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Cavalry to the rescue

There is a certain crazed energy in a 5 year old that is terrifying and awesome to behold.

There is also a certain vibe you get from a mom that is just burnt out and done with it all.

Its in her stare, her lack of reaction, no matter what that evil little beast does to her that tells the world on a very primal level – “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK!”

The 5 year old, let’s call him Damian. (If you get that, kudos. If you don’t, you are too young and I didn’t write that for you.

Damian has so far run face first into two tables, 1 door, the counter and 3 people.

He is definitely the type of kid who wears a helmet but isn’t on a team. (Are you following this?)

Let’s hope mom left his helmet at home because this kid is not going to have a brain left by noon.

Mom is sitting at a table, cell phone in hand, not texting, just holding it.

There is a glassy eyed stare that they would have called “Shell-shocked” in WWII.

5 year olds can do that to you.

Once again, I am unbelievably grateful that my children are grown.

I don’t have that kind of energy anymore.

Much less the kind of energy that could handle the kind of sugar-fueled, hillybilly inbreeding responsible for Damian’s little one man show.

Mom is still in her chair, as out of it as if she was Michael Jackson an hour after taking his bedtime “Jesus Juice”. (For the record, Propofol is not available as an added shot in your latte at Starbucks…. Nothing? Jeez, Google it, you people are pathetic.)

If I were Damian, at this point, the police would be feeding my mother into the back of a squad car for my murder and taking statements from witnesses. (Odds are, no one would remember seeing anything. Mom puts that kind of fear into people when she gets rolling.)

In lieu of my mother, the cavalry has arrived in the form of a middle aged woman shaped roughly like a bowling ball.

Damian ran head on into her and kind of bounced off.

Before he could get up, she grabbed him by the hood part of his little hoodie and lifted him off the ground.

It was like the human version of a momma cat picking up a kitten by the scruff of the neck.

She carried him across the room and plopped him down in a seat next to his mom, who until this moment, I had not realized how ridiculously you she was. (See also – Children raising children)

Mom looked a little more alert, but was still silent.

Before she went back to the line to get her coffee, she pointed an angry chubby finger at Damian.

“You get out of that chair, I will spank your bottom.”

It was an awesome moment.

It was also one that I hope she didn’t go to jail for.

Sadly we live in this hyper sensitive society that is a pale comparison of what it used to be.

Take a good look at any protest going on and you get a good look at the fascism of the politically correct freedom. (Inverted McCarthy-ism is never pretty to look at. There is a primal schadenfreude that lingers in the back of your head if you think too long about it. Even if you dig it in a sick way for the short term, it wears on you. Like an existential migraine that you just can’t shake.)

But enough of that.

The awkward feeling that was permeating the room has begun to fade, and the world has returned to homeostasis.

Plus, my coffee just arrived, so all is well.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on March 3, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Don’t forget the roses, asshole.

Valentine’s day is one of those days where people freak out for a variety of reasons.

Saint Valentine must have been a sadistic son of bitch, setting aside the whole sainthood thing.

A quick Google search says that Saint Valentine lived in Rome when Emperor Claudius decided that soldiers were not allowed to marry because single men fight better, so Valentine was captured and tortured for performing marriages on the sly.

He was captured, imprisoned, and tortured.

That sounds about right.

Dating and sex, done right, can be some of the most uplifting things in your life.

Done the way almost EVERYONE does it, can suck the soul out of you and make you wish you were dead.

(Side note – I am in a coffee place that does bagels. The manager has been explaining to a homeless woman at the counter that the bagel toasting machine does not have settings. There is a nob on the front that says “LIGHT-MEDIUM-DARK”. So either the manager is just trying to get rid of the homeless lady or he is un-able to read, yet they made him manager. Go figure.)

Couples that go out on Valentine’s Day have a whole butt-load of stressful things to worry about.

If they have been dating for a long time, this whole night is just a farce.

If they just started dating, the pressure is on.

He will either drink too much out of the stress of wanting the night to go well, setting up a “Whiskey dick” scenario for later. (Good luck with that, buddy.)

Or, he will not drink enough and just be a stressed piece of shit for the night. (Doesn’t matter if he can get it up or not, he ain’t gettin any.)

For the single folk?

Even worse.

Because alone is when your inner voice tells you shit about love and relationships.

Not the good, hopeful stuff, either.

But the vile, evil shit that leads to bad behavior and obsession.

Stalking comes from this.

Guys and girls, no one is immune to the crazy bug.

And the crazy bug is something that is resistant to even the strongest antibiotics or bleach.

Stalking is kind of the middle of the road, generic thing that goes on.

Its kind of the safest one of the bunch.

The worse behaviors are extreme stalking and the “Fatal attraction” scenario.

And if you have never woken up in the middle of the night and dis-armed a lover before she can stab you, you really do not have an understanding of the mind set.

(Side note – Ignore the tears when there is a steak knife in her hand, they are crocodile tears and only meant to confuse.)

Moving on.

Romance is a bit of a cage fight.

Keep swinging and hopefully you will win and not end up dead.

Or castrated with a steak knife.

Cause that would be bad too.

 
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Posted by on February 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Little Orphan Meth-Head

“Its a hard luck ROCK, for us.

Its a hard luck rock, FOR US!”

 

“The pipe will come out, tomorrow.

Bet your bottom bitch that, tomorrow, there’ll be crack….”

 

This visual is killing me.

Out in front of the supermarket, is a folding table.

Taped to the front of it is a poorly xeroxed pictures of smiling kids.

A sign on the table asks for donations for foster kids.

The little honey behind the table, I assume to collect the donations as they roll in, is a human being that has lived a hard life.

Meth is not even in question, there has DEFINITELY been meth.

Missing teeth tell a story all their own.

But, and here is the kicker, this is all about her.

Meth will do that to you, make you the main character in every story.

And she is on the phone.

Angry.

Practically yelling.

“These fuckers want me to sit here like a retard, begging for change for minimum fucking wage!”

Wow.

Let that sink in.

Take a minute.

Got it?

Lets move on.

If we take our clues where we may find them, we have the tragic tale of Little Orphan Meth Head.

She is not homeless.

How do I know this?

She has a house arrest ankle bracelet, so she lives SOMEWHERE.

She is making minimum wage, but has not walked off the job, so, at some level, she gives a shit.

Lots to love, lots to hate.

Plus she has a potty mouth and doesn’t give a shit who hears it.

Sliding over into love here.

I am hiding just inside the automatic doors in the store, out of sight.

However, my presence is making the automatic door stay open.

When no one comes out but the door stays open, eventually she will notice and the jig will be up.

Next epic line.

“I don’t give a fuck where they put those little bastards!”

Big step to the hate.

Do what you want, but don’t fuck with the kids.

They have a hard life too, but they had no choices, unlike our orphan.

Run your whiny mouth all you like, addiction is still not a disease.

I contemplate for a few minutes what to do.

Do I get involved? Complain? Try to talk her down? Something?

Something it is.

I play wallet roulette.

I reach into my wallet and grab the first bill from the middle and pull it out.

I don’t organize my money, so today, it could be any one of 3 ones, 2 fives, a ten or 2 twenties. (I am really sweating the $20s. I am charitable, not rich.)

In the end, I folded the ten and stuffed it into her box while holding my finger over my lips.

Crazy bitch actually smiled at me.

I left before Annie attacked Daddy Warbucks.

It was a beautiful moment, but lets not try and fool ourselves.

The sun will come out……Tomorrow!

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Sorry would indicate regret…Nope

All hell is breaking loose, people!

We are talking scorched earth, end of days, shit going down kind of stuff.

Because PEOPLE ARE UPSETTING US!

There is a growing current of people who don’t want to hear one more word of politics on Facebook.

They are sick of it.

It is upsetting, it ruins their day, its also childish.

Screeching about politics on people’s Facebook page is some of the most entertaining shit you will ever read.

It starts out innocently enough, somebody posts a totally non-political comment, possibly with a photo.

And then the extremist shows up, and the whole thing goes nuts.

I bullshit a lot, but the following happened.

A friend posted a pic of their daughter who just got her driver’s license.

Under it was the caption “Look out world, she’s on the road!”

It was cute and got cute replies, as it should have.

(The new driver was a pretty girl of Latin heritage. There is a reason I am mentioning this and its not racism, at least not by me.)

Enter the pitbull.

“She better enjoy it while she can, cause Trump hates Mexicans and she is going to be rounded up! NOW IS THE TIME TO RISE UP!”

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love to fuck with people and say upsetting things to other people on Facebook.

But you don’t go after someones kids, that is just rude.

Come after mine and I will kneecap you and you’ll never walk again.

The comments after that were off the chart ugly after that, it was awesome.

I am kind of an agent of chaos in all of this due to one basic fact that escapes most people.

A large amount of the people you see and interact with on Facebook don’t actually exist.

They are like swamp gas or weather balloons, they make people see whatever their mind wants them to see.

So you can fuck with them, twist them around, friend and unfriend, block or unblock and it doesn’t make one bit of difference in the world.

About 2 years ago, I wrote a post that, in the opinions of people I really don’t respect if we’re being truthful, was obscene, vulgar and rude.

And it was.

But it set a personal record for highest number of complaints and unfriendings in the blog history.

And I actually never noticed any impact on my life.

And thats when it hit me.

They don’t exist.

They aren’t real.

Like characters in a book, when you put the book down, their world is over.

This blog is like a microcosm of Facebook, but my own personal that you have chosen to peek in on.

I bask in the praise, giggle at the outrage and write for the simple fact that it gives me a masturbatory pleasure without chafing.

And its also a great excuse to sit in a Starbucks and sip coffee for hours.

Mmmmmm coffee.

(Never lose sight of why we are here.

 
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Posted by on February 3, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Not everything is real.

Never argue politics with a monkey, you aren’t going to get a good argument and it just frustrates the monkey and at some point he will unfriend you on Facebook. (Not a racial comment, but kind of a smack at what passes for intelligence nowadays.)

I got a serious hard on over the idea that I could offend people to the point of unfriending me on Facebook.

So I spent my whole week attacking people’s heartfelt beliefs.

Abortion? I argued both sides on the same comment thread, loud and arrogantly.

Blue vs Red? Again, I was a duplicitous, hypocritical shithead to anyone who would listen.

Hell, mid-week I was claiming that Girlscout cookies were a plot of the Russians, 2 comments later I posted video of Vlad Putin doing judo and claimed that I had changed my rescue dog’s name from Buttercup to Putin. (Side note: I don’t have a rescue dog named Buttercup. I have a collection of angry wolf pics that I claim is my dog. Its just to stir up shit with my simple minded animal rescue friends. Hysterical.)

The tally by the end of the week was 4 people unfriended me and a special 5th unfriended then texted me, calling me a cunt. (I have not figured out if I am offended yet.)

My favorite comment of the week was to a, for lack of a better term, Libtard that had the annoying habit of insulting people and then being a pussy and claiming he wasn’t.

The line that preceeded my comment was his.

“I thought thought this was America, freedom of speech and all that.” (In the context of the discussion, it was condescending and douchie)

My comment:

“Try not to think, its not your strength and it only makes my dick itch. Shut your dick holder and be quiet, the adults are talking.”

Unfriended in under one minute from when I pressed enter, a new record.

All in all, its been a fun week.

There is a part of me that really should be questioning whether or not this is a good thing.

Except that I don’t care.

I mean, the people who unfriended me are not really going to be missed, so I can’t see a downside to this.

But my disappointment is huge.

I am of the firm opinion that you, in a certain sense, can be judge by the acquaintances you keep.

If they can’t be challenged on what they claim is their core beliefs without unfriending people, what does that say about me?

Why was I ok with friending that weak minded piece of shit in the first place?

I blame myself.

Moving on.

If I could keep up that kind of pace, I could be totally FB friendless by my birthday.

And wouldn’t that be awesome?

If you are confused, let me explain.

See, Facebook isn’t real.

If I know you in real life, we are varying degrees of friends.

But, on Facebook?
It is iffy that you exist at all.

But you are definitely there for my amusement.

This is not as sociopathic as you think.

Its more of an eccentric continual search for amusement.

Harmless and amusing.

Just not for you.

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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The tell tale smell of fear and urine.

I’m not being a pussy.

There is a fine line between being superstitious about a date on the calendar and living in abject, shit yourself stark terror at the thought of a particular date on a calendar.

You wake up on Friday the 13th and realize that you are laying in a puddle of your own urine.

And it only goes downhill from there.

Someone tried to tell me that “It’s just another day, its no big deal”.

If this was a horror film, they would be the one that decides to investigate the abandoned boat house by themself.

In other words, they will be the first to die horribly.

Fear is a funny thing.

Not funny ha ha, but funny like scared and you turn and run into a pole funny.

I lost my keys on the last Friday the 13th.

That may not sound like much, but if I fell into a wood chipper trying to find them, you would feel differently, wouldn’t you?

See what I mean?

“But you didn’t fall into a wood chipper.”

Thank God!

I got lucky that Friday the 13 decided to find a victim elsewhere that day.

There are only 2 Friday the 13ths this year.

At least that spreads out the horror instead of it being just 1 day.

When its just 1 day, 1 Friday the 13th in a year, that is some powerful mojo.

That is like Y2K, planes falling from the sky, MASS HYSTERIA kind of day.

2 in a year is more of your, cheesy slasher film kind of horror.

That I can deal with.

All I need is coffee and to hear that click on the door of my panic room.

Then I can just sit there naked and drink my coffee and wait for the inevitable.

Why am I naked?

Why are you clothed? (Let’s not get bogged down with a lot of questions.)

Side note. A dog barked next door and I just about pissed myself. Shut that beast up, some of us are trying to quiver in fear, for God’s sake!

The sad part is, I have to go to work.

I showered and narrowly escaped slipping and cracking my head open.

I shaved and almost cut my throat open when my razor broke.

The drive to work was like a Mission Impossible car chase.

I am sitting at my desk, waiting for a disgruntled co worker to go on a rampage.

So I realize I am on borrowed time here.

Tell my kids I love them.

At some point, I am sure a Syrian refugee will commit an act of some sort in my vicinity with dire consequences.

Its kind of a “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and it will probably kill you.” type of thing.

So, if I survive the day and I am not in a medically induced coma, (Might be the only way to save me) I will write about my survival next week.

Until then, keep your head down, drink your coffee, and for God’s sake, put some pants on.

 

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Before the ball drops…

You know I have to get the last word.

I couldn’t let the year end without running at the mouth one last time.

New Year’s Eve is coming and it is time to lie like a politician to the one person we should never lie to.

Ourselves.

New Years is the time that we trot out our completely unrealistic resolutions and parade them around like a temporary trophy wife for all to see.

And they last as long as the trophy wife does and will desert you every bit as fast as if she found out you got no money.

At least you won’t have a lingering STD when the resolution is gone.

At least physically.

Mentally?

Anybody’s guess.

I have seen people pillory themselves like one of the Marquis de Sade’s regulars over not losing that 10 pounds from the holidays.

In reality, the only people that truly give a crap how much you weigh will be your pallbearers, everything else is just in your head.

At my Great Uncle Jack’s funeral, one of my cousins was struggling to hold up his end.

In frustration, he looked down at the casket.

“Jesus Christ, Jack!”

Hilarious.

First time I had ever witnessed someone berating a corpse.

I try to keep my resolutions either ridiculously easy to pull off, or impossible to the point that no one thinks its serious at all.

Here are my easy resolutions:

  1. Don’t get arrested New Years Eve. (Much easier since I quit power drinking.)
  2. Go to the gym. (I am going to the gym now, so I win by doing the norm.)
  3. Be nicer to the family. (Nicer is so hard to put a definition to, I can do what I want.)

And here are my impossibles, (Or perhaps Deplorables)

  1. Not be mean to people. (Not breathing would be easier. I am not a real fan of people.)
  2. Get taller. (If I knew how to pull this one off it would have happened decades ago.
  3. Masturbate less. (Don’t look at me, you’ll ruin the mood.)

I have finally come to this.

I hope next year doesn’t suck.

For those that claim that this year sucked, consider the alternative.

It could have really sucked.

Some people are pissed because a celebrity they liked died, or a politician they didn’t like won, or blah blah blah.

In reality, not a goddam thing actually went wrong with your year.

Happiness is a perception.

So if you are not happy with how this year was?

Get off your ass and get in the game.

Make next year a better one, by your definition.

And for fucks sake! Stop posting shit on Facebook, it makes you look like a douche.

Happy New Year.

Bite me.

 

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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