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I’m hip, man.

It’s the 60’s.

The beat generation, cynical and critically dumb.

Smoking their cigarettes backwards, snapping their fingers in lieu of clapping, reading REALLY bad homespun angst-filled poetry, out loud mind you, to like minded dipshits that think its brilliant.

There is a poetry group meeting on the over-sized stone patio at the LAX Starbucks.

Its a pretty grim bunch.

This would have been a motley crew in their 20’s, now imagine that same unwashed image you have in your head as being in their 50’s. (AND NOT AGING WELL.)

The poetry is some of the most self-indulgent mental swill I have ever heard.

It gives new meaning to the term “Narcissistic”.

Kind of a mental grassy knoll to take aim at your intellect.

But they are not acting alone.

You have to wonder how these 10 people found each other in a world this large.

It’s like AIDS and E-Coli go to a bar and meet up with Spanish Flu and decide to start a band.

“The eternal me is but a leaf, stuck in a cosmic sewer.” (Direct quote)

I wish the line above was an exaggeration made by yours truly.

However, that self indulgent verbal puke was real, and uttered by a mid 50’s guy with a mullet, bowling shirt, khaki shorts, black knee socks and sandals.

Black socks with shorts? Who says theres no crime at the beach?

Think of Billy Ray Cyrus mixed with a homeless guy. Some of that Miley-style crazy.

I have been told that I am too judgemental, too harsh without provocation.

Fuck it, this dude is all kinds of crazy stank, rolled in self indulgent polyester.

And it has not bathed recently. (True, the wind shifted and I got a whiff.)

So now my nose is being gang raped along with my ears and my intellect.

Overly dramatic, maybe. But the line between an overly dramatic douchebag and an accuracy driven asshole is a thin one at times, and the same thing the rest of the time.

And yes, I get it, I should not make fun of the shitty poets. Their look, their style of dress, and certainly not their SHITTY FUCKING POETRY!

Two things. So be it. And bite me.

And before we start that whole “Why did you go there?” thing, lets just understand that I AM THERE, and I rarely go elsewhere.

I am glad I got that off my chest.

On to better things.

Long story, but I have the day off of work.

Not working is a good thing for most people.

Except me.

One of my more neurotic issues is the fact that while I don’t love work, I feel awkward when I am not there.

I like to think of think of it as my immigrant ancestry showing.

And not immigrant sneaking across the border, I mean coming thru Ellis Island immigrant. (At least my great grandfather did.)

There is no real joke here, just the one on us when everyone realizes that the several million welcomed illegals that are streaming across the border are going to have to have someone pay their tab.

There, got my little rant in. I feel better, like my mental/emotional colen just started a cleanse and a sizable quantity of “Shit” just passed.

Thinking about it, that would make this blog a toilet.

I am ok with that. The imagery is a little nasty, but the analogy is solid.

One of the unwashed beatnik’s just said the word “Profit” 10 times in a row, smacking his chest the whole time.

Thise is beginning to take on a whole new level of fucking horrible that I have never seen before.

This might be a spoiler alert from a horror film. The killer kidnaps someone, chains them to the wall in some filthy tiled bathroom, and trots out the beatniks to perform.

And the hostage chews thru his own neck it get away.

I could definitely see that.

It would be worth it.

 
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Posted by on July 11, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Don’t take this personal, but I hate your kids.

I hate your kids, you know who I mean.

And just a tip? If I am in line at Panera Bakery, trying to think of something to write about, don’t show your ass with your rotten little progeny right in front of me.

I think it was when the 5 year old shouted “NO!” and slapped mom across the face the first time that I began paying attention.

The little girl has wild hair to the middle of her back and a set of lungs when she wants them.

Screaming and beating on the bakery case window is what got mom to drop to one knee and begin talking low to the child.

And thats when little missy decided she’d had enough of mom’s shit.

Whack! Take that bitch!

And here is the interesting part, mom was not shocked.

Let me roll that one past you again, MOM. WAS. NOT. SHOCKED.

All told, mom got smacked a total of 3 times.

Twice in line and once at the table.

I have a lot wrong with this.

First of all is the fact that mom is a fucking moron and should never have allowed that chubby little hand to land.

It sets a precedent and somewhat empowers the little monster to do it again when she gets the chance.

Plus the fact that dodging a hit from a 5 year old doesn’t require cat-like reflexes.

Had I tried that kind of mini assault on my mother growing up, she would have torn that arm from my torso and beaten me half to death with it.

And I would have had it coming.

In this instance, mom has it coming.

I am not really going out on a limb here when I suppose that this rotten little beast has no boundaries at home.

So, if the first time she has any sort of a leash put on her is when she is in school or a restaurant, we are all subjected to the thoroughly ineffective parenting of Mr. And Mrs. Dipshit foisted upon us in the form of Little Miss Dipshit.

Lucky us.

I have always been of the opinion that my children (And a select few others) are basically the only pretty and intelligent kids out there, and this dysfunctional group is only proving my point.

My son and daughter set the loose cannon bar as kids, (Nowhere near as bad as me) but I would never hesitate to take them anywhere.

Because they had boundaries.

Boundaries are the negative buzzword among what passes for the modern day, “Dr. Spock” parents.

Don’t tell your child no, avoid anything unpleasant as a result of their behavior, and GOD FORBID you smack that rotten little bitch on her backside for giving mommy a little tune up on the side of her face.

Someone needs to take mom aside, smack her hand, hard, tell her “No!” and when she opens her mouth to protest, take two fingers that tap her on the lips. “Shut your mouth! Go to your room!”

Sometimes modern thought and theories suck huge balls and old school is not only wise, its effective.

Applesauce, bitch.

 
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Posted by on January 6, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Ain’t that a bitch.

I received an email on Saturday accusing me of half-assing Friday’s blog, that it was weak and rushed.

You got me.

I am more than willing to fess up to that.

Friday was an unfinished blog that I just kind of threw up there at the last minute.

But let me explain why.

Here is the sheep-snarl that was my Friday.

1. Starting Thrusday night, my cell phone, (MY NEW ONE!!!) went down. I could access the internet and text, but not send or receive calls.

2. I went to an early morning jiu jitsu class at the gym. This is not a bad thing, but it made time really tight.

3. Tech support took a total of 2 hours. While not located in India, my two tech support agents were women, (No judgement here) and there names, no lie, were Tanqual and Shinesse. (Little racist judgement here)

4. After 2 hour, when nothing worked, I was told that the problem was obviously the phone at fault.

5. 15 minutes after hanging up, I got a phone call. The phone has been fine since.

So, it was after all of this frantic, frustrating nonsense, that I had to more or less run from my car down the hill to work, with no time to stop at Starbucks and finish todays blog.

After I got to work, I took what I had so far, slapped a quick ending on it and posted.

It is an odd thing that it is almost harder to put out a blog that is now 2 days a week than it was when I wrote 5 days a week.

I have contemplated going back to 5 days a week and then I get dizzy and the contemplative moment moves on.

For those that have never written something on a regular basis, its a bitch.

And not one of those “Hot at first” bitches like you meet at a club, but one of those “20 years in a bad marriage” type bitches that suck the life out of you.

And don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against bitches.

I think of the word with almost a fondness.

There is a strain of bitches that competent woman are a part of.

And, as I have said before, I absolutely adore competent women.

The only thing that sucks is when their fire is directed at you.

Then it sucks.

Can’t have it all.

I have observed that the people I know who have those “Never a cross word” relationships also involve two people that have really bland personalities.

You want the passion and the excitement of a strong woman? Deal with the wrath on occasion.

But a strong woman is not to be confused with a crazy one.

That is a bitch of a different type.

And when that genie gets out of the bottle, GOOD LUCK getting her back in.

And you don’t get any wishes with this genie.

Unless of course one of your wishes is to be attacked with a 9 iron in your sleep.

(Actually happened to a friend of mine. True story.)

 

 
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Posted by on November 4, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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The definition of crazy.

Just a few definitions so that we’re all on the same page.

PARIAH: A BO-ridden homeless guy that mutters showtunes to himself and INSISTS on sitting next to me at Starbucks.

THE FURIES: A trio of evil spirits that exist to torment man and manifest themselves as three yoga ladies with incredibly long coffee orders that always get into line ahead of me at Starbucks.

WRONG/RIGHT: Whatever you think versus whatever I think.

MMF: Manhattan Money Frau. Rich, surgically beautiful, and basically useless older mothers that are too busy to have children and are systematically raising an entire generation of serial killers.

WHARF RATS: Bandwagon exercise who got tired of paddle boarding and now swim around the pier in the early morning to keep fit. These people keep Whole Foods in business and, between them and the Yoga Betty’s are responsible for the entire Acacia industry.

YOGA BETTY’S: Typically MMF’s, these are the elitist practitioners of the ancient art of Yoga. They know nothing about it, spend thousands on the clothes, mats, classes, and acacia.

SHARK’S: These are the professional people that use Starbucks as a combination networking/meeting place/hunting ground. Looked at from that viewpoint, I am one of them. This is were my rubber meets the road.

I hope that helps clarify a few things. I had gotten a couple of emails asking about some of the terms I have used and I figure that, as convoluted as this blog has gotten, they are probably not the only one confused.

Incidentally, there is one little bit of business from various emails that I would like to clarify.

I do not view the homeless as pets, that is just rude to suggest.

More like toys. Then again, I view everyone, homeless or not as toys for my amusement.

Its a fairly narcissistic/sociopath view of the world, but it allows me to sleep like a baby without meds.

This is a self diagnosis, by the way. I figured out a long time ago that I should avoid shrinks.

Bad idea, I always got the feeling that once they got a hold of me, they might decide to never let go.

The last thing I want is to become someones basis for a psychiatric industry study. Those people are like those creepy kids you knew when you were little that liked to pull the legs off of bugs.

I like my mental legs where they are, thanks.

 
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Posted by on November 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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You’d think I would get tired of it.

Every now and then, its important to get back to your roots.

As I write this, I am sitting at the long wooden table at Starbucks, getting the death stare from 5 old ladies.

Starbucks is crowded today, there IS no where else to sit.

But there was 1 chair left at the long table, and I can see why.

5 well monied older ladies are having a meeting of some sort and the middle chair on the right side was open, but no one would sit there because of the meeting.

But I got a blog to write, plus, I am a dick.

“Is this seat taken ladies?” Loud enough to interrupt several of their discussions.

I have my laptop open and booting up.

“We are kind of having a meeting.” The lead alpha female stares coldly at me for a brief second, spits that out, the goes back to her discussion.

“You won’t even know I am here.” I put my laptop down and put on my headphones.

Once again, into the breach.

The next 5 minutes are a study in human behavior, theirs and mine.

A lot of emotions are flying around for those sensitive to pick them up.

I am sensitive enough to pick them up, but I have this “Water off a ducks back” issue that makes me more than unhelpful in this instance.

Anger, outrage, shock, annoyance, they are all there.

Amusement, but thats just from me. So is a childish petulance, but that always seems to be in the background. I don’t even notice it anymore.

In a moment of asshole brilliance, I begin to blare old school punk rock thru my headphones, loud enough that they can hear it.

Black Flag, still pissing off the older generation decades later.

Judging by my so-so lip reading skills, the meeting has to do with an arts foundation.

The long and the short of it all seems to be that, while there are many talented young artists in some sort of grant competition this year, one of the ladies at the table has a son in the competition.

And it doesn’t sound like he is all that talented.

I made that assumption when the artist’s mother amde this statement:

“Talent is all well and good, but some consideration has to be given for local entrants.”

Ah, the not so subtle melding of art community gentrification and nepotism.

Predictable and sad.

The spoiled, rich artist’s name, (see also unemployed) Brian.

Doesn’t really inspire the awe as an artist’s name does it?

However, there is always the chance that Brian spells it in an unusual way.

I went to high school with a girl named Suzy who spelled it Siouxsie.

Brian, however, does not strike me as all that clever. (Basing this on mom’s slow intellect.)

Who may spell it Bria4n. (The 4 is silent)

The bottom line that everyone seems to be missing is, not everyone is an artist.

Some people, no matter how much they might wish it, just don’t have the gift.

You see it every year on American Idol auditions.

People who are convinced that they are the next Madonna.

And they don’t even sing well enough to get that ghetto trailer trash hoe, Nicky Minaj to vote for them.

Yeah, not a fan of Nicky Minaj.

Or Madonna, for that matter.

However, train wreck that Madonna might be, she is a study of both talent and longevity in an industry known for eating its young.

Finally, the art foundation meeting broke up, and everyone got up to leave.

One by one, they all glared at me as they left.

Gonna be a good day.

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Posted by on October 28, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Loves me even though I’m an asshole.

I’m in love with a phone.

Steve Jobs did me a serious favor from beyond the grave and made the iphone 5C, I am fairly certain, just for me.

He may have been the evil genius (More than one meaning here) but the man knew some phone.

I buy a lot of crap from China.

Ebay and Amazon are filled with ridiculously cheap electronics from China all priced for about a tenth of what we can make it for here.

Ear buds for $.50 a piece? With free shipping? Shit, give me 10 of them.

Sure they are cheap pieces of shit and only last a few months, but they are so cheap!

The iPhone is made in China in the infamous Foxconn factory.

It ain’t cheap, even though I got mine for about a third of normal, it could still not be called cheap.

Its well made and lasts several years.

Not really the China-made MO, but whatever.

Bottom line is, the phone rocks and I am in love.

Siri has never sounded so sultry.

For those who don’t know, Siri is a genie that lives inside the phone and answers questions like a 411 slave.

She never complains and is always happy to help me.

The only thing preventing a long term relationship is her lack of a vagina, but I am willing to be flexible if we can get around her “No dirty talk” programming.

A little TMI there, sorry.

I used to have a teach in high school that, if you ever said “I’m sorry” his immediate reply was “You are sorry.”

That phrase bothered me for a lot of years, but I never knew why.

Now I do.

It took awhile to get to this place of understanding, but I am here.

Here it is.

I’m not sorry.

Not even a bit.

I came to the conclusion that I have always meant it.

Even the mean, horrible, drunk on my ass atrocities.

They may have been rude, mean, obscene and in some instances, illegal, but I intentionally did and said what I wanted.

Like this blog.

The filters I normally employ to be a little more societally acceptable are gone the second words hit the screen.

(I would say “When the pen hits the paper” but I learned to type at age 8 and gave up paper as a creation tool.)

Its a lot like an intentional literary Tourette’s Syndrome.

(Coupled with a little man’s syndrome that manifests as chronic emotional manipulation of others.)

Best case scenario, it makes me unpleasant or annoying on a regular basis.

Worst case scenario, basically, makes me the LAST person you want privy to your embarrassing stuff.

The day to day lays somewhere in between, making me pretty tough to deal with.

Family and friends that put up with me are known for their patience.

It took a long time, but I am at peace with that.

Mainly by paraphrasing that old adage.

“You can only please some of the people some of the time and the rest? Do your best to piss them off.”

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Posted by on October 25, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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The phone war has changed me.

The Phone War, its like a digital version of Platoon.

My phone is a piece of shit.

I realize that I have said this before, but I am feeling it today.

I had a phone I liked.

With only one problem.

It had a small screen.

It was the old iPhone and the new one has a bigger screen.

This would seem like a simple fix, right?

Wrong.

I have a tendency to fuck things up when they are going right.

I had a phone that was fine.

So of course, I need a new one.

I got a deal on one of the higher rated Android phones yesterday.

Got home and the goddam thing will not hook up to the internet.

Called tech support and spent 2 hours on the phone to Mumbai, India, talking to my new friend “Roy”.

(Side note. If you are going to take an American sounding name to put me at ease, choose one that is not creepy and 40 years out of date.)

So, 2 hours of flashing and updating with “Roy”, and the phone is still crap.

Nothing to be done there.

Took the phone back and exchanged it for the same model.

Got it to hook to the internet.

Got home and the next problem surfaced.

Turns out that since my last phone was an iphone, anyone who has an iphone and has texted me before, cannot do so for 30 days.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Turns out that iMessage is Apple’s texting server, and it has a 30 days memory.

It still thinks I have an iPhone.

So, while I text and it goes thru normal channels, iPhone people text back and since my phone is now not an iPhone, I don’t get the text.

A quick survey and I realize that 90% of my texting is from iPhones.

I hate my new phone.

I have had cell phones for over 20 years and I have never had a “one thing after another” experience like this.

Way to go Sprint and Apple, I blame you both.

And tomorrow is more of the same.

I am taking it back.

Apple is Ike Turner, slapped the piss out of me, and tomorrow, I will go back like a bitch.

Damn.

Going with the iPhone 5 is semi-humiliating but actually makes sense.

I know the iPhone. Sure, IOS7 looks like a silly cartoon, but I know where everything is.

Its like a restaurant you go to a lot.

Sure its not the greatest, but you know the menu by heart and you know where the toilet is.

What is shocking to me is the amount of issues out there that are incredibly well documented, on both the Apple and the Android side, that so many people know about, but no one will do anything about them.

Especially not Apple, the phone makers, or the carriers.

Its like the consumer version of Dumb and Dumber.

The issue I was having with my phone not connecting to the internet? A simple network reset fixed the issue.

2 hours on the phone to Mumbai and that never occurred to “Roy”.

For several reasons I can’t change carriers.

We all have different reasons why we can’t change or get away from this shit.

In the end, we are all Tina.

And Ike is hitting harder as time goes on.

 
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Posted by on October 18, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Only two things scare me.

And one of them is Carnies.

Nomads you know, circus folk, small hands, smell like cabbage.

That is a line from my favorite movie.

Carnies, however, have changed over the years.

Nowdays, they smell like BO, cigarettes and meth.

Suddenly cabbage doesn’t sounds so bad, does it?

I am in a semi familiar place, a Starbucks on the edge of the crappy section of town.

And the circus is in town.

Well, a carnival is in town.

And its just down the block from Starbucks.

Parking at this Starbucks is dicey, they share a lot with a few popular stores.

So, during my half block walk to get my java on, I notice about 5 homeless guys hanging around outside the store.

Grungy, dirty, torn clothes and wild hair. Skin that even the most gifted dermatologist couldn’t save.

I am in a good mood today, so I fish around in my pocket for some change.

I realize that anything I give them is going towards meth, but thats a personal decision.

I am doing it to make myself feel better, they are just the device being used.

Its an old system.

Kind of a win-win with meth involved.

And then I heard one of them say that they had to hurry and get back to work.

They went in and I followed.

Now I was intrigued.

I stood in line behind these smelly inbreds in a daze.

They smelled worse than some of the homeless I have been known to associate with on rare occassion.

But, from the sounds of it, they would be working 16 hour days for the next 8 days.

They have to be the hardest working homeless derelicts I have ever heard of.

I was pretty relieved when I finally got thru line.

The carnies had a stink that will break your soul.

And it lingered.

There is nothing less appetizing than BO and Coffee.

In the end, I had to sit out on the patio, the inside smelled like a cesspool.

I hate to be a whiny ass about this, but it was giving me a headache.

Not my normal MO, but I decided to take a walk with my coffee.

Bed, Bath and beyond is one of those places I avoid like the plague.

Not because I dislike the store, much the opposite.

They have too much stuff.

And it is all the cheap, crappy items that I love to prowl thru.

It was in aisle 12, next to the steel ice cubes that I came across the microwavable seat cushion.

If you are going somewhere cold, you can pop this into the microwave for 2 minutes on high and it will stay warm for 10 minutes.

There are more than a few problems with the whole idea.

First off, if you are outdoors anywhere cold enough to need this, you will not have a microwave with you.

And if your are indoors anyplace this cold, the electricity is out.

Plus, the idea of sitting for 10 minutes on moist heat leads to 3 unpleasant situations.

First, hot ass cheeks. A torture invented by the romans.

Second, a sweaty taint. This is not a desirable thing.

Third, and this might be the most obvious one, quit thinking about your ass so much! Nothing good can come of that.

There is an entire section of items “As seen on TV”.

At one time or another, I have seen all of the items on a cheap infomercial.

They all give the impression that they come from Europe or Australia.

If that is true, they have a lot of worthless crap overseas.

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Posted by on October 11, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Coffee Bean and I are now besties.

You would think that hypocrisy would choke more going down.

Especially when hypocrisy was a large Costa Rica and a mini sparkle donut from the Coffee Bean.

Except that its pretty tasty.

I have been going to the Coffee Bean for almost a solid week now.

Not so bad.

Starbucks, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that letting the wifi go down without being in a hurry to repair it is good corporate logic.

Everybody comes because of the coffee, right?

Right? …………(Sounds of crickets)

Wrong.

Turns out its all about the wifi.

Coffee Bean is usually half empty, and Starbucks is packed.

Since the wifi went down, Starbucks has more people working there than customers, and Coffee is packed.

And here I thought I was addicted to the caffeine.

(By the way, this Costa Rican roast is something special.)

Now that its packed, with all the yoga ladies having their latte’s and surfing their iPads.

Now I realize that those who read this blog on a regular basis, (All 5 of you.) are screaming about this.

I have maligned this place in the past.

Some of my mud-slinging highlights:

1. The average age in Coffee Bean is 85 years old, until I walk in, then it drops 20 years.

2. There is a minimum of 3 oxygen tanks at the table.

3. I once claimed that the epitome of the Coffee Bean experience is when an old man sitting next to me noisily shit hi pants.

I think it would be incorrect to call it lying, not to mention rude, so lets say that a certain amount of artistic license is in play.

I came to the conclusion a long time ago that this blog exists to make me laugh.

And thats kind of it.

I don’t mind it if you laugh, but its not all about you.

Its mainly my vile little mind rambling in print, the more outrageous, the better.

I mark my better blogs by how many times I laugh out loud during the writing.

Its later, I am in a different Starbucks.

I have my familiar caffeine in a mug in front of me.

I don’t think I can use the phrase “favorite” anymore.

Its all caffeine, no matter where the beans come from or how it tastes.

I am need the caffeine, but I want/need the wifi.

Otherwise, I could just pound Rockstars all day.

Rockstar, by the way, is the meth of the caffeine fix world.

You start swilling Rockstar, you end up with no teeth, living on the street, giving oral sex to anyone who will spot you a can.

Coffee is natural, organic, and comes from nature.

Reading that, I realize how silly that sounds.

Its the argument for medical marijuana.

Which is a silly argument, but then, its not my addiction.

The really neat thing about a caffeine addiction is that you can get your fix in a dozen different ways.

Plus the acceptability factor is tough to get around.

Any drug you can be offered at a church social or during a break at a court proceeding means that you will never go without.

Plus its cheaper.

 

I wrote the words above this morning.

And at the end of my day, the irony is killing me.

I got home from work and began opening my mail.

And after all of the absolutely vile shit I have said about the Coffee Bean.

Turns out they felt bad that I couldn’t get to my blog site the other day.

So they sent me a couple of gift cards.

So, yeah, I feel like a dick.

Not the first time.

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Posted by on October 4, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Peeing is tough enough.

I don’t like being mad-dogged at the urinal.

Let me pee in peace.

There is kind of an unspoken etiquette at the men’s room urinals.

It is a lot like being in prison.

For the most part, guys are convinced that a possible prison rape seen could happen at any moment.

Its a tense atmosphere for most guys. Except the guys that are in the men’s room, looking for love.

Me? I don’t need any new friends.

That being said, could you look lovingly into someone elses eyes for 2 minutes?

No offense. This is a don’t ask, don’t tell. I don’t ask because I don’t want to be told.

Let me set the scene.

There are four stand up urinals against the wall, with the door on the right.

If I take the one 2nd from the left, that leaves one between me and the wall and two between me and the door.

If you come in, please take the one furthest from me, it causes the least trouble.

If you take the one next to me, on my right with the door, you will interrupt my urinating as I wonder if there is an attack coming.

And god forbid you take the one between me and the wall. At this point, I am done urinating and I KNOW you have an agenda.

And I don’t need to have my urinating interrupted. I am at that age where any issue with the flow has me worrying about my prostate. You have to watch that sucker like a hawk.

Back to the urinal.

I realize how all of this sounds. There are some of you screeching “Homophobe!”

And?

I think a little fear is good for you.

So is guilt.

Keeps you on your toes, your head in the game.

I was raised Catholic, so the whole fear and guilt thing goes with it and I get that.

We keep getting away from the urinal and I am starting to think that it is an ok thing.

Urinals smell horrible.

Ladies don’t realize how bad men’s rooms are.

I always refer to them as the Monkey Hut.

Like at the zoo.

Shit on the walls is unpleasant, but not all that unexpected.

Men will pee on the seat, on the floor, the wall.

You name it.

I once read a news article about a man who had never used a public toilet. He spent a huge amount of time travelling from work to home to use the bathroom.

The more I think about that one, the more I think that it would be awesome.

It would be clean.

It would smell nice.

And no one would maddog you mid-pee.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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