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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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The golden years.

Growing older is scary.

At least, it looks like it.

I recently had a run in with a man so old he has that “permanently terrified” look on his face.

Its a horrible way to go, the walking dead. (With a walker)

But where does that look of horror come from?

Is he seeing something we can’t?

Or has he seen enough over the years that the cumulative effect is one of complete terror breakdown.

Either way, it doesn’t look pleasant.

And its hard on the ears, mine at least.

I was at a friend’s house for an hour and I counted a baker’s half dozen times someone came up, patted the old guy’s knee and practically yelled in his face.

“HOW ARE YOU, BABA? YOU LOOK GOOD.”

He never so much as flinched. No one home.

I finally realized that they weren’t talking to him.

It was a tradition of sorts, for the benefit of the gathering.

Kind of like when the Notre Dame Fighting Irish football team takes the field, all the players have to touch a particular sign.

Its for the good of the team.

Same thing here.

I sat for a moment, and tried to look at it from behind his eyes.

Sit a mile in his velcro closured shoes as it were.

But from a brutally honest, somewhat sarcastic point of view.

The family, his family, product of his loins, are surrounding him.

While that sounds nice, the image of Custer surrounded by indians puts a different spin on things.

Its not a good looking bunch.

Call me prejudiced, but I come from good looking people.

Not Euro pretty, I said good looking and I meant it.

Few people are as consistantly good looking as the Scots/Irish. This is common knowledge.

And these folks are not Scots/Irish, mores the pity. (I keep this sort of thing to myself, its more polite.)

The kids are the worst.

Fugly is an accurate compound of words that really fits this situation.

Add to that the fact that the general level of intelligence is low, Gump type low.

The old man’s sons and daughters married poorly, as a group.

The chatter among the family is furiously hushed, like weasels bickering over a stray egg.

The food shows a lack of imagination and skill. (I am not necessarily trying to crap on these people, even though they would never know, but I think of it as an experiment.)

The more I thought about this, the deeper I got into it, I suddenly realized something.

My mouth was hanging open. I could feel my face twisted up into a mask of horror.

I closed my mouth as realization washed over me.

I got it now.

I know why the old man looks terrified. And it chilled me to the bone.

It was a bit of insight that left my ass in full clench.

I got a few stares from the guests that had noticed my momentary lapse.

And as time wore on, I realized that I would soon forget about this.

Hopefully, right up until many years had passed.

And it was my ass sitting in that chair.

With a terrified look on my face.

 
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Posted by on May 9, 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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Shit or garbage, you choose.

One of the great questions of mankind is what do little old men and rap music have in common.

Not a damn thing.

Except that I am stuck in the middle of prime examples of both as we speak.

On my left, sporting a dazed look and pants that demand both to be pulled up and that his mother (If still living) smack his stupid ass for leaving them down that far to begin with.

He also has faint rap music drifting out of his iPod.

And its shitty rap music.

I am not a fan of that particular genre of music to begin with, but the crap that he is listening to hits the bottom of the “Low rent” barrel.

Plus the kid has this dazed look on his face that I believe is caused by the shitty music.

And then there is the little situation unraveling on my right side.

And by “Little situation” I mean the old guy thats unraveling on my right side.

This guy babysat Methuselah.

Old enough that I cannot even gauge how old he is.

Old enough to have that “Permanently terrified” look on his face.

Old enough to have that vague Ben Gay smell in the background.

Old enough to have a continual head shake that you can’t help but see, even in your peripheral vision.

Old enough that I am worried about him surviving my cup of coffee before slipping out of his seat in a “Code Blue”, accompanied by the crappy jazz music currently piping thru the speakers.

Got the picture so far?

And I am stuck in the middle in my own little “Special” hell.

And the sad part is they are both bopping their heads, one to shitty music, the other because of aging neck muscles.

One side Ben Gay, and there is a smell on the other side that I have not yet been able to identify. Its either BO or AXE body spray gone tragically wrong.

Vegas money is on BO.

First of all, rap music should rhyme. (Old school rules. See also, “Kid & Play” circa 1984)

Second of all, who dresses the elderly? The old guy got up to use the bathroom, and his pants are as high above his ass as the kids are below.

Third, and final, I am not enjoying the new Starbucks as much as the old one.

The reasons are various, but all kind of boil down to me kind of whining about change and how much I hate the unknown.

But, putting my fears aside, at least its still a Starbucks.

Which means coffee.

And if this blog is about anything, not just this post, but the whole blog, its about my fairly out of control caffeine addiction.

And please don’t misunderstand, I am not saying coffee is a God, I am just saying it might be.

It’s the caffeine that makes me generally edgy and rude, which makes for good reading.

For me, that is. This is not about you.

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Who did this to me?

Pain is kind of funny.

I like to think of it as nature’s way of saying “Knock that shit off!”

But in a really annoying way.

I recently did something that made nature bitch slap me to get my attention.

I am in my 40’s.

That is not a bad thing, but it is something that needs to be given some respect.

Respect for the things that hurt and avoid them if you can.

That being said, here is the snapshot.

I began going to a new gym last year.

The gym focuses on the martial arts.

Good work outs.

Lots of jiu jitsu, judo, muay thai, you name it.

Hard, make you sweat type classes.

Hard enough to make a chubby 40-something think a grappling tournament is a good idea.

I was one of the first to arrive at the grappling place.

I signed up and then sat there for the next hour or so, watching the late teens, early 20’s competitors come in and register.

It was at this point that two things began.

Swamp ass and worry.

The two seem to go together like peas and carrots.

And sitting on a plastic folding chair does not help.

In fact, plastic seats only exacerbate the issue, ass-wise.

However, not an unknown condition, so its kind of par for the course.

Its a little daunting to realize that there is enough of an age difference between yourself and everyone else in the tourny that you could have fathered everyone else in it.

And not just at 18, like you could have held off of fathering an entire dojo of grapplers until your late 20’s.

It makes you pause, and perhaps shit yourself a little at the same time.

Here is the really silly part.

Its a type of grappling that no one in the building had ever done before.

A recently revived Norwegian grappling form that is being promoted by a few, but no one you have ever run into before.

Great.

In the end, it was a lot of fun, and I managed to come in third.

Good for me.

Did I get hurt?

Jury is still out.

We will know more tomorrow, once my aged body has had a chance to think it over and freak out properly.

I am sure I have a whole slew of pulls and tears that I am currently unaware of.

Like I said, par for the course.

The next tournament is 3 months away.

Just enough time to heal up and be prepared.

And, whats missing is that there should be a little thought in the back of my head that says “You are old enough to know better.

Perhaps my head has decided its had enough of my shit and it trying to get me hurt.

And how do you fight that one?

Turns out I am my own arch nemesis.

Like a split personality that turns out to be Lex Luthor. (Old school.)

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Age of unreason.

I am about to rub one out at my little table in Starbucks.

There is a hotter version of a young Sophia Loren, with jet black hair down to her ass, describing the art of erotic massage over the phone, all the while playing with her hair with her free hand.

As far as masturbatory fantasies go, this one is pretty solid.

And I am not the only one. The two old guys that were having a solid conversation on the other side of her have gone silent and are just sitting there and avoiding eye contact.

I feel no shame sitting in a Starbucks sporting a painfully rigid erection at my age.

I like to think its a sign of good health.

Its when you find yourself in these situations and you are sporting a “Limp biscuit” that you should worry.

Lust makes the world go round.

If I had to put an age on her, I would say 31 at the most.

Old enough to no longer be a child, young enough to know how to play properly.

I may be in love.

My heart (See also hard on) falls so easily sometimes.

Ok, so I have ruled out committing an obscene public act, but it was close.

On to other things.

They have just reopened this Starbucks after closing it for a week.

I have been sitting at the Coffee Bean for the last week, which I have grown to enjoy, even with its pretentious imported coffees.

The porno situation next to me has left and now it is just the two old guys next to me.

And these are some dirty old men.

They are having an animated discussion.

Given what I know of their generation and standards of morality, I am fairly certain that their discussion has gone obscene.

Heads huddled together, hushed whispers, furtive glances around, its all there.

I believe I just heard to word “Blumpkin”. (Google it, its filthy)

These are some filthy old men.

Good to see.

You might think that is an odd statement.

But in this overly politically correct society, it is refreshing to see some perfectly harmless dirty behavior.

Honestly, I hope thats me in 30 years.

Old enough to know better, to old to care.

Although I get the feeling my later years will be unpleasant at best, and a horror show at worst.

I will probably end up sitting there, day in and day out, no clue who I am, with that “Permanently terrified look on my face.

An interesting thing just happened.

Everyone that reads this that has family that has gone this route is now evenly split, half are pissed at my callousness, and the other half spit their coffee laughing.

Life is like that.

Being inappropriate is a trait in my family.

Some of the funniest jokes I have ever heard has been told to me at funerals.

There are times that the difference between laughing and crying is intent.

That being said, if I was only 10 years older, I would have given serious thought to rubbing one out when the porn goddess was here.

 
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Posted by on November 11, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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