Tag Archives: blonde

And I’m leaving, on a jet plane…..

I hate packing for trips. I get distracted and forget things. I can’t tell you how many times I have had to freeball it wearing sneakers without socks while travelling.

Leaving from Long Beach Airport instead of LAX seemed like a really good idea, despite the fact that I live less than a mile from LAX.

First of all, the Long Beach flight was $20 less. In retrospect, I really feel like a cheap douche for allowing that to make the decision for me. Besides, even though my girlfriend, my usual ride, was out of town helping to build a town in the desert, my mom offered to drop me off.

However, my folks decided after I booked the flight that a cruise to Alaska sounded better than dropping me off and booked it.

I would complain, but given the choice, I would have left them at the curb for the same thing.

While waiting in line at the airport, there are two girls in the security line ahead of me that are either strippers or want to be strippers. I think they would do well. They seem to have that quality of cheap slutiness that I love in a good stripper. This is a girl that instinctively realizes that an unasked for happy ending to a lap dance gets a much bigger tip.

Broken field runners are born, not made.

From listening in on their conversation, (no you didn’t – yes I did), they are planning to make a scene should they get the advanced pat down from TSA.

But not the scene you think.

The plan, as I understand it, is to begin loudly getting into the pat down as if the entire procedure is a wild sexual experience.

The strippers are beginning to grow on me.

They are planning on opting out of the full body xray.

However, even from where I am behind them in line, I can see that there is no full body xray machine. Long Beach doesn’t have them.

This is not phasing the strippers.

This is how it went down. The girls walked thru the metal detector without a beep and then told the TSA officer that they wanted to opt out, and would rather be patted down. Giggling the whole time.
The TSA agent was a husky woman that may be involved with MMA fighting. There is a “I am being nice, but don’t fuck with me.” look on her face.

“Can’t opt out of an xray we don’t have, grab your shoes and enjoy your flight, move along.”

It was one of those barks of command that makes you follow it immediately if you are not prepared.

The strippers shuffled off, thoroughly bummed. I felt a little let down that I would not get to what the fake public orgasm.

Fake or not, that type of thing is hot. For example, I do not think Meg Ryan is hot, but the scene in “When Harry met Sally” when she faked the orgasm gives me a semi just thinking about it.

I went thru security with no more hassles. The strippers were no where to be seen.


Two  Questions.

First question. What possesses a 500 pound man to travel on a budget airline with little skinny ass seats?

Second question. Where does a 500 pound man sit while flying?

Right next to me, evidently.

I spent an hour and a half buried alive on my way to visit my kids today.

I read an article a few months back about some huge guy that was out raged over having to pay for a second seat on a flight. The article raged about the inhumanity and embarrassment the airline caused this poor man.

I get it now.

To use an old line, the shadow of this man’s ass weighed 50 pounds.

Mean? Yes, Funny? Questionable. Is it a fact? I think so.

After a short conversation, it turns out that Jaba the Frequent Flier has a small plumbing business.

How the hell does a 500 pound plumber crawl around under the house?

The simple answer is one of physics and reality. He doesn’t.

I didn’t ask, he offered the info. Brand new apprentices will crawl around under the house and install your plumbing rather than the portly plumber. Plumbing put together but novices, after some quick instruction.

A really expensive form of DIY job. Except that when they leave, you are left with a plumbing job that has a timer on it as to when, not if, it goes wrong and pumps shit onto your lawn, and a whole lot of twinkie wrappers left at the side of the house.

At first, I was all excited about the flight. It seems that Jet Blue has installed all seats with tvs on the back of the headrest.

I can sit at home and flip thru over 250 channels for an hour before I realize there is nothing to watch. I don’t know what possessed me to think that Jet Blue would suddenly crack that code and be able to provide non-suckable programing.

As I dig out from the flesh burial that Jaba provided, I realized that tv would not be necessary.

The strippers were sitting in front of me.

A complimentary beverage was provided. The girls finally got the chance to opt out of something. A soda. They ordered white wine. It came in these little single serving bottles. The really interesting part was, that as soon as the stewardess moved out of eye view, the girls pulled little bottles out of their bags. How they got them was a mystery, either TSA didn’t notice or the little terminal store was selling wine that I did not see.

Wine is normally sipped. However, smuggled wine, drank by sloppy blondes mid-flight, is guzzled like cold medicine before school.

In short order, the blondes were drunk.

Thats when the discussion began.

Evidently, blonde number one is dating a gentleman with an enormous penis. Her description of it was both loud and used comparisons that you would never associate with genitalia.

Having a penis the length of a river bass may be an impressive thing, but I have no idea. I don’t like sea food.

And maybe the ladies out there can help me out on this one, but is having a penis shaped “Just like a cat’s head” really something you want? I am not a woman, but even I winced at that one.

The rest of the flight was a combination of watching various people around the strippers glare at them, no one manned up and told them to keep it down, and a continual motion of trying to get out from behind a wall of Jaba’s flesh that I suspect was his arm. It is like treading water, thick clammy water that smells vaguely of old spice and potato chips.

$20s in savings turned out to be pretty damned expensive.

Not all savings are in cash.

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Posted by on August 29, 2011 in Uncategorized


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Rearing its ugly head…Some heads are uglier than others

There is a brisk little business going on at Starbucks, and it ain’t coffee.

There is a husky little blonde running a full scale SAT cram group. Let’s call her Blondie.

There are 5 of them, usually at the big table if its available. They are there from 7 to 8.

Blondie runs a tight ship. She barks her orders and the girls march in lock step.

I have no idea what she charges, but if she can whip these dipshits into high SAT scores, she deserves a frickin medal. There are a few girls that I honestly wonder if they attended, much less graduated from, high school.
You always hope girls this dumb either marry well or lose their looks young. Otherwise, they are just a few months away from swinging on a pole for a living.

Pretty good rule of thumb is that is that if your job involves baby oil and glitter, you’ve made a pretty serious vocational error somewhere.

Not to bash strippers. Any girl who is willing to dance for a living, just to pay for college of course, should be commended for their work ethic.

Plus its hard for a man to criticize a woman in a G-string. Its an instinct thing.

But most women hate strippers. I have never been able to understand that, and in a weird way, I don’t really want to know why.

Back to Blondie.

You have to admire the entrepreneurial spirit.

But how does it stack up against old and bitchie?

Let me explain.

The big table at a Starbucks is the only area of the store that customers often have an agenda for sitting there. Business people, students, and those that feel the need to spread out.

And then there’s the Penguins.

The Penguins are a trio of little old ladies who come in every other morning to play cards. They order their tea, bitch unmercifully about the price, and play a card game that looks suspiciously like gin rummy, but I am not sure, because they cover their cards like high stakes poker players.

They look like they are from the old country. Not my old country, but somebodies old country.

I call them Penquins they always dress in dark colors, are kind of thin in the shoulders and broad in the hip.

I first noticed them one morning while walking to work. As I have mentioned previously, I park about a quarter mile from my office and walk down. As we are the last office building before the beach, parking sucks like no place else.

I noticed the three old ladies walking in front of me. They waddled along in a line. As an obstacle got in their way, they would waddle around it, still playing follow the leader.

And then it hit me. Penguins. I would have called them Lemmings, but I was unsure about getting them to walk over a cliff.

Some people have no sense of humor.

They went right into Starbucks. By this time, I was following along, having been unable to get around them without resorting to old school hockey checking.

They got their tea and complained in their little old biddie fashion, and then sat down to play their cards.

That is when the bitching began.

What was amazing was that it almost seemed that they were having 3 separate conversations, each one complaining about different people.

It was like a bitchie support group.

Enough background.

Blondie was mid chastise with one of the girls about her lack of understand of basic algebra, when the Penguins came in.

Blondie didn’t notice, but the Penguins immediately saw that their usual spot was occupied.

The Penguins waited in line, casting ugly looks at the main table.

It was developing nicely, but I think I was the only one that was getting the situation.

I love this.

The Penguins waited until they all got their tea, properly creamed and sugared them, then marched, I say marched damn it, over to the main table.

“You can’t have the whole table.” The head Penguin’s voice was a combination of shrill and crackly. It was an perfect combo of menace and wicked old, like a witch, maybe.

“We were here first.” Blondie didn’t even look up. She was a business woman and I respect that.

“We want to play cards.” The head Penguin tossed her cards onto the table like she was throwing down a gauntlet.

Blondie looked up. “What is it you want me to do about that? We were here, and we’re not done.” She stared for a few seconds more, then looked down at her book.

The girls, the students, were looking back and forth like anxious little animals, just about to bolt at the first sign that this gets out of hand. Its the smart move. Survival, more than algebra, seems to be their skill.

The Penguins were outraged. There are several things that I can see happening.

They might trade blows. I said might, I didn’t say it was the most probable, just might. And it would be the funnest to watch.

The Penguins should leave. They could go to Coffee Bean. Besides, the crowd at Coffee Bean was much closer to their age. Hell, they may even pick up a few more players.

And then, they did the unexpected.

Without saying a word, the Penguins moved as one to an empty small round table right behind Blondie. The little round tables were way too small to play cards on.

But they had no intention of playing cards.

They started complaining.

All three of the Penguins began chastising Blondie, discussing her lack of manners, rudeness in general.

And then it got ugly.

The Penguins got nowhere attacking Blondie’s behavior. The opening salvo was harsh.

“And not a pretty girl.”

5 words was all it took. Blondie kept staring down at her book, but I could see her eyes well up.

In that moment, they broke her.

It was over.

“We’re done for today.” Blondie closed her book, gathered her stuff and got up.

I thought she was going to head straight out, but she hesitated.

Blondie took one quick step and bent, her head about 6 inches from the ear of the head Penguin.

I have no idea what she said. Whatever it was, it was quick. She straightened, then walked out.

The head Penguin sat there for several minutes, saying nothing.

And then they played cards.

But the head Penguin never lost the haunted look.

Blondie’s parting shot messed with her for awhile.


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Posted by on August 21, 2011 in Uncategorized


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