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Can I have some more, please?

I have been accused of being uncaring.

I am not denying it, but I did have to ask for clarification about WHAT I am not giving a shit about. (I may be an asshole, but I am a specific asshole)

Turns out my rude critic was talking about the fact that I have not written a post in 2018, and THAT was why I was uncaring.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I haven’t written anything BECAUSE I care.

I haven’t seen anything that has gotten my sarcastic muse wet in the panties.

The well has gone dry, I am burnt out, I may never write ag-

I was walking down the street and saw an old dog, laying on a porch, licking his balls, and then it hit me.

We are all here for a reason.

Time to get back on the horse.

So I went to Starbucks and looked for inspiration.

And it turns out that inspiration keeps a tight delivery schedule.

Sitting next to me was the coffee shop version of Job. (To those on you unlettered heathens, its pronounced “Jobe”. Job was the whipping boy of the scriptures. God let the Devil gang beat him like a ginger and he never lost his faith. Thank God it was him and not me, I don’t have that kind of fortitude. I get a papercut and I am questioning my existence.)

 

The story of Job.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…etc.

Blah, blah, blah, you know the rest, its the opening line from A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.

Here’s the thing about Dickens.

He was an asshole when it came to life.

Everything being dark and sad and people living in such shitty conditions that the kids in the UNICEF commercials would be willing to take a break from waving the flies out of their mouths for a few minutes and pony up a couple of bucks.

So, if you ever want to ruin your day and shift into a “What’s the use? I may as well kill myself” type of mode, pick up a copy of anything written by Dickens.

Why the hate rant on Dickens?

Because the guy next to me has the saddest story I have ever heard and his name is Oliver. (Started out as Job, then morphed to Oliver. Its a reach, and I acknowledge that, but fuck you, its my blog, I am God here, and it is what we are going with.)

Oliver, it seems, has lost his job. (Pronounced “Job”, if you are a millennial, you are probably wondering what a job is. Ask your parents, if they will still acknowledge you in public.)

And, “Hanna” has left him for someone he knows. (Wife or girlfriend, I am not quite sure. But she is out there, legs in the air, doing shit that career fetish hookers charge high dollars for and its all pro-bono. (Pro-bono isn’t the right word there, but the hooker-bono linguistics are spot-on funny.)

And if that sore on his lip is an indicator, Oliver has a little herpes going on. (Either given to him by or he gave it to, the disloyal skank Hanna.)

Turns out Oliver is wearing those special ortho shoes that has one sole taller than the other, indicating that both of his legs are different lengths. (I almost left this one out, even I have a hard time believing that little detail.)

“But what is your biggest problem right this minute?” I hate getting involved, but someone has to ask the obvious question.

Oliver pondered, went to take a sip of coffee, stopped and shook the empty cup, laughing.

“I’m out of coffee.”

And then he hobbled his unlucky ass up to the counter for a refill and a scone.

At least he has his priorities straight.

Mmmmm coffee.

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Posted by on February 16, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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Season’s F-n Greetings

There is a meme going around facebook that says “Do this for fun after Xmas.”

It shows a Christmas tree, rolled in plastic and taped up to look like a body. It says to drag it to the dumpster midday, wearing a hoodie splashed with ketchup and sun glasses. They said to look around a lot and act like the tree weighs a lot.

Its worth a 2 second chuckle at most, but do yourself a favor and don’t do it.

If you have never had the FBI put the boot to your front door at 2am, its a holiday treat that is not to be missed.

Best to be in the middle of the living room on your knees, hands on your head with your fingers interlaced.  (They are still going to boot you prone and put a knee on your neck, but at least you will have a shorter distance to fall. There is a background soundtrack of shouted “STOP RESISTING!” that puts a definite spin on the event.)

If there is a silver lining to that little life event, its that while they are filming, hopefully you will not see it on an upcoming episode of Live PD, just in an intimate viewing during your trial.

Anyone who thinks this sounds fun has a masochistic streak that the Marquis De Sade would envy.

But thats just me.

There is an entire segment of society that seems to think tagging something as “It was a joke” or “I wasn’t serious” seems to put their get out of jail free card up in lights.

I spend a lot of my spare time writing a lot of offensive shit.

If it offends, trust me, that was my intention.

I have had people unfriend me, stop talking to me and on a couple of occasions, been threatened with an ass kicking.

I am ok with that.

I am not a badass, but I have had my ass kicked before, by people who know what they were doing.

Every now and then, I see an episode of Cops that the “perp” leads police on a car chase, ditches the car, foot race, and then, finally, gives up and seems shocked when there is a knee on his neck and a night stick halfway up his ass.

“Alright, I give up!”

Its so cute that they think that will help de-escalate the situation, its also more than a little sad.

This is a glimpse of the future and it is a sad one.

Sad because there is a whole dumb segment of the public that will say “Dude! He gave up. They don’t need to be rough with him!” (I am of the personal opinion that they need to take him out back and “Old Yeller” him, but thats just me.)

And that is where a middle of the night case of micro swamp-ass comes from, the realization that these ass clowns are next up to run the show.

God help us all.

I feel better having gotten that little rant off of my chest.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programs, memes and cat videos.

And for God’s sake, have some coffee and stop breaking the rules.

But mainly, have some coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 

By the way, New Years is just a few days away. Do yourself a favor and try not to F-up your year and get arrested.

Not that I care, but if you are being raped in prison, you are not reading this blog or having decent coffee.

And THAT is the real crime.

 
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Posted by on December 29, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Under the mistletoe. #METOO

The week before Christmas is rarely all sugar cookies.

Lotta shit goes down twisted.

There are some years that have been that bad that you are afraid to be caught under the mistletoe because you could get “Roofied”. (Happy “Cosby” Xmas!)

The darker side is, there is usually a death around Xmas that slows the holiday cheer just a tad.

Think I’m kidding?

I have had Grandparents, cousins and a favorite pet pass away around the holidays.

My rotten suspicious side begins to wonder if Santa is involved somehow?

I mean, he is making a list, checking it twice.

Serial killers are known for making lists.

Let’s look at other red flags surrounding “Old St Nick”.

He lives in an isolated area and keeps to himself 364 days a year.

Has an associate with a Euro first name who’s nose is always red? (Rudolph? A coke-head? Bear with me.)

He breaks into numerous people’s houses and eats their food. (Homeowners have yet to find him passed out on their kitchen floor in a puddle of his own piss, but its just a matter of time.)

I am shocked we have not seen Santa on an episode of COPS. (The plates on the sled come back stolen, Santa is “Borrowing” the sled from a friend who’s name he can’t remember and that baggie of powder in his pocket? “That’s not mine!”)

It would be worth the soul-crushing disappointment just to see the Jolly Fat Man being fed into the back of a patrol car in handcuffs.

 

Just had a frightening moment.

I was sexually harassed.

I thought I was going to have to do a #METOO post on Facebook.

I was sitting here, reading this piece on my laptop, when I felt it.

A hand brushed my testicles.

I ignored it, maybe someone bumped into me.

And then the hand began fondling me.

I froze.

I was humiliated, I was embarrassed.

And then I realized the hand was mine.

False alarm.

 

In true caffeine-soaked, grinch-like fashion, I didn’t finish the blog ahead of schedule and have it post early today.

I am belting it out and will immediately post.

Although, that was how the first 6 months of the blog was done, nothing ahead of time, and that was some incredible stuff. (I can wait hear if you want to use the archive on the right to read the first six month. Summer 2011 was a good time for wine and shitty blogs.)

Everyone up to date? Good!

I would love to have some sort of excuse for my laziness, and I got nothing.

So lets throw the holidays under the bus.

Looking like a pretty good Christmas, beginning to shake a minor cold and have back to back 3 day weekends for Xmas and New Years.

I even allowed the barrista to shake a little cinnamon and pumpkin spice into my coffee, just to be festive.

So I am drinking Christmas today.

As long as Christmas tastes like coffee.

Mmmmmm coffee.

God bless us, everyone.

 
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Posted by on December 22, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Ho, Ho, Hoe

Sometimes the holiday season can come upon you like an STD, painful and embarrassing.

And you find yourself worrying about it on the toilet a lot.

Its a lot like stages of grief.

Denial. “It can’t be Christmas already?!?!” (Stop posting affirmation memes on FB for 2 fucking seconds and look at the calendar.)

Anger. “I hate how commercial it is!” (And yet YOU feed the beast, every year.)

Bargaining. “Alright, I can skip the gym 2 days a week and just budget my time tighter, that will work, right?” (It is one of those lines that you know are a lie when you say them. Its your baby, sure I’ll pay you back, I’ll pull out, that sort of thing.)

Depression. “Fuck it, I don’t care, this year is just fucked because of blah, blah, blah.” (There is a certain charm to being totally fucked, but that statement makes no sense to those who have never bottomed out.)

Acceptance. “I am going to get a good tree this year!” (Control the shit you can control.)

That being said, Christmas is coming, time to start fat shaming the goose just prior to his death.

Personally, you couldn’t make me eat goose with a gun to my head.

I once ate foie-gras (Goose liver, but God knows what they do to it.) in Paris during my peace mission to France. (My Great grandfather was a war hero and hated the French with a passion he usually reserved for the English (We’re Irish) or the Italians (Just because).

Foie-Gras was so foul I suddenly understood my great grandfather and the French. (2 bottles of wine later, I tried foie-gras again. Still nasty.)

I work with one of those annoying vegetarians that claims to be much healthier but is always out sick.

I am an unapologetic carnivore.

Meaning that it wouldn’t bother me to be in on the kill, but my work schedule prohibits it. (For the record, the last time I was sick was 2 years ago. Sinus infection that cleared up in a few days.)

My immune system is a lot like a 6’8 special forces soldier, its not afraid of anything, it just figures out how to kill it.

But go ahead and eat your fucking bean sprouts.

Can you feel Christmas in the air?
People are spending money and planning for the day.

It quit being a religious day for the masses awhile ago.

And I am ok with that.

Faith is Faith, you either have it or not, regardless of what day you get off of work.

But, when the day comes and you end up roasting in Hell, don’t come bitching to me.

I will be having a steak with the Almighty while you and the vegetarians get yours.

I am not wishing hell on you, just to be clear.

Vegetarians, yes., fuck those guys.

Oh, and coffee, there will be coffee.

I am fairly certain the Almighty is a dark roast guy.

Happy holidays.

Mmmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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One for the ladies…

There is a holiday show on right now that has a penniless single mom who gave some woman CPR on the way to work, saves a life, is fired by the shitty Grinch she works for for being late and after a LOT of HIGHLY improbable “Notebook” type shit, she finds true love and the woman she save sends her a Christmas card with a few grand in it.

And I found myself changing my ways.

My caffeine soaked, Grinch-like heart has grown three sizes and I am about to toboggan my hairy ass down the mountain to Whoville.

Because that’s where the money is.

The next well monied old biddy that goes tits up in front of me has my full attention.

I will suck start that old broad back to life.

Right after I run her credit.

She’s turning blue, I will get eye contact for a sec.

“WHAT’S THE LAST 4 OF YOUR SOCIAL? THE LAST 4?!?!”

She has over a 750 and I’m jingling her chimes for the holidays.

I will be in the will before the paramedics get there. (I am a registered minister. I can perform it all myself. I am also a notary.)

Have I upset anyone?

Awwww, and don’t I just feel terrible about that?

It is officially that period between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

That time of year when anyone connected with retail laments their life choices and plots their suicide.

If you are a parent, you might be lamenting your life choices and plotting your suicide.

While the rest of us give thought to what to get our kids for Xmas. (I used Xmas on purpose. Lets leave Christ out of this, its more about the shopping. He was never a big shopper anyway.)

Stock market is booming, people are working and life is good, right?

Depends on who you talk to.

Half the government is denying they wiggled their dick at anyone and the other half is busy apologizing for it.

Thank god they are not outing regular Joe’s like me.

Have I wiggled my dick at the opposite sex on occasion?

You’re goddam right I have!

But, while I have never been prosecuted or forced to step down from a job, I might hesitate to run for office.

What is so sad is, the first accusation comes out and these entertainment bigwigs/politicians immediately claim it never happened, they don’t remember it and never met the accuser.

And then more accusations come in, like there is a line forming in the hallway.

And then their career goes the way of Bill Cosby.

Now, I would like to take a swing at Bill Cosby and his 54 rapes, but it suddenly occurs to me that I have a daughter.

So fuck that guy and his brother Russell.

Its almost upsetting enough to ruin my coffee.

I said almost, lets not get crazy.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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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.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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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.

 
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Posted by on October 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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