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Book #4 is out!!!

The 4th book of the Caffeinated Humor series!!!

All the content you love, packaged together for your entertainment.

Get yours now!

Click this link! ——>It’s the Coffee Talking: Caffeinated Humor 4

 
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Posted by on July 18, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Too little, too much and too dumb to know either way

Boxer Joe Tory once said “Pizza is like sex. When it’s good, it’s very good. When it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.”

And I believe that. 

You get what you give. 

Here’s why. 

Mandy.

Who’s Mandy?

Mandy is the 40 something woman on the patio of Starbucks who is on her phone, having a thoroughly rude conversation about her sex life and believes my headphones being on mean I cannot hear her.

But there is no music playing in my headphones, I can hear Mandy loud and clear.

So listen I did.

And what follows is a 20 minute description of Mandy’s sex partners for the last year, evidently there are more than a few.

And her final description of all of them, the summing up, the “review” of her carnal playmates?

“They all suck in bed!”

Wow. 

All of them?

Well, if anyone would know, it would be Mandy. 

But I do have one question.

It’s for Mandy, but you can mull it over if you like. 

Once you’ve had sex with the first couple dozen guys, and they ALL SUCK.

Doesn’t the thought occur to you that, maybe it’s you?

Mandy’s bed may be the killing fields of sex, the place where good sex is sad and without hope.

I honestly have no way of knowing I am just guessing at this point. 

But my accuracy when I begin guessing is legendary. 

But maybe I am biased and more than a little jaded.

So, I checked with the internet and did some quick and dirty research about what makes good sex. (Don’t Google “Hot Sex”. It’s a LOT of video research plus you risk carpal tunnel.)

I found a Millennial blog ALL about how to have great sex.

Here are the top three pieces of advice:

  • Meditate. (They even specified that you are NOT meditating about sex. Being at peace gives you the “Dick of death” or something.)
  • Masturbate a lot. (I actually exploded with laughter on this one, snotted myself and everything. The level of stupid here is frightening.)
  • “Understand that, for most women, sex is a violation.” (Great, sex tips from someone who hates sex. I am getting a semi as we speak. 

Mandy is going to be fine, she is just shitty in bed. 

But the Millenials are going to die out as a generation. 

Kids, you don’t have to freeze in place every time you have an emotion and refuse to move until you have figured out who to blame for it. 

What started out to be a fun little romp about Mandy and her revolving door panties has taken on an even sadder edge as we contemplate that a huge amount of the 20-somethings out there will be the last of their bloodline, dying out without an extinction level event as its cause. 

But I am sure the kids will figure out who to blame. 

 

The books are out! Check them out here! The Caffeinated Humor Series

 
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Posted by on July 5, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Girls gone wild, Guatemalan roast edition

I have joined a sorority.

At least, I think I have.

At any moment, a pillow fight in peekaboo nighties may break out.

Keep in mind, public masturbation is still a crime in the USA. (Europe? Who knows anymore.)

I know, I know, details.

I am in a Starbucks that is in a really nice part of town.

Translation? Money, lots of money in this area.

This is LA so the definition of money can hit ridiculous levels. (As compared to parts of the country where “Money” translates into an ac unit in front room AND the bedroom of your double wide.)

It was one of those days were I sat down to write and came up empty.

And then the front door opened and in they came.

12 young, well monied, college girls.

This might be the beginning of a porn film.

And then the “Basic bitch” shit began.

Coffee selfies were taken.

Ridiculously basic complaints were made and the shrill voice of my sorority sisters proceeded to ruin every vile thought in my head.

Very disappointing.

Why do basic bitches have to ruin everything?

Shouldn’t they be passing Facebook chain letters?
Poorly written cut and pasted messages that claim to have been hacked, so don’t accept a new friend request from them. (AND NO ONE GETS THAT REQUEST)

Or posting memes about how a real man or a real friend behaves.

You know, weak minded, basic bitch stuff.

But maybe I am being mean here.

So let’s look at the facts:

  • I am making fun of total strangers without knowing anything about them.
  • I am not related to any of them.
  • My coffee is cold.

Ok, I am absolved of all blame here.

How can I possibly be expected to be nice to total strangers with cold coffee?

I think you are asking too much of me.

The manager sees me approaching and pours me a venti Christmas blend.

I must look shakier than I thought.

When I am low on caffeine, I get twitchy and am capable of anything.

The girls begin shrill laughter about something Manda has on her phone.

Gonna be a long day.

This started out so exciting.

And now? Migraine is developing.

I am creamed and sugared and just settling back in at my laptop, when things change.

Two of the girls begin to quietly make out, and Manda is now getting teary eyed at something in her phone.

Sex and drama, the two things that could salvage this.

There is a part of me, the part that was an alter boy, the one that is thoughtful and kind, that realizes that its wrong to be both joyful at Manda’s pain and horny at the young ladies intimate moment. (Sporting a semi that no one knows about is NOT a crime.)

However, let’s not lose sight 2 very important things:

  • I was only an alter boy for 10 days before that whole scandal erupted. (And thank God for bad memories, no one but me remembers the details of that vile affair.)
  • A single tear making its way down Manda’s cheek, public tongue kissing by smoking hot collegiate girls and an amazing Guatemalan dark roast can make the disappointments of the moment evaporate like a humor blog with little to no readers.

Plus, the Guatemalan roast is THAT good. (God bless Guatemala)

Mmmmm coffee.

Happy New Year.

 
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Posted by on December 31, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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The Old Hoe Hall of Fame

“Who shows up at a blind date and can’t get it up?”

The line is epic, the tone is rude and the speaker is an old whore. (Disclaimer – The views expressed in this blog are based in fact and completely true, hand to God pinky swear on that one.)

Using the term “Old whore” is not because of her obvious promiscuity.

Its for being crass enough to say this in a Starbucks while sitting at a table with young children 2 tables away.

Here’s what we know so far:

  1. Betty is old enough to be my mother’s aunt.
  2. Betty is single and on the prowl.
  3. Betty is not aging well.

Online dating has done to dating what politics has done to civil discourse. (In other words, gang raped it and shit all over it.

Despite putting you in touch with thousands more people that you might have never met, it is now harder than ever to meet Mr/Mrs Right. (That includes Mr/Mrs Right Now. Patron saint of one night stands and non-lethal STDs.)

And the quality of people has gone thru the floor.

It used to be that if you wanted to meet someone of a certain class or economic strata, you simply went to a bar in a better section of town.

Catfishing seems to be the order of the day. (I would normally tell you to Google it, but its central to the story here.)

Catfishing is basically pretending to be who you aren’t.

The simplest form of Catfishing is posting photos that are not yours. (I once got catfished by a 76 year old woman who posted photos of her daughter. Even good coffee could not save that awkward little meet-n-greet)

People pretend to be wealthier, better looking, better place in life, better you name it.

But it may be a new and weird type of catfish that you present yourself as a player when your sexual function is gone.

The concept of the player who cannot play is new.

Or maybe very old.

Either way it does tone down the spotlight pointed at Betty the hoe.

Someone suggested that I am slut-shaming Betty the hoe.

It’s not shaming because Betty has no idea I did it.

It’s not like anyone she knows is going to read this.

So it’s like a private joke between me and the three people who actually read this shit.

Also, let’s have a slut talk, shall we?

Slut is a word that mean girls and assholes in highschool say to hurt girls that may or may not have slept around.

I know many a girl called slut in highschool who hadn’t done a damned thing.

And the girls calling names were usually the biggest sluts I knew at the time. (I was lucky enough to meet some truly epic sluts after high school.)

But a woman out of school who sleeps around?

She is empowered and knows what she wants.

More power to her. (I was also lucky enough to meet of few of these lovely ladies as well.)

Hoe-shaming would be more accurate.

Except for one thing.

Hoes don’t give a shit.

Not in a confident way, but in more of a ignorant of the fact that it’s an insult to begin with.

I sight as an example:

Betty sipped her coffee and let out a big sigh.

“Maybe I’m just some old hoe.”

Maybe?

Don’t sell yourself short, Betty.

You are a hall of fame Old Hoe.

Mmmmmm, coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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Now go wash your hands

Let me say, first and foremost, I am AGAINST goat rape.

Glad I got that out of the way.

And if you happen to be a goat rape enthusiast, I am judging you, sorry but it is what it is.

This twisted little train of thought came from a Facebook link a friend of mine posted.

It was a link to a news article about a man caught raping a goat.

It was a typical FB echo chamber of 20 people saying the same thing, but within the range of total outrage on one end to the ironically humorous hipster douchebag comments.

And then theres me.

My goal is not to contribute to the conversation, its to break it down into angry response discussion groups.

You find out a lot about people when they are pissed to the point of not being PC anymore.

“The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes, the heart wants a goat.”

That was the opening line of my defense of the goat rapist.

On a positive note, I like to think that it truly united the entire group into a unified front of anger.

Directed at me.

Somehow, not denouncing the goat rapist made me the following things, all at once:

  • A racist.
  • Pro human rape.
  • Pro sex trafficking.
  • Anti feminism.
  • Pro elder abuse.
  • Pro misogyny.
  • A hater of all animals.
  • A Trump supporter.

And those were just the public comments.

The private messages were more fun.

One of the first called me the “N-word”.

I am still not sure of the connection between Goat rape and the N-word, but they repeated it a few times.

My favorites are the animal rights people.

Their strings are so visible and easy to pull.

Simply find out what their animal of choice is and disagree in an aberrant way.

The level of outrage when a “Sea Shepherd” type is told that dolphin is delicious can be heard from space.

In my defense, I don’t attack anyones belief system that didn’t come to me first.

It is selective bully-ism employed on the people that usually bully others, so its justified in my mind. (My perspective is wonderfully streamlined to make me the hero in almost all settings.)

I read the article and it took an odd turn.

The goat owner suspected his neighbor was sneaking into the barn to abuse the goat.

So you lock the door, right?

No, this guys plan was to hook up motion detector cameras and chain the goat out in the yard.

This is like suspecting your neighbor is a pedophile so you dress your little boy in a Catholic school girl outfit and play on his pogostick out in front of the neighbors house everyday in the hopes of catching him.

The goat owner is culpable in all of this, like a beastiality pimp of some sort.

By the way, if you explain this reasoning to people, it will not go well.

Some people are not ready to hear these kinds of revelations.

At least, not without coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 18, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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This message will self destruct in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

A non-descript black town car will pull up in front of your house at precisely 5pm.

You MUST be wearing a black dress with red heels.

If you wear anything else the driver will leave.

The driver will stand by the back door.

Nod at him as you approach, and gesture at the door ONLY with your left hand.

He will open the door and close it once you are in.

Place your hands in your lap and look down.

Do NOT make eye contact.

The driver will ask you 3 times, “Where are we going?”

Do NOT answer.

If you answer, he will pull over and remove you from the vehicle.

After the third time, he will head to the freeway.

You will arrive at a sake/sushi bar in Hollywood called “Kino”.

Walk THRU the restaurant to the bar.

Tell the batender with the RED bowtie that you want the “Twilight Special”.

He will push a napkin across the bar to you with a 5 of spades playing card under it.

Take the card and walk thru the kitchen to the black door at the back with the large Japanese man in a tuxedo in front of it.

He will say nothing.

Tilt your head to the LEFT side and say “What is the frequency, Kenneth?”

When he opens the door, walk thru the casino inside and out into the alley.

There is a limo waiting, get into the backseat and tell the driver that you are late.

He will drive you to the Bonaventure Hotel in LA.

Once you arrive, walk to the front desk and approach the clerk with the blue pen tucked behind his LEFT ear.

Shake his hand and palm him the playing card.

He will immediately hand you a large yellow envelope.

Go to the elevator and take it to the 23rd floor.

Open the envelope and inside there is a room key that has “2315” printed on it.

Use it to open room #2356.

In the closet of that room is a wall safe.

Input “2315#” and open the safe.

Inside, there is a cell phone.

Go out on the balcony and dial #6 on the speed dial menu.

When the call is answered, ask for help with your “Rodent” problem.

Hang up and leave the phone on the balcony in the black lounge chair.

Immediately take the elevator to the lobby and walk briskly to the Yellow cab waiting for you.

Tell the driver you are the “VIP” customer.

He will say nothing and drive.

Ignore the urine smell.

You will soon arrive at the Days Inn in Compton.

Go to the front desk and ask for Tran.

Tell Tran that the exterminator is delayed.

He will hand you a card key for room #22.

Head across the parking lot to room #22.

Put the card key in the slot, then turn to face the parking lot.

I will be in the yellow 1979 AMC Pacer with no pants on.

Get in and perform oral sex.

I’ll take you home, maybe we can get some Taco Bell.

 
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Posted by on June 9, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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One more thing you can’t do in church.

Starbucks is attempting a hostile world takeover, one cup at a time.

 

I felt a little awkward this morning, yelling at the dog to stop licking his balls.

I mean, who am I to judge?

If I could reach, I sure as hell would not listen to people asking me to stop.

However, I feed him and walk him, so its my way or the highway. (Highway consists of feeding himself and figuring out how to shit into mid-air.)

Upon reflection, It might be the best of all things that me, and by extension males as a species, are not double jointed in a way as to facilitate the licking of our own balls.

The damage to society would be devastating.

We would still be living in caves and the ladies would be cooking cold meals because nobody will stop their activities long enough to invent fire.

So it all works out for the best.

And no one will have invented Starbucks.

So there is that.

Talk about your aggressive organizations.

There was an old school sporting goods store in my town.

Been there since before I was born.

Burnt to the ground a few years ago.

And no one has had the heart to rebuild.

Like living in a house someone died in, there is bad mojo attached to it.

Enter Starbucks.

They could not care less.

Tempt fate? Motherfucker, they OWN fate sprinkled with pumpkin spice! (That line makes no sense, but I laugh every time I read it, so it stays.)

But why? Why do they want to dominate the world?

Two words.

Rechanneled libido.

It makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?  

Starbucks is spreading like the plague because they can’t like their own balls. (Let that sink in.)

Even I am in awe at the twisted logic that made the concept above possible.

However twisted that sounds, I cannot find a serious argument against it.

Dogs, by the way, do not prefer the taste of pumpkin spice, much less latte’s with pumpkin spice. (Balls yes, P-spice? No bueno.)

It is this that has held dogs down from evolving thumbs and competing for dominance on this planet.

A test reader just made a funny about humans not sniffing each other’s asses.

Beg to differ.

Go to any bar in Hermosa Beach, California during the Summer on “Dollar Shot Night” and you will see manifest ass sniffing on a grand scale.

In truth, we are not that far from the caves, but we like to think we are.

This is the first in a series of posts that unmask plots by the major coffee houses.

My next post will explain Starbucks connection to the Unicorn Latte and nuclear war.

Mmmmm coffee…

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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