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The art of mean.

Being mean is not something you set out to be, its a place you end up.

Like closing a bar and going to Denny’s, you didn’t start your night with that destination in mind, you just ended up there.

But, if you stay open-minded, you can enjoy being mean just as much as being kind.

You just don’t get that karmic after-taste of satisfaction that being kind leaves you with.

That cosmic pat on the back and a celestial “Atta-boy!”.

And why am I mentioning it?

Because I am being mean.

And I am loving it.

Here’s why.

There is a Family with a baby at the next table at my favorite breakfast spot.

And it is not a young family, these are mid-40 parents.

And here is my problem with that.

When a teen or 20-something has a kid, that kid is their whole life.

Both parents focus on that kid like its the only thing keeping them alive, and it just might be.

But, and this is not all 40-somethings, I happen to know a 40-something single mom who is a great mother. (As well as being breathtakingly hot.), but the overwhelming majority of 40-something parents have too much shit going on to make the child their sole focus.

Here is the cast of characters at the next table:

Baby- Pretty much had a low level crying fit going the whole time he was there. I have seen this before. Not a good looking kid. Seriously. Some people win the genetic lottery, and those Irish among us know what I mean, but some people really just rolled snake-eyes on that one. This kid has a life-time of disappointment ahead of him.

Dad- His name is Don. I know this because it was the only clear word I could make out from Mom. Don took the lion’s share of the blame for many things from the moment they walked thru the door. He lived in his cell phone.

Mom- Not sure what her name was, not sure she needed one. She had the unbelievably annoying habit of whispering everything except her husband’s name. Instinctively, I don’t like her. Can I use the word bitch here without being sexist?

And here is what I am doing.

I am annoying Mom.

Dad is sitting with his back to me, Mom is facing me and Baby is in a high chair at the end of the table.

Early on, Baby hit is vocal peak for a second and I looked up and rolled my eyes.

And locked eyes with Mom.

The glare was epic.

She was at that point in her life that the baby is a reflection of her.

And total approval is what she demands of the world at large.

And it made me laugh.

I stayed poker face, but it was close.

I love to annoy women like this.

Over the course of the next 10 minutes, I rolled my eyes, sighed, hell, I even thru up my hands at every little squeek that came out of that kid.

And it was driving Mom fucking berzerk.

About 5 minutes in, Mom started whispering to Don, because obviously, this was his fault.

It took a whole 5 more minutes before she hassled him into doing something.

Finally, after I sighed a little too loud, Don put down his phone and turned around.

“Do you mind?” It was said almost politely. Dammit Don, if you are going to confront, be an asshole about it.

And here is the completely childish response from me.

I have a lazy left eye that drifts off if I am not concentrating.

So I let the eye drift off, badly. Right eye is looking at Don, left eye is looking at the wall.

It disturbs people for some reason.

I pulled my headphones out of my ears. They aren’t on, but if they were, I would not be able to hear what they were saying, would I?

I slurred my voice. “I’m sorry, am I bothering you? Sorry, sir, sorry.”

The whole thing together was a confusing thing to deal with.

I could see it in his eyes.

“Oh, uh, no no, its ok.” And Don turned around and got in a whisper fight with Mom.

And it really did not help that Mom caught me smiling and looking at her with both eyes straight.

Please understand that I am not exactly proud of this little episode, but I am not ashamed either.

But it was funny at the time.

 

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Posted by on August 28, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Silence of the naughty fruit.

Got your freak flags out? Let em fly.

What is it with cheap motels and squeaky floors?

Just like there is an art to making a squeak free floor, there must be a polar opposing art to making one that squeaks that badly.

Maybe the squeeking flooring masters, much like the Persian rug weavers of old feel that perfection is the sole realm of the Almighty and insert a squeaky flaw as a sign of respect.

Either way, I cannot take a step anywhere inside the bathroom without announcing to the other residents in neighboring rooms that I intend to flip trout.

I even tried to limit my time doing anything in the bathroom, toilet related or not, just so they wouldn’t think I had picked up a sudden case of Montezuma’s Revenge. (No need to Google that. Monty’s revenge is a wicked case of the shits.)

Although, I question the repairs that are obvious throughout the room.

The door jam is a darkly stained wood. But someone kicked in the door at one time or another and tore out the completely ineffective door chain. The replacement wood is white and unstained.

And when someone scratches graffiti into the surface of a mirror, you have to replace the mirror. You cannot sand that section of the mirror  or IT STOPS BEING A MIRROR. But thats just me, I can be picky.

And while I have never heard of using spackle to repair the side of a tv, I applaude the ingenuity. However, if that method of repair is why only 3 channels are available, perhaps they should have used a different type of filler compound.

I had originally decided not to mention the tenants in the room next door, but I kind of feel like I have to now.

I try not to judge, (We all know I do, but I am on my soap box) and I am a firm believer in the rights of people to do whatever vile thing you want, as long as it doesn’t involve me. (Unless I am invited, then I am MUCH more understanding.)

But the lady next door has the ugliest sounding orgasm I have ever heard.

I think if your orgasm has a high end fugly factor, it is perfectly acceptable to fake it at that point.

How the guy did not suffer spontaneous ED is beyond me.

At first I was hoping that she was alone and the only thing being abused was a vibrator or innocent piece of fruit. (Not that I would wish that on anyone, but inanimate objects accept pain so much better than we do. Or maybe they just can’t speak, so we don’t know. But Pfizer doesn’t make Viagra for fruit, so I think I am in the right here. And while we are here, I have never heard of a cucumber screaming or crying.)

Anyway, as I type this, the unpleasant freak show next door is on round three. I may have ED for the rest of my life.

When I first heard and realized what was going on, I smiled, thinking that something naughty and fun was in the offing.

And then, much like getting a strong whiff of sour milk, I suddenly lost my appetite.

And that is tough to do, I have a libido like a runaway freight train, destructive and single minded in purpose.

But the train is currently off of the tracks. Let Freud make of that what he will.

The way I figured out that she had a partner is when I heard him groan.

It sounded like a groan of pain, or maybe a sob.

I wonder if that kills her unpleasant orgasm when her partner sobs uncontrollably?

Or does she even notice?

When a jackal tears the throat out of a water buffalo, does it wonder how the water buffalo feels about all of that?

Probably not.

In the end, I went looking for a cheap motel and that is exactly what I got.

At least I didn’t get crabs from the bed.

So thats a bonus.

 
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Posted by on June 12, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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A rose by any other name, is still just a dirty blog.

“TWO HOUSEHOLDS, both alike in dignity,

In fair Starbucks, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes barrista hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes,

A pair of star-cross’d barristas risk their jobs”

Something like that.

Tears in my eyes as I write this. Its so touching, so beautiful and yet, doomed to failure.

I see them in the distance, a couple, late 20’s, beach people, holding each other, middle of the block.

Its a lovely scene.

And then I get closer.

And I see their shirts.

“Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf” (Think Capulet)

“Starbucks” (See also Montague.)

Barristas from opposing houses.

Doomed to a love that is forbidden.

I pass them and they are silent, no doubt the pain of their situation has driven them to silence.

Or, he was talking dirty and didn’t want me to hear, either one.

Eventually, as the story goes, the manager of Starbucks will find out and threaten to fire the barrista, and then someone get killed in a duel and then some of your better catch phrases happen.

“A plague on BOTH your lattes!”

And then, in the end, She will quit her job, planning to apply at Starbucks to be with him.

But, he doesn’t know that, so he will quit his job, thinking to work at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.

So he is heading up the street to Coffee bean, and she is heading down the street to Starbucks.

And then they see each other, and they both realize what happened.

BUT THAT IS NOT THE DEATH SCENE!

That happens when they go across the street and get jobs at Peets Coffee.

A seedy little coffee house of ill repute, inhabited by questionable reprobates like soccer moms and real estate agents.

THIS IS THE SUICIDE SCENE!

Yup, working at Peets is pure resume suicide.

No one in the history of the world has EVER read a resume and said, “Oh, you worked at Peets coffee, great!”

Its a resume stain for the service industry much like a dose of the clap, but harder to get rid of.

And I still cannot prove that their coffee is not heavily tea-bagged in the back room. (There is this flavor in the coffee, you know?)

So what is the moral of this tragic tale?

There are several.

  1. Peets Coffee is made by seedy unsupervised perverts.
  2. Starbucks and Coffee Bean coffees do NOT have plague virus in them. (Shout out to their lawyers. Please don’t hur my family.)
  3. When you are dealing with insomnia, haven’t slept more than 4 hours in 3 days and decide to watch the 1996 version of Romeo & Juliet (Leonardo Di Caprio and Clare Danes), do not, repeat, DO NOT, write a blog in the wee hours of the morning.

Because who knows what kind of shit you are going to put on the page.

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Hating a stranger.

Its not often, but sometimes, when I least expect it, I instinctively hate people.

Case in point, I am in Starbucks, its not my favorite one, but its still a Starbucks.

For those of you that pay attention, its the “Icebox”, so named because the temperature is always at 60 degrees, Winter or Summer.

I used to think this was a bad idea, then I realized that on those days that I am there for an hour or more, I buy more coffee to keep me warm.

Maybe the manager is a genius.

And in she walks.

Something about her screams “Bitch”, loud and clear.

Of course she is on her cell phone, what else would she be doing?

And maybe it is just because I didn’t like her from the beginning, but I swear that the people around her moved just a touch more away from her than you would normally.

Maybe its an unconscious thing, just some sort of evil presence, like a low level fart in an elevator that you don’t know who did it, but you know it wasn’t you.

Anyway, she gets thru the line, gets a spinach quiche. (Red flag – Spinach quiche is the food of choice of pedophiles, serial killers and overly monied coffee hoes.)

Her drink, when it came, had a lot of foam, another red flag but I’m gonna let that go.

As luck would NOT have it, she sat at the seat next to me.

Conversation still going on.

Here are the highlight quotes.

  • “Marshal is having problems at school, he failed a test and the teacher is being a bitch about it. I told him he could stay home this week and calm down.” (My comment is to fucking long to put here, so its below.)
  • “Jack is still arguing about the alimony, I mean, I gave that asshole my life, and thats going to cost him.” (Lesson learned boys, some people, not all, just some people, when they are flat on their backs the meter is running. Talk amongst yourselves.)
  • The car is still not running right. Every time I put it in gear, I have to let off on the gas COMPLETELY. (You mean revving it and dumping it into gear is NOT good for the tranny?)

It was the Polish astronomer Copernicus who first offered the model of the universe that had the Sun at its core and not the Earth.

And it was the shithead sucking down a frappuccino sitting next to me that first offered the model of the universe that had Marshal at its core.

That means the center of the universe was somewhere local, still in his pj’s during mid morning and crying like a pussy.

For a long moment I was outraged.

We are currently raising a generation of kids that are being taught that, God forbid they ever encounter a problem, the only proper response is to freeze in place and over analyze it until someone comes along and either solves it for them, or it goes away on its own.

That was a shitty long moment.

The highlight was when I made her leave.

Its called the creep move.

It is a beautiful study in low level emotional intimidation.

I began to furiously scratch my armpit, the one closer to her.

I grunted slightly.

Once I could see her staring, I stopped scratching and smelled my fingers.

Wait for it……..

I scooted a half an inch towards her.

Then I turned my head, locked eyes, and smiled.

If you have ever seen someone fleeing a burning building, that is a lot like how she left.

Hung up her phone, stood and stomped her little feet out of Starbucks.

Even left her coffee creation behind.

I would feel bad, but, after all…

I didn’t like her to begin with.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Getting to the cruel part.

There are two different types of bad behavior in this world.

There is the rare one, at least admitting it is rare, it actually happens quite a bit. Its the type of bad behavior that you do and then secretly relish the shitty thing you have done.

I am well acquainted with that one.

Hell, because of the filter eliminating effects of this damn blog, I often brag about it.

But today, we are here to talk about that other type of bad behavior.

Its that type of bad behavior that you do it and don’t secretly relish in it.

In fact, you don’t get it. Even when someone points it out to you, you don’t get it.

Like a shitty form of karmic water off of a cosmic ducks back, just to make it sound all new agey.

Here is an example: (Come on, you saw this coming, right?)

I was recently visiting on an excursion to a weird alternative museum.

The Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Its kind of like a freak show on Xanax.

Its the stuff that legitimate museums and freak shows took one look at and said, “It’s not for us, thanks.”

One display is two mummified mice on toast. (Draw your own conclusions.)

Another is a collection of clear glass globes that have floating figurines in them, all in different stages of drowning, complete with mood lighting and odd bubbly sounds effects.

The last example is a steel ferris wheel suspended from the ceiling. Its made of steel and every moving surface on it has a bell attached. Ever few minutes it begins spinning and the room has no sound proofing.

So any conversations you have go on a time out until the ferris wheel is done.

But the museum is not why we are here.

It what happened when we left the museum.

And then we met Earl.

Not sure if that is his name, but that is what I am calling him and who the fuck are you to argue? Sit down, shut up, and let me finish, jeez!

Earl is homeless.

And he is a homeless ninja.

We had not taken 10 steps from the shady museum’s front door when Earl struck.

His walker is on wheels, and they roll silent as a whisper.

“Hey there! How you boys doin’?”

He is not blocking our path, there is plenty of room to go around, but you have to.

We mumble some platitudes and begin our evasive maneuvers.

Earl is having none of that shit.

Side-spinning a walker does not take up more space at all, but it is a psychological block.

We stop.

“I don’t want money.”

As an opener, this is sloppy, but good. It doesn’t work, I mean, I KNOW he wants money, but what is his pitch? I was in sales long enough to know that everything is a transaction. Money, sense of accomplishment, pride…etc. Money is just the most obvious.

“Could you buy me a meal at the In’n’Out?”

There is a burger place just up the street.

“Sorry, I don’t carry cash.”

You might think this is the cruel part, BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG.

So off we walked.

“Why didn’t you give him food?” My oh so innocent companion asked.

The reasons are long and drawn out, but based on advice from a professional in the “Dealing with the homeless in the most compassionate way” industry. The incomplete simple answer is, anything I give him enables and perpetuates his addiction and makes me an active party in killing him.

But that is still not the cruel part.

“Because,” I said as we headed in to the same burger place to get lunch.

“I don’t want to see him try to smoke a burger.”

And THATS THE CRUEL PART. (And its a hell of a long walk for a punch line, but it is what it is. Write your own blog.)

 
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Posted by on April 17, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Keep it in your pants.

Ok, so things are going to get a little awkward here.

Too many trigger warnings to list here. (If you understand that statement, fuck off and get over it.)

And I don’t mean like – Running into your ex in a restaurant with their new partner awkward.

I mean like – trapped in an elevator with the uncle/priest that touched you at age 12 kind of awkward.

Here is the story as we know it.

A 19 year old man walked into a walmart, took a stuffed horse from the shelf, headed on over to the comforter aisle in the Housewares department and proceeded to masturbate using the stuffed horse, came all over it, and then put it back on the shelf.

Lets break that down.

A 19 year old man walked into a walmart, was greeted by a senior citizen, headed over to a clearance section near the Gardening department. All of this is perfectly legal and not out of the ordinary. No blood no foul at this point.

He picks up a stuffed horse from the clearance rack and heads to Housewares. Minor red flags, but nothing serious. He’s a little old for stuffed animals, but maybe its his niece/nephew’s birthday and he needs a gift.

He hunkers down in the comforter aisle and whips out his junk. WARNING WILL ROBINSON, WARNING! I hate to say it because of the place it puts me here but if you do make the call to get your freak on in a walmart, the comforter aisle is where you want to be. Some people may say the bathroom, but that can only be because they have never seen a Walmart bathroom. An underlying odor of aged urine and shit permeates the air. There is ALWAYS piss on the floor and usually shit on the walls. Its like the monkey hut at the zoo.

Out of 5 news agencies that reported on this, not one says exactly how he screwed the horse. Did he cut an anus into the horse and sodomize it? Cut a hole in the mouth? Was it pliable enough to wrap it around his dick? Don’t shake your head at me, these are legitimate questions!

Anyway, SOMEHOW, he finished and came all over the stuffed horse. Like a plush toy bukkaki scene from a Japanese porno. In fact, I am willing to bet there is a Japanese website dedicated to plush toy bukkaki. They have websites for everything else under the freak sun, why not this?

And, for me, this is where it gets weird. How could it not be weird up till now, you ask? Nothing shocks me when it comes to guys and masturbation. As a species, men are masturbatory freaks. You don’t know the half of it.

But this is why it is weird. HE PUTS IT BACK. He didn’t drop it like Michael Corleone dropping the gun after he shot Sollozzo and walks out, he puts it back on the clearance rack.  That means he wanted it on display for others to see. This hits a new freak high water mark that is tough to match. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.

And, he did this at 3pm. Right when the kids are getting out of school.

Where are the over zealous cops that get caught on camera beating the shit out of someone when you need them? (They are a minority, but they do exist. I want to use them for good.)

I think the world would be a better place if this guy lost a few teeth and “accidentally” fell down a few flights of steps. Just saying.

The only thing I can think of is that the last time I was at a Walmart, I was stunned by the sheer numbers of unaccompanied kids running wild without a parent in site.

Think twice, you never know when the freaks might decide that the plush toys are just not doing it for them anymore, and decide to take your kid for a spin.

You can ignore this warning if you like, but the writing is on the wall.

Or at least smeared all over the stuffed horse.

 
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Posted by on March 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The Bitch is Back

We’re all gonna die.

These things happen.

Simple fact.

Probably soon.

Today is Friday the 13th, second month in a row.

Do you have any idea how rare that is?

Its like a unicorn being gang raped by a leprechaun and Santa Claus, and they all have winning lottery tickets

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

I don’t remember the last time there was Friday the 13th two months in a row.

I have had a few people tell me I am being superstitious and paranoid.

Hey, I don’t make the rules.

To paraphrase, Hate the game, not the scared player hiding under his bed.

There are those that say that Friday the 13th is just a day like any other day.

Yeah, and there are those that are against vaccinations too.

Perfect example, I got out of bed on Friday the 13th last month and immediately slammed my baby toe into the dresser.

Need I say more?

I can hear the doubters right now “That proves nothing. “

Fine, I’ll say more.

Not more than 5 minutes later, I got a papercut.

[Microphone drop.]

I NEVER get paper cuts, I have skin like a lizard.

If you still doubt me even in the face of empirical evidence, here is the final piece of proof.

I lost my car keys. LOST MY CAR KEYS! Are you bastards even listening?!?!

So for the second Friday in the 13th in a row? Screw it, I am not going out of the house today.

I have thought long and hard, employed rational thought, common sense and a little immigrant wisdom, and here is what I have come up with.

Drinking coffee and hiding under the bed.

Go ahead and laugh, but when the land around us is a charred pile of rubble, I will be probably still be hiding out, having coffee.

Will there be Starbucks in the wastelands of the future? Magic 8-ball says it seems likely.

God forbid I have to make my own, then I know we’re screwed.

Did the movie Mad Max teach us nothing?

For those not in the know, Mad Max was Mel Gibson’s first movie. (This was back before he became a misogynistic, anti-semitic, racist who evidently didn’t know that the red light is blinking when you are being recorded. See also Donald Sterling.)

And it was a low budget post apocalyptic car and violence fest set in Australia.

What did we learn from it?

First, without franchise coffee houses, the people descend into anarchy and join punk rock biker gangs.

Second, when the shit goes down, Australia is the last place you wanna be.

Although I hear Syndey is lovely in season.

Could the apocalypse be moved to Southern California?

The weather is better and there is a Starbucks on every corner.

It would make the wasteland much more pleasant.

So, that is what today is all about.

Hiding, drinking coffee and trying to figure out which post-apocalyptic coffee houses will have wifi.

Thank God for Keurig, the pod coffee machine.

It makes an acceptable cup.

Trust me, you don’t want my drip coffee.

If the coffee depends on me, I inadvertently make it strong enough to give a meth-head the shakes.

That is not enough of an ability to make me a warlord of the coming wasteland, but it does have me stockpiling Keurig.

To sum up, Coffee, nuclear holocaust, Australia, and support the troops.

We all on the same page now?

And, if you are stupid enough to go outside on Friday the 13th, despite all my warnings, don’t come running to me when all hell breaks loose.

If you are set upon by rabid dogs, gangs of Chicago children (Like a finishing school for murderers that place) or a Jehova witness stops you to force a copy of the Watchtower on you, you had it coming.

And if anyone is looking for me, I will be under the bed.

Nursing my coffee like a Canadian baby on a United Airlines flight. (Google it, people! Do I have to do everything for you?)

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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