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The pissed off game is afoot.

There is a special magic in seeing a group of angry old men playing chess in a Starbucks midmorning.

They play cut throat chess here.

Once the game begins, each player has one minute to make their move, then slap the big red button on the timer and then talk shit for 1 minute until the button is slapped again.

And the shit talking is stunning to behold.

Sexuality, race, geneology and hygene are on the table and are free play here.

I even heard a few mother slams thrown in there.

The distraction level is somewhere up in the rafters. But the game play is high level.

I used to study/play chess and I have seen several high end named strageties going on.

Add the distractions to the game restrictions and you have a setting that even Bobby Fisher would be someones prison bitch inside of an hour.

I saw video of Fisher playing once and he looked brittle like a chihuahua.

The high point of the morning was when the fight began.

For the sake of brevity, (And you know how I love to be brief) Iwill simply use the names they used.

John, it seems, tried to finish a move when time had run out, and refused to move his piece.

T, his opponent, is not having it.

Mel, observing/on deck to play next, is on John’s side.

Hack, observing but not playing, doesn’t seem to be doing anything, except talking shit.

John: My piece was moved. I made my move!

T: You have you hand on your piece, that is contemplating a move, NOT finishing a move! Time Ran Out. Put your piece back!

Mel: Man had his piece in place, thats a move.

Hack: Did you eat my cookie? (Not said to anyone in particular.)

John: You losing the game, just have some dignity, T.

T: Talk to yo momma about dignity, and while your at it, tell her you a cheat.

Mel: Aw, that ain’t right.

Hack: My mother died when I was 12.

At this point, the edge of the board was “Accidentally” bumped by the agitated T, who was TOTALLY losing at this point, knocking over most of the pieces.

And all hell broke loose.

T proclaimed his innocence, John proclaimed his guilt, Mel made generic guilt statements, and Hack found his cookie. (Who buys a cookie and puts it in his pocket?)

And then, the really big offense was made.

T gestured with his hand and knocked over the timer.

Holy shit.

You would think someone hopped up on the table, dropped trou and took a dump on the board.

And the “Fuck you, T!” was almost anti-climatic.

But the game is over for today, everyone is leaving like there was a fart in the car.

And then they were gone.

All except Hack, who just sat there eating his cookie.

Sorry never underestimate how serious some people take their hobbies.

Because nothing ruins morning coffee quicker than foul mouth old men.

And thats a damn shame.

Mmmmm coffee.

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Posted by on July 22, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Bow to the DD Goddess

There is a special magic in a well endowed woman who makes the conscious decision not wear a bra.

Just a t-shirt.

God bless you, miss, you’re doing the Lord’s work here.

Don’t get all preachy on me, this is more of a natural, primal thing.

Like watching geese flying North in formation.

Or seeing the first 400lbs woman wearing a tube top in the Summer at a Walmart.

But this woman has a serious A game going on.

She is totally aware of what she is doing.

Allow me to set the scene.

About 5’4, dark brown hair, pretty face with an earth sensuality that makes her stunning, eyes that are dark and beautiful but have malicious glint that reminds me of a storm warning.

Now for the serious description.

She is a DD cup, maybe bigger.

Mid 20’s, so some weight sag, but no age sag as of yet.

And they are natural.

Not that there is anything wrong with enhanced breasts.

But there is a difference in movement.

A braless woman with breast enhancement? They both move together, like synchronized swimmers, beautiful in their precision.

But a pair of DD without a bra?

Like puppies wrestling under a blanket.

Gloriously, there is no synchronicity.

Each breast has its own agenda.

And the lady in question not only understands the effect that she is having on the men and a few women around her, but she is reveling in it.

She is moving abruptly, waiting till she sees someone boldly staring, then reaching for things or gesturing suddenly.

All with a vicious little smile on her lips.

This is a dangerous woman.

Inside of 3 weeks, she could be running the world.

The cashier is an 18 year old guy that may or may not have orgasmed briefly a moment ago.

If he didn’t have a stutter previously, he does now.

She just waggled her shoulders at him, creating a lovely display that may have just made me cum a little bit.

But this is not about me.

You may have noted that I have not given her a nickname like I do to most people.

There is a reason for this.

I am at a loss for words.

What name could capture the complexity of the moment?

She is like a pagan goddess, manifested in a Starbucks.

Thank God she isn’t recruiting followers. (Or is she? I would worship at that alter.)

I can forecast conversion for anyone with a pair of testies.

Amazing that blog writing is still possible when most of the blood leaves your head, I thought is was a necessary thing? (Wait for it, wait for it…….there you go, welcome to the party.

The true power that this woman holds is both up front and subtle.

Every man in here is lusting after her.

And she will occupy many lurid thoughts throughout the day.

And that is a form of power that is stunning in its complexity and the fact that there is no way to fight it.

And why would you?

 
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Posted by on July 15, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Riding a pale meth-horse

A few thoughts on armageddon.

When the end comes, and trust me, its coming, it won’t be what you think.

Zombie holocaust? Nope. Nuclear war? Not a chance.

Homeless clowns.

Most chilling fucking thing I have ever witnessed.

Let me paint you a scene.

I am off work, unlocking my bike.

And then I hear the screaming.

“F-YOU, YOU M-FING M_FERS!”

Stop.

Who do you see in your head?

Who says this?

You are thinking homeless meth-head, right?

You are only half right.

Across the street, stomping and swearing her unwashed ass around bus stop…

Is a HOMELESS CLOWN METH-HEAD!

I may shit myself and have a heart attack.

This is hands down the most terrifying thing I have ever seen.

I am not sure how I got here, but I am crouched down behind some bikes locked to a fence.

This is horrible.

The “Pucker factor” of seeing a homeless clown meth-head far exceeds 10 right now.

I am so clenched at this point I could crush pool balls with my asscheeks.

Watching this horror of nature stomp around the bus stop and scream is like something either out of a horror film or Revelations.

Who is like the Beast? Who can make war like the Beast?

So, now that I have offended everyone I ever went to Catholic school with, you poor tortured

bastards, let me bring my entire blasphemous witticisms full circle.

On Judgement day, once the horn blows, armies of homeless meth-head clowns will descend upon on us like locusts.

And at the head of that army, Kris Jenner, also known as “Babylon, mother of Harlots and abominations in the world.” (I think I am dead right on this one.)

Whew! That got a little long winded, sorry about that.

It was a long walk, for such a small drink, but one I am willing to make. (There are like 5 people I know who will get this.)

Anyway, while I am not totally afraid of clowns, in a purely “Grown ass man” sense, but a homeless meth-head clown is a little too much for the senses.

Its overwhelming, like a visual brain-freeze.

And the only fix for it is to hunker down and just wait for it to pass.

This too shall pass.

So, once I stopped being terrified and hiding, I began to watch the vile little scene going on across the street. (I had my bike ready to take off just in case Babylon saw me and gave me the bulls rush. I am curious, but not stupid.)

Most of her rage, and there was a LOT of it, was directed at 2 people on the corner who were pushing a broken lawn mower.

Which should have tipped me off.

So the clown is pissed at the other two homeless meth-heads who may or may not have stolen her broken lawn mower. (For the record, they were not dressed as clowns.)

There are some of you who are right now asking “How do you know they are homeless?”

Because, WHO ELSE would push around a broken lawn mower.

Everyone else throws that shit away in the trash.

Which is where the homeless find it.

However, even the drug addled denizens of alleyways can only push a broken mower around until they figure out that it is not worth shit.

And that is when the homeless meth-head clown will get it back.

 

 
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Posted by on June 19, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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The origin of bad attitudes

Not everyone is a morning person.

Me? When my eyes open, I am fully functional, like a sarcastic robot. (Coffee is the “Founder of the Feast” here. Take note.)

My kids don’t take after me in this regard.

There is an hour after they get up that you just leave them alone.

Grumbling, pissy, and nothing but fun to mess with. (Starting to see the whole divorce picture?)

Some people take this pissy-ness to a higher level.

Take the guy in line ahead of me at the gas station cashier with the leather jacket and serious BO.

He smells like BO, cigarettes and old ass stuck between floors in an elevator with no air conditioning on a hot sunny day. (Awesome line.)

It seems a little busy for sun up on a Saturday at the gas station.

However, since we are a stone’s throw from LA International Airport, this may be normal.

Besides smelling like shit, what happens next is what brings the term “pissy-ness” into the equation.

The line has moved forward and BO Dude is next up.

“20 bucks on 4.” He grumbles, tossing a crumpled bill on the counter and turning to leave.

Wait, we are not there yet.

Here is is.

“$20 on 4, got it. Have a nice day.” The cashier says this a little automatically, but with a pleasant tone.

“Oh, fuck off.” And then he goes out the door.

Wow.

Typically, people require something other than a morning pleasantry before throwing that reply out there.

Common courtesy is dead, evidently.

Some peoples kids, I tell you.

This is how the zombie holocaust begins.

Its a small step to go from “Oh, fuck off.” To leaping across the counter and eating the cashier’s brains.

Ok, maybe its a fairly big point, but can you see where I am going with this? (Could you let me know? I am rambling at this point.)

There are some things you witness that stay with you.

How can something that is considered minor and yet still be in my head and screwing with me and this blog several hours later?

Because it isn’t.

Clarity sometime comes upon you like a case of the shits, brutal, sometimes painful, but usually giving you some relief in the end.

It is a big deal because, just as a base, we expect people to be better.

Are anyone of us capable of saying that kind of shitty, dismissive thing to someone else at any given moment?

Absolutely.

10 out of 10 times when you hear someone else do it, don’t we all feel like they shouldn’t?

Absolutely.

What it boils down to is this:

We are all a bunch of holier than thou shitheads that secretly wish we were better people.

Wow, this went from being slightly humorous to being a downer quickly.

So lets rationalize this another way.

I have often thought that people with shitty attitudes have shitty lives. (If I meant vile, sarcastic attitudes, I would have said so. Vile and sarcastic usually means happy, intelligent and bored)

So maybe this guy with the bad attitude and the dirty mouth had just that morning realized that he had the clap.

Which changes things.

Because with the right excuse, a bad attitude is understandable.

And painful.

Get yourself checked, slap on a little deodorant and have a nice day.

Asshole.

 
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Posted by on March 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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