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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.

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Posted by on August 27, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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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.

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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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.

 
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Posted by on May 4, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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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.  

 
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Posted by on February 23, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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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.

 
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Posted by on February 16, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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Season’s F-n Greetings

There is a meme going around facebook that says “Do this for fun after Xmas.”

It shows a Christmas tree, rolled in plastic and taped up to look like a body. It says to drag it to the dumpster midday, wearing a hoodie splashed with ketchup and sun glasses. They said to look around a lot and act like the tree weighs a lot.

Its worth a 2 second chuckle at most, but do yourself a favor and don’t do it.

If you have never had the FBI put the boot to your front door at 2am, its a holiday treat that is not to be missed.

Best to be in the middle of the living room on your knees, hands on your head with your fingers interlaced.  (They are still going to boot you prone and put a knee on your neck, but at least you will have a shorter distance to fall. There is a background soundtrack of shouted “STOP RESISTING!” that puts a definite spin on the event.)

If there is a silver lining to that little life event, its that while they are filming, hopefully you will not see it on an upcoming episode of Live PD, just in an intimate viewing during your trial.

Anyone who thinks this sounds fun has a masochistic streak that the Marquis De Sade would envy.

But thats just me.

There is an entire segment of society that seems to think tagging something as “It was a joke” or “I wasn’t serious” seems to put their get out of jail free card up in lights.

I spend a lot of my spare time writing a lot of offensive shit.

If it offends, trust me, that was my intention.

I have had people unfriend me, stop talking to me and on a couple of occasions, been threatened with an ass kicking.

I am ok with that.

I am not a badass, but I have had my ass kicked before, by people who know what they were doing.

Every now and then, I see an episode of Cops that the “perp” leads police on a car chase, ditches the car, foot race, and then, finally, gives up and seems shocked when there is a knee on his neck and a night stick halfway up his ass.

“Alright, I give up!”

Its so cute that they think that will help de-escalate the situation, its also more than a little sad.

This is a glimpse of the future and it is a sad one.

Sad because there is a whole dumb segment of the public that will say “Dude! He gave up. They don’t need to be rough with him!” (I am of the personal opinion that they need to take him out back and “Old Yeller” him, but thats just me.)

And that is where a middle of the night case of micro swamp-ass comes from, the realization that these ass clowns are next up to run the show.

God help us all.

I feel better having gotten that little rant off of my chest.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programs, memes and cat videos.

And for God’s sake, have some coffee and stop breaking the rules.

But mainly, have some coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 

By the way, New Years is just a few days away. Do yourself a favor and try not to F-up your year and get arrested.

Not that I care, but if you are being raped in prison, you are not reading this blog or having decent coffee.

And THAT is the real crime.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Under the mistletoe. #METOO

The week before Christmas is rarely all sugar cookies.

Lotta shit goes down twisted.

There are some years that have been that bad that you are afraid to be caught under the mistletoe because you could get “Roofied”. (Happy “Cosby” Xmas!)

The darker side is, there is usually a death around Xmas that slows the holiday cheer just a tad.

Think I’m kidding?

I have had Grandparents, cousins and a favorite pet pass away around the holidays.

My rotten suspicious side begins to wonder if Santa is involved somehow?

I mean, he is making a list, checking it twice.

Serial killers are known for making lists.

Let’s look at other red flags surrounding “Old St Nick”.

He lives in an isolated area and keeps to himself 364 days a year.

Has an associate with a Euro first name who’s nose is always red? (Rudolph? A coke-head? Bear with me.)

He breaks into numerous people’s houses and eats their food. (Homeowners have yet to find him passed out on their kitchen floor in a puddle of his own piss, but its just a matter of time.)

I am shocked we have not seen Santa on an episode of COPS. (The plates on the sled come back stolen, Santa is “Borrowing” the sled from a friend who’s name he can’t remember and that baggie of powder in his pocket? “That’s not mine!”)

It would be worth the soul-crushing disappointment just to see the Jolly Fat Man being fed into the back of a patrol car in handcuffs.

 

Just had a frightening moment.

I was sexually harassed.

I thought I was going to have to do a #METOO post on Facebook.

I was sitting here, reading this piece on my laptop, when I felt it.

A hand brushed my testicles.

I ignored it, maybe someone bumped into me.

And then the hand began fondling me.

I froze.

I was humiliated, I was embarrassed.

And then I realized the hand was mine.

False alarm.

 

In true caffeine-soaked, grinch-like fashion, I didn’t finish the blog ahead of schedule and have it post early today.

I am belting it out and will immediately post.

Although, that was how the first 6 months of the blog was done, nothing ahead of time, and that was some incredible stuff. (I can wait hear if you want to use the archive on the right to read the first six month. Summer 2011 was a good time for wine and shitty blogs.)

Everyone up to date? Good!

I would love to have some sort of excuse for my laziness, and I got nothing.

So lets throw the holidays under the bus.

Looking like a pretty good Christmas, beginning to shake a minor cold and have back to back 3 day weekends for Xmas and New Years.

I even allowed the barrista to shake a little cinnamon and pumpkin spice into my coffee, just to be festive.

So I am drinking Christmas today.

As long as Christmas tastes like coffee.

Mmmmmm coffee.

God bless us, everyone.

 
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Posted by on December 22, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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