Tag Archives: love

Me, my bitch and the drunken clown.

I am in love.

That pure, spring is in the air kind of love, not the hair-pulling, “spit in my mouth” type of lust you see in porn.

I’m talking innocent here.

Gracie is my bitch.

True, she belongs to someone else, but dats ma biotch!

She is also a dog.

Something about dogs this week.

I am in Starbucks and there is another dog in the store.

Gracie looks like a miniature doberman pinscher, but smaller that whats in your head right now.

And she is into me.

She has been licking my elbow for the last half hour.

In certain 3rd world countries, that is as binding as wedding vows. (Although it saves me the bridal price of 3 goats.)

But, as with any true and pure love, there are issues.

Gracie likes to fart.

Maybe like is the wrong word.

Must, must fits better.

Gracie must fart.

It is an odd ironic twist that my nose, broken several times over the years, has a wide collection of smells that are denied me.

With the exception of rectal potpourri, and especially that variety of canine eau de toilette they are so well known for.

Eh, I’ve dated worse.

She isn’t cheating, has a drug problem, crazy ex, or 10 kids without fathers. (I am assuming here, but she seems like a good dog.)

But there is someone trying to break us up.

Gracie’s owner.

No clue what her name is, but I want to call her “Hot mess”.

Except that the word Hot feels odd in this sentence.

She’s a heavy girl, not that that’s unattractive, but this is that unhealthy kind of heavy.

The makeup was done by a drunken clown on a meth binder with Hodgkins.

In a very old woman, iffy crazy makeup would be somewhat excuseable.

But the drunken clown appears to be an ill-kept 22.

There is a low level murmur that has been going on for awhile now.

Except when she suddenly becomes aware of Gracie and me.

“Gracie, NO!” and yanks her over beside her, then goes back to being oblivious as Gracie comes back to me, begins licking my elbow, and farting one more time.

It is my sincere hope that Gracie does not shit on the cushion beside me.

Who knows how long the drunk clown has had her in here?

I am interrupted from my musings by the fact that my coffee has cooled just enough to drink without blistering my mouth.

There is an almost orgasmic delight in that first sip of a properly done pour over with Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans. (And this is with clothing on, go figure.)

Mmmmmmm… coffee.

Gracie seems to share my excitement and snuggles up.

It is a good moment to exist in.

Even the drunken clown minds her own for that moment.

Which is good.

Sometimes, you just need that moment.


Posted by on August 27, 2018 in Uncategorized


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Don’t forget the roses, asshole.

Valentine’s day is one of those days where people freak out for a variety of reasons.

Saint Valentine must have been a sadistic son of bitch, setting aside the whole sainthood thing.

A quick Google search says that Saint Valentine lived in Rome when Emperor Claudius decided that soldiers were not allowed to marry because single men fight better, so Valentine was captured and tortured for performing marriages on the sly.

He was captured, imprisoned, and tortured.

That sounds about right.

Dating and sex, done right, can be some of the most uplifting things in your life.

Done the way almost EVERYONE does it, can suck the soul out of you and make you wish you were dead.

(Side note – I am in a coffee place that does bagels. The manager has been explaining to a homeless woman at the counter that the bagel toasting machine does not have settings. There is a nob on the front that says “LIGHT-MEDIUM-DARK”. So either the manager is just trying to get rid of the homeless lady or he is un-able to read, yet they made him manager. Go figure.)

Couples that go out on Valentine’s Day have a whole butt-load of stressful things to worry about.

If they have been dating for a long time, this whole night is just a farce.

If they just started dating, the pressure is on.

He will either drink too much out of the stress of wanting the night to go well, setting up a “Whiskey dick” scenario for later. (Good luck with that, buddy.)

Or, he will not drink enough and just be a stressed piece of shit for the night. (Doesn’t matter if he can get it up or not, he ain’t gettin any.)

For the single folk?

Even worse.

Because alone is when your inner voice tells you shit about love and relationships.

Not the good, hopeful stuff, either.

But the vile, evil shit that leads to bad behavior and obsession.

Stalking comes from this.

Guys and girls, no one is immune to the crazy bug.

And the crazy bug is something that is resistant to even the strongest antibiotics or bleach.

Stalking is kind of the middle of the road, generic thing that goes on.

Its kind of the safest one of the bunch.

The worse behaviors are extreme stalking and the “Fatal attraction” scenario.

And if you have never woken up in the middle of the night and dis-armed a lover before she can stab you, you really do not have an understanding of the mind set.

(Side note – Ignore the tears when there is a steak knife in her hand, they are crocodile tears and only meant to confuse.)

Moving on.

Romance is a bit of a cage fight.

Keep swinging and hopefully you will win and not end up dead.

Or castrated with a steak knife.

Cause that would be bad too.


Posted by on February 17, 2017 in Uncategorized


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The dawn of the Crazy Bitch.

“That bitch is crazy.”

This is the line from the table next to mine.

The girls, mid-twenties, dressed like their parents have a few dollars but they haven’t figured out that skill yet.

The line itself is a fairly interesting one.

Crazy bitch is a staple in modern America.

Everyone knows a crazy bitch, or they have that special little darling in their own life.

But there are varying levels of crazy to be dealt with.

I did a quick study of crazy bitches online, and after you filter out the porn sites, and there are a LOT of them, whats left is some scary shit.

It seems that there is a seriously wide range of crazy bitch behavior out there.

Much like snowflakes, no two crazy bitches are alike.

But I have broken it down into the 5 basic degrees of crazy bitches.

1. Mildly crazy bitch. This is the beginning of the range and often the craziness is not obvious. You often marry and have kids with this one. Her craziness will manifest itself at holidays, company picnics and formal dinners. The red flag is that she refers to every guy she has dated in the past as “That asshole”.

2. Fairly crazy bitch. This girl is in the drama at all times. Emotionally, she is still in high school and it shows. She plays a lot of farmville and has a tendency to drink a bit too much. This is what facilitates her dramatic, over the top performances. You tend to date this one, if she is in her twenties, she will be actively trying to get pregnant and the last thing you need is to be tied to this chick forever. To quote a friend that is a stand up comedian, you can screw this pussy, but don’t trust this pussy.

3. The thinking man’s crazy bitch. She is convinced she is intelligent. In fact, people that know her will tell you how smart she is. This is your red flag, when others, typically women. instinctively offer nuggets of info as to why you should like her. In the end, they collect men like shoes and you can never be sure if you are kissing what some other guy had for lunch.

4. The “Bat-shit Crazy bitch”. This girl is sex on a stick, built like a playboy bunny on a binder. The sex is incredible and she is THE party. However, the third time you wake up to her holding a steak knife to your testicles? Thats when you find out how hard it is to put geni back in the bottle.

5. The seemingly perfect woman. She is a professional, has a great job, money, looks, seems to have all of her shit in order. The relationship is awesome, right up until its not. The crazy part comes in when you begin to notice that you are slipping into crazy when you are with her. She is a catalyst for bad in your life. She will not try to cut off your balls, but she will be there when you figure out that cutting off your own balls is a good idea. This is that chick that fucks up your relationships for a long time.

In the long run, its a natural instinct to find someone and either procreate or at least hang out.

So basically, as men, we are screwed.

Unless you want to go the asexual route, which I don’t recommend.

Michael Jackson was asexual and we all know how that went.


Posted by on December 30, 2013 in Uncategorized


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