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The Turd Burglar

Usually, I get to Starbucks and then things happen.

But today, everything started without me. 

When I got to Starbucks, the police had been there for awhile. 

Nobody got hurt, but it was an odd little shit show for a brief period.

Now, I am not one to judge…..

Ok, even I can’t bullshit that one, I am nothing but judgement. 

I think I would be happier if I could add jury and executioner to the list. 

But let me continue. 

In my completely unbiased opinion, the tweaker piece of shit in the back of the patrol car was not a good looking guy before he discovered his deep and abiding love of meth.

Let’s call him El Diablo.

The broken table I am still trying to figure out.

The urine on the sidewalk is also a mystery. 

According to several people who responded to my inquiry of – “What the hell was that?”

  • El Diablo was briefly in line at the cashier and was “Gacking bad”. (Still Googling that one, no clue.)
  • El Diablo may or may not have had his dick hanging out. (The couple that told me this are split on this. She says no, he says yes. My opinion? Why is he checking out El Diablo’s package?)
  • El Diablo (Let’s jump the gun and just call him The Suspect, shall we?) anyway, the Suspect then knocked  over a display of expensive coffee beans, then began screaming and cursing until the police arrived. (Actually, it was just a display of coffee beans, they are all expensive. When was the last time someone said “I can’t believe how cheap coffee is these days.?”)
  • The Suspect, when officers were taking him to the car, stopped in one spot on the sidewalk, refused to move, then pissed himself. (This is one of the greatest protest moves ever. Kind of like a karmic “You can’t fire me, I quit!”)

Police officers are notoriously closed mouthed about what goes on when they are investigating something.

However, you catch the right cops on the right day…

I walked by two cops laughing quietly off to the side. 

“So I told him that if he has any drugs on him, its a felony to take them into the station. He immediately ponies up that he has a baggy up his ass. I ask why, and he says – I always keep my drugs in my ass, then I can’t be robbed!” (This sentence is just wrong. I keep looking at it to see if there is spelling or grammar issues. There are none, my mind is just balking at the content.)

Then the other cop’s reply made my day.

“Except by the turd burglar!” 

Oh my God.

I almost pissed the sidewalk myself.

Take him away boys.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Book #4 is out!!!

The 4th book of the Caffeinated Humor series!!!

All the content you love, packaged together for your entertainment.

Get yours now!

Click this link! ——>It’s the Coffee Talking: Caffeinated Humor 4

 
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Posted by on July 18, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Let’s all cry together in a safe space.

“If you have a feeling or an emotion, you don’t HAVE to freeze in place until you figure out who to blame.”

That’s my quote, I threw it out there in my last post.

And got some complaints about it. 

There was 3 in total and they all boiled down to the same thing.

“Walk a mile in someone’s shoes before you talk about it.”

They didn’t use that phrasing, but theirs sucked and this is my blog.

Several things.

First, I don’t need to even try someone else’s shoes on much less walk in them to know that they won’t fit me.

Second, not everything is about you. 

And if you think the walk a mile comment is not self-centered at its core, let’s all hope you marry money because the whole thinky thing is not your specialty. 

We live in an age of outrage.

You name it, someone is outraged about it.

There are 2 types of outrage.

The first is that honest old-school outrage. 

They are pissed and let you know it. 

On social media, it looks like this: “Hey asshole, F-you and F your opinion.”

I can respect that one, at least it’s up front and not hiding.

The second kind is the most common form of outrage.

Passive aggressive. 

“I think its funny how people like to make fun of _____.”

It’s preachy, a touch whiny, and basically goes down a bunny hole of political correctness that you either “Get it” or you start to get compared to “Nazis”.

And the list of things you are never allowed to talk about in anything but a reverential tone is as long as your arm.

The recent earthquakes, being bullied as a child, being underpaid, being discriminated against for any reason, not getting what you want and claiming its discrimination, being tall/short/male/female/old/young/Christian/Muslim are all on the list. 

If you are still having the issue, I wish you well on your road to getting that fixed. 

But, if this happened more than a decade ago? 

Let it go.

Stop letting your past define how you react to the present and the future. 

I have a good friend that has about a foot of scar tissue on his arm from a dog mauling when he was a child. 

The only time in the last decade or more that I have heard him mention it was to shut up some guy and his girlfriend when they commented on his joke about an attack dog. 

My friend is also a fisherman.

So when he began playing out the line for dipshit and his girlfriend, I sat and listened.

“You ever been attacked by a dog?”

“Plenty of people have and they probably wouldn’t think it was as funny.”

“But have YOU, ever been attacked by a dog?”

“My mom used to have this little dog that used to snap at us all the time.”

“So that is a no?”

“If you want to be technical…”

And then my friend pulled up his sleeve and shows the gnarled flesh.

“Let it go, stop bitching at people, move on with your life.”

Except that we have conditioned people to feign outrage over anything and everything.

I have always found those that feel it’s their job to chastise everyone else to be profoundly offensive.

The narcissism involved in assuming that you are the only one with any sort of emotional content in connection to some sort of life event is stunning. 

Yes, sweetie, we realize that it’s all about you. 

But, you need to look in the mirror and forgive someone, smack your inner toddler on the ass, call mom/dad/sibling/ex and forgive them.

And leave the rest of us alone. 

Please believe my sincerity when I say this.

Shhhh, nobody cares.

(Sidenote: My test reader just texted me and commented “Wow, who shit in your Cheerios today?)

(Good question.)

 

 
The books are out! Check them out here! The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on July 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Too little, too much and too dumb to know either way

Boxer Joe Tory once said “Pizza is like sex. When it’s good, it’s very good. When it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.”

And I believe that. 

You get what you give. 

Here’s why. 

Mandy.

Who’s Mandy?

Mandy is the 40 something woman on the patio of Starbucks who is on her phone, having a thoroughly rude conversation about her sex life and believes my headphones being on mean I cannot hear her.

But there is no music playing in my headphones, I can hear Mandy loud and clear.

So listen I did.

And what follows is a 20 minute description of Mandy’s sex partners for the last year, evidently there are more than a few.

And her final description of all of them, the summing up, the “review” of her carnal playmates?

“They all suck in bed!”

Wow. 

All of them?

Well, if anyone would know, it would be Mandy. 

But I do have one question.

It’s for Mandy, but you can mull it over if you like. 

Once you’ve had sex with the first couple dozen guys, and they ALL SUCK.

Doesn’t the thought occur to you that, maybe it’s you?

Mandy’s bed may be the killing fields of sex, the place where good sex is sad and without hope.

I honestly have no way of knowing I am just guessing at this point. 

But my accuracy when I begin guessing is legendary. 

But maybe I am biased and more than a little jaded.

So, I checked with the internet and did some quick and dirty research about what makes good sex. (Don’t Google “Hot Sex”. It’s a LOT of video research plus you risk carpal tunnel.)

I found a Millennial blog ALL about how to have great sex.

Here are the top three pieces of advice:

  • Meditate. (They even specified that you are NOT meditating about sex. Being at peace gives you the “Dick of death” or something.)
  • Masturbate a lot. (I actually exploded with laughter on this one, snotted myself and everything. The level of stupid here is frightening.)
  • “Understand that, for most women, sex is a violation.” (Great, sex tips from someone who hates sex. I am getting a semi as we speak. 

Mandy is going to be fine, she is just shitty in bed. 

But the Millenials are going to die out as a generation. 

Kids, you don’t have to freeze in place every time you have an emotion and refuse to move until you have figured out who to blame for it. 

What started out to be a fun little romp about Mandy and her revolving door panties has taken on an even sadder edge as we contemplate that a huge amount of the 20-somethings out there will be the last of their bloodline, dying out without an extinction level event as its cause. 

But I am sure the kids will figure out who to blame. 

 

The books are out! Check them out here! The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The performer enters the stage

It’s Armageddon my friends.

The world is ending, the seas are drying up, the animals are all extinct and all of humanity will perish.

All for the lack of a power outlet.

There is a meltdown of sorts going on in Starbucks.

Not some random, out of the way, middle of nowhere Starbucks, but my favorite one, close to home.

I will call him Power Tie.

Power Tie is important, you need to know that, first and foremost. 

Power Tie is wearing a 3 piece suit on a hot day. (For the record, its a cheap suit.)

Power Tie has 2 laptops because he is SO FUCKING BUSY! (However, they are really old laptops. I checked the model when he went to use the bathroom and Googled it. It was originally sold in 1997 and used Windows 95.)

That is where the problem came from, the old laptops. 

There is an excellent chance that the batteries no longer hold a charge, so they need to be plugged in at all times. 

When Power Tie first came in, he set up shop on a double table and began to unpack.

It took him 10 full minutes to completely unpack and set up his 2 laptop setting. (External mice on both, mainly because one of the laptops didn’t have a touchpad. Power cords carefully plugged into a power strip.)

And then he realized that the spot he had chosen didn’t have an outlet.

What started as a low level rumbling mumble with the occassional “Fuck” thrown in, has become a full blown obscene hissy fit that would embarrass a retarded sailor. (I have a friend who is a marine and is of the opinion that all sailors are retarded. Seems to have a grudge there.)

I rarely get involved, but I am a little shocked at the severity of the butt-hurt display in front of me.

“There are outlets right there.” I point at the tables across the way.

Karma loves a good joke as much as anyone. 

The tables across the way just opened up and no one has taken them. 

Power Tie eyed them for a long moment with that look you get when you are contemplating some shit on your shoe.

What follows was the oddest combination of grown man/petulant child throwing a fit and stomping his whiny ass back and forth, each trip taking only one item to the other table. 

The scene was a cautionary tale for how not to raise a child to become this kind of a pathetic adult. 

But, to be honest, there was a part of me that was honestly enjoying it along with my coffee, like a flakey pastry.

I felt like I was witnessing a fine performance art piece, majestic and raw. 

And Power Tie stayed in character, truly committing to the scene.

Bravo, artiste, bravo.

 

The books are out! Check them out here!The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on June 28, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The aroma of a disreputable God.

I may be cursed.

I have tried to find an old gypsy woman to verify this, but have come out with snake eyes so far.

I usually live a life that is an interesting cross between golden-child kind of charmed and red-headed bastard son of a medieval lord.

Odd combination, but I usually come out on top.

Until today.

I have mentioned my sense of smell, or rather lack of, before?

For those who are new or not paying attention, I have had some unfortunate breaks of my nose that have ruined my sense of smell.

Among the many scents I cannot enjoy, body odor, affectionately known as BO, is one of them.

I also cannot smell most flowers. (This is almost a crime.)

But not being able to smell BO? I am ok with that. (It almost, but not quite, makes up for no flowers.)

Again, until today.

I am in a Starbucks I have never been in before. (Is that even possible?)

I set up my laptop, grab my coffee, cream and sugar to perfection and head back to my seat.

And then it hits me.

The smell.

I have never smelled a human like Crepitus before.

Crepitus has BO on the level of decomposition.

Check that fucker for a pulse, if you dare to get that close.

Crepitus, for those who don’t have time to research ridiculous crap like this, is the Roman God of Flatulence.

Might be the walking dead for all I know.

Good show, but who knows where the extras on that show go between seasons? (I can’t prove they are not using real zombies in that show.)

Anyway, the smell is an overwhelming thing, like a person unto itself.

A really obnoxious person.

With a personality (Smell) that is aggressive and in your face.

Like an olfactory version of a used car salesman.

They say that the course of human events changes because of the deeds of great men.

I disagree.

I think the course of human events changes because of the stench of random people.

Smell makes the world go around.

However, smell is currently making me lose interest in my coffee, its THAT bad.

There are those people in life that have such a narcissistic view of the world that they have no clue about how they affect the world around them.

No man is an island.

Bullshit.

I can name ten that are land-locked islands with no sense of the other islands on all sides.

And they are not going to change any time soon.

And then, as it always does, shit changes. (Do you see the irony here?)

Crepitus gets up, possibly shits himself, and leaves.

The door opens a few times, letting a little more fresh air in each time.

A woman sits at the next table that has what I would normally think of as too much perfume.

But not today.

Today, even shitty perfume in quantity is a delight.

Now that Crepitus is gone.

And I can get back to my coffee.

 

The books are out! Check them out here! The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Escaping the cult

HOW I ESCAPED THE CULT OF APPLE

Hello, my name is Will, and I used to have an iPhone.

Hello Will.

As the twelfth step of my electronics rehabilitation, I will explain how I got out of the IOS cult.

I came to the iPhone from an abusive relationship.

Metro PCS. (Lovingly referred to as Metro POS. [POS=piece of shit])

The phone was called an Android, but I cannot be sure that was true because the phone rarely functioned enough to know.

I left POS and went to the Sodom and Gamora of phone carriers, Sprint.

They gave me an iPhone for free, part of a promotion of some sort.

In reality, it is considered polite for a drug dealer to give you your first hit free.

But then you are their property, and they abuse the relationship.

So you spend the next two years under contract, figuratively on your consumer knees, servicing your provider.

It is rare that anyone gets away from their slimy clutches, but it happens.

You hit rock bottom and finally say enough is enough.

You break your digital chains and run to the promised land. (Slavery/religious metaphor? Really?)

The promised land is T-Mobile, by the way.

I went back to Android like a man making a jailbreak.

It was liberating, it was exhilarating, I finally felt like a free man.

For the first time in years, I stopped checking my data usage everyday like its a checking account that might have been hacked.

And maybe got a little crazy, who wouldn’t?

I may or may not have bought an international phone that competes with the $1K phones, but only cost about a third because they don’t sell it in the US. (Not sure if that’s illegal, but I don’t fuck with the feds.)

Here is the simple truth.

iPhone is cool if you are old or electronically retarded. (Yeah, I went there.)

Android is for adults who know how to find and use the settings on their phones.

If this sounds arrogant, sounds like you are paying attention.

I am not one of those, I got out and you can too, I believe in you.

I am more the “Later Losers!” as I slam the door.

By the way, it is shocking how fast you get used to the fingerprint reader on a cell phone and you wonder how you ever survived without it.

Let’s go over what we have learned so far:

  • Metro PCS = Piece of shit.
  • Sprint = Carrier pimp
  • There is but one cell God and Android is his prophet. (Should I be nervous about this one?)

I will be nurturing for a moment.

If you have an iPhone, its not really your fault.

You fell for the hype and let yourself be dumbed down. It happens.

The important thing is that you are now aware and can make plans to leave your digital pimp-daddy.

There are shelters and places to go where Apple will not find you.

And you can start your cell life over.

Just make sure they transfer your contacts.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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