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Tag Archives: karma

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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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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Hell smells like BO and urine.

Would it kill people to fucking bath?

The trains in Los Angeles were laid out like a madman’s maze.

I lived in Portland for a few years, and the trains and buses mesh like a well choreographed dance.

You can get anywhere in Portland Metropolitan area in 45 minutes or less.

Los Angeles? Funny.

You can be waiting 45 minutes for the bus or train here.

But thats not the worst part.

I am going to an event in Downtown LA and didn’t want to drive.

So I figured, ”Why not take the train?”

Anatomy of a mistake.

So, I waited 30 minutes for a train that is supposedly running every 15 minutes.

Don’t do the math, it’ll make your head hurt.

So, the first train was a 20 minute ride.

The woman next to me had BO like nobodies business.

Except that, since our shoulders were touching, it was my business.

I broke my nose years ago and cannot smell things unless they are pretty strong.

But I had no problem sniffing this lady.

It was a long 20 minutes.

I waited another 20 minutes for that same “Every 15 minutes” train.

Standing room only.

The guy standing in front of me, and I think the guy to my right, both looked homeless and smelled strongly of urine.

Lucky me.

My only thought was that karma must have had enough of my mouth and decided that it was time for a little payback.

This was the long ride. 30 minutes.

Supposedly 20 minutes, but an extra 10 was thrown in when the handcapped guy managed to get his wheel caught up in the 4 inch gap between train and platform.

Luckily, his chair was mostly on the train, so the door couldn’t close.

I got the feeling if the door had closed, the train would have rolled off with him being ground up.

Instead, we had the driver, me and a few others, trying to unstick his wheels.

What did not help was that the guy was crazy and convinced we were mugging him.

He stank too. Beer, BO and urine.

The trifecta of nasty.

The third train was only a 10 minute wait, and a 3 stop connection to the 4th train.

The 4th train was something special.

The moment the doors closed, a tall black man, smelled like flowers, began shouting.

I was 3 feet from him and couldn’t make out the first 20 words he shouted at us.

I finally began to realize that he was chastizing me about abortion, and something that sounded like “Mopery”.

(I could be wrong on that one. As far as I know, Mopery is the lewd act of exposing yourself to dead people. Although it sounds like something the Almighty would be pissed about.)

In the end it took 2 hours and 25 minutes to go 17 miles.

I have a friend who is an actor who was recently turned down for a role.

He was drunk when he said the following:

“Its tough to get anywhere in this town.”

No shit.

 

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Posted by on October 7, 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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Armageddon, brought to you by Pastor Harold Camping.

So, the world is ending and stuff…

Pastor Harold Camping, a serious hell-fire and brimstone snake oil salesman from Oakland California is at it again.

You all remember Pastor Harold, he was the one that said that the world was going to end last May.

Except that it didn’t.

However, right before his May 21st Armageddon deadline, thousands of the soft headed sent him millions. (If the world is ending, why should they keep it? A better question is, why would he need it?)

When that Saturday came and went, Slick Harry laid low for a few days, then said that he got his dates wrong, it was going to be October 21st.

Ok……

At a press conference back in May, Slick Harry then said that he believes Judgement day came and went and we just didn’t realize it.

The Almighty is giving us 5 months to repent since the world is going to end and all.

Kind of like an Armageddon lay-away program.

Anyway, that 5 months is up this Friday.

Time to pay the fiddler.

Let me throw out my own little prediction.

The world………..is not going to end.

And the Slick Harry, sorry Pastor Slick Harry will have an explanation why it didn’t, and it will somehow involve an extended deadline and the need for donations.

So it breaks down to the basic two items.

Nothing happening and donations.

Money makes the world go around.

Oral Roberts said, and I quote, “Donate 8 million or God will call me home”?

My brain was split in two different directions.

Part of me was stunned that the Almighty would be involved in some sort of shake down for cash.

The other part was in awe of Robert’s balls.

THAT is how you play the game.

Now, while this was in 1987, he still raised 9.1 million. In 1987, this was an astronomical

At the time, I remember wondering if perhaps the Almighty would call him home anyway.

Not until 2009.

Pastor Slick Harry is not as polished as Roberts. While his ministry raked in 80 million during a 4 year period, (According to the IRS) I don’t think he has the pull to make money demands.

He’s just not that photogenic.

Roberts pioneered Televangelism. He perfected the TV demand/pitch for decades before he tried for the big score.

Pastor Slick Harry is a fuggly old guy. (Combination of two words. Think about it.)

He kind of has that freeze-dried look I love in a tyrant.

If they arrested him tomorrow for child molestation, I would not be shocked. (Something about his eyes.)

Now if the Almighty would just call him home.

But maybe the Almighty is not looking to have to put up with him. Thats like getting stuck with the here-after check, and its never pleasant.

Or he gets shot during a carjacking, serial killer, something.

As long as its plausable, I don’t think it will be investigated all that hard.

Countdown to Friday.

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2011 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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