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Life begins at 40.

“Nobody knows when life begins, really.”

That little nugget of attempted intellectual spew just came at me from the brain-dead dipshits at the next table.

College students, nothing dumber on the planet.

They have been toddling thru the latest Supreme Court decision, much to my chagrin and annoyance.

Its annoying because there is an answer.

This is what is wrong with college. Students are not taught aggression. They get their soft little heads crammed with information, but they are never taught the process to push thru to their own opinion on anything.

That is why so many of them take the opinion that is voiced to them by some bearded socialist during this vulnerable period and take it like something they got straight from the burning bush.

Its a lot like a puppy that shits on the rug. Its so fucking cute….. the first few times. And then it goes on for most of their adult life.

And that is the shitty part. (Pun completely intended.)

But the life beginning thing has an answer.

And that answer is yes.

Life begins when it begins. Thats it. It has nothing to do with a court or viability or anything.

Ask a farmer if a carrot is still a carrot if you yank it out of the ground a week ahead of time.

Is it edible? Maybe not. Was it growing? Yes, because that it what life does.

Abortion being murder is a moot point. As a society, we have long viewed the taking of life as an ok thing. Animals, people, whatever, under the right circumstances, we are more than willing to do it. Remove the back story and look at the base action. Its all the same, unsatisfying answer, still the same.

And then the sarcastic side of my mind takes over.

If you are going to talk about life, you should start with masturbation. That is really where life begins, at least from the perspective of young boys, some young girls, but not as many as you think there would be.

Despite a childhood of getting caught each and every time they sneak a cookie, every boy is convinced mom has no clue, no matter how sloppy his masturbatory habits get.

Its a gender specific delusion that seems to permeate the entire male species.

If you think about it, a lot of life has ended tragically into tissues and socks everywhere since the beginning of time.

Ok, so that was a little deeper than I was going for.

Time to get off of the pedestal, I am 5 foot 3 on a good day and that high I risk a nosebleed.

You will notice that, for the most part, I did not mention female masturbation.

That is because I am a Feminist at heart, only a misogynist would go on and on about women and their naughty habits. (Also, I try to keep the posts under 1000 words at the most.)

I think, in the end, the whole “Life beginning” discussion is one of opinion and perspective, like a moveable feast that is wholly dependant on whoever it is flapping their pie hole at the time.

The thing that fucks it all up is the legal aspects of it all.

And the really scary part at the end of it is, that the final ruling will be made by the Supreme Court.

I have not seen a Supreme Court judge that was not so old and decrepit that they looked like they hadn’t had sex in several decades. (With the exception of Clarence Thomas and his slightly odd thing for soda, pubic hair and Long Dong Silver videos. You know that man is closing some serious Supreme Court groupies.)

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Let a Player play!

Every now and then, I ask myself, “What would Jesus do?”

I am pretty sure the answer is not “Smack a bitch.”

Although, the guy at the next table seems to think that is a viable answer to the issue with his, I am guessing here, girlfriend.

Girlfriend is a very loose term that I gleaned from his frequent comments about, and I am quoting, “That wack bitch.”

Shakespeare was known to coin many words and phrases in the course of his writings, but I don’t believe he was the originator of “Wack bitch.”

Setting: Starbucks on Grand, El Segundo, California. 2nd table from the front. Morning, weekend.

1st table, right in the middle of a busy morning rush line, is The Player.

I am not sure who he is talking to based largely on his REALLY poor communication skills.

I thought he was talking to a friend about said “Wack Bitch”, and then, he made a comment about “You know what’s you done.” (Direct confusing quote there.)

I have no clue. (Then again, I don’t think I would be scooting that far out on a limb to say that The Player may not have a cache of clues squirreled away back at the house.)

Every now and then, I come across an example of humanity that really makes me dread the future of this country.

And I am fairly certain that hip hop is involved.

Don’t get me wrong, I used to listen to some of the most gritty, grungy, crappy music out there, but hip hop seems to have a rear-naked choke on raw intelligence that will not only end the fight, but the concept of intelligence itself may end up dead as a result.

The argument could be made that this is racist or class-derogatory or even as a reach, Moperic. (Google the word Mopery. Work with me here.)

If it sounds like I am being hard on the younger generation, please understand that its intentional.

Its not that I think they are dumb, far from it.  (My own brilliant  bloodlines  excluded).

I KNOW the younger generation are dumb.

(Sidenote. I would use the crudish term “Tarded” here, but the sheer volume of hate email that follows takes hours to sort thru. And the incredibly poor grammar always gets nasty responses back from me, which only makes things worse. Shoot me, but for God’s sake, use a comma and look up the meaning of a double negative.)

I would worry about backlash from the younger generation, except that it is a well known fact that, unless accompanied by a pic, such as a 12-step affirmation printed on top of a low graphic photo on Facebook, they cannot read.

I would say that a formal declaration of war against ignorance has been made. My own particular brand of ignorance is hereby excluded.

Think of my perspective as the Geneva Convention of online blog wars except for the implied “Take no prisoners” clause.

As always, if any of this bothers you, feel free to write your own blog.

From a cathartic standpoint, this blog has always existed as a mental chamber pot that I routinely fill with the shit in my head, to be dumped out the window at random intervals, to land on the unsuspecting and the dumb.

Talk amongst yourselves.

 
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Posted by on July 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The heart wants what it wants

I’m in love.

True, I’ve said this before, but this time its the real deal.

She’s a force of nature, this one.

She’s also somewhere past the age of 80.

I pulled into Starbucks parking lot and saw an old woman screeching at cars.

Homeless? Not sure. Bat shit crazy, absolutely.

I parked and watched as she made her way towards Starbucks.

She was awesome, this kind of crazy is rare.

She was furious, at all times, walking along and muttering in anger at everything she passed.

People, chairs, small dogs, everybody got a snarl and muttered curse word from her.

I have named her Mona, for Mona Lisa, the woman of many sides.

Into Starbucks we go. (Or down the rabbit hole, take your pick.)

The line was about medium, 4-5 people.

The fun began rather quickly. (I would feel bad for enjoying all of this, but I came to peace with this a long time ago.)

“Wipe you’re goddam feet!” Was hissed at a man in an impeccable business suit coming thru the door. He looked confused and backed out.

Mona runs a tight ship.

“Don’t take all day!” This was directed in the general direction of the cashier. It caused a bunch of fluttering activity around the register but didn’t speed things up.

Mona has little patience for wasted time.

“What’s so funny?!?!” She was pissed now. This was directed at me when I laughed. I really couldn’t help myself.

Mona is my soulmate, I swear.

I made no large movements, just backed away. I didn’t say anything. Nothing catches crazy’s attention like a response.

She kept it together long enough to order a grande house drip.

It took a full minute to order because Mona kept asking the cashier to repeat her order back to her, before she had ordered anything.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out if she is crazy AND homeless, or just crazy.

Either way, she’s awesome. Its not often a human being transcends being a normal person and becomes a force of nature, something to be reckoned with and in some/most instances, feared.

And this little honey is loaded for bear.

She stomped her aged little butt over to the pick up window and planted her Witchee-poo (Google it) shoes in the space that people hurriedly made for her.

She got her coffee, shuffled over to the cream and sugar kiosk, which just happened to be deserted during prime time (HA), Then made her way to the door.

It was here that she took her already powerful, bat-shit crazy routine and knocked it out of the park.

“This music is shit!” Loudly at no one in particular. (Wait for it…)

“Get the hell out of here!” Some sane old guy said to her, not yelling, but firmly loud. (Wait for it………)

“BAAAAAA!!!” Shaking her fist at all of us, like some sort of old world granny curse. I shit you not.

Much like remembering where you were when Kennedy was shot, I will remember this day and that force of nature in support hose and comfortable shoes till the day I die.

 
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Posted by on April 4, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Do I really need to walk a mile in your shoes to know they don’t fit?

Two sides of the same coin.

I was writing a few minutes ago and something oddly uncomfortable happened.

Not like “Too much fiber and a long line at the bathroom” type of uncomfortable.

I mean the outside my comfort zone kind.

I get heavily absorbed when I write, and really don’t pay attention to what is going on around me, unless of course I need something to write about.

And then she was there.

Indian, skinny, she was about 5’4 and had a child clinging to her skirt.

In her hands was a sign.

“Poor, hungry, please help.”

The saddest eyes in the world stared at me.

There are easier ways to get money out of me, but none of them come to mind as I write this.

And it hit me two separate ways.

On the one hand, outrage.

Fucking beggar. And she does this shit in front of her child? Raising the next generation of beggars? Just great, just fucking wonderful.

On the other, curiosity. (Almost wrote compassion, but I tend to analyze first.)

What would you do for your kids? Is there a line you would not cross if your ass was against the wall? Yeah, bad choices, not thinking about your future, blah, blah, blah. But the past has already happened, the future is tomorrow, and the present is… Right. Fucking. Now.

I rarely carry cash, so the $5 in my wallet kind of shocked me.

Yeah, she’s a pro, I’m a sucker, and a five spot won’t kill me.

And its none of your business, good or bad.

True, I make it yours by putting it in print, but this is a lecture, not a discussion.

Socrates once wrote, the poor are with us, always.

A few thousand years ago, thats age’s version of this woman and her kid was carrying a sign written in ancient Greek into the vomitorium and hitting up the Ancient Greek blogger, Bittermaximus for a few drachma’s.

The Greeks invented the alphabet, democracy and astronomy, so I will put solving the problem of homelessness just out of reach for my skill set.

Unless of course the problem can be solved with sarcasm and shitty comments, then I am your man.

Which is a pretty immature way of throwing my hands up and braying, “I can’t fix it, so I’ll make fun of it.”

I like to think its important know your strengths and weaknesses and come to peace with them, you tend to sleep better at night.

And I sleep like a rock.

A guy in line just had two things happen.

He got in the woman’s face and slapped at her sign.

Rude, and mean. Cruel and unnecessary.

What happened next was interesting.

He got his venti cup of steaming goodness at the counter, picked it up and turned to go to the cream and sugar kiosk.

And dropped a steaming venti cup of black coffee right onto his (Let me guess)…Bruno Magli shoes. (Ridiculously expensive shitty Italian shoes.)

You know, it always shocks me when Karma pays attention to the goings on around here.

And its about time.

 
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Posted by on March 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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What’s the going rate on a soul these days?

Prostitution is never a pretty exchange.

Here’s how it starts.

The guy, really no more than a boy, enters the Starbucks looking confused, then he spots someone and his face lights up with a smile from that the book he read last night on “Power Interviewing.”

The introductions are brief.

The kid gives him the Chapter 5 “Winning handshake”, and they sit.

The pimp is fairly low key, as far as pimps go.

Fashionably faded jeans, loafers, a shirt that could be a dress shirt if it was buttoned up with a tie. As it is, unbuttoned the top two, and the sleeves rolled up.

The working man’s pimp.

And the dance begins.

The pimp pulls out the kids resume, and begins to pick it apart.

Spying from the next table over, the kid’s resume is better than most.

Graduating with a finance degree from a decent school, interning for a CPA, then a law firm, then an insurance company, the kid is now a senior, and looking for a job.

The pimp looks it over and tisk-tisks a few times, then tears it to shit.

The critical moment in any pimp/whore relationship is right in the beginning.

The pimp has to break down the whore into nothing.

Its a brutal thing to watch.

All the kid wants is a job.

That is what the last 3 years of his life have been about.

He is doing it the way they all tell you it should be done.

The pimp knows better, he knows the steps to this dance, and he can help.

For a price.

As near as I can figure, he is a new-grad bounty hunting kind of pimp.

He gets his money by vetting grads and presenting them to the johns.

The companies.

Its a new spin on an old tale. (And not a happy tale at that.)

And the new version is just as distasteful as the old one.

About 20 minutes in, the subject turns to money, and this is where the serious soul crushing begins.

The kid has read websites and done his research, he knows how much he should be gunning for in his first job.

The pimp, on the other hand, needs to break him of that, convince him that everything he read is bullshit, and deliver him to the companies ready to accept their crappy offer.

Do the math. The pimp is not doing it out of love, the company is paying him.

And where does that money come from?

Money for the kid, of course.

And, while I didn’t get enough to figure out how, the kid is paying the pimp something.

Wow.

That is a tough deal to broker with a straight face.

Don’t get me wrong, I love haggling a deal, but this vile, leaves a stink.

I may need a shower after watching this, I just feel dirty.

All told, their meeting lasted 45 minutes.

The kid shook the pimp’s hand and walked out the door, smiling.

You poor bastard. God help you.

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Being inappropriate worldwide.

Evidently, dirty talk has a world wide audience.

One of the nicer behind the scenes features of the blogging software I use is that it tracks where someone viewed the blog from.

And it turns out I am big in Eastern Europe and North Africa.

Moldova. Ever heard of it? Me neither. I am HUGE there. At least 3-4 people.

Slovenia. I am the MAN in Slovenia. At least 2 people there. (Mad props to all my homies in Ljubljana.)

There is a serious Bitter army out there.

2 dozen strong.

Sorry, if you were looking for an actual army out there, you are shit out of luck.

This blog is still largely unknown.

Which is both good and bad.

Bad in that all of this semi-obscene crap only hits a small audience.

Good in that all of this semi-obscene crap only hits a small audience.

Same reason, goes both ways.

And in the top 4 countries with the most viewership are as follows:

1. USA. (This one in a gimme, the USA is my home ground and it leads the world in useless blog writers and readers.)

2. Indonesia. (Not entirely sure where this country is, but they are a cultured, beautiful people and I plan to visit once I figure out where they are.)

3. Canada. (Despite my distaste of the Canadians as a people, they love me. Its kind of a love/hate relationship.)

4. United Kingdom. (And yet, I despise them more than the Canadians. I come from Irish militants, so this one is also a gimme.)

I already have a passport, so the only thing holding me back from heading out on the Bittermac.com world tour is the fact the International travel is massively expensive.

And if you thought this blog made more than $.50 a month, you are deluding yourself.

(Cheap dick jokes rife with thinly veiled misogyny and sociopathic undertones are not chart toppers on ANY advertisers wish list.)

Like I have said before, this tawdry little blog is like a literary hooker. Just do whatcha gotta do, avoid eye contact, and leave the money on the dresser on your way out.

Also like a hooker, don’t make the mistake of thinking I care.

Julia Roberts is just an actress and it was only a movie.

I am not and will never be the blogger with the heart of gold that will change your life.

Or maybe I am wrong.

Maybe, just maybe, there is a post somewhere in here that will touch you.

Hopefully in a good way, but possibly it will touch you in a bad way, like that uncle with sweaty palms that you hated being alone with.

Ok, I will be the first to admit that maybe I crossed the line with that last line, but it is what it is.

I see nothing wrong with hating both the player and the game.

A decent question is, why are we playing games to begin with?

Are you picking up what I’m putting down here?

 
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Posted by on November 8, 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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