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Naughty or nice?

“The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” (Proverbs 18:21)

Eat it, bitches.

That has always been one of those Proverbs that I am sure is directed at me.

Because while some will end up eating its fruit, I seem to binge a lot on it.

There has always been a certain amount of heretical flow to the blog that I have enjoyed.

Since I am the generator, editor, publisher and the only critic that is consulted, what I say goes.

I like that.

Despite my rotten bully demeanor, I do employ a certain level of fairness and morality to the process.

Basically, I am a good person, better than most and good to the poor.

My kids love me as do my parents and everyone tolerates my shit, which I am appreciative of.

And I just upped my game.

On my road to moral superiority, I have made the decision to become a vegetarian.

Murder is murder, people, no getting around that.

I will not eat seafood or shellfish, they are living beings and deserve respect.

Chicken is delicious and I tend to eat a LOT.

Cannot turn down beef, no matter how hard I try.

And I LOVE pork!

In fact, I do not really care for most vegetables.

This may seem like odd statements coming from a dedicated vegetarian.

However, I have always thought that maybe chickens, cows and pigs were criminals in their past lives and this is some sort of karmic justice.

Who am I to fight the system?

Since I started being a better person, I find myself noticing the sad failings of those around me.

Like at the Toyota dealership.

Total discrimination.

I asked to test drive a Prius and they told me that being Hetero, I am not allowed.

So unfair, I am the victim in this.

But I am not bitter. (HA!)

Ok, that one was stupid, but a little funny.

You take what you can get around the holidays.

Speaking of the holidays, I was just talking to one of those delusional people that grew up in Southern California, raised in the sunshine, but now lives in one of those GODAWFUL frozen places that gets too friggin cold breathe and they spend all of their time trying to convince others that still live in paradise that the frozen place doesn’t suck.

Yes it does, it sucks a lot.

Moving on, I realize that I am running out of people to piss off.

And yet, no matter how many I piss off, you will all forgive me, no matter how mad you are.

Tis the season, and all that.

Without warning, your overly twisted panties will suddenly untwist, the planets will align and a sincere love of all things bitter will wash over you like sunshine on a cold day.

You will begin to see life thru bitter colored glasses and wonder what your whiny problem was in the first place.

Perhaps you will find yourself running down the street waving at passersby.

“Merry Christmas, Bedford Falls!”

And almost unnoticed, a bell rings softly.

And a bitter blogger will get his wings.

Merry Christmas, one and all.

 
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Posted by on December 18, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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A rose by any other name, is still just a dirty blog.

“TWO HOUSEHOLDS, both alike in dignity,

In fair Starbucks, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes barrista hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,

A pair of star-cross’d barristas risk their jobs”

Something like that.

Tears in my eyes as I write this. Its so touching, so beautiful and yet, doomed to failure.

I see them in the distance, a couple, late 20’s, beach people, holding each other, middle of the block.

Its a lovely scene.

And then I get closer.

And I see their shirts.

“Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf” (Think Capulet)

“Starbucks” (See also Montague.)

Barristas from opposing houses.

Doomed to a love that is forbidden.

I pass them and they are silent, no doubt the pain of their situation has driven them to silence.

Or, he was talking dirty and didn’t want me to hear, either one.

Eventually, as the story goes, the manager of Starbucks will find out and threaten to fire the barrista, and then someone get killed in a duel and then some of your better catch phrases happen.

“A plague on BOTH your lattes!”

And then, in the end, She will quit her job, planning to apply at Starbucks to be with him.

But, he doesn’t know that, so he will quit his job, thinking to work at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.

So he is heading up the street to Coffee bean, and she is heading down the street to Starbucks.

And then they see each other, and they both realize what happened.

BUT THAT IS NOT THE DEATH SCENE!

That happens when they go across the street and get jobs at Peets Coffee.

A seedy little coffee house of ill repute, inhabited by questionable reprobates like soccer moms and real estate agents.

THIS IS THE SUICIDE SCENE!

Yup, working at Peets is pure resume suicide.

No one in the history of the world has EVER read a resume and said, “Oh, you worked at Peets coffee, great!”

Its a resume stain for the service industry much like a dose of the clap, but harder to get rid of.

And I still cannot prove that their coffee is not heavily tea-bagged in the back room. (There is this flavor in the coffee, you know?)

So what is the moral of this tragic tale?

There are several.

  1. Peets Coffee is made by seedy unsupervised perverts.
  2. Starbucks and Coffee Bean coffees do NOT have plague virus in them. (Shout out to their lawyers. Please don’t hur my family.)
  3. When you are dealing with insomnia, haven’t slept more than 4 hours in 3 days and decide to watch the 1996 version of Romeo & Juliet (Leonardo Di Caprio and Clare Danes), do not, repeat, DO NOT, write a blog in the wee hours of the morning.

Because who knows what kind of shit you are going to put on the page.

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Hating a stranger.

Its not often, but sometimes, when I least expect it, I instinctively hate people.

Case in point, I am in Starbucks, its not my favorite one, but its still a Starbucks.

For those of you that pay attention, its the “Icebox”, so named because the temperature is always at 60 degrees, Winter or Summer.

I used to think this was a bad idea, then I realized that on those days that I am there for an hour or more, I buy more coffee to keep me warm.

Maybe the manager is a genius.

And in she walks.

Something about her screams “Bitch”, loud and clear.

Of course she is on her cell phone, what else would she be doing?

And maybe it is just because I didn’t like her from the beginning, but I swear that the people around her moved just a touch more away from her than you would normally.

Maybe its an unconscious thing, just some sort of evil presence, like a low level fart in an elevator that you don’t know who did it, but you know it wasn’t you.

Anyway, she gets thru the line, gets a spinach quiche. (Red flag – Spinach quiche is the food of choice of pedophiles, serial killers and overly monied coffee hoes.)

Her drink, when it came, had a lot of foam, another red flag but I’m gonna let that go.

As luck would NOT have it, she sat at the seat next to me.

Conversation still going on.

Here are the highlight quotes.

  • “Marshal is having problems at school, he failed a test and the teacher is being a bitch about it. I told him he could stay home this week and calm down.” (My comment is to fucking long to put here, so its below.)
  • “Jack is still arguing about the alimony, I mean, I gave that asshole my life, and thats going to cost him.” (Lesson learned boys, some people, not all, just some people, when they are flat on their backs the meter is running. Talk amongst yourselves.)
  • The car is still not running right. Every time I put it in gear, I have to let off on the gas COMPLETELY. (You mean revving it and dumping it into gear is NOT good for the tranny?)

It was the Polish astronomer Copernicus who first offered the model of the universe that had the Sun at its core and not the Earth.

And it was the shithead sucking down a frappuccino sitting next to me that first offered the model of the universe that had Marshal at its core.

That means the center of the universe was somewhere local, still in his pj’s during mid morning and crying like a pussy.

For a long moment I was outraged.

We are currently raising a generation of kids that are being taught that, God forbid they ever encounter a problem, the only proper response is to freeze in place and over analyze it until someone comes along and either solves it for them, or it goes away on its own.

That was a shitty long moment.

The highlight was when I made her leave.

Its called the creep move.

It is a beautiful study in low level emotional intimidation.

I began to furiously scratch my armpit, the one closer to her.

I grunted slightly.

Once I could see her staring, I stopped scratching and smelled my fingers.

Wait for it……..

I scooted a half an inch towards her.

Then I turned my head, locked eyes, and smiled.

If you have ever seen someone fleeing a burning building, that is a lot like how she left.

Hung up her phone, stood and stomped her little feet out of Starbucks.

Even left her coffee creation behind.

I would feel bad, but, after all…

I didn’t like her to begin with.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Getting to the cruel part.

There are two different types of bad behavior in this world.

There is the rare one, at least admitting it is rare, it actually happens quite a bit. Its the type of bad behavior that you do and then secretly relish the shitty thing you have done.

I am well acquainted with that one.

Hell, because of the filter eliminating effects of this damn blog, I often brag about it.

But today, we are here to talk about that other type of bad behavior.

Its that type of bad behavior that you do it and don’t secretly relish in it.

In fact, you don’t get it. Even when someone points it out to you, you don’t get it.

Like a shitty form of karmic water off of a cosmic ducks back, just to make it sound all new agey.

Here is an example: (Come on, you saw this coming, right?)

I was recently visiting on an excursion to a weird alternative museum.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Its kind of like a freak show on Xanax.

Its the stuff that legitimate museums and freak shows took one look at and said, “It’s not for us, thanks.”

One display is two mummified mice on toast. (Draw your own conclusions.)

Another is a collection of clear glass globes that have floating figurines in them, all in different stages of drowning, complete with mood lighting and odd bubbly sounds effects.

The last example is a steel ferris wheel suspended from the ceiling. Its made of steel and every moving surface on it has a bell attached. Ever few minutes it begins spinning and the room has no sound proofing.

So any conversations you have go on a time out until the ferris wheel is done.

But the museum is not why we are here.

It what happened when we left the museum.

And then we met Earl.

Not sure if that is his name, but that is what I am calling him and who the fuck are you to argue? Sit down, shut up, and let me finish, jeez!

Earl is homeless.

And he is a homeless ninja.

We had not taken 10 steps from the shady museum’s front door when Earl struck.

His walker is on wheels, and they roll silent as a whisper.

“Hey there! How you boys doin’?”

He is not blocking our path, there is plenty of room to go around, but you have to.

We mumble some platitudes and begin our evasive maneuvers.

Earl is having none of that shit.

Side-spinning a walker does not take up more space at all, but it is a psychological block.

We stop.

“I don’t want money.”

As an opener, this is sloppy, but good. It doesn’t work, I mean, I KNOW he wants money, but what is his pitch? I was in sales long enough to know that everything is a transaction. Money, sense of accomplishment, pride…etc. Money is just the most obvious.

“Could you buy me a meal at the In’n’Out?”

There is a burger place just up the street.

“Sorry, I don’t carry cash.”

You might think this is the cruel part, BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

So off we walked.

“Why didn’t you give him food?” My oh so innocent companion asked.

The reasons are long and drawn out, but based on advice from a professional in the “Dealing with the homeless in the most compassionate way” industry. The incomplete simple answer is, anything I give him enables and perpetuates his addiction and makes me an active party in killing him.

But that is still not the cruel part.

“Because,” I said as we headed in to the same burger place to get lunch.

“I don’t want to see him try to smoke a burger.”

And THATS THE CRUEL PART. (And its a hell of a long walk for a punch line, but it is what it is. Write your own blog.)

 
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Posted by on April 17, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Court is a lot like the classical version of hell.

Horrible and boring.

I stand accused, M’lord. Guilty as charged. Mercy, M’lord, mercy.

Here is my vile crime.

I drove 2 blocks without my seatbelt on.

Chain my ass up and send me to Russia.

The truly unfortunate part of all this is that an officer of the law happened to be pulling up to a stop sign just as I turned onto my street.

Bad enough to get the ticket, but add to it my total inability to pay the damn thing on time and you have a recipe for creating my own misery.

When the ticket goes beyond 30 days, the fine doubles.

When it goes beyond 120 days?

It would be more merciful if they just held me down and beat me to death.

As it is they added a civil penalty of 10x the original fine.

Land of the free, home of the brave.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, purple mountains majesty. Now pay your fucking fine and shut your mouth.

I found out years ago that if you show up, plead guilty and act polite they will reduce it back to the original fine amount.

So here I am.

Exiting the parking garage, I am treated to a wonderful site.

About 150 people in line, waiting to get in.

The line is moving briskly as we are shuttled thru the metal detector, manned by armed men.

There are about 50 people left between me and my own trip thru the metal detector when the excitement begins.

It seems a guy has been stopped at the metal detector because he forgot he had a piece of metal on him.

The metal in this case appears to be a Saturday Night Special.

A .25 calibre piece of shit that just earned him a trip to jail.

The legally armed men at the metal detector do not seem to be accepting his excuse of “Man, I forgot I had that shit on me!” and are jacking a brother up off to the side, while another legally armed man puts the gun in a baggy.

The level of stupid here is pretty impressive.

Hard to beat.

Me and the 50 people in front of me all saw this little production of “Our town- Thug life edition”.

Think of it as a cautionary tale for our times.

Don’t be that stupid, people.

So, when the guy two people in front of me got stopped at the detector for a pocket knife with a 5 inch blade, I am sure we were all a little shocked.

No more felonies are committed and I manage to get inside on time to make it to my assigned court room.

And there on the door of the courtroom, is my entire reason for being a consistent asshole to the universe.

“All cases for Division 1 will be rescheduled. Court is closed due to illness.”

Sigh.

Karma, you giggling bitch.

Well played.

 
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Posted by on February 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Before you kill someone.

You gotta wonder what goes thru some peoples minds.

I mean, being stupid is ok, but being dangerously stupid can get you killed.

Morning rush hour, traffic is bumper to bumper.

I am not on the freeway, but its still bad.

Luckily, I am not rushing to get to work, just breakfast.

Heading to my favorite breakfast place.

Time to coffee up.

But the car ahead of me is out to kill someone.

Judging from the hair, I am going to say the driver is a woman.

And she is weaving, not a basket or something creative, unless you think of fatality accidents as creative.

She is driving by braille, going from the bumps on one side to the other.

And she has slammed on her brakes 3 times in a 1 mile stretch.

We will assume she is drunk, I mean, she could be a serial killer for all I know.

Anyway, the drunk chick almost just impacted into the back of a UPS truck.

We all know how those UPS trucks dart in and out of traffic, no doubt it was the truck’s slow and even speed that surprised her.

Instead of hitting the UPS truck, she whipped her car to the left, pulling into a turn lane, but going the wrong way.

The only problem with that is that she almost went head on into a car that was just pulling into that turn lane.

This woman is a Goddam menace. A threat to the public. Armed (With a car) and dangerous.

As traffic began moving again, I finally got in the next lane.

As luck would have it, my new lane we faster, and I pulled up next to vehicular public enemy #1 at the next red light.

It is, indeed, a woman.

Either late teens or early 20’s, which makes her even dumber than most.

That isn’t sexist, by the way.

Late teens to early 20’s is easily the dumbest part of life, where most of the WORST decisions in life are made.

She isn’t drunk.

She is putting on her make up.

Are you shitting me?

That will be an interesting scene at the hospital.

A surgeon with bloody clothes comes out to address a grieving family.

“Cause of death, lip gloss.”

This is hall of fame type of stupid here.

However, if you smack your hand on the door of your car and yell “HEY, DUMBASS!” She jumps like a singed kitten and stares at you like you’ve done something wrong.

At least it got her to drive better, for awhile at least.

But then she had to work on her mascara.

While I don’t wish her well, I hope the criminally stupid doesn’t become an ACTUAL criminal.

(But I do wish that some sort of karmic “Instant justice” happens to her. Like she gets fired today, or her cat dies, or she gets an STD. Just kidding, I’m sure she’s already got an STD. From her dead cat. OH YES I DID!)

 
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Posted by on February 20, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Come here, now go away.

Leave me the fuck alone.

Caffeinated and annoyed is a bad place to be.

The problem seems silly to be putting it down on a page, but it is what it is.

My dealer will not leave me alone.

Here it is:

I am in my favorite breakfast place, eating and getting my java on.

I have said many times that, as far as addictions go, caffeine is one of the better ones.

Mainly because it is easy to get, cheap compared to other drugs and the acceptability factor is off the charts.

But there is this new waitress in the diner and its slow.

Which means the new girl does not have enough pressing work to do and needs to look busy, but has not been here long enough to know all of the methods of looking busy, so she is doing the easiest one.

Wandering around with a coffee pot, offering refills.

I love that, to a point.

Don’t get me wrong, there are times when its busy that I cannot get a refill and am on the verge of performing sex acts in dirty alleys to get a top off. (Yes, its a stretch, but this is not about you. Put your hand down and shut your pie hole.)

But the new girl, lets call her Bitsy.

Bitsy has so far asked me 4 times if I need a refill in the last 5 minutes.

I do not want to discourage her, mainly because I will need her sometime soon for that refill she is offering.

She has a very innocent look on her face, which either makes it harder to be an ass to her, or just might make it more fun to be a total dick to her.

She looks familiar enough that I have begun to wonder if I know her mother.

Possibly, I fathered the girl. (There are penalties to living in the same town all of your life and being a prolific male slut in your early years.)

And then it hits me.

On my 9th birthday, I received an odd gift from a relative.

A pet rock.

I named it Alfonzo and put it in its little nest on my dresser.

A few years later, in a fit of boredom, I painted a little face on Alfonzo, complete with huge blue eyes.

Bitzy looks like my pet rock.

Its almost spooky, but there it is.

I still have Afonzo, by the way.

He and I have been thru a lot of shit over the years.

I would be proud of the fact that I have kept my pet rock all these years, but the reality of a pet rock is that it is a rock.
To have a pet rock for a long time only means that you never threw it out.

Its not a living pet.

Let’s be real, if Alfonzo were real, he would be dead by now, I am not that consistant with the whole “Daily feeding” regimen that living things need.

Bitsy just topped off my cup.

I thanked her and smiled at her.

In memory of the Alfonzo that might have been.

Ahhhhh, morning coffee.

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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I don’t need a BFF, dude.

There is such a thing as being too damned friendly.

When I am writing, I try to give off an unfriendly, “Asshole” kind of vibe. (As opposed to the friendly asshole vibe I give off the rest of the time.)

Mainly because nothing sucks worse than getting a line in my head that has just the right amount of cerebral stank on it only to have it evaporate like early morning mist because a stranger has decided I was BFF material.

“What are you writing?”

This is the witty opening line that ruined my thought process and sewered the killer blog idea in my head.

The unspoken here is that now you are stuck with my pissy, angst-filled rant of a post about shitting on strangers.

Suck it up, life is like that.

As I pull myself away from my writing I take a good look at “Magoo”. (I can’t remember what he said his name was, but Magoo fits.)

Magoo is one of nature’s children. He has an innocence about him that is almost charming and in any other setting, I would be happy to chat.

But he is in the wrong creative neighborhood at the wrong cerebral time of the night.

Lot of mind assault and battery happens in those settings. (He would be the star of the show if there was a mental episode of “Cops”. And I realize this imagery is a stretch. Work with me.)

But his question does demand an answer.

“Obituaries. I write obituaries for the LA Times.”

“Oh.” Deer in the headlights. The little smile is gone.

I’m not finished.

“Pays better than you think. Plus you get to spend a lot of time talking to grieving families.” (Its important to smile and be too excited at this point. It twists up the deeply ingrained expectation of being really serious on a serious topic. Like a giggling mortician, its out of place and more than a little disturbing.)

“Is that a good thing?” The question kind of tumbles confusedly out of his mouth.

“Its awesome, really gives you a heads up on estate sales and used cars.”

“Oh.” The deer in the headlights is beginning to realize that the headlights are not friendly.

“I am up for a promotion. Sex crimes beat. You talk with a LOT of rape and shooting victims.”

Eye contact breaks at this point and you can feel the flight part of the fight or flight reflex taking over.

He’s not sure what is wrong with me or the situation, but he knows SOMETHING is wrong and its making him antsy.

Bingo.

Almost on cue, the guy mutters something that sounds like something between a hiccup and a word that sounded like “Megosh” and walked away.

More like scurries away. I watch him go, smile and put my headphones back on.

Yeah, I know.

Asshole.

It is what it is.

What kills me is, I had my headphones on.

I could put a sign on the table that says, “Fuck off” but I figured the headphones were enough.

Besides, the last time I put the sign out, enough people complained that the manager asked me to take it down.

Once again, I know.

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Merry frickin Christmas.

Christmas always has the potential of being epic, one way or the other.

I mean that, good or bad.

It can be that twisted, screwed up kind of day that gives all involved baggage to tote around for the rest of their lives.

Or, it can be the kind of day that reminds you what Christmas can be, like when you were a kid type of good.

And that was today.

I have a few requirements to make the holidays good.

Since I could not have the #1 requirements, being with my kids, my second requirement is that the whole family gets together.

Done.

Third on that list is that I get to cook breakfast for everyone.

Done.

The unspoken is that a touch too much bacon is available for cooking and sampling by all throughout the cooking, also, coffee is involved, but I figure we all know that one. Kind of a gimme, really.

I was also given the perfect gift today.

Its a travel mug from Starbucks that has a special feature for the caffeine addicted.

Free refills for the month of January. I shit you not.

Its like a meth lab handing out unlimited free samples.

Its like Krispy Kremes handing out.. ok, bad example.

I may not make it thru the month of January. My heart may not hold out.

Just saying.

As far as gifts go, its incredibly inciteful and somewhat brutal.

Christmas as an adult is much different than when you are a kid.

When you are a child, you are told what you will be doing on Christmas.

And there is nothing that you really have to do.

When you are an adult, you balance what you want to do with what you have to do.

And there are a lot of have to’s as an adult.

And the one thing you can’t ask Santa for is to take over your responsibilities.

He will not pay your rent or make a car payment.

He will not explain your internet browser history to your wife.

He will not not even pay for the gifts you put under the tree with his name on them.

Sounds a lot like old saint Nicky is getting a butt-load of free advertising from all of us.

But, to quote Janet Jackson… (Jeez, how desperate am I?)

What have you done for me lately?

Nope, growing up means that, except in rare occasions, nobody covers your shit but you.

So, by default, this ends up being the time of the year that we are all forced to untwist our big boy (Or girl) pants and get our shit in some semblance of together.

Which is good as a general rule.

Being a kid means that you believe in stuff that is not real.

Being an adult means you have to believe in stuff that is brutally real.

The secret to keeping your shit together and still be able to laugh.

 
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Posted by on December 26, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Thanksgiving – No holds barred.

Thanksgiving was yesterday, so lets figure out what we are thankful for.

But first, a small rant presented as bullet point.

  • A grand jury could not find enough evidence to even go to trial.
  • The disinfrachized used the opportunity to loot and cause mayhem.
  • The professional protestors furthered their private agendas and caused mayhem.
  • The handful of actually outraged protesters found their public statements swallowed by the lawlessness of others.
  • In the end, nothing was served, certainly not justice, one side or the other.

Now, lets get to the thankful.

  • A little new life joined my clan. Yay for us.
  • The broken nose from Judo appears to be back to normal. I had a little cartilage bump in my left nostril that is still there.
  • Went back to Judo. After a week off for the nose, a week travelling, and then getting a cold/bronchitis, I finally got back to class. 3 weeks off at my age is not doing me any favors. Began to feel like the shadow of my ass weighed 20 lbs.
  • The wonder kids of mine are doing well. Their genetics are superior, so this does not shock me.
  • The Chromebook I bought for writing may become my home computer. Still incredibly fast and hooks into the 21” monitor without an issue.
  • My penis is doing well.(Not sure why I included this, but it is nice to see an old friend aging well.)

Thanksgiving with my extended family, at least the ones that still show up, as opposed to the smart ones that have figured out somewhere else to go, is always trying at best.

Think about my sarcastic, cynical mind, and then think about the kind of people and environment that would have to be in place to create that kind of cerebral vile and you begin to see why I dread these holidays.

Its a lot like boxing.

Keep your hands up and protect yourself at all times.

And if you step into the ring, you are going to get hit.

Here are three of the best comments overheard at Thanksgiving in recent years:

  • Thats your fourth glass of wine, good to see you are cutting back.
  • I think its great that you have decided not to drive yourself crazy with all of that dieting nonsense, and just be happy. Good for you. (Same conversation as the wine comment.)
  • The last one is not a comment, but a conversation that I caught the tail end of. I had brought a friend to Thanksgiving and went to get us some pumpkin pie. I got back to the table and just caught the end of my Alzheimer’s ridden great uncle, describing in graphic detail, what appeared to be anal sex, complete with hand gestures. She took it well.

In the end, Thanksgiving with the family is a lot like being mauled by a bear.

Survival is all you are shooting for.

 

 
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Posted by on November 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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