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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)

My love hate relationship with Insomnia.

I don’t sleep much, never have.

I think I was about 7 when my mother quit trying to make me go to bed.

I was always that really hyper kid that was up all night.

Writing is a great hobby to cultivate when you stay up for a few days in a row.

Insomnia just gives you more time to do shit.

Where do you think this blog comes from?

But, I can only go to Starbucks when they are open.

There are no 24 hour Starbucks near my house.

Hell, I would even drive to find one, but the only thing you can get in LA after hours is drunk and the crabs if you aren’t careful.

So wear a condom, for God’s sake.

This is a public service announcement.

I used to share a room with my brother.

If I had a nickle for everytime he yelled across the room for me to “GO TO SLEEP!”, I would have a lot of nickles.

My brother’s happiest day is when we got seperate rooms.

Now he got to sleep thru the night without risking attack at any moment, and he got to keep his room as obsessively clean as he liked.

I am kind of a slob.

There used to be a show on tv when I was little called the Odd Couple.

One guy was a really pent up clean freak and the other guy was a slob.

They had more laughs on the show.

But at least we get along now.

I have always wanted to be one of those really clean people, but it goes against my basic instinct.

Cluttered mind, cluttered room, go figure.

One of the better things about writing a daily blog is that, when its the wee hours and I seriously need something to do?

There is always tomorrows blog on the Things To Do list.

Plus you can only masturbate so much and then you chaff.

Ok, just kidding. You can NEVER masturbate too much.

The funny thing is, most of you chuckle and figure I’m kidding.

But all men are like this.

And if you just said, not my guy, yes him too.

But that is a whole other blog post.

If nothing else, Masturbation deserve the respect.

Back to insomnia, a much safer subject, wouldn’t you agree?

There are times that insomnia sucks.

When the writing dries up, and there is literally nothing to do, that is when it sucks the most.

Nothing to do, and your mind is at full speed.

ADHD is not just a catchy name.

and there is times that it takes over and makes everything impossible.

Nothing to do but knuckle down and weather the storm.

You’d think I would be used to it by now.

No such luck.

However, an odd thing I have noticed is that, since I started this blog, I have not had one of those nights.

So, if you think about it, these internet scribbles you are reading are a therapy of sorts.

My own little group therapy.

Hello, my name is Bittermac, and I have an issue.

(Everyone says-) Hello Bitter.

 

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Posted by on August 28, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Joe for Jesus, my new BFF.

The is a sort of mindless joy to wandering thru a casino fairly drunk on your butt.

Reno, Nevada is not Las Vegas, but it plays by the same rules.

And no, I am not talking about the whole “What happens in…” nonesense.

I am talking about drinking.

There is nothing a casino loves more than a drunk.

Because drunks gamble.

Even people who don’t gamble, will gamble when drunk.

Perfect example? Me.

I don’t gamble. Ever. Not a dime. Long story, but I don’t.

And I am down $50 bucks.

See what I mean?

But the drinks are so cheap!

You can go to any bar in one of the beach cities of Southern California and getting drunk can be near a hundred dollars.

In the casino? Less than $20 dollars.

Awesome.

But, not being a gambler despite my sidestep into the world of video poker, I don’t want to be in a casino.

So lets go out.

Some of the most viewed posts that were the most fun to write have been concerning the homeless.

So I decide to check out the local talent.

Now, the wisdom of loading up on WILDLY low priced Mexican beer prior to going out to observe the homeless, is a poorly thought out one at best.

But these things happen.

I head out with only a mild stagger going on, with a 64 ounce Sands Regency change cup filled with Pabst Blue Ribbon. A shitty beer, but the only one they will serve in a change cup.

A $20 tip is well respected in the bartending industry.

So that is the setting as I head out to find a new friend.

I head out of the hotel/casino complex and take a right, away from the strip and down the block that gets ugly once the casino property ends.

And it doesn’t take long.

“Pick up your CROSS and follow ME!”

Even with loud downtown Reno traffic, this man’s voice cuts thru the noice.

Let me paint you a picture.

The pants are made for a 500 pound man, but they were hemmed with a butcher knife and held up with that same 500 pound man’s belt, with a full foot of excess belt hanging off.

A grey Sun Devils hoodie, over a pendleton, over two tshirts, in hundred degree weather.

Its important not to be caught out in the cold.

And a 3 foot, dark lacquered wooden cross.

Marching down the middle of the street, cross held out in front of him like a standard bearer.

And maybe he is.

I got him out of the street and decided we needed some coffee.

It was a REALLY interesting walk 4 blocks to the Starbucks.

Joe for Jesus, as he only will refer to himself, often in the third person, is ALL ABOUT Jesus.

And Jesus HATES meth. (Direct quote)

Joe for Jesus has a serious obligation to spread the word.

Nice guy, but meth has just destroyed independent thought for him.

Religion is one of those things that can fill the void for a guy like this.

TOTALLY necessary in this case.

Joe for Jesus is fairly harmless, but like Hunter Thompson said, never turn your back on a drug.

Starbucks, however, is less than thrilled to see us.

I get us coffee and these delightful mini cherry pies, and take Joe for Jesus out to the patio in an attempt to tone it down.

The manager is looking jumpy as hell.

All hell broke loose when Joe for Jesus climbed up on his chair to preach loudly and flail about with his wooden cross.

Two police cars arrive soon after.

I have ditched the change cup of beer prior to this, but I am certainly in no condition to talk to the police.

The Reno police have no sense of humor in this kind of heat.

Joe for Jesus is apparently well known by the local cops.

They talk him talk down from the chair, into the back of the cop car and leave.

I have a somewhat awkward conversation with the remaining officers which does not go as well as I had hoped.

The back seat of a Crown Victoria is plush, as far as huge sedans go.

I begin to go over the financial who’s who of my friends and family in my head.

However, as I am without handcuffs and have not had my Miranda rights read to me, I am wondering if bail is different here as well.

And then we pull up at my hotel.

I am admonished not to leave the hotel.

I had forgotten the one cardinal rule of Reno/Vegas.

Reno loves a drunk.

I love Reno.

 

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Posted by on August 27, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Mamma said there’d be days like this.

Mamma said there’d be days like this…

Sorry, I wanted a mamma reference and couldn’t think of anything else.

This is part 2.

We are still in Starbucks, and sitting next to me is Mrs. Evil Couple, which in and of itself is a goddam party.

But Mamma Evil has joined her.

And she is a whole different kind of arrogant mean.

She just evicted the suit sitting next to me.

Mamma Evil is two feet from me.

And she smells slightly like…..Ben Gay.

Or soup.

Maybe like Ben Gay soup.

Cambell’s would never have the balls to make that. Maybe Progresso.

Mrs. Evil walks over with their coffee creations and sits.

Something is off here. Something about how she is acting.

After a moment, it comes to me.

If you have ever watched two alpha dogs that just met, if they are around each other for more than a minute without fighting, you finally see one of them ducking his head and tucking his tail.

Submissive. That is what I am seeing.

Mamma Evil is the Alpha female.

And submissive just looks so out of place on Mrs. Evil.

Mamma Evil raises an eyebrow.

“No cake?” Her voice is light, but has an edge.

“Oh, I thought you said-”

“Ah, the thinking again.” Her voice is tired.

At this point, I snort, loudly, while staring at my computer.

Both women turn to stare as I try to fade into the background.

I mumble an apology and gesture vaguely at my computer screen.

They ignore me.

Good.

The reason I snorted was that I thought about how to describe Mamma Evil’s attitude, and I came up with the same one I describe her daughter with.

She thinks you are a moron and she is SO sick of your shit.

Matching attitudes, like handbags.

I take a quiet moment to stop myself before I begin to giggle.

Mrs. Evil gets up and stomps over to the cashier.

Someone else was right in the middle of an order, but that doesn’t stop her.

She orders two pieces of coffee cake and just glares at the cashier, daring her to say “What your turn.”

I can’t actually see her face, but I have seen that glare.

The cashier is a bubbly 20 something that doesn’t have NEAR the experience in life to withstand this.

As expected, she breaks and serves up two pieces of coffee cake.

Mrs. Evil stomps back to the table. She is not nearly as good as her husband at swallowing this kind of arrogant shit.

It a developed skill that she lacks.

“I was talking to Renka, and we were discussing your car-” Mrs. Evil is gingerly working into a something that she is bracing for a fight on.

“Try not to speak, Tasha.” Mamma Evil sips her cup, not hesitating at stepping on someone elses sentence. She knew her daughter would stop talking.

“You are so much more intelligent when you don’t speak.” She puts her cup down.

“You and your sister are very busy. That is good.”

She pauses.

“You, you can hear fine?” He voice takes on an angry tinge.

She’s talking to me.

Oops.

I had stopped typing and was just staring at a point in between my table and theirs.

Its pretty obvious what I  was doing.

I have just been outed.

Mamma Evil is pissed. In short order she snatches up her purse and walks off.

Crap.

Mrs. Evil stands as well.

Just before she turns to follow her mother out, she turns to me, her mouth forming a single word, in total silence.

Sorry.

And off she goes.

 

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Posted by on August 24, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Evil runs in the family.

The Gods are kind.

I am sitting at my favorite table, in my favorite Starbucks, during my favorite time of the morning.

And the door opens and in she walks.

Mrs Evil Couple.

The first thing I notice is that she is dressed nicely. Hair attractively styled. Makeup on.

Nice.

This is a pretty woman that normally wears her hair in kind of a low rise blond afro. No makeup. Grey lifeless sweats and an xxl tshirt WITHOUT a bra.

Paints a picture, don’t it?

She is in line, waiting for her turn to order her soy latte, frowning slightly.

She turns and talks to the woman behind her.

I freeze in place as something in my head clicks into place. Holy shit!

Momma Evil.

OMG!

This is the Momma that Mrs. Evil told her sister that they HAD to put her into a home, but “Not so close that I feel bad that I don’t visit that often.”

I pause a moment to observe and take it all in.

She is blocky in that old school Russian way. Hair is a combination of grey and blonde.

Poofy in that “hottie at the old folks home” look without the blue tinge.

She is also scowling. But you can tell that it is a natural expression for her.

There is an aura of displeasure that emanates from her.

This is a woman that is not happy about a lot of things.

She is dressed in a little old lady version of hot.

Your standard, Soviet issue black purse tucked under one arm in defense of muggers.

They order and move over by the pick up window.

As Mrs. Evil looks around, I can tell what she sees.

Not a seat around. Even the big table is full.

Had I known, I would have saved the table next to mine. There was a late 20, early 30’s suit with a weak chin reading the Wall Street Journal.

Mrs. Evil leans over and says something to Momma Evil.

No doubt suggesting they take a walk with their coffees.

I could shit myself with disappointment.

And the Mamma Evil looks around.

There is something in her eye.

She looks right at me and slides her eyes to the suit sitting next to me.

Her face hardens and she walks over.

Something is afoot, but what?

“Excuse please.”

Mamma Evil’s voice is cultured and accented, and tinted with that type of arrogance that makes the “Excuse please” sound a lot like “Hey asshole”.

The suit is startled and lowers his paper.

“Y-yes?”

I can’t be sure, but the slight stutter in his voice made her eyes widen like a wolf scenting blood.

“I have had my foot operated on, and it hurts, my daughter and I need to sit. You will move please?”

She pulls out one of the chairs.

“Well, I-”

“Thank you, you are very kind.” She drops her purse in the middle of the table with a loud thunk.

The suit never had a chance.

He was mumbling an apology for some reason as he walked out.

You could not get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.

My God, I have missed this.

TO BE CONTINUED

 

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Posted by on August 23, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

The spread of Communism during morning coffee.

Karl Marx in the hizzy.

It is not often I run into someone that I want to beat to death within seconds of meeting them, but I am there.

The Starbucks is not my usual one.

I am not used to the locals and I am not even sure he is a local.

I can’t imagine that anyone can stomach this asshole for long.

Young, which translates to stupid in his case. Worse than the usual “Young and dumb”.

Someone gave him just enough education to really be obnoxious. And not in that be rude and write a blog type. I happen to view that as valuable.

The little girl he is sitting with may as well be 8 years old. It would match the high pitched squeeky voice that comes out of her mouth in a constant barrage of “Poor me, I’m a victim, what will I do” statements.

I would normally hate her automatically.

But I can only feel sorry for her.

Heres why:

Top 3 statements from the Commie shit.

  • “How can you say that this is a good country? This is the worst society in the history of the world. Statistically!”
  • School is a waste of time. If you say that you want an education to get by in society, then you should become a faceless mind wrapped in tinfoil. Just a soulless corporate shell.”
  • If you waste your time going to school just to get a master’s degree, then what? There will eventually be a million useless master’s degrees out there, begging for change.”

I want to stab him in the eye with a coffee stir.

I am a firm believer that being happy is important, but so is hatred, it helps you appreciate true happiness.

Squeeky is lamenting the fact that she doesn’t have a job. However, she does admit that she has yet to apply anywhere.

Commie shit is not letting that one go by.

“There are no jobs! Are you even listening? You are not a man, caucasian, with the right genetics? Gone to the right school with the privileged elite? Those are who the jobs are for! Not for you.”

The head whip factor in the room has edged up a level.

There is a short haired guy, built like a pitbull, waiting for his coffee that I have pegged as an ex marine.

He whipped his head around earlier and has been listening.

He is not smiling. Shit gets real when the Marines stop smiling.

He has nonchalantly sauntered a step or two closer, and some would say he is wanting to listen in.

I see it differently.

I listen in. This man is judging the angle for an attack.

Kind of a java soaked grassy knoll.

And I am cheering for Oswald.

However, fate intervened and saved Commie shit from a solidly deserved beat down.

Because I don’t even think I am going out on a limb when I surmise that Commie shit does not have a martial background.

And the Marine left.

Thanks for your service, buddy. I wish there was one more service I could thank you for.

Oh, well.

Commie shit is still berating Squeeky.

“So what are you going to do? Work some lower class prole job until you have had enough of failure and decide to get married? I am sick of my life, so I may as well choose this asshole and make us both miserable.”

This guy is a swirling, sucking, black pit of despair, with no hope for the future, in an ever darkening universe.

This is the kind of guy that will break the law one day, go to jail, and when he is raped and killed behind bars, it is not going to shock anyone.

I hate him.

One of the absolute truths I have learned in life is that you have to be flexible.

If the plan you or your parents had when you were a kid doesn’t work out, move on. Reinvent yourself. I am not a big Madonna fan, but she understands this concept.

And that is where victory comes from.

On a side note, I hope Commie shit gets hit by a car.

With any luck, I will be driving.

 

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Posted by on August 22, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

If I am such a shit, why are you reading it?

*Disclaimer*

I will be making fun of someone during the course of this blog.

Those of a sensitive nature are encouraged to bite me.

Any attempt to chastise me will result in a vicious public vomiting of a most childish nature.

You have been warned.

I got a hate email from someone who has never written to me without telling me how hateful, rude, and bigoted I am.

I have named her before, so I may as well again.

Ms. X.

She is the email angel of death, a digital raven sitting on my shoulder and shouting “NEVERMORE” in my ear.

She shows up every now and then to put on her Mother Theresa outfit. climb on her soapbox and tell me what an evil fuck I am.

Bitch.

And it is always about missing the point with her.

Here’s a quote that I view as the epitome of the shit she spews at me.

“An addict is not responsible for his actions.”

I cannot tell you how much the I believe the opposite.

Everyone has to pay the fiddler at one time or another..

At the end of life, everyone has to settle up with whatever deity you believe in.

Unless of course you are an atheist, then your soul might just crumble to ash, like you never lived.

No one is above the basic laws of life.

So cram your knee jerk auto forgiveness up your ass, sideways.

Before I take off on even more of a wonton rant, let me tell what I am being pilloried for.

Fat vaginas.

You read that correctly.

First of all, I did not invent the phrase, I repeated it. There is a HUGE different.

I quoted two childish 20 somethings in Friday’s blog who were making fun of everyone and everything around them.

I will take the accusations of being a misogynist. Fine, whatever floats your boat.

The statement “Active promotion of hate” is offensive.

So is demanding someone to bite your ass, what’s your point?

People can be rude, that is a basic truth of life.

To deny that is to deny that we are all human.

And to even vaguely connect it to a rapist mentality is offensive.

It is the epitome of the modern mentality to take someone, twist it up, apply your own definitions and present it with outrage.

Happens in politics all the time.

But I am not running for office.

I am unimpeachable.

You can show up with photos of me in compromising positions with hookers and blow and I want some copies.

Wallet size prefered.

Back to my rebuttal.

Maybe its like having a black friend who uses the N-word, so you think its ok to use it yourself.

Maybe.

In the end it kind of comes down to that old adage of not being able to please all of the people all of the time?

So I may as well just please myself.

 

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Posted by on August 21, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

All in the family, Evil style

I am living the dream.

The weather is awesome.

The coffee is hot.

And Mrs Evil Couple is sitting next to me, arguing with her sister on her cell.

Life is good.

If you are not sure who Mrs Evil Couple is, lets take a stroll down memory lane. (Or read the whole Evil Couple saga – HERE)

She is one half, the worst half, of the most dysfunctional married couple I have ever seen.

She has said some of the most horrendous things and treated people so vilely its a wonder she hasn’t been shot.

If she lived in the Middle East, she would have been stoned to death.

That bad.

The last few times I saw her and her husband, a local doctor, they were reconciling from what looked like an imminent divorce.

But the absolute last time I saw them they looked like they had reconciled.

Good. I wish them well.

And now here she is.

From listening for a few minutes, I figure out that she is arguing with her sister.

Several months ago, she was talking with her sister about putting her mother in a “Home”.

My favorite quote from that exchange?

“Just make sure its not so close that I feel bad when I don’t go to see her.”

The last bit of catching up is my personal description of her.

She thinks you are a moron and she is sick of your shit.

Everyone all caught up?

Let’s proceed.

It seems that mom never went to a “Home”.

She has been living with the sister.

And the sister is done.

“Now is not a good time, I can’t have her at my house.”

“You have always been a selfish bitch, everyone knows this.”

“This is why the family hates you.”

Apparently the thought of it has unnerved her. She took a big sip of her coffee without checking it and almost spit out the scalding liquid.

I can only imagine what mom is like, I mean, her daughter is a twisted harridan.

Whatever her sister is saying, Mrs. Evil wants to blow it off. You can tell from the body language.

I can’t hear it, but someone calls her, she put her sister on hold and switched lines.

“My sister is on the other line, its about mama.”

Has to be her husband on the line.

The call is wildly anti-climatic.

She tells him that she is on her way to take care of the “thing”.

She hangs up on him and stares at her phone.

I know exactly what she is doing.

I have done this before.

You get someone on one line that you are not thrilled about talking to, then you get another call and switch over.

Once that call is over, you hesitate because you could totally hang up on the other person and just claim the phone did it.

It doesn’t shock me when she presses a button and puts the phone in her purse.

As she gets up to leave it occurs to me that I am forgetting the description.

Can’t leave this out.

I have seen this woman dressed for selling real estate. Dressed in a suit, blonde hair long and feathery, this 30 something woman is STUNNING.

But, when NOT dressed for real estate, the once feathered hair shoots out in a kind of blonde afro.

No make up, thick grey muscleman sweats with crocs.

An xl tee shirt with no bra. And when a woman that once birthed and, I assume, breast fed twins, does not wear a bra, it is something to see.

And, just like that, she is gone.

I spend the rest of the morning in an almost giddy state.

She’s back.

 

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Posted by on August 20, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Absolutely shameful.

I wrote a blog a while back that lost me some readers.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I am about to do it again.

But, like the engineer watching the crash coming, I can’t do anything but watch it happen now.

Here we go.

I am sitting in my favorite Starbucks, doing what I do.

In other words, watching the crowd, looking for oddities to write about.

But, I am not alone.

There are two 20 somethings sitting next to me that are whispering the most horrendous shit, worse than I have ever said.

Whoever said that women are worse than men when it comes to shitty comments was not just blowing smoke up your ass.

Its true.

I didn’t really believe it before, but now I do.

They have a stage whispered nasty comments about everyone that passes by their table.

Highlights:

  • About the customers:
    • “I wonder if he has told his mother he’s gay?” (The guy was not dressed in a way that tipped me off, but my gaydar is shit, we know this.)
    • “Awww, its so sad when you don’t know your kid is retarded.” (This was directed at a mother dealing with a  difficult child. From the way mom’s head whipped around, she heard it.)
    • “She might be homeless.” (This for a woman around the same age as the heartless two, that appeared to have a rather bohemian taste in clothing.)
  • About the staff:
    • “Did you see the cashier counting on her fingers? Thats so sad.” (Hey bitch, I like the cashiers here!)
    • “I don’t know who cleans the bathrooms, but they must live in a port a john if they are ok with that.” (These spoiled bitches have never been in the type of public men’s toilet I like the call the “Monkey Hut”.)
    • “The milk station, (Cream and sugar kiosk) looks like they filmed a porn film on it.” (???)

But hands down the worst thing said today, and arguably the worst thing I have ever heard, was a comment that made me choke on my coffee when they said it.

“She either has a small penis, or a fat vagina.”

And then they erupted into a giggle fit that would have made a 13 year old girl proud.

When I began to choke, one of the girls turned to me and smiled.

“Right?”

The woman they were talking about was either late 30’s or early 40’s, take your pick.

She is a yoga MMF (Google “MMF bittermac) and wearing yoga pants.

I am a little unsure but I suspect that she does not shave her privates and might be a rather hairy woman.

Or, and I hate to agree with the rude girl’s, they might be right about the small penis/fat vagina thing.

A hand touched my table.

Its one of the rude girls.

“I mean, is she wearing a cup? Thats a lot of meat down there.”

I am beginning to feel a little dirty for just sitting here.

Don’t drag me into this just because I laughed.

These bitches get to burn in the karmic firestorm by themselves.

Me? I packed up my shit and left.

I might have to say a rosary to get this one off the books.

 

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Posted by on August 17, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Screwed by the deal.

I love a good deal.

I am also kind of cheap. (I am at peace with that, I mean, it is what it is.)

So, one of the modern marketing things I really like is the Groupon.

There are a hundred companies doing the same thing, but lets call all of them Groupon for the sake of brevity.

Groupon is a simple idea.

Find a local business, get them to cut s sweet short term coupon deal to spur sales, and Groupon will send it out to the local geographic area of thousands, taking a little commission for every sale.

It puts a lot of stuff in your face in a convenient way that lets cheap, lazy bastards like myself spread my money around.

And it works.

I recently bought a combination horse riding rental/wine tasting for two from a Groupon at a great price.

Not something I would have even conceived of without the email.

This is useful shit.

However, there are a lot of them I cannot or will not use.

Massages are common.

I have a thing about strangers touching me, even with my permission.

Also, laser hair removal is not something I will use.

Not that I don’t need it, but the amount I need is just not cost effective.

Manscaping is no bueno.

There was a Groupon today that was somewhat disturbing.

Anything I read at a glance, but think about continually over the next few hours, I figure its significant.

Half-price and two-for-one vein removal.

Um…. don’t you need those?

Stop me if I’m wrong, but unless its killing you, leave it in.

Any car collector will tell you, original equipment is always preferable.

Same goes for injecting poison into your face.

I know the doctors say that Botox is safe, but these are the same guys selling the shit.

Any meth dealer will tell you the same thing about Meth.

But the logic of it is pretty solid, as far as I am concerned.

You can’t inject poison into your skin for a long period of time and not have it affect you.

Better to spend the money on a therapist to find out why you dislike your natural state.

Grow old gracefully.

And the reason I am railing against Botox is? I just got a Groupon for injections, half off until Friday.

Might have to purchase that one. Hypocritical, but I am not under any sort of compulsion to do anything other than amuse myself here.

Which I do.

I have a friend that gets Botox. (Before you think this is you, consider that I know of over a dozen people who shoot the poison.)

In a recent email exchange, she was explaining to me that she feels that a neighbor getting a boob job is shallow, then proceeded to launch a defense of Botox for herself.

And I hadn’t said anything about it.

Its one thing for me to throw the bait out there, but when you begin drilling your own nerves, I gotta question your logic.

Or maybe its one of those situations where my reputation proceeds me.

They know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I will jump on anything that smacks of the pot verbally assaulting the kettle and they are trying to head it off.

Kind of like telling your parents about something you know they won’t like.

I like to call it the Bittermac Authority Figure Complex.

Basically its watching your shit so some blogging asshole doesn’t jump on it like a horny monkey for shits and giggles. (And, if you giggle when you shit, seek help. Just saying.)

You’ve been warned.

 

LIKE THIS BLOG ON FACEBOOK AND TWEET IT UP ON TWITTER!!!

 
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Posted by on August 16, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

Need your help!

As you know, I published a book of some of the first posts of the Bittermac blog on Amazon.com. It has been selling, and thats a good thing. But, as it approaches the end of the first month on Amazon, if sales hit a certain level, Amazon kicks in some promotional things that push it into an amazing ranking.
So, if you were thinking about purchasing the book at all, please do so by the 24th. Simply go to www.Bittermac.com and click on the Amazon link.
Thank you. I really appreciate it.

 
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Posted by on August 15, 2012 in Uncategorized