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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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Weeping for the future.

I realize that my attitude and general intellectual elitist attitude can put some people off and throw their panties in a twist.

Which is kind of why the email war happened this week.

First of all, I was an alter boy.

If that doesn’t tell you what kind of moral high ground I am coming at you from, I can’t help you.

So trust me when I tell you, I know me some morals.

So you can’t send me a hate email proclaiming my general evilness while doing so in much the same way I crossed the evil finish line.

Because I will be the first to call bullshit.

Thats like trying to end gun violence by shooting every gun owner.

Stabbing would most likely be allowed, but I am not on the rules committee.

Please understand that I am not here to engage in a debate on the subject of your choice.

And if you email me with complaints, my whole goal becomes this twisted revenge filled plot that even Machiavelli would have had trouble sorting out.

My email responses take on the equivalence of a literary sucker nut punch.

I am not necessarily proud of that, nor am I ashamed.

And my victory comes when you are to angered to continue and I get your final response of an obscene phrase, all in caps, with some sort of claim that this argument that you started is somehow beneath you now.

Pussy.

Don’t step up if you can’t throw down.

And then I can get on with my day.

Because I have shit to do.

But Katy, however, does not.

Katy? Who the hell is Katy. you may be asking?
Katy is just the girl who can’t can’t say no, to steal a line from Oklahoma.

She has six kids, she has 2 inch long nails, a pair of what should be illegal daisy dukes and the total inability to keep her legs together.

And she is parked on the stone patio sipping a latte with her evil brood.

And evil they are.

First of all, there is a BO stench coming off of them that is criminal in nature.

That alone puts her on my shit list.

It takes time to bath young ones, I raised two of my own, I know the drill.

But Katy is not putting in the time.

She is too busy being popular to mess with that shit.

And the Lord of the Flies re-enactment going on in front of me is tearworthy at the least.

The Saga of Katy’s kids:

Two of them are involved in digging the flowers out of the planter.

One of them has had his right finger up his nostril for so long, I think it may be attached.

What appears to be the oldest will not stop pushing one of the little ones down onto the ground.

One baby girl child has taken off her fouled diaper and is walking around with a naked bottom.

And what is Katy doing?

Texting and Snap-Chatting, because she does not have anything else to do.

Aside from raising a generation of serial killers or at least minor league felons, she may be the poster child for the fall of Western civilization.

I usually listen in, but rarely get involved with the animals in the zoo.

Today, I may make the exception.

Raise your kids any way you want as long as you are actually raising the kids and not just sitting on your ass making more kids and collecting more checks.

Is there any fucking morals left in the world or is it not PC to call this little honey a ho?

Its like an episode of Jerry Springer going on right in front of me.

You know who would get a kick out of Katy and her unique method of child rearing?

Children’s Services.

But I get the feeling that they already know Katy pretty well.

However, there are times that Karma gets off its lazy ass and does its damn job.

I began to see more than a few faces at the windows inside the Starbucks.

And then I saw them, murky thru the glass.

The Sheriff’s are here.

Along with a mystery guest.

She is a very tired looking woman in a plain semi-business suit.

She has children’s services written all over her like a tattoo on her forehead.

As the sheriff’s enter the patio, I recognize one of them as an acquaintance who I have done obstacle course races.

He gives his head a quick jerk to the inside and I recognize my que.

I move my little party to the inside.

My sheriff friend knows I blog, and doesn’t mind it, so if he thinks my being in here is better, I will roll with that.

As the door closes, I know why.

Katy erupts with language she should in all rights, never allow around her kids.

It is muted, but I can hear her call the Children’s Services woman by her name.

It appears that they are old friends.

“Sorry about that. Hopefully, this helps make up for the unpleasantness.”

The voice pulls me out of my musings.

The manager is holding a plate with a cookie and a steaming cup of coffee.

I smile and nod and take the plate.

I am amused that the manager thought this bother me.

I bite into the cookie and chase it with a sip of coffee.

Thru the window, I see Katy yelling in the children’s services lady’s face.

Dinner and a show.

And the coffee is hot.

PART 1 of 2

 
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Posted by on August 26, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Whatcha gonna do?

“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

Dr. Seuss forgot one part.

Unless of course, you get a snoot full of meth.

Its not as flowery or even comes close to rhyming like the legendary prose of the good doctor, but there is a nasty little snatch of truth in it.

So why am I trotting out the wraith of Seuss?

Because the tv show Cops is real.

Let me explain.

I got a an activity tracker a few months ago.

It has gotten me into the guilty habit of coming to the end of my day, realizing that I have not done anything for my health, made me feel bad that I refuse to go jogging, so I go on 5-10 mile walks.

But where do you walk to, you ask?

Somewhere to write.
I pick Starbucks that are a good stretch of the legs and hit the road.

And it worked.

In a couple of months, I have logged 1 million steps.

What does that have to do with Dr. Seuss?

Be patient, I am getting there.

I also suffer from ADD.

I get bored easy, so going to the same Starbucks all the time goes stale pretty quick.

Which leads us to today.

I have been walking for over an hour and I am now less than a mile from my chosen destination.

And I am sitting at the side of the road on a low wall watching the decay of modern society.

The cameras are not here, but this is an episode of Cops, I am sure of it.

Mom is in a bathrobe, chain smoking and alternating between screaming at the cops and crying and trying to comfort Joey. (Not my mom, of course. She stopped smoking decades ago, and you could not get her outside in a bathrobe without makeup unless you put a gun to her head. Even then, she may just take the bullet, mom likes things just so.)

Back to Joey.

Joey, is her little pride and joy.

At least, he was about 25 years ago, now he is a drugged out mullet wearing handcuffs and sweating like he is in a sauna.

And if you really wanted to wrestle with the police, why would you wait until you are handcuffed and surrounded.

Joey loves a challenge, evidently.

I really love police dogs.

They are almost always German Shepherds, one of my top 3 favorite breeds. (The other 2 are Irish WolfHound’s and Shih tzu’s)

The police dog is really wanting in on the fun here, but he is being barely restrained by a large cop no doubt with a heart of gold.

[[ADD SIDEBAR]] The Starbucks I am in stopped playing self indulgent Lillithfair crap music and played a 4 pack of Run DMC. They were the shit. [[END]]

Where was I?

Ah, my disappointment that there was no meth head mauling by the big puppy.

Now, you can screech at me all you like about this next line, but you are still wrong.

Joey did this to himself.

Meth and ignorance are a personal choice.

You’re goddam right I said it.

Its a disease, you whine.

Polio is a disease.

Meth is a personal choice made up of equal parts ignorance, lack of faith (In God and self) and poor parenting.

Personally I feel there is a lack of Irish genealogy here, but I cannot find the science to back that up.

“Are you happy now, mom?!?!” Joey yelled this as he was leaning across the hood of the patrol for the pat down.

Let me answer for mom.

No, no she isn’t, probably hasn’t been happy for a long time.

I read somewhere, “At any moment before you enter the gates of hell, you can change your luck.”

I have always felt there was a part of that missing.

You can change your luck, but only if you know you can.

I am going to jump out on a limb here and say that mom and Joey have no clue.

More’s the pity.

 
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Posted by on April 8, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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