RSS

Tag Archives: coffee

The new Walking Dead

The Walking Dead surround me.

Eyes glazed, faces slack, open sores on exposed skin, its not pretty.

You avoid eye contact, not wanting to attract attention.

But there are worse things.

The ones that pray upon the walking dead.

One of them spotted me just as I left the parking garage, making a bee line for me.

“Yo, my man! You want a free phone?”

This was said to me by a guy wearing an obnoxious purple tie.

Some backstory would probably help here.

I am doing a favor of paperwork delivery for someone and it has led me to a government facility.

The belly of the beast itself.

Nothing scarier than the phrase – “I am from the government and I am here to help you.”

Now imagine that you go to the monster’s den and bitch slap the beast awake and tell him “Time to go to work, MF-er!”

I stood in line for 10 minutes just for the metal detector.

The twitchy guy ahead of me was going to walk out of line twice, but seemed to talk himself into staying each time.

I knew how he felt, I didn’t want to be here either.

Turns out, our reasons for wanting to leave are different.

I want want to leave because my nose can’t decide if BO or urine is more offensive and he wants to leave because…

HE IS CARRYING METH!

When you walk up to the metal detector, the bored security guard shoves a tray at you and repeats “Empty your pockets into the tray and proceed thru the metal detector.”

This is where the drug mule ahead of me loses his shit.

The security guard repeats his line and the fun begins.

“Uh, what is, if I, just metal? Right? No? I should go…”

Out of nowhere, a security guard that may or may not have been a 300lbs ninja put his hand on the tweeker’s shoulder.

“Empty your pockets.”

The security badge makes you immune to the walking dead, apparently.

In the end, he was arrested, basically for being stupid enough to attempt entry into a government building while carrying:

  • A Meth pipe.
  • A weed pipe.
  • 2 separate baggies containing weed.
  • A very small baggie that contained a small white rock that I have seem on many episodes of Cops.
  • Yet another baggie of multi-colored pills.

The charge should have been felony stupidity.

An interesting thing happened once they busted him for being a retarded drug mule.

Half the line walked off.

When I was on the other side of the metal detector, putting my belt back on, I asked one of the security guards why they grabbed him, but didn’t even look at the people who left line.

“He set foot in the building, that changes it all.”

And I guess it does.

Even the beast has its rules.

You can fuck around all you like out there, but when you step thru the gates of hell, you better step correct.

On with my mission.

I got to the help desk and stood in line for 15 minutes only to walk away when I got to the front without asking my question.

Why?

Because the help desk lady smelled worse than BO and urine.

Any help coming from her had to have some sort of karmic stank on it.

Lord helps those who helps themselves and all that.

The directory on the wall told me where I needed to go.

Turns out the higher you go in the governmental tower of Babel, the more efficient the minions of evil appear to be and the nicer they smell.

The lady that date stamped the envelope and gave me a receipt was actually wearing perfume.

When I got outside, I paused to text the person I was there for, letting them know that they owe me WAY more for this favor.

I heard one of the walking dead trying to get people to get a “Free phone”. (Sadly I realized that the phones were not free. I was paying for each one of them. Sigh.)

“Naw man, I got a phone, I just need to get me some weed.”

The answer should not have shocked me.

“Over by the parking garage there a dude with a purple tie…”

Dammit I need some coffee and Xanax.

But I will settle just for the coffee.

I don’t have access to Xanax.

But the guy with the purple tie probably does.

Mmmmm coffee.

Advertisements
 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , ,

I can be dumb, but I’m not stupid.

Someone texted me this week and said I should write a blog about the Vegas Massacre.

Are you out of your fucking mind?

As it is, I get around 100 hate emails a month from people that take exception to the crap I trowel  out on this blog.

That is down from its heyday when I used to post every weekday.

There are some subjects that you don’t fuck around with.

Because writing a hate email is one thing, but you stoke that fire high enough and people begin to seek you out for the purpose of getting a pound of flesh.

And I like my pounds where they are.

Mass tragedies are a dicy thing to spin humorously.

Same thing with pedophiles.

I once knew a stand up comic who’s comedy was based on his level of drunkeness.

I went to one of his shows, and he was supposed to go on at 10pm, so he was pacing his drinking appropriately.

But, at 9:45pm, the bar owner said some friends had come in and were going on ahead of him.

My friend didn’t go on until 1am.

He could barely make it up the stairs to the stage.

What followed was the most vile, upsetting 10 minute spew of truly obscene pedophile jokes I have ever heard.

At the end of his set, the entire room was silent, except for the sound of a woman crying softly in the back.

Half the bar wanted to hold his arms so the other half could beat him with both fists.

It was an ugly night.

And that is how I view Vegas.

Don’t touch it unless I am prepared to talk my way out of an angry room that wants to gang stomp me as part of some sort of cosmic penance for my sins.

 

That being said, HOLY SHIT!

Its Friday the 13th.

And that has its own circus side show of terrifying shit going along with it.

I like to board up the windows on on Friday the 13th just on principal, just on the off chance that some sort of random Purge event erupts around my house. (Roaming gangs out for government sanctioned blood. That sort of thing.)

I see nothing unmanly about cowering behind barred doors with piss dribbling down my leg.

The vile things that happen on Friday the 13th are well documented, so the facts are on my side.

The biggest event that I could care less about, but did happen on the 13th was the shooting of Tupac.

So there you go.

Add that to the homeless guy outside Starbucks with the sign saying he needs money because “Raped by Weinstein, need money for therapy” and you have a bit of a bitch’s brew of evil going on today. (I gave the homeless guy a buck, by the way, for originality and for keeping up on current events. I appreciate dedication to craft.)

There is just something about this day that sets me off on an instinctive level.

On a gut level, I am firmly convinced that the world is out to get me.

I am even giving my coffee the stink eye.

So you KNOW its bad.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on October 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Nuns and hidden agendas

I often wonder what is the driving force behind old school shitiness.

I bring this up mainly because I found an old picture of me as an alter boy and I was reminded of what a better person I am than most. (I was an altar boy for a total of 10 days and then I was dismissed as part of the “Sacrificial wine scandal” of 1976. I was a victim.)

And then I came to Starbucks and just got in line in time to catch the tail end of a “How hard is your job?” berating of an irate dick head directed at my favorite barrista.

I was about to say something when the nun spoke up.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth?”

She was loud, she was angry, she had the most delightful jersey-girl accent.

And she was in full habit.

Nothing more intimidating than an angry nun in full habit.

Like a pitbull armed with a straight razor.

Bad memories, like PTSD, come boiling up from my past.

If you never went to Catholic school, its a lot like being a former resident of hell.

But going to Catholic school that is taught by nuns it like being in a prison and wearing a pretty sun dress that shows off your legs.

You know you are getting screwed at some point.

And its your fault.

Before you ask “What is my fault?” understand that EVERYTHING you do in Catholic school  is a sin and you are guilty!

Nuns are married to God, and it looks like a bad marriage.

Now, before my mother weighs in on this subject, let me state that I am a deeply devout man, or I am at least close.

But nuns have a general hatred of anyone with a spark of excitement for life.

And that is when I met them.

The penguins.

It started in first grade and continued to 8th grade graduation.

I had nuns continually riding my ass like a chronic hemorrhoid in a black habit and rosary beads.

First grade was when I was first expelled for accidentally stabbing someone in the neck with a pencil.

And blood is one of those things that cranks up the screaming.

You can apologize all you like on that one, you are not getting away with a slap on the wrist.

3rd thru 5th grade was the hayday of silly reasons to expel me.

There was the gambling ring, the extortion ring, truly innocent slave trading, and a misunderstanding involving a game of show and tell in the girl’s room. (All excuses are ignored when you have no pants on.)

My mother was a slick horse trader and alternated between being the school nurse and substitute teacher for 8 years, never being paid. (The penguins even had fact teaching credentials made up for her that evaporated when I graduated.)

The deal was understood.

Shut your mouth, tow the line and we will let that little bastard stay.

Not bad as far as back room deals go.

Back to modern day Starbucks and Sister Mary-Goomba.

She followed Mr. Rudeness over to wait for his coffee, glaring at him like a mad woman the whole time.

If anyone else pulled this kind of shit, they were either homeless or dealing with a different type of crazy.

Nuns get away with everything.

I got my coffee and began writing this, delighted at finding a solid blog subject.

They can be hard to come by.

“Friggin lesbians!”

This little muttered tidbit came from the guy sitting next to me.

I took out my earbuds, I had nothing playing, and turned to look at him.

Stir the pot.

“I know, right?” Apparent agreement is the quickest way to find out what makes someone tick.

He looked at me, maybe for the first time, then nodded slightly.

“They have a whole fuckin agenda!”

I sipped my coffee and tried to figure out if he was homeless or not.

Crazy was already a gimme at this point.

Some days you rack your brain trying to figure out a subject to blog about.

And then some days, they fall out of the sky, like some sort of literary coffee cake, to be paired with a delicious roast.

Mmmmm Coffee.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on September 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Now go wash your hands

Let me say, first and foremost, I am AGAINST goat rape.

Glad I got that out of the way.

And if you happen to be a goat rape enthusiast, I am judging you, sorry but it is what it is.

This twisted little train of thought came from a Facebook link a friend of mine posted.

It was a link to a news article about a man caught raping a goat.

It was a typical FB echo chamber of 20 people saying the same thing, but within the range of total outrage on one end to the ironically humorous hipster douchebag comments.

And then theres me.

My goal is not to contribute to the conversation, its to break it down into angry response discussion groups.

You find out a lot about people when they are pissed to the point of not being PC anymore.

“The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, the heart wants a goat.”

That was the opening line of my defense of the goat rapist.

On a positive note, I like to think that it truly united the entire group into a unified front of anger.

Directed at me.

Somehow, not denouncing the goat rapist made me the following things, all at once:

  • A racist.
  • Pro human rape.
  • Pro sex trafficking.
  • Anti feminism.
  • Pro elder abuse.
  • Pro misogyny.
  • A hater of all animals.
  • A Trump supporter.

And those were just the public comments.

The private messages were more fun.

One of the first called me the “N-word”.

I am still not sure of the connection between Goat rape and the N-word, but they repeated it a few times.

My favorites are the animal rights people.

Their strings are so visible and easy to pull.

Simply find out what their animal of choice is and disagree in an aberrant way.

The level of outrage when a “Sea Shepherd” type is told that dolphin is delicious can be heard from space.

In my defense, I don’t attack anyones belief system that didn’t come to me first.

It is selective bully-ism employed on the people that usually bully others, so its justified in my mind. (My perspective is wonderfully streamlined to make me the hero in almost all settings.)

I read the article and it took an odd turn.

The goat owner suspected his neighbor was sneaking into the barn to abuse the goat.

So you lock the door, right?

No, this guys plan was to hook up motion detector cameras and chain the goat out in the yard.

This is like suspecting your neighbor is a pedophile so you dress your little boy in a Catholic school girl outfit and play on his pogostick out in front of the neighbors house everyday in the hopes of catching him.

The goat owner is culpable in all of this, like a beastiality pimp of some sort.

By the way, if you explain this reasoning to people, it will not go well.

Some people are not ready to hear these kinds of revelations.

At least, not without coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on August 18, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Gentle versus a solid ass kicking.

Dylan Thomas was an English poet in the 50s.

Like all poets that means he was all about the pent up, whininess that permeated the overwhelming majority of poetry from that era. (Test reader is a poet, after reading that line I was told to go fuck myself. I think I am onto something here.)

However, in the realm of pent up emo angst, Thomas was a god and should have sacrifices made in his name. (There has to be perks for being the top of your field, even if its whiny.)

But, and this may be a valid question, why should morning coffee and Dylan Thomas go together?

Good question, let’s ponder that over a cup.

Heading into my favorite “Coffee and healthy sandwiches” place is difficult, there is a shopping cart blocking the door.

I tried to move it slightly, only to find that the back wheels are locked up. (This happens when you take a cart away from the boundaries of the supermarket.

Magnetic locks are cheap, easy and impossible to remove without disabling the cart.

Unless you are willing to pick up the back wheels and carry.

Like a wheelbarrow that is totally back heavy and unwheldy.

I take in the pile of garbage in the shopping cart and suddenly it hits me.

Homeless, and he parked his cart out front.

Like a homeless valet service was tipped an extra $20 and told to “Keep it up front.”

I went in.

Ordering was delightful.

The nervous young lady at the counter was splitting her time between me and the collection of people at the end of the counter.

  1. End of counter roll call:
  2. The manager.
  3. The assistant manager.
  4. A kitchen helper whose attendance might be just cuz.
  5. A large gentleman of Samoan descent whose button up, collared, untucked, white shirt says “Security”. (I wanted to call him Boagrius after a warrior from ancient Greece, but no one would get it. I hate being the only one who reads. Plus, Achilles killed him in glorious combat.)

“So what do you want?” Boagrius is big, but polite. (Fine it stays.)

“He needs to go. He is scaring people from using the bathroom.” (I am not sure this is a bad thing. Most men’s rooms look and smell suspiciously like an uncleaned monkey hut at the zoo.)

“Ok.” 

Good, I didn’t miss the opening scene. I hate that, it ruins the movie.

Boagrius saunters over to a table on the far side of the room.

It is pure serendipity that as I cream and sugar my coffee and then move to a table, that I have a perfect vantage point to watch.

The “Person of interest” is sitting at a table right next to the bathroom entry hall.

And interesting, he is.

Homeless is a gimme on the basis of BO alone. (If my busted nose can get a whiff more than 10 feet away, you need a serious delousing and a bubble bath. (And no toys, you are in there to get clean, mister.)

Older, natural aging or meth? (Both?)

There is a small cup of coffee on the table. (It has however, been torn up. This says meth to me, something I have seen them do. I don’t get it either.)

Along with 3 notebooks that I can see words and drawings on from 20 feet away. (This appears to be one of those homeless researchers. Usually, they focus on conspiracy theories. Chem trails are big with them for some reason.)

Bogrius is a big kid, Samoans are not a tiny people.

But he is polite and professional.

“Pardon me, sir?” (Leading with a polite “Sir” is a solid move, right up until it backfires.”

“WHAT?!?!” (Backfires)

As an opening line, that is a line drive home run.

The pure angst and whiny persecution in his voice immediately makes me name him Dylan. (And you thought I forgot about the Dylan Thomas shit at the beginning, didn’t you?)

“Sir, management would like you to leave.” (I like Boagrius because he stays on script, no deviation. A nice quality in a huge security guard.)

“But I bought a coffee!?!?” (Universally, this will be even the most unacceptable homeless guy at least an hour or two in the majority of coffee places. Like a low price ticket for admission.)

“Management called security, sir.” (Solid argument. Boagrius is not new to this.)

“What if I call security on you?!?!” (Plot twist, some of you saw that coming.)

“I am security.” (So who would you call?)

What happened next really bothers me.

Mainly because I didn’t hear it.

Boagrius leaned in and spoke very softly.

It couldn’t have been a threat, his body language was wrong. If anything, Boagrius and Dylan both relaxed halfway thru the comment, whatever it was.

And then Dylan got up, and gathered his notebooks.

He and Boagrius left together.

Dylan lifted the back end of his shopping cart and began to roll away.

He stopped.

Turning, he reached out and rapped on the window, pointing at the manager.

And flipped him off.

Defiant to the end.

“Do not go gentle into that good night”
“Old age should burn and rave at close of day”
“Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Dylan knew his shit, I wonder how he took his coffee? (The poet, I mean. The homeless guy is drug addled to the point of possibly not knowing anything of value anymore.)

 

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on August 4, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Amusement and ADD

“Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right. Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.”

Sipping coffee.

Surrounded on both sides by borderline weird.

On my right, is old, plain and simple.

This couple is so old, you cannot figure out how old they are.

Old enough that I didn’t realize there were people that old out there.  (Contemplated several “Farts dust” comments and decided against.)

They did not use the seats that came with the table.

They roll with their own seats. (Literally. Their walkers have built in seats.)

And the weird thing was, they didn’t have to move the chairs that were in the way, they just kind of disappeared.

They rolled up to the table and people just kind of grabbed the chairs and moved them.

No words were exchanged.

And the old folks said nothing.

They just sat and sipped tea.

Starbucks just became the afterlife’s waiting room.

I am waiting for the Grim Reaper to walk in and ask if the chair across from me is open.

And on the other side…

“What is so important, Chuckie?” The voice is tired, and the conversation just started. You have to wonder why.

“Charles, please.” Being corrected by a decidedly effeminate voice holds it own special brand of annoying.

“Fine, Charles.” The sigh is a gimme. “What is so important?” (I present the rest of the conversation without my comments, to preserve the integrity of the art.)

“The power is out at my apartment.”

“When did this happen?”

“2 days ago.”

“2 days?!?! Dude! What did you do about it?”

“I have sent the management company several texts.”

“Texts? So you have been living in the dark for 48 hours? Did you check the breakers?”

“I don’t know what those are.”

“Chuckie, you are fucking useless.”
“It’s Charles. Stop being crude and help me.”

“Why are we meeting here? Why not have me meet you at your place?”

“I just couldn’t even today.”

“What the hell does that mean anyway?”

“I would call you a menace, but you lack the ambition.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Yeah, I will help you. Fuck you are useless.”

“Belittling me is not helping.”

“I’m just amazed. Fucking amazed. Fine, lets go.”

“We can’t yet.”

“Why?”

“I’m waiting for a caramel macchiato.”

“Oh my God!”

Now, for a little scenery.

“Chuckie” Has the little brother feel to him. His hands are soft and you can tell that whatever he does for a living, its not strenuous and he rarely breaks a sweat.

“Older Brother” is dressed in a vintage AC/DC t-shirt and shorts with work boots. His hands have the look of a construction worker.

The two look enough alike that they have to be brothers.

Except for one thing.

Older brother is thin and maybe 5’3.

Chucker appears to be 6 foot plus.

The genetic keno game odds on this one boggles the mind.

It was at this point that one of the old folks on the other side of me, remember them? Anyway, one of them, no clue who, farted pretty loudly.

The wife looked across at the husband.

“What?”

I sipped my coffee and looked straight ahead.

“Clowns to the left me…”

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on July 21, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , ,

Talking about ass here…

“Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one.”

Someone threw that line at me recently.

As my twisted mind spent the next 20 minutes finishing that line.

Here are the top 3 second halfs to that phrase:

Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one-

  1. And unless its your own, it stinks. (Think I’m wrong? Next time you are at the bank, bend over and stick your nose in the ass crack of the lady ahead of you. Once the effects of being maced and/or tased fade, see if you can remember if it stank or not. And if she was hot, the test is now tainted. Guys will accept anything for hot chicks.)
  2. And mine is better than most. (I have to say, this is the God’s honest truth. My ass is awesome. I’m not saying you could bounce a quarter off of it like when I was a pre-teen alter boy, but if I shaved it, man or woman you could not keep your hands to yourself.)
  3. And keep your finger out of mine. (I think that line speaks for itself.)

There comes a point when you need to recognize that your opinion is just that, an opinion.

And then…..

Let it the fuck GO.

I have had 3 instances that simply pointing out the hypocrisy or the irony about some screed that someone posted online led to upset.

And the level of butthurt that went on was shocking.

2 of them were about how to live your life.

Vague, tough love credos tend to be the type of thing that goes over big in the off the rack society generated by social media.

The one thing that they all seem to have in common is that they badger you about how big a waste of time social media is, while using social media links like the biggest attention whores on the internet.

The 3rd one had such a solid base of hypocrisy, it was like the literary version of slight of hand.

It started off talking about the ultimate acceptance of all things and all people and posited that everyone is right.

Religion, politics, social conventions, and anything else you can think of.

And then, the next 3 quarters of the screed was a promotion of their personal religious/political belief is the only thing that makes sense to the point of other beliefs being ridiculous.

The biggest mistake you can make when dealing with the echo chamber mentality of modern thought, is to voice either a contrary opinion or not praising it immediately.

And I want to feel bad, but there has to be a line where people stop being coddled.

The base understanding needs to be made that not everything one person or group believes is right.

Sometimes, and lets all take this step together, sometimes there are multiple correct things.

And this is where coffee comes in.

Because when someone makes a comment that you either disagree with or you think is simply half tarded, you can just pick up your cup and take a long sip, then sigh, and say the following:

“Eh, what are you gonna do?”

At first glance, I realize how that line looked to those who have never done it.

But try it, honestly, you will be shocked.

Its the move that they will see as whatever they want it to be.

And it saves the butthurt.

Plus you get to drink your coffee.

Life would be easier if all communication was centered around coffee.

Mmmm coffee….

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on June 23, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,