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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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Asshole with a side of crab.

Ok, so bottomless mimosa’s for brunch are never a good idea.

Alcohol tends to bring out the asshole in some people.

But what do you do if the asshole is already out?

Then it shifts into something vicious to behold.

You realize about halfway during brunch that, if the waitress were to mutter the word “Dick” under her breath as she walks away from your table, it will make your morning.

This may sound mean and I really don’t think I can argue that one with you.

Its not like I start out on the moral high ground or anything.

To quote Robin Williams, “I fucked my way to the middle and screwed my way down.”

And while I am a big advocate of embracing the asshole within, I can get to a place that even I am sick of myself.

The first step on the road to recovery may be to stop seeing others as playthings to be manipulated for my own amusement.

Have you ever noticed that they are putting cranberries in pretty much everything now?

It used to just be juices, now its drinks, baked goods, seasonings.

Well, crab is now the cranberry of seafood.

I counted it up, and of the 65 food items on the restaurant menu, crab was in 40 of them.

Top sirloin sliders sounded good, until I noticed there was crab mixed in.

Is nothing sacred?

And, of a party of 8 people, 6 had crab in their entree.

This makes me suspect some sort of plot with crab at the middle. (Perhaps the Mason’s?)

In the end, I found the food at the restaurant rather bland and seemingly low end. (Mine was cold, and trust me, you have not heard bitching until you serving me cold Breakfast Wellington. (Like Beef Wellington but with eggs and ham.))

This is one of the reasons that I seldom try new eating establishments.

There is always the chance they will pooch it and then I am stuck with an unpleasant memory.

You would think it was not a big deal, but it is.

I mean, you eat 3 meals a day, 365 days a year. Thats over a 1000 meals every year, surely one bad meal is no biggie?

It is.

The point of this entire whiny rant is that, a restaurant that charges over $20 a head should have their shit together.

That being said, the company was spectacular and funny and included a few people I have not seen much lately and have missed.

Which led to the waitress getting a decent tip.

I was not able to goad her into calling me names, but she did instruct the water busboy to “Just ignore him.”

(Don’t ask me why, but a woman throwing a smack at me publicly is oddly endearing.)

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Vegans and Christmas pork.

I love saying Merry Christmas.

Not Happy Holidays.

How much more of a generic troll can you be?

“I would love to express my joy, but I wouldn’t want to mention what that joy is about.”

Despite the people that required the above statement to describe them, I have hope for the world.

Because of my Muslim neighbor.

Awesome dude, great neighbor.

No drugs, no outrageous parties, nothing to avoid talking about when we pass on the street.

And, when I came home today, he yelled over from his yard, “Merry Christmas!”

I had to investigate.

“I had thought the Muslim people didn’t celebrate Christmas?”

“We don’t, but I know you do.”

“Doesn’t it offend you?”

At this, he laughs.

“That is something guilty Christians say. How could saying Merry Christmas offend anyone?”

And I realize he is right.

I have been so twisted around by the politically correct screw heads that I lost sight of basic logic.

Its a greeting of happiness.

How unhappy and deviant is your thought process to either think it would be offensive to someone, or to find it offensive?

And this coming from someone who’s stated purpose, on a regular basis is to piss people off?

This being the end of the year, I would like to give a special shout out to anyone that I have pissed off.

Sit tight, put on your big girl panties and I will piss someone else off and you can laugh at that.

I would apologize, but I have come to realize that I really just don’t care.

 

It is the day after Christmas now, and I am in a different mood now.

Not one that cares about your feelings, but kind of that “Sitting in the after glow” type of mood.

Good Christmas.

Lots of family and food.

I come from a family of either mechanics or short order cooks.

So I cooked breakfast for everyone.

And that means pork.

Pork is God’s gift to the Irish.

Not that you find a massive amount of pigs in Ireland. (Its a long story.)

Bacon and sausage, and two flavors of sausage.

Add to that eggs, waffles, hash browns, and mimosa’s.

I am a breakfast God.

It was good.

I have long preferred spending Christmas morning with bacon grease splattered on my shirt.

Psychological byproduct of growing up in a hamburger stand.

As opposed to a Vegan restaurant.

I would died by now if the family biz was a Vegan restaurant.

Without exception, all serious Vegan’s I have ever met appear unhealthy, talk about a coming or just past illness, and for some reason, have dry skin.

Just an observation, and please save yourself the trouble and don’t email me to whine about your great Vegan lifestyle.

Keep lying to yourself.

I have embraced the carnivore within, and he is a happy toothy camper.

So, the long and the short of it is that Christmas is family, food, and remembering the fact that carnivores rock while Vegan’s are slowly killing themselves.

Merry Christmas all.

 
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Posted by on December 27, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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What a Cork’er!

I have a confession to make.

I am one of those arrogant, elitist foodie types that loves going to restaurants and either falling in love with the food or ripping it to pieces.

But only certain types of food.

High end French food? Shit

Sushi? Uncooked, possibly rotten shit.

Anything involving a shellfish of any kind? I will aim for you when I projectile vomit.

However, make me a cheeseburger with bacon and ham ground up into the patty and then stuff it with a mix of exotic cheeses and I may shit myself in delight. (And they do that in a Cafe in Torrance, CA)

All of that being said, an old friend has opened an eating establishment.

Cork’ers.

First of all, they serve coffee. You had me at hello.

Their roast is an incredible one from a small local roaster.

Then, they serve food.

Modern, yet traditional Irish food. You had my grandmother at hello.

I have yet to have breakfast, but they have a creation called bacon jam that they will be spreading over waffles that makes my naughty bits tingle quite a bit.

And, in the evening hours, they will be serving a selection of beers and wines.

I am in love, that embarrassing schoolgirl type of love.

I am going to have a friend slip the eatery a note later and ask it if it likes me. (Complete with check boxes, Yes or No.)

I had spicy pork mixed with veggies and a dollop of sweet potato mash on top.

The pork is spicy enough to clear your sinuses.

I may have found a new home away from home.

Starbucks, you are hereby on notice.

(And not in the Ike and Tina way where I slap you around and throw you out then show up crying. TAKE ME BACK BABY!)

The nicest thing of all, its a fairly healthy eating alternative to my usual eatery.

Growing up, the family business was a kick ass burger place, so my eating preference is firmly in the “Comfort food” realm.

I plan on being here a lot.

This blog isn’t going to write itself.

Alright, so writing rude stream of consciousness stuff kind of does write itself, but you get what I mean.

Plus, the change of scenery will do me good.

 

It’s Sunday now.

Had breakfast at the aforementioned friend’s restaurant.

Holy shit.

Had the waffles folded over scrambled eggs, Irish bangers, and a generous smear of that bacon jam.

Had a little food-gasm on the first bite.

But the highlight of the morning was when the manager stopped me from ordering the house drip.

“Let me make you a special coffee that is one of my favorites.”

This is a lot like a crack dealer saying, “I got a special rock, just for you.”

Not the kind of thing that refusing even occurs to you.

Ethiopian Yirgacheffe.

Good lord.

I would try to be cute and say java-gasm, but that would not cover it.

Imagine if the Victoria super models dropped by, took you out for an evening of drinking at a party at the Playboy mansion with oral favors throughout.

Yeah, its a guy’s fantasy, (and a few of the ladies) but it conveys the point.

It was awesome.

And sure, there is a bit of glassy eyed honeymoon mentality at play here.

Its an old friend, its by my house, the bloom is ON THE ROSE.

Will it fade over time?

Maybe a bit, but its an Irish coffee place that makes some good breakfast.

Thats like a crack house with a really comfortable couch.

Its the little things that count.

I don’t promote stuff here, never have. I am doing this.

Cork’ers. Redondo Beach California. Near the Galleria. Find it and get your Bacon on.

 

 
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Posted by on December 16, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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