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Redemption

Perhaps I have become jaded.

I have talked about too much, written about too much, offended -maybe- too much.

And there’s nothing left.

Seriously, after almost 600 posts written for this ungodly beast of a blog, I think I have seen it all.

Maybe its time to hang it up, call it a day, piss on the fire and call in the dogs.

Its been a pleasure, but this will be my last-

Wait a minute.

I forgot about what I saw this morning.

I was taking a bike ride to my favorite breakfast place.

And then I saw him.

Homeless? Of course, we’ve met, right?

But the first homeless with Down’s Syndrome?

Like a “Special” unicorn. Rare doesn’t even begin to describe it.

And before you hate mail gangbang me en masse, I am the only one of thousands who passed him and I stopped.

And brought him coffee and McMuffin.

So bite me.

Both cheeks, and what the hell, crack too.

Be my guest.

His name is Kevin.

He laughs a lot.

He has family, but they “Don’t like me.”

As he talked, and he liked to talk, I began to take stock of the physical cues.

Meth is his drug of choice.

That realization washed over me like a wave of different emotions.

Outrage, anger, confusion, desolation, you name it.

And finally, acceptance.

It sucks, its screwed up.

But it is what it is.

Jaded rotten shit that I am, this little scenario still pried $20 out of my stingy wallet.

Hey, I’m an asshole, not a heartless asshole.

(Plus, I later called a church I know that does homeless outreach. They are on it. I will deny this later if you ask.)

I am golden.

I hung out for the better part of an hour.

We talked, well, Kevin talked, lonely guy, and laughed.

It was as nice as it was heartbreaking.

As I left, Kevin claimed he was going to go get another McMuffin.

Its 50-50 that McMuffin means meth.

Call me a cynic, but ask any drug counselor and they will explain this one to you.

So I rode my bike and sorted.

I spend a little too much time in my head.

Not in that healthy “Dealing with my emotions” way.

More like the book “Flowers in the attic” kind of way.

(Think of children locked away in the attic.)

Scary place to be sometimes.

Another hour of pedaling and I have come to this:

Life is what it is. Live it, enjoy what you can, survive the bad, and be happy.

Most wisdom breaks down to this.

See you next week.

 
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Posted by on March 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Court is a lot like the classical version of hell.

Horrible and boring.

I stand accused, M’lord. Guilty as charged. Mercy, M’lord, mercy.

Here is my vile crime.

I drove 2 blocks without my seatbelt on.

Chain my ass up and send me to Russia.

The truly unfortunate part of all this is that an officer of the law happened to be pulling up to a stop sign just as I turned onto my street.

Bad enough to get the ticket, but add to it my total inability to pay the damn thing on time and you have a recipe for creating my own misery.

When the ticket goes beyond 30 days, the fine doubles.

When it goes beyond 120 days?

It would be more merciful if they just held me down and beat me to death.

As it is they added a civil penalty of 10x the original fine.

Land of the free, home of the brave.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, purple mountains majesty. Now pay your fucking fine and shut your mouth.

I found out years ago that if you show up, plead guilty and act polite they will reduce it back to the original fine amount.

So here I am.

Exiting the parking garage, I am treated to a wonderful site.

About 150 people in line, waiting to get in.

The line is moving briskly as we are shuttled thru the metal detector, manned by armed men.

There are about 50 people left between me and my own trip thru the metal detector when the excitement begins.

It seems a guy has been stopped at the metal detector because he forgot he had a piece of metal on him.

The metal in this case appears to be a Saturday Night Special.

A .25 calibre piece of shit that just earned him a trip to jail.

The legally armed men at the metal detector do not seem to be accepting his excuse of “Man, I forgot I had that shit on me!” and are jacking a brother up off to the side, while another legally armed man puts the gun in a baggy.

The level of stupid here is pretty impressive.

Hard to beat.

Me and the 50 people in front of me all saw this little production of “Our town- Thug life edition”.

Think of it as a cautionary tale for our times.

Don’t be that stupid, people.

So, when the guy two people in front of me got stopped at the detector for a pocket knife with a 5 inch blade, I am sure we were all a little shocked.

No more felonies are committed and I manage to get inside on time to make it to my assigned court room.

And there on the door of the courtroom, is my entire reason for being a consistent asshole to the universe.

“All cases for Division 1 will be rescheduled. Court is closed due to illness.”

Sigh.

Karma, you giggling bitch.

Well played.

 
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Posted by on February 27, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Before you kill someone.

You gotta wonder what goes thru some peoples minds.

I mean, being stupid is ok, but being dangerously stupid can get you killed.

Morning rush hour, traffic is bumper to bumper.

I am not on the freeway, but its still bad.

Luckily, I am not rushing to get to work, just breakfast.

Heading to my favorite breakfast place.

Time to coffee up.

But the car ahead of me is out to kill someone.

Judging from the hair, I am going to say the driver is a woman.

And she is weaving, not a basket or something creative, unless you think of fatality accidents as creative.

She is driving by braille, going from the bumps on one side to the other.

And she has slammed on her brakes 3 times in a 1 mile stretch.

We will assume she is drunk, I mean, she could be a serial killer for all I know.

Anyway, the drunk chick almost just impacted into the back of a UPS truck.

We all know how those UPS trucks dart in and out of traffic, no doubt it was the truck’s slow and even speed that surprised her.

Instead of hitting the UPS truck, she whipped her car to the left, pulling into a turn lane, but going the wrong way.

The only problem with that is that she almost went head on into a car that was just pulling into that turn lane.

This woman is a Goddam menace. A threat to the public. Armed (With a car) and dangerous.

As traffic began moving again, I finally got in the next lane.

As luck would have it, my new lane we faster, and I pulled up next to vehicular public enemy #1 at the next red light.

It is, indeed, a woman.

Either late teens or early 20’s, which makes her even dumber than most.

That isn’t sexist, by the way.

Late teens to early 20’s is easily the dumbest part of life, where most of the WORST decisions in life are made.

She isn’t drunk.

She is putting on her make up.

Are you shitting me?

That will be an interesting scene at the hospital.

A surgeon with bloody clothes comes out to address a grieving family.

“Cause of death, lip gloss.”

This is hall of fame type of stupid here.

However, if you smack your hand on the door of your car and yell “HEY, DUMBASS!” She jumps like a singed kitten and stares at you like you’ve done something wrong.

At least it got her to drive better, for awhile at least.

But then she had to work on her mascara.

While I don’t wish her well, I hope the criminally stupid doesn’t become an ACTUAL criminal.

(But I do wish that some sort of karmic “Instant justice” happens to her. Like she gets fired today, or her cat dies, or she gets an STD. Just kidding, I’m sure she’s already got an STD. From her dead cat. OH YES I DID!)

 
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Posted by on February 20, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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When it all goes wrong

Yoga pants are the Almighty’s gift to men everywhere.

Done right, yoga pants can cure erectile dysfunction in a New York minute.

A prime example of this is in front of me in line at Starbucks at this moment.

I have never been an ass man, but I would love to introduce myself to this one.

“Hello, my name is Bitter and I would love to wear your ass like a hat.”  (Nod to City Slickers there.)

Done wrong, it is a sad and discouraging thing to see.

That is standing in front of me as well.

Like 5 pounds of jelly in a stretchy 3 pound bag.

They are together, yoga friends, no doubt.

They are chatting amiably.

Like some sort of masturbatory before/after picture that you HOPE has been photoshopped.

What truly sucks is that there is no way to separate one from the other in my head now.

Kills the fantasy.

In my fantasies, there is never a wingman to distract the nasty friend, I prefer a closed set.

So now my head is just sewered for the rest of the day, trying to figure it out.

(I deleted about 300 words of disturbing sexual fantasy description here. It started to get a little creepy. Suffice to say that the nasty friend ruins the fantasy and I can’t get past it.)

And now we know where erectile dysfunction comes from, bad yoga pants choices.

Glad we cleared that up.

On to new business.

Its the end of January and I am about to lose a friend.

My Starbucks mug I received at Xmas that gets free coffee refills for the month of January will soon be dead in the water, no more refills.

Sad, like the death of a beloved character from my youth.

I remember the beginning of the month, we were so damned young.

They were good days, the “salad days” if you will.

The free refills seemed like they would go on forever.

We were so in love.

We would always be together.

And now, with the end of the month looming, things are getting tense.

The coffee today is not as hot and has a little bit of bitterness to it.

I will drink the coffee, go thru the motions like some sort of caffeinated automaton.

But my heart is not in it.

We are like familiar strangers.

I will miss you, holiday mug.

We will still be friends.

Nodding at each other when we meet in the kitchen, when I open up the coffee mug cupboard to get a cup, I will see you, dusty on your shelf.

But lets not let it get weird, ok?

I mean, we have had some good times, we can still have some coffee sometimes.

It doesn’t have to get weird.

Sure, lets do that, lets make a date and go have some java, like old times.

Sigh.

Its weird, isn’t it?

 
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Posted by on January 30, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Come here, now go away.

Leave me the fuck alone.

Caffeinated and annoyed is a bad place to be.

The problem seems silly to be putting it down on a page, but it is what it is.

My dealer will not leave me alone.

Here it is:

I am in my favorite breakfast place, eating and getting my java on.

I have said many times that, as far as addictions go, caffeine is one of the better ones.

Mainly because it is easy to get, cheap compared to other drugs and the acceptability factor is off the charts.

But there is this new waitress in the diner and its slow.

Which means the new girl does not have enough pressing work to do and needs to look busy, but has not been here long enough to know all of the methods of looking busy, so she is doing the easiest one.

Wandering around with a coffee pot, offering refills.

I love that, to a point.

Don’t get me wrong, there are times when its busy that I cannot get a refill and am on the verge of performing sex acts in dirty alleys to get a top off. (Yes, its a stretch, but this is not about you. Put your hand down and shut your pie hole.)

But the new girl, lets call her Bitsy.

Bitsy has so far asked me 4 times if I need a refill in the last 5 minutes.

I do not want to discourage her, mainly because I will need her sometime soon for that refill she is offering.

She has a very innocent look on her face, which either makes it harder to be an ass to her, or just might make it more fun to be a total dick to her.

She looks familiar enough that I have begun to wonder if I know her mother.

Possibly, I fathered the girl. (There are penalties to living in the same town all of your life and being a prolific male slut in your early years.)

And then it hits me.

On my 9th birthday, I received an odd gift from a relative.

A pet rock.

I named it Alfonzo and put it in its little nest on my dresser.

A few years later, in a fit of boredom, I painted a little face on Alfonzo, complete with huge blue eyes.

Bitzy looks like my pet rock.

Its almost spooky, but there it is.

I still have Afonzo, by the way.

He and I have been thru a lot of shit over the years.

I would be proud of the fact that I have kept my pet rock all these years, but the reality of a pet rock is that it is a rock.
To have a pet rock for a long time only means that you never threw it out.

Its not a living pet.

Let’s be real, if Alfonzo were real, he would be dead by now, I am not that consistant with the whole “Daily feeding” regimen that living things need.

Bitsy just topped off my cup.

I thanked her and smiled at her.

In memory of the Alfonzo that might have been.

Ahhhhh, morning coffee.

 
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Posted by on January 23, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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I don’t need a BFF, dude.

There is such a thing as being too damned friendly.

When I am writing, I try to give off an unfriendly, “Asshole” kind of vibe. (As opposed to the friendly asshole vibe I give off the rest of the time.)

Mainly because nothing sucks worse than getting a line in my head that has just the right amount of cerebral stank on it only to have it evaporate like early morning mist because a stranger has decided I was BFF material.

“What are you writing?”

This is the witty opening line that ruined my thought process and sewered the killer blog idea in my head.

The unspoken here is that now you are stuck with my pissy, angst-filled rant of a post about shitting on strangers.

Suck it up, life is like that.

As I pull myself away from my writing I take a good look at “Magoo”. (I can’t remember what he said his name was, but Magoo fits.)

Magoo is one of nature’s children. He has an innocence about him that is almost charming and in any other setting, I would be happy to chat.

But he is in the wrong creative neighborhood at the wrong cerebral time of the night.

Lot of mind assault and battery happens in those settings. (He would be the star of the show if there was a mental episode of “Cops”. And I realize this imagery is a stretch. Work with me.)

But his question does demand an answer.

“Obituaries. I write obituaries for the LA Times.”

“Oh.” Deer in the headlights. The little smile is gone.

I’m not finished.

“Pays better than you think. Plus you get to spend a lot of time talking to grieving families.” (Its important to smile and be too excited at this point. It twists up the deeply ingrained expectation of being really serious on a serious topic. Like a giggling mortician, its out of place and more than a little disturbing.)

“Is that a good thing?” The question kind of tumbles confusedly out of his mouth.

“Its awesome, really gives you a heads up on estate sales and used cars.”

“Oh.” The deer in the headlights is beginning to realize that the headlights are not friendly.

“I am up for a promotion. Sex crimes beat. You talk with a LOT of rape and shooting victims.”

Eye contact breaks at this point and you can feel the flight part of the fight or flight reflex taking over.

He’s not sure what is wrong with me or the situation, but he knows SOMETHING is wrong and its making him antsy.

Bingo.

Almost on cue, the guy mutters something that sounds like something between a hiccup and a word that sounded like “Megosh” and walked away.

More like scurries away. I watch him go, smile and put my headphones back on.

Yeah, I know.

Asshole.

It is what it is.

What kills me is, I had my headphones on.

I could put a sign on the table that says, “Fuck off” but I figured the headphones were enough.

Besides, the last time I put the sign out, enough people complained that the manager asked me to take it down.

Once again, I know.

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Merry frickin Christmas.

Christmas always has the potential of being epic, one way or the other.

I mean that, good or bad.

It can be that twisted, screwed up kind of day that gives all involved baggage to tote around for the rest of their lives.

Or, it can be the kind of day that reminds you what Christmas can be, like when you were a kid type of good.

And that was today.

I have a few requirements to make the holidays good.

Since I could not have the #1 requirements, being with my kids, my second requirement is that the whole family gets together.

Done.

Third on that list is that I get to cook breakfast for everyone.

Done.

The unspoken is that a touch too much bacon is available for cooking and sampling by all throughout the cooking, also, coffee is involved, but I figure we all know that one. Kind of a gimme, really.

I was also given the perfect gift today.

Its a travel mug from Starbucks that has a special feature for the caffeine addicted.

Free refills for the month of January. I shit you not.

Its like a meth lab handing out unlimited free samples.

Its like Krispy Kremes handing out.. ok, bad example.

I may not make it thru the month of January. My heart may not hold out.

Just saying.

As far as gifts go, its incredibly inciteful and somewhat brutal.

Christmas as an adult is much different than when you are a kid.

When you are a child, you are told what you will be doing on Christmas.

And there is nothing that you really have to do.

When you are an adult, you balance what you want to do with what you have to do.

And there are a lot of have to’s as an adult.

And the one thing you can’t ask Santa for is to take over your responsibilities.

He will not pay your rent or make a car payment.

He will not explain your internet browser history to your wife.

He will not not even pay for the gifts you put under the tree with his name on them.

Sounds a lot like old saint Nicky is getting a butt-load of free advertising from all of us.

But, to quote Janet Jackson… (Jeez, how desperate am I?)

What have you done for me lately?

Nope, growing up means that, except in rare occasions, nobody covers your shit but you.

So, by default, this ends up being the time of the year that we are all forced to untwist our big boy (Or girl) pants and get our shit in some semblance of together.

Which is good as a general rule.

Being a kid means that you believe in stuff that is not real.

Being an adult means you have to believe in stuff that is brutally real.

The secret to keeping your shit together and still be able to laugh.

 
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Posted by on December 26, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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