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Your dirty, sexy mouth.

Picture this in your head.

Picture the woman that says the following phrase.

“Finish your coffee, I’m gonna go push out a gang of tootsie rolls and then we’ll roll.”

What is the image in your head?

More specifically, what does the trailer park she lives in look like?

Is Walmart involved?

Now, here is the reality.

Mid-40’s, attractive brunette.

High end business suit, hair styled by someone that probably costs a fortune.

Mercedes smart key on the keychain.

iPhone 6 sitting on the table.

This is a high end business woman.

With the communication skills of a foul mouthed teenager before curse words come into play.

It really ruins the overall desirability of the rather expensively hot look she has put together.

For the mind, that is.

The penis could care less if she shit herself, he is still up for play time.

Very one track mind, the penis.

The woman disturbed me for a few minutes mainly because she didn’t fit the niche I had carved out for her in my head.

In my head, she was a sophisticated, flirty, wholly desirable business woman in an age range that is totally at her peak, physically and sexually.

And then, my mind made the correction and put her in the niche she belongs in, and all was better.

Salesman.

And now her phrasing made sense.

Salesman have a relationship with the spoken word much like a john with a Bangkok hooker.

Use it to do things you should be ashamed of, for money.

Sales is the type of profession that kind of removes your filters when you are not speaking to a client.

You have to be very controlled in not only what you say to a client, but also, how you say it.

When that is no longer required, the kid gloves come off.

I was a salesman for about 10 years, and this blog reminds me a lot of my mouth during that period.

Not a lot of filtering going on.

But back to the situation at hand.

My disappointment is huge.

I hate having my semi ruined mid-lust. (Anyone but me get this one?)

Eventually the hot, potty mouthed business woman returns from her presumed tootsie roll dropping, and they leave.

And the whole thing has left me slightly twisted.

I spend a lot of my time slightly twisted as it is, so when I hit something that shoves me further down that road against my will, it ruins my equilibrium.

Even coffee is not helping.

That alone tells you how disconcerting this is, because coffee usually fixes EVERYTHING.

I was so upset, I got another vente house drip.

And if you follow the news, you know that Starbucks house drip has the highest caffeine content of any national coffee house.

A vente cup has roughly 415mg of caffeine.

I have had 2 in the span of an hour.

There is a legal limit of 250mg of caffeine per hour in the state of California. (I could be wrong)

So, having ingested 830mg puts me over 3 times the legal limit.

Which explains my attraction to the hot, yet dirty, businesswoman.

I no longer question what goes on when I am under the influence.

This comes from years of morning after examinations.

At least with caffeine, you will never wake up with indelible marker writing on your face.

And sadly, with caffeine, you will never wake up after a black out evening to find yourself in bed with a hot businesswoman, dirty mouth or not.

 
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Posted by on December 12, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Pigeons are homeless.

There is nothing that can make me almost shit myself faster than a pigeon slamming into my windshield when I am driving down the road.

Its upsetting. I thought my damned windshield had cracked.

Luckily, it didn’t. I am wildly happy about that because that costs money to fix.

And the shit doesn’t grow on trees.

The pigeon? I dunno, he’s probably dead.

I have given it a lot of thought and I have come to the conclusion that I don’t care.

For all I know, the pigeon was suicidal and this was his way of checking out.

Either way, its not like it was a dog or a cat.

If it is not a domesticated animal, its on the food chain and up for grabs.

I am sure some of you wonder how I can be so callus about an animal’s death.

Animals die every day and the world keeps spinning.

Life goes on.

I saw a thing online of a guy who is obviously shilling for the vegetarians who claimed to have been employed by a slaughter house.

He had a whole tearful spiel about how the cows cry and show emotion before death.

Like the only reason carnivores have been eating animal flesh since the dawn of time is because we had no idea the meat didn’t want to die.

Vegetarians are the Johova’s Witnesses of the nutritional world.

Not only do they believe something, but the are fairly incesant that you believe it too.

It almost reminds me of the anti bullying movement that figures that all you need to do is let the bully know that its not cool and it hurts someones feelings.

I have actually seen some schools put up “No bullying Zone” next to the “Gun free zone” sign.

Awesome, it will probably work just as well.

Using that flawed logic, the only way the bullying will stop is if the people that pay no attention to the ridiculous “Gun free zone” sign accidentally shoot the bully.

That is a truly messed up line, but there is an element of brutal truth in there.

But, simply because something is the truth doesn’t mean it should be said.

Somebody posted a thing on Facebook that said that it isn’t hating if its true.

Not true. Ask if its your job to say it. If its not, it may still be true, but you are a douchebag.

If you are going to stake out the “Truth even if it hurts feelings” don’t try to cover that with the shield of truth.

Take responsibility for it and don’t try to cover your ass with some soft headed platitude about the hating/truth thing.

That means you know that you are a douchebag and you are reflexively looking for the emotional get out of jail free card.

It’s not your fault, its the pussy society we live in.

Confrontation has been beaten out of you to the point that even when you want to rub someones nose in something, (Remember, because its true) You have to wuss out and preface it to try and deflect the douchebag label that is heading your way.

I gave that one up awhile back.

Try it sometime.

And the first time someone tells you “You’re an asshole”, revel in it.

Otherwise, you are just another pigeon, hitting the windshield.

 
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Posted by on October 31, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Welcome to the party, Karma, you’re late.

Everyone makes such a big deal about karma, like its this serious cosmic force for justice.

If it worked even a third of the time, we would not need laws at all, and not one of the Kardashians would be living.

Sadly, karma has never pulled its own weight.

That being said, when it does show up, the results can be stunning.

And funny to those of us that relish the misfortune of others.

Guilty as charged.

I am at one of my favorite breakfast spots at the beach, a little Mexican place tucked away in a corner, they’ve been there forever.

Mexican places rock for breakfast.

Several that I have been to spike their coffee with cinnamon for that Feliz Navidad feeling, and chips and salsa while you wait is just sprinkles on the “Happy” sundae.

But enchilada sauce and melted cheese on a breakfast burrito allows you to achieve a sense of nirvana only previously reached by the greater yogi’s of history.

That paints quite a picture, doesn’t it?

Let me go further.

I like the patio. View of the ocean kind of open air, with part of the patio covered with an old wood pergola covered with vines.

Ocean breeze and awesome food, what could possibly fuck this up?

The lady at the next table.

Imagine that great aunt of yours that was your grandmother’s best friend growing up? She is big and heavy, always wore those brightly colored mumu/sun dresses with too much fake jewelry?

The makeup was troweled on by someone with a putty knife and perfume was applied by dipping her in a vat of Avon’s finest.

She came from somewhere else, so she had an accent, not something cute, something that only annoyed you more.

Now, take away any goodwill/benefit of the doubt you might have had because she was a relative, and put her at the next table over on the patio at my favorite breakfast spot.

And she is bitching about something, because what else would she be doing?

It doesn’t really matter what she is pissing and moaning about, to me, the fact that she is squawking about it is enough.

But, you are all details people, I can see that.

Here you go:

Comment 1. “I don’t know why you insist on coming to these dive places, the food is rarely good and you don’t know who they have working in kitchen.” (Are you high, lady? You are in Southern California, there are Mexicans in the kitchen.)

Comment 2. “I don’t know why Tammy was shocked when her son flunked out of school, I had that boy pegged early on. Drugs.” (Yes, whispering the word drugs doesn’t make you seem like a rotten bitch of a human being.)

Comment 3. “What HAVE they done to the coffee? Is that cinnamon? That is almost a cliche its so sad.” (Alright bitch, now you have done it. Do NOT fuck with my coffee. I will cut a bitch.)

However, before I can say or do anything, karma shows up like that flaky friend that is late 9 time out of 10. This being the 10th time.

Sparrows like to flit back and forth in the vines above, but in 15+ years of going to this place, I have never seen one shit on the ground, a table, and certainly not a person.

Until today.

With pinpoint accuracy, a sparrow shit 2x times its body weight onto her upper left breast, evenly splitting the material and flesh for a smelly ground zero that I happened to be looking right at when it happened.

Wow. It is one of those rare times that I am speechless.

Except for laughing.

The bark of laughter that exploded from my mouth scared the crap out of her.

The fist pump and harsh explosion of the word “YES!” from my mouth didn’t scare her as much as it pissed her off.

After all, the sparrow had flown off and she couldn’t bitch at it.

But we had both shit on her in different ways, but I was still there.

The evil old-lady glare I got was epic.

If she had any gypsy blood, I was in for a serious cursing.

They comped her breakfast and she stomped her chubby ass out the front door along with her reluctant companion.

And I got to eat my breakfast in peace.

And all was right with the world.

 
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Posted by on August 29, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Do not piss off life.

I seem to have taken permanent residence up shit creek.

The smell sucks, but the scenery is pretty.

Every now and then, things speed up and screw with you.

People like to say that life is funny.

Which only makes sense if you giggle while watching dog fights.

What they don’t say, the ugly whispered part, is that life can be downright brutal at times.

Take last weekend.

Without going into personal details, a split second accident almost cost me someone very dear to me.

Nobodys fault, the activity being performed was simply one that held a certain level of danger.

I think the paraphrased version of the life/brutal statement is Shit happens.

We, as humans, think we have a lock on safety and control that would almost be comical if it were not for the horror of tragedies that seem to go on.

We can pass all the laws, and make all the restrictions we want, but Shit happens.

A vehicle crashes, a tornado touches down, someone dealing with a mental illness listens to one too many Justin Beiber songs, and then the shit storm is on like Donkey Kong.

As a general rule, I hate hospitals.

I realize they help a lot of people, even saving people important to me recently.

But there is an element of “The bullshit buck stops here.” that you cannot deny.

People die there.

Thats one of those things that you kind of know, without knowing.

People talk quietly and whisper without being told to at hospitals.

It also has a lot to do with the fact that people die there on a regular basis.

That is why someone talking normally is either working there or stared at.

And when someone does yell or scream, its because all hell has broken loose in their life, pain wise or emotionally.

Personally, my ass cheeks clench the moment I walk thru the door and stay that way until about an hour after I fall asleep that night.

Something about serious rem-sleep that loosens your butt-muscles, that would also explain why most prison rapes happen in the middle of the night.

Karma also, seems to be stepping in here.

Every now and then, Karma wipes the sleep out of its eyes and stomps around the planet like an 800 pound gorilla.

But, in this instance, Karma got the address wrong.

Trust me on this one, if anyone have a Karma reckoning coming, its me.

In the grand scheme of things, I took Karma’s sister to prom, did all sorts of barnyard shit to it and never called.

So to go after someone at the other end of that “Got it coming” sliding scale makes no sense.

I went down that road of “Maybe it was meant for me” for a second, the math didn’t add up.

Assassins as a general rule are marksmen. (See also Lee Harvey Oswald)

In fact, if you remove time from the equation, Oswald could have been gunning for me.

That seems a little far-fetched, but I am not against using the absurd to make my point.

If only I could remember what it was.

Anyway, the point I am trying to make is “Bring the troops home.” (Never saw that coming, did you?)

 

 
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Posted by on June 6, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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High fiber means a happy ass.

I recently began taking a fiber suppliment.

To put it bluntly, I was not being regular.

And I need a little regularity in my life.

So, Metamucil it is.

And the shit works, literally.

You should see my morning BM.

Color, consistency, firmness, its a thing of beauty.

I may start selling my dueces on Ebay.

And firmness? I may be only a week away from never having to wipe again.

(If I was not laughing non-stop during the writing of all of this, I might hesitate to post it. As it is, fuck yeah!)

My mother will not be happy with any of this post at all.

I just ran the Ebay line past her and I was glad my CPR card was up to date, because the woman practically shit herself. (Without the benefit of high-fiber. Her loss.)

So, this post is all about shit.

My shit, fiber-induced shit, the shit I will take for writing about shit, you name it.

The shit will hit the fan.

I wrote the section above roughly a day ago and even I am a little queasy about the idea of a post all about my bowel movements.

Not enough to keep me from doing it, mind you, but enough to worry me.

I get a fair amount of hate mail as it is.

The most consistent bunch that email me are the closet english teachers.

They all start their emails the same way.

“I am not an english teacher, but-”

The one thing none of them have ever written was “will my writing you make any difference?”

The answer is no.

If anything, my belligerent side kicks up and I find myself adding 1-2 more grammatical mistakes of the same sort, just to be a dick.

As I have said before, its important to have a hobby. Fucking with people is mine.

The second most consistent group that emails me to complain are the people who believe that if a subject is rude, inappropriate or politically incorrect, you should not mention it.

This “Stick your head in the sand and it will go away” philosophy has worked so well in every other facet of their lives, why not share the love.

Confrontation is not a polite way of doing things, but it does get shit done.

Maybe its not the slickest way of handling things, but there are less things keeping me up late at night because of it.

Just wanted to get all of that off of my chest.

Or out of my ass, as it were.

 
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Posted by on November 18, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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