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Anybody dead yet?

Paraskevidekatriaphobia: Fear of Friday the 13th.

Excuse me while I shit myself sideways and die.

Its no secret that this day in particular tends to give me an immediate case of swampass.

And you people are READING it on Friday the 13th as if its nothing.

Well, dipshit, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but…

We’re all gonna die.

Look at the logic, for God’s sake.

There is ONLY ONE Friday the 13th this year, versus 3 last year.

This year has all of the power crammed into one day.

Think this is bullshit?

Anyone want to guess when the last year was that had only one Friday the 13th in it?

2001, the year of 9/11.

Ha!

Now, I know that half of you are ready to get into the panic room I have been building to ride out this evil storm and the rest, morons really, are skeptical.

Anybody ever see the movie the Purge?

That is exactly what is going on.

Anarchy, blood in the streets, dogs and cats- living together. MASS HYSTERIA! (Name the movie and you get sprinkles.)

And the twisted part of it all is that I am forgoing my time honored tradition of huddling in the dark and crying like a little girl for the day.

I will be thumbing my nose at the beast and going hiking.

There is an excellent chance with will be the last blog ever written as I will be dead at the bottom of a cliff by 9am tomorrow, both legs broken and gang-raped by bigfoot and the chubacabra.

I was going to say that there are worse ways to die, but I can’t think of a worse way to die right now, that sounds pretty F-ing horrible.

But, I have been bitten pretty badly by the hiking bug and I am heading out every day off I have.

Like a healthy form of meth, I am pretty deep into the addiction.

It is better for your body than meth and you never have to blow anyone in an alley for a trail.

So I’ve got that going for me.

Turns out, that after a lifetime spent growing up in southern California, I suddenly found out there are amazing trails all over the place.

And it may be the cheapest hobby on the day to day.

Decent shoes are a must, along with something to hold water and food, hiking poles are nice, shade hat and sunglasses.

But you can piece it all together on the cheap and as long as you have the free time, you can go binge on your addiction all you like.

I will get sick of it eventually, but for right now, I am loving it.

But hiking on Friday the 13th has that extra edge of masochism to it that makes it pretty exciting.

I wonder what its like to die in a landslide?

Without coffee?

Now THAT is scary.

Fuck it, I am staying home.

If anyone needs me, they will find me in my panic room, sipping coffee and crying like a little girl. (Possibly masturbating, but this is a don’t ask/don’t tell blog.)

My condolences.

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Posted by on May 13, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Its better to look good than to feel good.

Murder can be sexy.

Fur is loudly screamed about by animal rights activists as being murder.

Mainly because it is.

But so is eating meat, and according to scientists – eating vegetables, and just about anything else we do to stay alive on this planet. (Studies have shown that vegetable matter emits an electrical pulse when plucked from vine or main plant, much akin to a scream. So vegetarians and vegans are filthy murderers like the rest of us.)

But here is part of the problem, fur is just so damn sexy.

Here is a test:

Doesn’t matter if you are a man or woman, just do this.

Imagine a celebrity that you find sexually attractive.

Now imagine them naked, in a seductive pose.

Its hot, right? Works for you?

Now imagine them wrapped in snow white fur.

Just got a little hotter in here, right?

That is why it will never go away entirely.

It has been on the decline for a few years, but I just read an article that shows that fur dealers are showing a huge increase in demand.

Thank god.

Perhaps the day will come that I can go to a steakhouse and be served an 18oz ribeye by a buxom waitress clad only in a floor length mink. (As far as masturbatory fantasies go, this one is a half notch above staying after class to help the playboy substitute teacher “Clap the erasers”.)

Maybe not, but it is still intriguing.

But what led us here?

Lizzy.

Lizzy is a twenty something airhead from an affluent side of the beach cities.

Her friend, who’s name is unknown at this time, comes from the same hood.

And the only reason I know Lizzy’s name?

Because her friend keeps repeating it.

The friend, let’s call her Whiny for lack of anything better, was already in the beach area Starbucks when Lizzy arrived.

Whiny has been sipping a $10 incredibly difficult coffee drink and texting like it will cure cancer since she arrived.

(I was here when she arrived. I am always here, I am not sure I ever leave.)

Lizzy came in wearing a beautiful outfit that nicely showed off her figure.

And a white mink shrug.

The fur took a beautiful girl and cranked her up into bombshell.

Whiny’s first, second, third and fourth comments:

“Lizzy?!?!” (When she saw the shrug)

“Lizzy!” (When Lizzy asked if she liked it.)

“Lizzy!!!” (When Lizzy snuggled her cheek into the fur and said it was real)

“Lizzy!” (With a condemning and envious head shake as she ran her hand along the fur.)

I have often mentioned that I have a hard time imagining a girl young enough that I might have fathered her to be sexually attractive to me. It is an intellectual thing. My mind shuts down the primal reaction.

But, Lizzy in white mink? Primal has tied up intellectual in the basement and will let him out only after the orgy is over.

That is pretty sexist, misogynistic and a few other things, but it is what it is.

One of the biggest mistakes of modern society is that we try to ignore that we are animals at the top of the food chain, and there is primal baggage that comes with that rise to power.

We are a picky bunch of Omnivores. (Look it up.)

We need to accept that existence causes an even balance of pluses and minuses.

Quit hammering one group because the deaths they cause are not as bad as, in you opinion, the deaths you cause. (Deny that one all day if you like, if you’re being honest, you are agreeing. Disagreement only means you’re dumb.)

Keep in mind, as I say this, a waitress just brought me my ham and eggs.

Not the best choice for a strict vegetarian, but what are you gonna do?

 

 
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Posted by on January 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Till death do we part.

“You aren’t listening to me, are you?” (Angry)

“What?” (Too loud)

“You never listen to me, do you?” (Angrier)

“What?” (Louder)

“I could drop dead and you wouldn’t lift a finger to help me, would you?” (Kind of a simmering cold anger that is even worse.)

“What?” (Like a freight train, brutal and unstoppable.)

There is a magical kind of drama, and drama is such an inadequate word, to a couple that have been married and lasted long enough to grow REALLY old together to the point of hatred.

It is awesome to behold.

They hate each other, they really do.

But divorce is not even in their vocabulary, not a chance.

Love, honor, cherish, till death do they part.

The only thing left is the Till Death part.

And they are both waiting, nay HOPING, that the other dies soon.

It is a vile and beautiful thing to witness.

She looks a lot like the Crypt keeper from that old horror show. (Google it, I’ll wait.)

Got the visual?

He has a look of permanent terror on his face.

He has been seated the whole time I have been observing him and the missus, but I am willing to bet he takes 2 inch steps when he walks.

We are a weaker generation that we think Fuck You is the ultimate verbal attack.

There is a true gladiator’s feel to the skill of a true Fuck You conversation.

I am in awe.

This pair of wrinkled old warriors are lions, to be feared and respected.

This kind of fight is not a sprint, its a marathon and you cross the finish line when you opponent keels over.

I am in a dark place right now, and its a brutal place, scary and forbidding that makes you look at the beauty of a long time marriage and then stew in these kind of seriously vile thoughts.

And salvation is just around the corner, in the form of coffee.

Hot and fresh and available for just pennies.

Live is good, sun is out, birds are chirping, and the adorable old couple could not be cuter.

I love caffeine as a drug, it can fill the tank in a ridiculously short amount of time.

Addiction, with cream and two splendas.

And then they try to chip away at my drug induced Dome of Solitude.

“Did you hear what I said?” (Its him being angry this time.)

“What?” (She is truly playing this card.)

“I just told you something!” (Angrier.)

“What?” (This is a masterstroke of the fuck you genre of hot mess replies.)

“Ah, you are to old to talk to!” (He even waved his hand at her in dismissal. I almost shit myself trying to keep from laughing.)

“What?” (Now I KNOW they are just fucking with me. You could see this scene playing itself out as if it was written on a page.)

But it has not touched my euphoria.

And I am leaving before I am sucked into the vortex of negativity.

Because if you ungrateful shits know anything about me, you know that I am all about being positive.

I try to keep the bad stuff from staining my Disney-like purity and innocence.

Outside, there is a breeze, on the chilly side, but the sun is out. Low 70’s with a wind chill.

I am dressed in Southern California winter wear.

Shorts, running shoes, and a hooded winter coat.

Mmmmm good coffee.

 

(Here is how twisted up my head is. I have been laughing for the last 5 minutes because of the line immediately above this one. All of that shit, then “Mmmmm, good coffee.”  Once again, it occurs to me that this blog is a lot of the time, just for me.)

 

 
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Posted by on November 20, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The smell of doom.

I am not sure how much more I can take.

Everyone has been acting all week like this is no big deal.

Like I have not been in danger of shitting myself at any moment.

Friday the 13th, like its nothing to worry about.

Here is a fact:

  1. 18 years ago, on FRIDAY THE 13TH, I broke a toe on the doorjam of my kitchen.
  2. 22 years ago, on FRIDAY THE 13TH, I not only walked into a spider web, but I inadvertently swallowed a spider. (Pucker factor alone made me throw up a little in my mouth just now.)
  3. In the last 30 years, the following job-ending activities have happened within a few days of FRIDAY THE 13TH: 2 layoffs, 1 boss died, 1 fire and the accidental killing of the boss’s wife’s cat by my own negligence. Lotta negative shit here, people.

Now that you have a little back story, you can see the clear connection to a random number on the calendar and how it will be directly responsible for my oddly suspicious death.

So feel free to tempt fate and wander around today while death tries to fit you onto its schedule later today.

I will be hiding under the bed with my coffee and numchucks.

What I don’t get is that people wander around like everything is fine.

Would I be under the bed if everything was alright? Of course not.

Which reminds me, I need to sweep under the bed.

But I think we have all forgotten the fact that the FEAR of bad things happening on Friday the 13th is founded on scientific principles, proven as fact again and again.

I read that on a website on the INTERNET, so you know it’s true.

The only thing that would make it more true is if someone posted it on Facebook, the you know its a fact.

And there are those that choose to be ignorant and belittle those of us with the experience and wisdom to see the foul karmic shit storm today poses. Let them stew in their silly denial of the truth, then cry like slow children when fate takes a shit on them.

Me? Safe under the bed, highly caffeinated and heavily armed.

Outside? Zombie holocaust. Or something. I wouldn’t know, really. Not gonna look. Its horrible, whatever it is.

But, if the fates are kind, it won’t be too bad.

I gotta go to work tomorrow.

 
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Posted by on November 13, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Heres to the little, big man, Mickey Rooney

It seems like all of the talent in Hollywood is either already dead, or just died.

Like Mickey Rooney.

Mickey, for those to young or ignorant to know, was the shit.

He owned Hollywood for a brief period.

Sing, dance, act, and had comedic timing that even the greatest comics would envy.

He married Ava Gardner.

Even if you know who that is, Google the name and click images.

Yeah, thats her. One of the most stunning women in Hollywood history, and she married him at 19. A picture of Ava at 19 will make an old man blush.

And she was all about Mickey.

Mickey, however, was all about anything in a skirt.

Apparently, Mickey screwed almost every woman in Hollywood at one point.

“Mickey went thru the ladies like a hot knife thru fudge.” Thats a quote from Ava Gardner, and she would know.

At 5’2, all teeth, and A GINGER, Mickey’s dick made the rounds.

Good for him.

Some of my best childhood memories are laying on the floor at my Grandmother’s house, in my footie jammies, watching Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland get into and out of mischief.

It was awesome. There is a special place in the afterlife for a man who leaves phenomenal memories behind when he goes.

Mickey outlived almost everyone he used to run with. Did a few good films in his later years.

There is something to be said for tradition. Mickey came from that great Hollywood tradition of “Be squeaky clean in public and Caligula on a binder behind closed doors.” The scandals are bigger, but the parties were legendary.

So raise a glass to Mickey’s memory next time you are out, pretend to spill it on some huge guy, dodge his punch, dance your way to the kitchen, along with numerous funny pratt falls, then sneak out the back and screw the guy’s girlfriend all night long.

Perhaps that is were the phrase “Slip her a Mickey” came from.

This was the Roofie scenario of the 50’s. “Something” is put into a young lady’s drink and she wakes up naked, with sore privates. A LOT of young ladies woke up naked, sore privates, and an adorably snoring Mickey Rooney laying next to her.

Out of respect for the deceased, I have not mentioned Mickey’s penis.

Till now.

Evidently, Mickey was packing. 5’2 with the dick of a man 6’4, if the rumors are to be believed.

Mickey was everyman, that was why we loved him. But only if everyman had a big shvance and serious Hollywood game with the ladies. (Shvance might be Yiddish or possibly made up. Not sure.)

Whether you believe the stories or not, Mickey was part of that Hollywood royalty that we came to love so well.

And he was one of the few left.

Goodbye, Mickey. I will miss you.

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

 
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Posted by on April 11, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Death is not a secret.

Popquiz hero, what do you do?

 

Bomb squad in the hizzy, y’all.

There are 3 members of the pd bomb squad sipping coffee in the El Segundo Starbucks.

Its a little daunting, I mean, are there really that many bombs going on in beach cities?

Even the cities that butt up against LA Airport?

Evidently so, the bald one with the extra bulky kevlar vest under his shirt just finished his coffee and declared that they better get going, it was going to be a busy day.

Am I the only one that is more than a little scared about the fact that the beach city has a serious full time bomb squad? Couldn’t they just be part timers, meeting once every few months to update paperwork?

As I watch the bomb squad get in their ominous black SUV and leave, I notice that people are beginning to arrive for the daily meeting of the “I want to die, soon” club.

There are just 2 members out on the patio right now, lighting up.

I have never seen people aggressively smoke like this.

Most people smoke by taking a drag, and letting the smoke sit in their lungs, then letting it out.

Its disgusting, but that is how its normally done.

Not these guys.

Suck a lungful of that smoky death and then let it out and take another hit before the old smoke is completely out of their mouth.

The overall effect is like picking up disgusting in a bar, taking it to dinner, slipping it a roofy and then treating it like a naked farm animal for the rest of the evening.

So its really gross.

You have to wonder what makes someone hate themselves to that point that dying a horrible death is desirable.

Its not like its a secret anymore, if you smoke, it will kill you.

It even says it on the pack.

I thought killing yourself was illegal?

I once heard a kid give a really stypid opinion about smoking.

To be clear, the kid was barely out of his teens, so old enough to make his own choices, but young enough to make really stupid choices.

His claim was this, a friend of his went to a doctor who told him that the human body can absorb the toxins of a couple of cigarettes a day without a problem.

The level of ignorance is pretty deep on this one and the “I weep for the future” is obviously implied.

At the time, I said nothing, mainly because I wasn’t sure where to go with that.

“Your an idiot.” Seemed too obvious.

What left me stumped was where to go with this for maximum insult.

Lost opportunities and all that.

The one thought I keep circling back to is that this is more of a modern version of nature thinning the herd.

This kind of stupidity removed from the gene pool is not necessarily a bad thing.

I subscribe to the “Everyone is responsible for themselves” thought process.

Not a popular thought process, by the way.

We do live in an era that absolutely no one is responsible for anything, except the rich, they are responsible for everything else.

Thank god the smart asses are not on the dime for anything.

First, you would have to find one of us who gave a shit about anything but our own amusement.

Lets face it, we’re a shallow bunch.

And we like it that way.

 
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Posted by on February 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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