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Castration is a bitch.

For the record, Bruce Jenner is dyslexic.

I am not saying that this had anything to do with his gender reassignment.

But what if he went in for a vasectomy, and there was simply a misunderstanding.

Shit happens.

Does he miss his balls? Do they wonder what they did wrong?

Where they donated in some sort of “Testicular rescue” program?

Have they found a “Forever home”?

Will we see them on a Facebook post?

An infomercial plea for cash to save his balls with sorrowful Sarah McLaughlan music playing in the background.

That seems a little heavy handed for a set of nuts.

But I wouldn’t put it past Sarah.

Even with the airbrushing, Bruce has some pretty grim cheekbones.

But, go to any bar at last call and you will see guys pumping drinks into way fuglier women than Bruce will ever be. Or Caitlyn.

Whatever.

Honestly, I think the dividing line is the basic equipment.

You can’t just decide you are a woman and demand everyone change gears if you are still sporting a penis.

Take hormones all you like, but a dick is a dude and the ladies have lady bits.

At least Braitlyn chose the right time to do this.

The gender reassignment surgeries have hit their high point.

Google it and you will see some pretty gruesome pics of what they viewed as a “Success” 10-15 years ago in turning a man into a woman.

From an uneducated civilian point of view, it was a horror show of oddities that had more in common with an old school freak show than any sort of corrective surgery.

And someone (Actually several thousand) are living with that today.

Wonder what their sex life is like?

Wonder what Braitlyn’s sex life is like?

After all, he was married to the Unholy One, Kris Kardashian. (It has yet to be proven that she brokered Kim’s sex tape, but I have seen Hollywood premieres that did not roll out as smoothly and had less advanced notice in the press.)

Also never proven is how big a penis Kris has. But we all KNOW she has one.

Is that where Braitlyn decided being a man was no longer an option?

Chilling. Mean and funny to those with a twisted sense of humor, but chilling.

Which begs the question, when is Braitlyn’s sex tape coming out? That seems to be their MO.

Will we be able to actually see Kris’s face? Or will it be blurred out? Will Kim be in it? Probably, she is every bit the attention whore (Emphasis) that her unholy mommy is.

I never cared for oddity porn, just not my thing. If it’s yours, God bless, it’s your journey. Just wear a condom, for God’s sake.

What I can’t understand is that everyone is making such a big deal out of Braitlyn changing from man into woman, and no one has even mentioned Kris’s transformation from woman into “Babylon the Great, the Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth.” (Revelations M-Fer!)

Just saying.

 
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Posted by on June 5, 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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Kill the lawyers.

I am not a big fan of pain, never have been.

Almost bordering on pussy at times, always something to be avoided.

So here I sit with two black eyes.

Karma, you rotten giggling bitch.

Now, you would think that my vile mouth would be the culprit here.

Not so.

How it happened was so random it almost doesn’t matter.

Could have happened in nine or ten different ways.

I refuse to blame judo, despite the fact that it happened during a judo workshop.

There was some really impressive national competitors visiting and I got thrown in a beautiful Ippon Seo Nage.

And, as I lay there on my back, the kid who threw me got overbalanced from the throw and rolled over me.

And the back of his head slammed back into my nose with a serious crunch.

And what followed was about 15 minutes of bleeding like a stuck pig and muffled cursing.

Shit happens.

I had about 4 people ask me if I intended to sue the gym.

I am appalled by this.

Its judo, injuries happen.

I could have gotten the same injury jockeying for position at a drinking fountain.

People want to sue too much.

I am trying not to throw too much hate at the lawyers, but it is tough not to.

They are so hate-able its not even funny.

Even lawyers hate lawyers.

You would think there would be some sort of esprit de corps.

Nope.

I took an informal poll of the four lawyers I happen to know.

And all four, when posed with the question, “Do you like other lawyers?”

I am paraphrasing here, but all four said “Fuck em!”.

One of the lawyers, a man I went to grade school with and kind of consider family, but would serious not buy an apple from or leave my kids around, went on at great lengths to explain what scumbags lawyers are.

I find it ironic that a commercial for a serious ambulance chaser type lawyer was just on tv.

His big catch phrase is “I’ll fight for you!” but his clientele have a serious low-rent feel to them.

Makes you wonder how sad his court battles are.

The show Law and Order it ain’t.

I can only imagine what sort of battles are taking place.

Phony slip and falls, fake whiplash, and discrimination cases.

I was once the hiring manager of a company, and one morning I got a call from the director of HR. She said there was a midget making the rounds to companies, and applying for work.

He only applies for jobs he is completely unsuited for.

If he gets the job, he doesn’t show up.

If he doesn’t get the job, he sue for discrimination.

Its a scam.

I once had the guy pointed out to me by the director of HR.

He was wearing a beautiful suit.

He could afford it, he made a nice living shaking down businesses for cash.

And his lawyer will fight for him, too.

 
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Posted by on November 7, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The Insanity Revelation.

A homeless woman screaming at traffic outside of a Coffee Bean in the wee hours of the morning will always catch my eye.

But a homeless woman screaming scripture at traffic will pull me in like a moth to a bug light.

I applaud both her general nuttiness and her faith, because they both seem pretty strong.

But what is it about Revelations that draws the insane mind to it?

I have run into a bakers half dozen of these street preacher/screamers in the past and every one of them was spouting the final book of the bible like it was the only one they knew. And maybe it was.

There is almost a hope that they would take a break and at least read Mathew 6. (For you heathen types, thats the passage that says to go pray alone in your room.)

But, her reasons for not doing it could be as simple as not having a private room to pray in.

The world is her room.

And dammit, its a noisy room.

I got my scone and a coffee and had a seat on the patio to watch.

I would have bought the crazy lady something, but she was out here the other morning screaming about “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE” and I bought her a scone. For a moment, I thought she was going to come after me.

And when a 400lbs crazy woman with a scone turns on you, haul ass.

Because you don’t want whats coming.

There is not a technique in modern martial arts to drop 400lbs coming at you like a BO scented tornado.

You could get her in a couple of arm bars, break both of her arms and she may still come at you like the homeless version of the walking dead.

Little Lulu here could use a prop, something for people to focus on.

I once saw a homeless guy in Reno screaming Revelations at traffic with a 3 foot tall dark mahogany cross that he carried in front of him like he was the Majordomo.

She could use that here.

It would also ratchet up her danger factor and practically guaranty a visit from Santa Monica’s finest.

Because nothing fixes things quicker than a visit from the boys in blue. (Alright, boys in black. You got me.)

And despite my vicious attacks on the Coffee Bean, their clientele and the average age of customers being 92, I have come to enjoy both their coffee and their ambiance.

There is less of a shotgun approach to their music that is fairly pleasant on the whole.

And they don’t switch from one musical genre to another like they have the attention span of a ferret on meth. (Small rodents are not known for their addictions. Outside of a laboratory that is.)

The overall musical effect is one that backs my teeth away from that terminal itch feeling I have come to know so well.

What is it about these coffee houses that attracts me so?

Oh, caffeine addiction. Right. Forgot for second.

Glad I cleared that up.

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Talking a little crazy here.

I sometimes have a hard time coming up with an idea for a blog post.

After writing 500+ of these in the last 3 years, everything has kind of been done.

So sometimes, I just look for a hook, something that stirs my imagination when I hear/see it, and your imagination when you read it.

The post you are reading, I am writing the day before its due.

I got nothing.

Or, at least, I had nothing.

But as I was crossing the street to head into the Coffee Bean, 2 homeless people began loudly arguing on the corner.

And the hook fell, like manna from heaven.

Out of the mouth of babes, or in this case, a 400lbs homeless woman.

“YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE!”

I found myself repeating that phrase as I waited in line to get my caffeine fix.

And I came to a conclusion.

I don’t know her life.

However, I could probably make some pretty accurate guesses. (And I am ridiculously accurate when I am just guessing.

1. Odds are, we are not dealing with a graduate from a master’s degree program.

2. Perhaps the exact mix of the cocktail is questionable, but I am willing to go out on a limb here and say that perhaps drugs played a big role. (I have a whole slew of friends that will piss and moan and make all sorts of claims about the harmlessness of drugs. Sorry, my blog, my rules, and you get to gag on my opinion like a first timer in the big house.)

3. Whatever happened to old school crazy? Everyone wants to pony up excuses, well crazy is making a comeback. Whether its naturally occurring or chemically induced, there does come a level of fucked up that you just don’t come back from.

I can almost see the excuse fanatics lining up on this one.

“Judge not lest ye be judged.” Don’t go biblical with me, you’ll lose. That passage was not a biblical get out of jail free card. Its meaning was don’t judge cheaply or with bias, or you’ll be judged that way. Fine, use my own measuring stick against me and see how unsatisfying it is.

“Its not her fault, society/Dems/GOP/whoever is to blame.” No, they’re not. Ultimately, fault lies with her. Some situations have you seriously behind the 8-ball, but that is where the tenacity of the human spirit comes in.

“You don’t know what an addiction is like.” Yeah, I do.

“You are a racist/bigot/misogynist/cat-hater.” Entirely possible. Bias, preference and dislike are human traits. There are exceptions to every rules and there are examples that prove the rule. Case by case is how I take it. I have yet to meet anyone on this planet that loved everyone with the exception of the soon to be sainted Mother Theresa. (Rumor had it she hated the Italians.)

In the end, the secret to getting the crazy lady calmed down and away from flowing traffic was to buy her a cranberry orange scone.

Even crazy loves a scone.

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Dickens, motherfucker.

A tale of two cities.
To paraphrase Dickens, it was the worst of times, it was even more worst of times.

City #1 is in Torrance, CA.

I make no claims of being a saint.
But evil lurks in the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.
And, as it always does, it is in the form of a woman.
I will get some hate email for that line, but its true.
Women are the root of all evil, its a scientific fact.
Plus I read it on the internet.
The localized evil in the Coffee Bean has taken the form of a late teens girl named Sarah.
Sarah is special.
Not as in the mentally handicapped form of special, I mean self-inflicted special.
You can tell in the way Sarah drove up in the parking lot and took up two spaces.
The way she sauntered across the parking lot like her life depended on being the hottest chick alive.
Swag wise, if she were a dude, her dick would be hanging out.
At the front door, she stopped, and waited for a guy that was still 10 feet away to open the door for her.
She walked by the pastry case and eyed the goods.
Her order, when it came, was done while not looking who she was talking to.
One of those personalities that you hate instinctively.
Not evil at this point, just annoying.
And then her coffee came, and the evil began.
“What the hell is this?”
Turns out her latte was off.
Her next statement was double the volume.
“How hard is your fucking job?”
It went on with Sarah running at the mouth and embarrassing both herself and everyone that had to hear that shit spewing out of her festering gob.
This is why people’s food gets fucked with.
Sarah is the epitome of arrogant entitlement in this world, you can’t help but hate her.
And her parents.
I blame them.
Shitty kids come from shitty parents, its an old story.
And one that only gets worse every time you hear it.

City #2

Hawthorne California.
I try not to screw with people who could spit in my food.
Call it a personal thing.
And Papa John’s Pizza is the last place on earth I would screw with.
Because where they make their pizza’s, I cannot see.
That means if I am an ass, my pepparoni and sausage is getting either teabagged or an extra shot of DNA.
And nobody wants that, especially not me. (I mean the cold sore on the pizza prep guy’s lip LOOKS like its clearing up.)
But things are not looking good.
There are three people ahead of me.
The first two are given partial refunds and free chicken wings, mainly because it is taking so long.
The guy who ordered just before I arrived is losing his mind.
They end up giving him an entire pizza for his trouble.
And then it was my turn.
I ordered online, I waited 20 minutes before I came in.
They checked my id, assured me that the pizza would be ready soon.
20 minutes later, I asked and the guy checked, any minute now.
This is when the guy ahead of me got the free pizza and left.
And it was mine,.
Had to have been.
So, 45 minutes after I entered the front door, the Gump-like cashier finally fessed up that the pizza was either given away or not made.
Would I like a refund?
I WANT MY FUCKING PIZZA!
I told him to make it, and send out the manager.
In the mean time, I stood on my tiptoes to watch the guy make my pizza.
If he spit on it, he would have had to have done it when he put it in the oven.
And that is when the 12 year-old with the manager name tag came out.
He barely spoke english, the cashier spoke no spanish.
The pizza prep guy had to stop what he was doing to come over and interpret.
I am beginning to see the problem.
I told the guy that I had ordered 80 minutes ago, been in the building for an hour, and been assured by Gump 3 times that my pizza would be “Up soon”.
The pizza was cooking, and I would be taking it with me.
He would also be refunding me what I paid.
Then, he would be jotting down his name, and the name and phone # of the regional manager.
I am beyond dick at this point.
I don’t yell, but I realize that I am talking lower and over enunciating each word.
Translation: Pissed off.
This is why I will fight tooth and nail to keep $15 an hour minimum wage from happening. The job and the attitude are just not worth it.
You want to make more money? Work your ass off and get some skills and a raise.
And if you have no skills and are trying to raise a family on minimum wage? Shame on you. You are a brand of stupid that $15 is not going to fix.
And the pizza sucked too.
 
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Posted by on October 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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My whore complex.

There is something horrific about a woman in her 70’s that likes to chase men half her age.

For the record, I am not a whore.

But, this is what happened.

I was driving a long distance thing recently.

4-5 hours in a crappy rental car is enough to make anyone a little punchy.

I can drive that far only if I have adequate amounts of caffeine.

Which explains why I am in a Starbucks in a major tourist city.

And that was when I met Betty.

Betty is 70 years old.

I know this because Betty told me.

Would you like to know what else Betty told me in the span of 3.5 minutes in line?

1. Betty’s husband, Herman, sleeps 12 hours a day and has not had sex with her for over 25 years.

2. Betty loves men in their 40’s. (This was said after she asked me my age.)

3. Betty has the cutest condo, just down the street, and I should come see it.

And then she bought me Coffee and a scone.

Let me paint you a picture.

The grand mother of ancient whores is prowling tourist spots and attempting to buy souls for coffee and shitty English pastry.

And the worst part is, she is cheap and has low standards.

You might think I am smacking myself here, I’m really not.

I am a realist.

I am five feet nothing with a gut, a bad attitude and tend to scowl when thinking about things.

This is not the usual demographic of a gigolo.

I have had friends over the years that were the type of good-looking that men, women, and couples would hit on them.

I am not that guy, and I came to peace with that long ago.

There is a solid reason I developed this vengeful nasty attitude.

But, this is not about me, this is about Betty.

Betty is a realist too.

Betty is not searching for Mr. Right.

Betty is looking for Mr. Right Now.

Someone who would be more than willing to drop whatever they were going to do on a Tuesday at 11am at a tourist stop, and give up the goods back at her retiree, ben gay smelling condo, all for the price of a coffee and pastry.

I should be insulted, but I find the whole thing kind of desperately charming.

Betty is not from a generation that does this.

So my mind immediately goes to what road led Betty here.

She let me quiz her for the better part of 10 minutes before she finally figured out I was not a team player and just turned and walked off, getting back into line behind a mid thirties redneck wearing an Earnhardt tee shirt.

I watched the whole thing unfold as I ate my cranberry-orange scone.

Jethro, for lack of a better name, listened as Betty laid it all out to him. He then got his coffee, took a bite of the cookie she bought him, and headed out the door with a delighted Betty.

You have to wonder how it all turned out.

Did she enjoy herself? Probably. I mean this is evidently her whole thing. God knows how many times a day Betty is making the Starbucks run.

Did he enjoy himself? Probably. Women that old usually know their game well. Also, it may have been quite a while since Jethro got anything other than chafing marks from his right hand. Its called lotion people. Look into it.

Did Herman wake up and realize his wife is banging countless strangers in the guest bedroom? For all we know, Herman is dead and his memory is now being served up as part of Betty’s “Mercy fuck” pitch

Did I miss out? Probably not. I am in my own head often enough to know that this twisted little scenario is tailor made for nightmares and indigestion and being even more of a disappointment in the sack.

So, all in all, Betty actually gave me a better gift than some wrinkled ass and crying in the shower.

A somewhat lurid blog, which I always love, and an interesting half hour during a boring drive.

Plus, the coffee was good. (And I do enjoy a good scone.)

 
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Posted by on October 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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