up in Doug’s shit.

Doug, by the way, is a service dog, a real one with a vest and everything.

And Doug has a serious thing going on with his nuts today.

Gladys is highly triggered by it, but can’t seem to look away.

The two stoners behind me are delighted.

Here is their first comments, verbatim:

“Dogs have all the luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wish I could do that.”

“Try petting him first.”

5 minutes of laughter followed that seemed to upset Gladys even more.

Doug didn’t seem to mind at all, he just continued licking his nut.

“Sir!”
Gladys has officially, “Had enough”.

Doug’s owner was texting and missed this whole deliciously uncomfortable scene.

“Huh?”

Raised eyebrows show no comprehension or acknowledgement of Gladys’ #MeToo ordeal.

“Can you do something about that?!?!”

Gladys wants SOMETHING done.

“Like what?”

The smirk on his face is not helping here. (Its a Service Dog, pretty much, he could kill someone and I think that is legal.)

“Do something about that!”

Gladys wildly gestures in the direction of Doug’s testicular garden party.

“Looks like he’s got it covered.” (Outright laughing only makes it worse, dude.)

“Make him stop!” (Gladys is hitting her peak of outrage. Worse seeing but a little sad, too.)

“I don’t like to interrupt him when he’s eating.”

And then goes back to texting with a chuckle.

In the silence that follows, the stoners lose it.

Gladys fumes and and crosses her arms defiantly.

But she will NOT stop watching.

Jealous?

Maybe she should pet him.

Damn, I need coffee.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on August 24, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , ,

I wish I could quit you

Ok, I am willing to be the first to admit that I have been a lazy shit for a few months.

I haven’t written a post for quite awhile.

But can you really blame me?
I mean, I started the blog coming up on 7 years ago this June and have written almost 700 posts and close to three quarters of a million words on a blog that I can’t honestly prove anyone actually reads.

I mean, masturbation at least gets you a money shot, but this form of literary/intellectual fapping denies me even a foul smelling crunchy sock.

So why am I here today?

Iz is why I am tapping away here.

Iz is the poster child for whats wrong with this country/generation/the kids today.

She is worthless even for a millenial.

She is on her phone at a Starbucks. (What else would she be doing?)

Her entire manner of speaking is that of someone terminally bored.

All sentences begin with a sigh.

And she cleaves to the latest trend among the young and worthless.

She has her phone on speaker, you know, so the rest of us can enjoy her conversation too.

“Sigh, I was going to go to work today, but I so can’t right now.” (Can’t what? Take responsibility for yourself and earn a paycheck?)

On the phone is someone equally worthless.

“Sigh, I know, right? I went for my morning vape break and didn’t go back.” (This is normally how adults get fired, but I am willing to bet money that her company gives days off if you “So can’t right now”.)

More from the mouth of Iz.

“I feel like they take whole thing too far, its no fun.” (Awww, poor fucking baby!)

Time to get involved. (I recently realized that I am too old to care anymore. If she is going to include me in the conversation, I get to speak.)
“Why don’t you just quit whining and go to work?”

The look on Iz’s face is a mix of surprize slap out of nowhere and unexpectedly shitting yourself in church.

Then she decides to be angry. A child’s scowl darkens her spoiled little face.

“Excuse me?” (Whoever her half-tarded friend on the phone is, she is bewildered and saying “What?” over and over.)

“I said, why don’t you just quit whining and go to work?” (I keep my voice nice and even. This whole situation can turn on me in a heartbeat and I know it.)

Pause.

“Oh. My. God.” (It never occurs to this ditz to take her phone off of speaker, that would be the normal reaction of a self aware person.)

“This guy is yelling at me.” (To a millenials, anyone who disagrees or chastises you is yelling.)

She left, but I was so disappointed.

I had been hoping for at least some shitty comments.

Not an OLD guy, not some FAT guy (Lost a bunch, but still have more to go), and not even this guy is an ASSHOLE.

I am weeping even more for the future than I normally do.

Let me be clear.

I was not looking for her to leap across the table and try to prison-shank me, but anything but passivity would have been nice.

I have thought a lot of things about the generation in question before, most of them not nice.

But I never thought of them as pussies.

And that is just sad.

I would feel worse, but I got a Sumatran pour over today and the last sip made me cum a little bit.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
3 Comments

Posted by on May 4, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , ,

Shhhhhh nobody cares.

There is a fine line between being lost and finding your way.

A lot like sexual harassment, if both of you are into it, its just flirting.

But if only one of you is in the game, you could end up in jail. (And they play a different game of sexual harassment there.)

Ignorance only needs a split second of enlightenment to become educated.

But desire kind of drives both.

I was watching various debates on FB. (I am really taking liberties with the word “Debate”. FB exists in this childish, low-brow intellectual place that the truly ignorant think of as enlightened and the enlightened just pity the fuck out of you and tolerate it.)

And there really is no desire to change minds or put any actual original thought out there.

There is only the desire to type-vomit your opinion on others and rage at those who do anything but applaud your outburst.

Actual quote from FB: “Either you get it, or you are a Fucktard and don’t get it!”

Nothing really drives your perspective home than an intellectually enticing word like “Fucktard”.

The ignorant view it as an passionate response and once again, the rest of us tolerate it and realize that you are not able to talk with the adults.

To correct you and try to explain why you have destroyed any credibility in your argument would be like trying to explain string theory to the cat. (Cats are many things and mostly evil, but they have no talent for theories and concepts eating smaller animals and triggering your asthma.)

So, how do we have a civil debate on FB?

The real answer that you don’t like and want to argue, is that you can’t.

Its not a forum made for the actual trading of ideas.

It is a construct of the ego, nothing more.

It exists to allow you to feel connected in an increasingly isolated society.

But I have always believed that masturbation should be done in isolation, no matter if its physical, emotional or mental masturbation, keep it to yourself. (You learn this in Catholic school.)

There was a perfect example of the vacuous facade that our society as it stands.

Snapchat, an app that exists to simply be another flavor of social media, saw its stock drop 7% because Kylie Jenner made a disparaging Tweet about it.

The absolutely pathetic part of all this is that the Social Media crows are screaming about how horrible it is that this one person has that power to damage a company.

And the one thing nobody wants to point out is that Social Media invented that squealing pack of overrated hoes to begin with.

You should not be allowed to bitch when the golden calf turns on you.

For better or worse, you made your own bed here.

Now shut up and go to bed.

 

Note to self, don’t write before you have your coffee.

I tend to be dark and a little more bitter than usual.

Now that I have a Venti of java in me, I just noticed that the couple across from me are involved in an odd form of public foreplay.

She has been texting in her phone, then without looking, she dips he finger into her iced coffee something with whipped cream and sticks her finger in his mouth.

He is texting and never looks up, he just sucks on her finger for a few seconds.

Every now and then, he will reach over, again without looking, and run the back of his knuckle over her nipple.

I am not sure if this qualifies for a #metoo moment, she seems to be into it, but its hard to tell because neither one is making eye contact or seems to have any expression or emotion going on.

The vibe is one of awkward creepiness.

Not made for polite company, but perfectly suitable for your second cup of coffee in the morning.

Mmmmmm coffee.  

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on February 23, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Can I have some more, please?

I have been accused of being uncaring.

I am not denying it, but I did have to ask for clarification about WHAT I am not giving a shit about. (I may be an asshole, but I am a specific asshole)

Turns out my rude critic was talking about the fact that I have not written a post in 2018, and THAT was why I was uncaring.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I haven’t written anything BECAUSE I care.

I haven’t seen anything that has gotten my sarcastic muse wet in the panties.

The well has gone dry, I am burnt out, I may never write ag-

I was walking down the street and saw an old dog, laying on a porch, licking his balls, and then it hit me.

We are all here for a reason.

Time to get back on the horse.

So I went to Starbucks and looked for inspiration.

And it turns out that inspiration keeps a tight delivery schedule.

Sitting next to me was the coffee shop version of Job. (To those on you unlettered heathens, its pronounced “Jobe”. Job was the whipping boy of the scriptures. God let the Devil gang beat him like a ginger and he never lost his faith. Thank God it was him and not me, I don’t have that kind of fortitude. I get a papercut and I am questioning my existence.)

 

The story of Job.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…etc.

Blah, blah, blah, you know the rest, its the opening line from A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.

Here’s the thing about Dickens.

He was an asshole when it came to life.

Everything being dark and sad and people living in such shitty conditions that the kids in the UNICEF commercials would be willing to take a break from waving the flies out of their mouths for a few minutes and pony up a couple of bucks.

So, if you ever want to ruin your day and shift into a “What’s the use? I may as well kill myself” type of mode, pick up a copy of anything written by Dickens.

Why the hate rant on Dickens?

Because the guy next to me has the saddest story I have ever heard and his name is Oliver. (Started out as Job, then morphed to Oliver. Its a reach, and I acknowledge that, but fuck you, its my blog, I am God here, and it is what we are going with.)

Oliver, it seems, has lost his job. (Pronounced “Job”, if you are a millennial, you are probably wondering what a job is. Ask your parents, if they will still acknowledge you in public.)

And, “Hanna” has left him for someone he knows. (Wife or girlfriend, I am not quite sure. But she is out there, legs in the air, doing shit that career fetish hookers charge high dollars for and its all pro-bono. (Pro-bono isn’t the right word there, but the hooker-bono linguistics are spot-on funny.)

And if that sore on his lip is an indicator, Oliver has a little herpes going on. (Either given to him by or he gave it to, the disloyal skank Hanna.)

Turns out Oliver is wearing those special ortho shoes that has one sole taller than the other, indicating that both of his legs are different lengths. (I almost left this one out, even I have a hard time believing that little detail.)

“But what is your biggest problem right this minute?” I hate getting involved, but someone has to ask the obvious question.

Oliver pondered, went to take a sip of coffee, stopped and shook the empty cup, laughing.

“I’m out of coffee.”

And then he hobbled his unlucky ass up to the counter for a refill and a scone.

At least he has his priorities straight.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on February 16, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , ,