The Caffeinated Humor Podcast is Live!!!
Read and listen! The blog that does it ALL for you!
The Caffeinated Humor Podcast is Live!!!
Read and listen! The blog that does it ALL for you!
Usually, I get to Starbucks and then things happen.
But today, everything started without me.
When I got to Starbucks, the police had been there for awhile.
Nobody got hurt, but it was an odd little shit show for a brief period.
Now, I am not one to judge…..
Ok, even I can’t bullshit that one, I am nothing but judgement.
I think I would be happier if I could add jury and executioner to the list.
But let me continue.
In my completely unbiased opinion, the tweaker piece of shit in the back of the patrol car was not a good looking guy before he discovered his deep and abiding love of meth.
Let’s call him El Diablo.
The broken table I am still trying to figure out.
The urine on the sidewalk is also a mystery.
According to several people who responded to my inquiry of – “What the hell was that?”
Police officers are notoriously closed mouthed about what goes on when they are investigating something.
However, you catch the right cops on the right day…
I walked by two cops laughing quietly off to the side.
“So I told him that if he has any drugs on him, its a felony to take them into the station. He immediately ponies up that he has a baggy up his ass. I ask why, and he says – I always keep my drugs in my ass, then I can’t be robbed!” (This sentence is just wrong. I keep looking at it to see if there is spelling or grammar issues. There are none, my mind is just balking at the content.)
Then the other cop’s reply made my day.
“Except by the turd burglar!”
Oh my God.
I almost pissed the sidewalk myself.
Take him away boys.
For God’s sake, wash your ass!
I don’t think I am asking for too much here.
I cannot name a time that Starbucks ever had a stank like this going on.
And the sad part is, it’s a self inflicted wound.
Starbucks did it to itself.
It all has to do with free electricity and lax policies concerning the homeless.
Every table is wired in a starbucks.
They do that so people like me will stay awhile.
The longer I stay, the more I will buy.
But here is the flaw in the plan.
The homeless will spend a dollar and stay all fucking day.
The government gives away cell phones with chargers and free cell plans.
The one thing the government does not give away is charging stations with free electricity.
So here is the one flaw in Starbuck’s plan.
I am positive that I am the customer they planned on with the whole setup.
As opposed to a $1.50 sale to someone who will then sleep in a massive BO stupor for 10 hours.
I can guarantee that little scenario is not on any business plan at the corporate office.
I broke my nose years ago playing hockey, so I don’t smell much these days.
But the stench of the unwashed ass of the homeless guy at the next table is killing me.
“How can you be so cruel? You don’t know what his life has been like. Walk a mile in his shoes…blah, blah, fucking blah.”
Cry pussy, cry your eyes out.
All actions in life have consequences.
A dozen minor decisions pile up into 1 major issue.
Ignorance of the laws of life is no excuse.
“But thats not fair!”
Right, its not.
Doesn’t mean thats not how it is.
Sorry to get real on you, but that little rant I found balled up in the back of my head, so I dusted it off and put it out there.
Shit in my head has a shelf life.
I keep nothing past the due date.
That little philosophy will not win you a lot of friends and it will lose you a few, but at least you know that the ones that are left have a little backbone to them.
Excellent sign of people who I will piss off is that they use the phrase “There is nothing funny about ___”
Censoring yourself is like an addiction, it seems harmless at first and then you realize one day that it effects everything you do.
Trust me on this one, you don’t wake up one day with this type of literary tourettes.
Its a place you end up, not a place you begin at.
There is a scene in the epic tale Cyrano De Bergerac where Cyrano talks about being his own man:
“But, to sing, to laugh, to dream,
to walk in my own way,
free with an eye to see things as they are,
a voice that means manhood.
To cock my hat where I choose.
Not a word, a yes, a no?
To fight, or write.
But never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart.”
Edmond Rostand was the shit.
I wonder how he took his coffee?
This is a don’t ask, don’t tell blog.
The two ladies coming into my favorite breakfast place appear to be a couple. (“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Seinfeld circa 1993)
I wear my hair short and one of them even have me beat.
One lady is wearing mom jeans and a tshirt, shoulder length hair.
Lets call her Julie. (Why not?)
Her partner is close to 6 foot. Broad shoulders. Super short hair. Scowling.
Khakis, steel toed chuckaboots, and a faded Springsteen “Born in the USA” tshirt.
Let’s call her Mike.
They stand in front of the menu, looking at the breakfast goodies.
Julie says, in a soft voice, “Breakfast burrito sounds good.”
The cashier takes that as a sign to start taking orders.
“Breakfast burrito, would you like ham, bacon or sausage on that?”
Julie takes 1.9 seconds to open her mouth to answer.
And that is too fucking long for Mike.
Angry mouth 2 inches from Julie’s ear, Mike has had it with her shit.
“Are you going to fucking order?”
0 to 60 1.9 seconds has to be a record of some sort.
There are 2 more explosions from Mike before the order is taken.
The cashier looks a lot like a horse in a forest fire, eyes rolling, stuttering and looks like she might bolt at any moment.
The weird part is that it is a large open room that seems to absorb the tension so that no one around them seems to notice.
Except for me.
But only because I notice everything.
The Fates are kind at times and today is one of those days.
Mike and Julie take a seat at the table behind me.
I can hear pretty clearly.
And it is a conversation that makes ADD look stable by comparison.
Here is a 5 minute sample:
It was exhausting to follow and keep in mind, I talk to the homeless on occasion.
In the end, it was simply a couple in a bad relationship, having a bad morning.
And the take away for all of you is, no matter what your choice of relationship is, avoid the toxic ones if you can.
But it was entertaining.
There is a joke that plays on the observation that a lot of lesbians get serious way too quick.
What gift does a lesbian buy for a second date? A Uhaul truck. (That joke was told to me by lesbians that I hold in high esteem and in the right circles, that joke kills.)
The take away for me, is the image of Mike, angrily eating pancakes and muttering fuck into her coffee.
And that is what America is all about.
Happy 4th of July.
I have begun to notice a disturbing trend.
Grown women who loudly proclaim to be “Sick of the drama” but always seem to be hip deep in drama.
Its like they never left high school.
They live on Facebook for the most part.
Well over 50% of their posts are motivational posters proclaiming variations on the two main themes of:
Lets tackle “Real Man” first.
First off, anyone born with testicles is a real man, as opposed to what you might identify with. (I mean, I identify with being an asshole, but the concept of a human sized sphincter walking around is both scary and the science doesn’t support it.)
To loosely translate, paraphrase it, or just be the first person to say this shit out loud, the person posting this stuff has had really bad taste in men in the past and has not learned from their mistakes.
Does anyone have an ounce of shock left at the thought that a “Bad boy” who is dangerous and likes to party is not the odds on favorite for being a kind and supportive partner?
The sad reality of it is that the boring, consistent, “nice” guy that you don’t want is exactly the guy you claim to want.
Same message, said nicely and said mean:
Figure out what you need from a long term relationship and don’t settle.
If you are tired of being screwed over by the bad boys, quit screwing the bad boys.
(ADD sidebar: Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is possibly one of the better love songs from the 80’s.)
Before you snort derisively and read on, go back and soak up those two little bits of advice.
Let the wisdom permeate your head.
Got it? Good. I think we are all better people now.
If those lines really hit home for you, don’t worry, I will feed you, baby bird.
(By the way, the line about screwing the bad boys actually got me hung up on by a female acquaintance who decided that I might be a sympathetic shoulder one night. Truth can be a bitch, people.)
Now for the whole friends illusion.
Here is a really sad truth.
The only true, life long friends you will have are the people that you grew up with.
Everyone else you meet after puberty are simply acquaintances that will show up and leave without warning.
This is not to belittle their temporary friendship, not at all.
But unless you have an emotional foundation that is based on the sentimental attachment formed before experience forces reason down your throat, you don’t have a chance in hell of putting up with someone you are not married or screwing (Sometimes mutually exclusive).
So whining and crying that someone you have known for less than a year as a legal adult has suddenly done something that was for themselves and inconvenienced you is kind of silly.
Adults have agendas and baggage, and those two things kind of make your agenda 3 on that list in their mind.
Not their fault, you are doing the same thing, but in your head, you like to think you don’t.
It doesn’t make you or them bad people, by the way.
It just makes you humans.
And that is the problem.
The overwhelming majority of humans are idiots.
My own extended family excepted, not to be biased or anything.
I have always had an unnatural relationship with the time clock anywhere I have worked.
I took a moment recently to look back over my work history.
Despite having been born in the US, my approach to work has always been that of a starving immigrant.
I missed work the day I was born.
My father came by my hospital crib and told me to quit crying, there are no free rides.
Shortly thereafter, I had my first job, sweeping up at the hospital.
At multiple times in my life, I have found myself with several jobs, like some sort of albino Jamaican.
The family businesses were automobile repair and food service. So I was grubby but well fed.
It was better than our next door neighbor was in textiles so his children worked in the mill.
Their lack of hands due to mill accidents made them poor playmates.
I was never really allowed to play with children that were not gainfully employed.
I grew up in a time where child labor laws were much more relaxed and kids were allowed the privilege of bringing home a decent paycheck.
I have filled out a W4 with a crayon.
I have only been on unemployment 2 times in my life and it was embarrassing, both times. (No joke there, sadly.)
My kids have great work ethics, something that I am wholly proud of.
You may be wondering what has me waxing poetic about the workplace.
Because I saw someone fired today.
Fired for not showing up for work.
Usually that sort of thing is nipped in the bud fairly quickly.
However, when the person is hired to answer the phones at 4am when no one else is there, it takes awhile.
The thing I keep coming back to is the not showing up for work.
Its like deciding not to breathe anymore.
They are lucky they were not raised by my father.
I don’t care what age you are, man or woman, you get fired for not showing up for work in my family, you are getting your ass beat.
And you would have it coming.
Its getting to the point that if you have a strong work ethic, its so rare that its like you know magic.
In a certain sense, I guess my issue with them being fired is that I am incapable of understanding it.
At its core, the decision was made not to bring in an income.
Which hurts the family.
This is where the entire problem is.
It is tattooed into my DNA that above all, you don’t hurt the family.
I hope they learned their lesson in being fired.
Or any lesson, really.
Nobody seems to learn any lessons these days.
When I was a kid, there were a lot of lessons I learned.
All of them had the same moral to the story.
Don’t hurt the family.
Because family is everything.
Thus endith the lesson.
As human beings, once we get out of our teens, we live our lives based on theories.
There are thousands of theories about work, careers, relationships, spirituality…etc.
You name the subject, somebody has a theory about it.
But not all of them are useful.
For instance: (If you did not see this coming, my theory is that you are stupid. Thats not your fault, by the way, most people are stupid.)
I have a theory that people that are born in or move to places that are freezing in the Winter are being punished for crimes committed in another life.
Not murder, but maybe petty theft, vandalism, that sort of thing.
Cold weather is a karmic community service kind of punishment.
The truly heinous crimes? I have a theory about that.
Cows, pigs and chickens were pedophiles and murderers in previous lives.
The cosmos has ruled that they should be eaten, and who am I to get in the way of that?
That is the foundational theory behind my “Being a vegetarian while eating mostly meat” life choice.
Seafood? My theory is that they were the innocent ones in past lives, the victims of various crimes.
Eating them is disgusting, they are living beings and deserve respect.
Some, in fact most, theories are so wrong that you almost wonder what kind of horrible abuse had to happen earlier in whoever came up with that theory that caused their mind to manufacture this fucked up equation.
Like the idea that “Liking” or “Sharing” a meme on Facebook is anything other than a totally selfish act.
The tragedy in France, when the terrorists killed 130 innocents in the name of Allah?
A massive amount of people superimposed the French Flag over their profile pic.
What did that do for the French?
Not a goddam thing.
What did that do for the person with the pic?
It says “Hey, I know that what happened is bad, BUT DON’T FORGET ABOUT ME! Look at how caring and sad I am. Remember me today.”
Argue that one and dismiss it, I dare you.
And later today or tomorrow, it will creep into your thoughts and you will think about it again.
Because the truth is like that.
BS disappears without a whimper, like any speech/excuse from a Clinton, they never enter your head again.
Mainly because they had no weight or mass, and just disappeared into the ether.
BS is like that.
I can’t tell you how many people have come back to me to admit they were wrong.
I once told a hardcore animal rescue friend that perhaps the animals she was trying to save were pedophiles in their last life and this is her punishment.
Did I spin doctor this up to fit her semi-buddist view of reincarnation?
She laughed, flipped me off, called me a name and pretended to let it go.
The view from my ivory tower is stunning and the air is so clear that I could see it brewing in her head from a distance.
Didn’t see her for several weeks, but she said an interesting thing when I did.
“You asshole, do you know how much that stupid theory has screwed with my head over the last few weeks?”
Yes, yes I do.
Do you really think I do this just for shits and giggles?
The actual reason I do this comes from a pretty dark little theory I have.
I have a theory that only half of the people you see thruout your day actually exist.
The rest are just figments of your imagination.
Before you dismiss that, how many of them have you physically touched to proved they are actually here and not just illusions or mirages?
Like shimmering water on hot pavement, maybe they are a refraction of reality passing thru the perceived densities of hot and cold air, happy and sad emotions, pain and orgasm sensations. (This one WILL fuck with you later)
Why are they there?
Evolutionary thinning of the herd on an existential level.
Those that chase the illusions and try to “Be a better person”.
And those at the opposite end of that spectrum that view them as interesting toys to be messed with for my personal amusement.
But thats just a theory.
“So I got arrested… AGAIN!”
I have always been a fan of an eye catching opening line.
This one has to be in the top ten, even without checking the list.
Starbucks in the beach cities are rarely the first place scruffy types in need of a shave with a mild case of BO going on seem to congregate.
And yet, here we are.
Not to be judgemental, but lets just call this guy Inmate.
Inmate probably needed a shave when he was arrested 3 days ago.
So fast forward to today, he has a serious newly homeless vibe going on.
Sets the scene, doesn’t it?
And, as so often happens when you are eating a delicious appetizer, the main course shows up, and its even better.
“Can you believe that shit? She hits me, and I go to jail!”
In the lexicon of sarcastic blogging, I find that my mind stutters and freezes in place at trying to convey the redneck/trailer trash/meth head dirty feeling that line gives you.
Like an episode of Cops that you suddenly find yourself an unwilling extra on.
And we all know how that ends.
There is a certain glamour to shit-canning your life with meth and jail time that have always escaped me.
Maybe its the background stink of cigarettes that has taken the shine off of it.
My asthma limits my lower instincts.
Plus, my parents are still alive, which is a bigger thing than you know.
And the sad thing is, this guy is so far down his particular path that he does not even see what the issue is.
So, sitting in my ivory tower and watching him is sad, in and of itself.
The main point is, and I both hate and love being the one to point this out, is that your get what you give.
And this motherfucker has never deposited anything but shit into this particular account, but is shocked that his interest stinks worse than his breath. (Because shit is shit and nothing can change that smell. The scent companies seem to think the smell of lemons works. But shit sprayed with lemons just smells like lemony shit. This topic is its own blog post really. Focus, people!)
It boggles the mind if you think about it.
And maybe thinking about it is the bigger issue.
Except me, and what I think I put into print for the edification of the masses.
But leisure reading is necessary to gain anything from it.
And nobody reads.
So, since nobody is thinking or reading but me, what do we do now?
I got snake eyes on this one.
All I do have is my coffee and very little hope for the future.
But the coffee is good, so at least there’s that.
Declaration of innocence.
It seems that someone done forgot the Crow Commandments.
That line from the Wiz (Starring a yet to be indicted Michael Jackson) was the beginning of an amazing scene in a musical.
But it also could be a gentle reminder to sit still while someone explains the rules to you……AGAIN.
First of all, I am more innocent than most.
Think of the first snow of Winter, pure and delightful, and incredible.
I am all up in that kind of innocence.
Because to understand true innocence you have to understand the opposite end of the spectrum.
The further down one side you go, the further you can go down both sides.
So, having the ability to be stunningly vile is what enables me to be that fucking sweet and innocent.
Like a cuddly puppy that just might go for your throat at any moment.
But he is just so damned CUTE!
A pit bull with a spiked collar and a pink hair bow. (The imagery on that one is disturbing)
A test reader has proclaimed that the previous line might mean I am a little “sweet in the pants”, if that line makes sense.
Being metro-sexual is all part of my vegan-carnivore superiority.
Not everyone can handle that, and thats ok.
In the hierarchy of raw intelligence, the world needs ditch diggers too. (I respect that, but sit down kiddies, the adults are talking.)
Vegetarians cannot understand how I could be a better vegetarian than them, while still eating a diet that is based almost entirely on eating meat. (You can try to chew on the hypocrisy in that line, but take small bites and chew it well before you swallow. You will still choke but at least you made the effort.)
I had to stop writing for a moment to allow my erection to subside.
Brilliance is a goddam sexy thing to behold.
And this is the IMAX viewing.
Now, where was I?
Ah yes, my innocent nature.
Think of the blog as a deep method of intense meditation.
The more you read, the more you will find yourself growing as a person and an asshole.
A natural evolution that is totally based on Intelligent Design.
Homo-sapian to Homo-superior.
Or maybe Homo-sphincter.
(I take offense at the suggestion that the previous line is a smack at the gay community. The gays LOVE me. If you doubt that, wait till Tranny-Hooker makes an appearance. That girl will knock you on your ass, then you will be sorry!)
Yes, its crude. Yes, its childish.
But its an honest attempt to do something without pretense or facade.
Just the sincere attempt to be ridiculous.
And I think I succeeded.
The seriousness of the world we live in can chew you up and swallow you. (Spitting you out would be too kind for society. Pound of flesh is now a part of the Bill of Rights)
So, on the front lines of the battle between originality and soul-killing conformity is me, sporting a semi, sarcastic and loaded for bear.
If you feel like it, pull the stick out of your ass for an hour and lets stomp on the terra like Gods.
And if not? Short and simple,
Bite me. You’re boring.
There is a certain vicious delight that runs thru me as I watch people freak out about the rain.
Its Southern California, so rain is like a unicorn with a drinking problem and a rage issue.
When it does show up, it will fly into a homicidal binder and does its best to kill you.
I am staring out the window at the rain.
The concept of a gentle drizzle is all but unknown in these parts.
Houses slide down the hillsides, mudslides and flashflood warnings take over the news like a natural disaster form of corporate take over.
Personally, I like it.
Not the horror, the rain.
I lived in Portland, OR for about 5 years and it rained for most of that time.
You get used to it.
You can always tell a tourist in Portland because they carry an umbrella.
Everyone who actually lives there just puts their hood up.
You live in a constant state of always being a little wet.
But you miss the sun.
To Portland, the sun is a lot like a deadbeat dad.
It shows up once in a great while, and never stays long enough to establish any warmth, but just enough to remind you of what’s missing and make you wonder what life would be like if it was around a lot more.
There is a puddle on the walkway leading into the Starbucks I am in.
The path dips in that spot and it has created a deceptively deep puddle, about 6 inches deep.
However, and this is the key point, it doesn’t LOOK deep at all.
So people keep stepping in it.
That is how pathetic my mind is, my amusement this morning centers around watching people freak out after stepping in a deceptively deep puddle.
And people are different when it comes to the unintentional dunking of their stanky feet. (All feet are stanky with the exception of mine, my children (You should have smelled their baby feet!), and any woman I have given a foot rub to over the years. (Possibly the most erotic thing on the planet.)
The more manly a guy is, the more prissy and girly their response.
The guy is about 6’2, square jaw, man’s man.
Right foot, full immersion.
The screech was high pitched and easily heard thru the window.
He began high stepping with his hands flexing then tightening into fists, then flexing again.
Next up, Yoga woman.
She is the epitome of the “New fitness” prototype.
Yoga pants, greatest creation of modern times when worn by the right woman.
Baggy yet frilly top that is supposed to be shapeless, yet points out that this woman is incredibly built.
Low rise snug ugg boots, a good look with this ensemble.
The hair is carefully arranged to look casual.
The overall effect is stunning.
Left foot, full immersion.
The cursing is deeper than expected and a lot filthier. (Uncomfortably masculine.)
She may have a penis, we have no way of knowing.
Gone is the serene facade and what is left is pissed off.
Wet ugg boots, can’t blame her. (If they are real lambs wool, they are going to stink later.)
The most surprising of the morning was the little old lady.
I saw her get out of her Oldsmobuick and heard towards the front door.
Peasant skirt, flats, blouse with a little rain coat plus umbrella.
I am out of my seat and just coming out of the front door to stop her when something interesting happened.
She jumped in the puddle.
I held the door for her as she went in.
Made my day.