RSS

Tag Archives: rebuttal

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?

 
3 Comments

Posted by on November 8, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on November 1, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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.

 
1 Comment

Posted by on October 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Ask not for whom the vibrator tolls…

“That thing is just obscene!”

That kind of line, when harshly whispered, will always catch my attention.

I have been waiting patiently at Starbucks for my favorite people, the Evil Couple, to start the show. I have never sat near them that there has not been a show. (To catch up on who the hell these people are, click here.)

They are whispering, something never done before.

To my mind, that says one thing.

Its something dirty.

Based on what comments I have been able to make out, Mrs. Evil Couple was either given or has bought, a marital aid.

A vibrator.

That revelation is both erotic and somewhat icky.

Let me explain.

Mrs. Evil couple is in her mid thirties, and might be one of the hottest women I have ever scene, but only on that rare one time out of a hundred that she dresses up.

The other 99 times, she has a wild low-rise blonde afro, no make up, thick gray muscle-man sweats, and a t-shirt that is always several sizes too big. (Underneath that t-shirt is a large bust line without a bra.)

Take a moment and let that sink in before you read on.

“Why does it bother you so?” Mrs. Evil is done whispering, it seems. Her tone has taken on something I recognize immediately, I wonder if Mr. Evil does?

She is taunting him.

“You don’t need it!” He is almost spitting. Evidently, even with the decade plus of marriage to this woman under his belt, he has still not figured her out.

“That is your opinion.” She lays that one down like a card shark throwing down a full house.

This was a no-look rib-kick he was not expecting.

“What do you mean by that?” He doesn’t sound so sure of his anger now.

Big mistake, this woman can smell the blood in the water like a great white.

“Perhaps this is not the place to discuss, this.” That is one of those phrases that makes you feel just fucked. That there is a LOT more to say, but it will obviously upset you, so lets take this private. Its a master-stroke move.

Now I am getting the feeling she is taunting me.

Please discuss it here, please, please, please. I am not above a little psychic begging here.

There is such a duel set of feelings in observing this woman. How can anyone be both vile and desirable at the same time.

Its like the old show Kung Fu, with the studant trying to snatch the pebble from the master’s hand. Except that the master is Charles Manson, with incredible cleavage.

Thats where I am at. Sometimes this blog twists the shit out of me.

Where were we?

Oh, right, the aforementioned vibrator.

Confusion is almost dribbling down his leg like piss at this point.

“I think we are ok in that department.” His tone makes this a question.

Oh, shit.

She will not let this one go. I have seen her eviscerate him with less of a straight line.

She sips her coffee and eyes him over the rim like a cheetah looking over the caribou from the tall grass.

This is not going to be pretty.

“It is not for me. Its for Magda’s shower.” She smiles slightly, batting her eyelashes at him.

WTF?

I’ll be damned. She let him off the hook.

She pulled her punch and threw the fight.

As I sip my coffee, I remind myself of the fact that while she may think her husband is an idiot…

He is still her husband.

As I pack up my laptop and head down the street, a song is in my head. As I get to the corner, I remember the title of the song and I suddenly know why this particular song is in my head in the first place.
“The lion sleeps tonight.”

She’ll be back.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on October 13, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Evil Couples councelling.

How fucking oblivious am I?

I have been sitting in Starbucks for the last half hour, writing a blog about Ronaldo when the couple that came in right after me begins having a snippy argument.

The only reason I notice is when the wife reaches over and puts her fingertips, beautifully manicured, on my table.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her tone is aggressive and a little angry.

AND A LITTLE RUSSIAN.

Evil Couple. Stealth Evil Couple. Sitting right next to me.

I am the littlest deer in the headlights ever.

Oh shit!

I stare in horror as Mrs. Evil narrows her eyes at me.

“Um….yes?” I am not sure whether to shit or go blind at this point. (An awesome phrase from the 70’s in the deep South that totally applies here.)

“If your wife asked you for something simple, something you would want if you were not being angry and childish, would you do it?” She folds her arms, almost like it was either a rhetorical question or that I  had already answered affirmatively.

In the back of my head, the former husband in me understands the tone and the move. Going outside the argument and bringing someone else in means that both he and I are just fucked.

And I am not even married to this bitch.

“I’m divorced.” Its all I can think of. Digging a hole in the sand to hide in won’t work, they use Italian tile in Starbucks.

“And?” She arcs her eyebrows. I am not getting out of this.

“Depends on what it is, I guess.” You could not get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.

She looks right thru me.

“I can see why you are divorced.” She dismisses me and focuses an angry look at her husband.

If anyone else talked to me like that, I would rip in, curse, throw shit…etc. But I have spent so much time studying these two and writing thousands of words about them that being shit on by her……is kind of charming.

As they keep talking, it becomes apparent that, somehow, the school that the twins go to has wisely decided to put them in separate classes, as is advised by many child psychologists.

He is in favor of it and she is not.

As always, according to her, he does not love her or the twins enough to fix this.

In other words, tell the school their job.

“When they are beaten by bullies, I hope you don’t laugh in front of them.”

The fact that he speaks at all after this comment tells me that he has been married for over 10 years and hasn’t learned a damn thing.

In trench fighting, the first thing you learn is that there is a time to fight and a time for keeping your head down.

Break in the action.

A friend of the two of them has come in.

This guy has that awesome social skill of being totally unaware of walking into a tense situation.

Mrs. Evil is leaned over the table, angry finger thrust into Mr.’s face and is ripping him in whispers when the friend sits down next to Mrs.

“Whats up, guys?”

The entire situation diffuses.

“Are you going to eat that?” Mrs. points at the cheese danish in front of Mr. This is in the awkward silence that follows.

“No!” The anger in Mr.’s voice catches me off guard. He rarely shows that much anger, and I have seen them in arguments that would end most marriages.

“Why not?” For once, Mrs. Evil seems off balance, like she wasn’t expecting the response.

He looks at the friend that is sitting there, in between her and me.

“I lost 50 pounds last year and gained it all back, wanna know how?” He looks at the friend.

And me.

Shit, I am back in the middle of it.

Mrs. Evil, for her part, has a little deer in the headlights thing going on that seems so out of place on her, its like watching a different person.

“I had a full breakfast with my wife less than an hour ago.” He gestures disdainfully at her. The volume of his voice is rising steadily and people behind him are stepping quietly away.

“Then I sit down and she puts this shit in front of me.” He gestures angrily at the danish.

The man is all in a lather and Mrs. Evil’s face is frozen.

“And I will eat it like a FUCKING animal who doesn’t know any better!” He holds up a finger to shut Mrs. up, who was not trying to speak, by the way.

“No, Kat, no! I am sick of this shit!”

Kat? Katrina? She’s russian, maybe its Katarina. Lovely name.

Back to the scene.

This is a warped twist I was not expecting. The roles have been reversed.

Mr. has caught his breath and is continuing.

“Shit in the morning, shit in the evening. Its no WONDER I am gaining weight.”

He stands up abruptly, shooting his chair back an angry foot.

“I’m going to work.” He is pissed. He doesn’t say anything else, he just turns and walks out.

Mrs. Evil barely misses a beat before she is up and out the door chasing after him, a look of anguish on her face.

What just happened to the world?

Just when I thought I had it all figured out, at least this little part of it, it has spun so far out of pace that I am firmly convinced that I know nothing. My mind is trying desperately to catch up.

I feel bad for Mrs. Evil. Those words, even the thought of those words, is an alien and foreign thought.

How did that happen?

So, to recap:

Mr. Evil has an anger and weight issue.

And poor Mrs. Evil?

She is the victim.

How fucked up is that?

 
8 Comments

Posted by on September 15, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Open Seseme…

Oscar the grouch.

Represent, bitches.

Oscar was a grumpy shit way back when. Back when you were young enough to get in trouble for being in a bad mood.

I think it had to do with living in a trash can and being the unspoken homeless guy on the show.

Bert and Ernie had a house and they didn’t seem to have jobs at all. They were either mediocre kids, living without parents or retarded adults who might be gay.

Take your pick.

Back to Oscar.

I seem to end up dealing with the homeless a lot on this blog and I can’t figure out if it is an obsession or just good choices on writing content.

I saw a new Muppet Movie is coming out and it got me thinking about Oscar.

Oscar came at us during a time in our life when we were being bombarded with vanilla, black and white views of life. The cartoons reflected either a good guy or a bad guy. The good guys were always good and the bad guys were always bad.

And then there was Oscar.

Oscar was a good guy that bitched about everything. but everyone seemed to like, and he was just kind of made fun of, but he spoke his mind and was more or less accepted by the majority.

All without getting a time out.

I am seeing scary similarities between myself and Oscar.

And, in a way, I kind of like that.

Oscar pretty much demanded that you accept him and his shitty attitude at face value. He taught us to be pushy and outspoken way before that was allowed by school or our parents.

And never once did he get the recognition.

Hell, some of us have personalities based on it.

Willy the grouch.

Has a nice little ring to it, ay?

When my kids were growing up, I started watching Sesame Street again. I was a little twisted up by it at first.

The Muppets were puppets and never aged, so all my old friends were still vibrant and funny.

But the people changed.

They were older and what was once friendly and helpful was now kind of creepy and moist? and made me afraid to leave my kids alone in the same room with them.

But I got over it and sat with my daughter and clapped and sang. Daddy stuff.

And then your kids grow up and, at least mentally, you put the Muppets on the shelf again.

Until the grand kids show up. Then you can watch again.

And I will still be creeped out by the overly sugary-sweet delivery of the cast of humans then, too.

But the Muppets will still be there.

And, fuzzy pound for fuzzy pound, Kermit the Frog is the elder statesman of childrens television. He kicks the shit out of Spongebob with one thin furry arm held behind his back with a little black stick.

And he will bitch slap Hello Kitty without working up a sweat.

Although, Hello Kitty has a Japanese following that is fanatical and well monied, so maybe that’s a bad comparison.

Getting back to Oscar the Grouch, I like to think he was a roll model for some, if not all of us.

He catered to the inner asshole.

Thank you Oscar.

I would follow you into Muppet hell, you magnificent fuzzy bastard.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on September 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sorry to bother you…

Every now and then, I meet a total stranger that just pisses me off without warning.

And I think that the parents out there will be joining me in the pissed off realm.

By the way, I am a father of two.

I ride my bicycle to work some days, mainly because its southern California and you kind of feel like you have to.

Manhattan Beach is a beautiful place. There are times that it catches you off guard and throws you for a loop. It mostly has to do with money and the people who have too damn much of it.

There is a little side street off of the main drag in downtown Manhattan. It is a one way and has a parking garage on one side and restaurants on the other.

I come rolling around the corner and see something a little odd.

There is a baby in the middle of the street.

Take a second and let that one sink in.

There is a baby in the middle of the street.

This is not the set of boys in the hood, with a crack baby in the middle of the street.

This is Manhattan beach. It would take about five minutes to ride far enough to find a house worth less than a million dollars.

A car is stopped a half block away, rolling an inch at a time, the driver reluctant to come further.

I start flying towards the kid.

I all but screech to a stop, putting my bike between the kid and the car, who has come to a complete stop.

There is a woman walking slowly up the walk pushing a stroller.

She is on her cell phone. I have a cell phone too, but at that age, my daughter was either at home, in her stroller, or had her hand in mine, without exception.

“HEY MOM!”

In retrospect, I think I yelled a little too loud, or maybe not, after all….

THERE WAS A FUCKING BABY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET!

The woman turned around startled. She keeps talking on the phone and begins to saunter back towards me.

As she gets close, I give her a WTF? look.

She blows it off, glaring at me and picks up the baby.

As she walks off, a snatch of her cell phone conversation drifts back.

“-some guy being an asshole.”

Right.

I am pissed and confused and angry and hurt and about five other things, and for the first time in a god damned looooooong time, I am speechless.

I want to rip her a new one, but I really am pretty stunned by what just happened.

I roll out of the way and let the car roll by.

The passenger side window rolls down as the car goes by.

“YOU STUPID BITCH!”

And he drives off.

Here, here.

I cannot agree with you more.

Perhaps not with profanity, but with a stern voice, I could have talked to her and …..no. That would not have worked.

I should have called her a stupid bitch. That is what is really bugging me. For those that hang up on that word, sorry, but it really does fit.

Because then, god forbid something happen due to her lack of common sense, maybe she would get it. She would agree in the back of her head.

She is a stupid bitch.

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on September 13, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

10 years of remembrance

And a lot of whining and bitching.

Its 9/11 and I am thinking about water boarding.

On the day we watched people die, there was a rolling wave of outrage that rippled through out the land.

Think what you want about President Bush now, but he was awesome during that time.

We chased that rotten shit head Ben Ladin all thru the mountains and couldn’t catch him.

And then the whining began.

Waterboarding was screamed at in the news as being torture.

Except that it wasn’t.

The reporter from CNN had it done to him on camera by an ex CIA agent. Within 30 seconds of being waterboarded, he was back on camera, microphone in hand.

WTF?

How is something so terrible that the media screams that we are hideously torturing people if it leaves no damage and is being done by reporters to make a good story.

John McCain can tell you about some torture.

Broken knee, broken shoulder. Stabbed in the ankle and the groin. Cracked ribs, broken teeth.

That is torture.

Waterboarding is tough, to be sure, not something you want to do, unless you can benefit from it. But it is not torture.

Put an Ohio state shirt on the waterboardee, pour beer on them and have them sing the Ohio State fight song?

Its a hazing prank.

The big argument is that torture doesn’t work.

Then explain why every society since the dawn of time has used it. Because it doesn’t work?

Morally, they don’t want it to work. They hate that there was actually terror plots blocked because of info gained by waterboarding.

The argument should be, should we use torture.

The answer is no.

But waterboarding is not torture.

Let me say that one again. Waterboarding is not torture.

There is no permanent damage. It scares people. Scaring people is not torture.

If so, zombie films are torture. They scare the shit out of me.

How dare you violate my civil rights like that.

I think that one of the saddest things about the anniversary of 9/11 is that it has been a decade of whining and accusations. Should we have done this? Should we have invaded there? With a war on, we have had people who disagree with the president calling childish names and definitely giving the impression that they can change our minds with violence and threats.

These are the same people that piss and moan when you question Obama.

Usually, they call you a racist for disagreeing with him.

Here are the basic facts. Due to what they claim are valid reasons, terrorists hijacked a total of 3 planes. They ran 2 of them into the Twin Towers. The towers fell.

2996 dead.

Another plane crashed, after the passengers tried to overpower the hijackers.

127 dead.

Al Qaeda hailed it as a victory. And, I guess if you think you were in a war at the time, it was.

So how can they bitch when we begin scouring the planet to ferret them out like vermin.

Fuck em. I am tired of caring what anyone outside of this country thinks.

The one thing I would like more than anything is to get the opinions of people I have never met.

The ones that died on 9/11.

However, they aren’t talking.

And I hope that silence is never forgotten like it has been for the last 10 years.

God Bless.

 
4 Comments

Posted by on September 12, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

To rebut is human……to forgive is not.

I am a little angry today.

So what else is new?

I have received a second email from an anonymous source about the “Ronaldo’s Son” blogs. The first was a simple admonishment about being harsh.

Fine, I sent back a “Sorry you feel that way” email and asked them to post on the blog page. I prefer to make a public scene.

The second was more, and I take it personal.

Despite my request that I would rather you comment on the blog on the actual blog page, Ms. X has elected to continue emailing.

Fine.

Then I will rebut all the lines of your email here.

First of all, eat me.

I have never read anything this pathetic in my life. Every soft-headed platitude in the book or books is there.

“An addict is not responsible for his actions.”
Two things. First, Ronaldo never said his son was an addict, I never said his son was an addict. Second? Bull! We are all responsible for our actions. An addict always has the option of getting help.

“Walk a mile in his shoes before you judge him.”
I could be in the Battan Death March in his Nikes before I would shit on my father to the degree this piece of garbage has.

“Judge not lest ye be judged.” Ah, biblical. Mathew. Sermon on the mount. It was part of a sermon on ostentation and not meant to be a “get out of jail free” sinners card.

The really interesting thing is that, for all of these dark and dour crimes, you assume he is an addict and auto forgive all of his actions.

What about me?

How do you know this isn’t my 11th out of 12 steps or something? Where is the automatic assumption that I too, am an addict. Where the hell is my auto-forgiveness?
(According to MyAddiction.com Caffeine is a really serious one too. All of my behavior is now golden. Yah!)

Back on subject.

I know a little something about addiction. I have family that is in the rehab biz and the general consensus is that taking responsibility for your actions is in there somewhere. It is also one of the twelve steps.

But lets look at all the people you have turned your back on in favor of the Demon Son.

Ronaldo. The meth lab on the premises gets his retirement-funding house seized. It also is a huge betrayal of his parent. (This is a biblical issue too, or did you miss that?)

The girls. Smuggled into this country and forced to do drugs and make porn films. A sizeable portion of their life is ruined. I hope they get some peace down the road on this one. I see them as victims.

The parents of the girls. They will most likely find out at some point. Could be the biggest nightmare a parent could face.

Anyone in the film distribution chain that is simply trying to make a living. They have been given films that contain illegal actors. I assume the economy sucks all over and they can’t afford hits to their bottom line either.

Because actions speak louder than words, I have a challenge for you. When Ronaldo’s son gets out of jail, take him and Charles Manson as room mates.

Let me know how that goes.

You may as well go fishing with Fredo, because you are dead to me.

So, to sum up, take your excuses, your platitudes, your obvious self-issues, your blind eye forgiveness to any crime that does not directly affect you…..

And stick them. In the biblical sense.

Have a nice day…………..ass.

 
9 Comments

Posted by on September 8, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Old School Evil Couple.

This is an early argument that a friend reminder me of, that I had all but forgot.

And it involves my favorite couple.

The Evil Couple.

For those new to the blog, the Evil Couple are simply a couple that comes into Starbucks near my office andhas the most uncomfortable arguments where Mrs, Evil treats Mr. Evil (And everyone else around) like shit she found on her shoe. My favorite description is that she treats you like a moron and she is sick of your shit. That little statement is as accurate now as when I first wrote it.

As a visual, Mr. Evil is a doctor (Always wearing scrubs), he has a local practice in Manhattan Beach. He is mid 40’s to 50’s, good looking, and you would trust your health to him.

Mrs. Evil is a conundrum that confuses and delights me, excites and shames me.

She is mid to late 30’s. She wears thick gray sweats, the kind that muscle guys in the 70’s wore, an over sized t-shirt without a bra. Watching her for a few seconds tells you this. When she turns to the side and her breasts (Impressive DD’s) take a second to catch up, you know something is up. Her hair would be long and blond, however, it is never styled and is worn in kind of a low rise blond afro.

This was the only way I have ever seen her dress.

Until recently. Apparently, she is in real estate, and when she is dressed up for work, I have not seen a woman this stunning for a long time.

When she rips into her husband or anyone around her, the entire encounter is made that much more evil by the fact that she has a Russian accent. It shouldn’t, but it does make a difference.

Enough background, on with the shit.

They were waiting for me when I got to Starbucks. The gods smiled and the table next to them was open.

Good. I hate trying to listen in from a few tables away.

Rude? Yes. Fascinating? Absolutely.

Anyway, the argument was just warming up when I got there.

The twins, it seems, were just starting a new school and the question was, “Should they be in the same class?”

“They will be picked on if they are apart, you know this.” Mrs. Evil has a way of ending her sentance that seems to imply that you are simply confused.

“They need to learn to rely on themselves, not on each other.” He is the calm cool voice of reason.

And she could care less.

“Why is it so important to you that they be unhappy?” He voice can drip sarcasm like no other.

“I don’t want them to be unhappy. Miss Cormack said-”

“She was a whore of a teacher, she spent so much time trying to show you her tits. She was a pig.” She finished with a definitive sip of her latte.

Mr. Evil says nothing. What do you say, really? The argument has shifted from arguing about the classroom assignments of the kids, to whether or not their old teacher (?) was a whore. I am a little shocked she hasn’t accused him of sleeping with her.

“I never noticed that sort of behavior.” Mr. Evil’s voice takes on the tone of someone that knows he is fucked, no matter where it goes from here.

“You loved it, go lie to someone else.”

I spoke too soon. I need to be more patient.

His phone chirps like a boon from the gods. The tension seems to breaks a bit.

They begin texting for a few minutes as if they are not in the middle of an argument.

And maybe they aren’t.

Maybe this is the way they interact on the day to day. A friend of mine once gave the opinion that she does this to drive their sex life, and that she must go with him to work and have make up sex either in the elevator or in his office.

At first, I dismissed such a twisted scenario. Maybe there is more to it than I saw then. Maybe twisted is how you have to view it. You have to twist yourself up or it makes no sense.

To quote Mr. Spock, “In an insane society, a sane man must be viewed as insane.”

God, I miss Star Trek.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on September 2, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,