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Under the mistletoe. #METOO

The week before Christmas is rarely all sugar cookies.

Lotta shit goes down twisted.

There are some years that have been that bad that you are afraid to be caught under the mistletoe because you could get “Roofied”. (Happy “Cosby” Xmas!)

The darker side is, there is usually a death around Xmas that slows the holiday cheer just a tad.

Think I’m kidding?

I have had Grandparents, cousins and a favorite pet pass away around the holidays.

My rotten suspicious side begins to wonder if Santa is involved somehow?

I mean, he is making a list, checking it twice.

Serial killers are known for making lists.

Let’s look at other red flags surrounding “Old St Nick”.

He lives in an isolated area and keeps to himself 364 days a year.

Has an associate with a Euro first name who’s nose is always red? (Rudolph? A coke-head? Bear with me.)

He breaks into numerous people’s houses and eats their food. (Homeowners have yet to find him passed out on their kitchen floor in a puddle of his own piss, but its just a matter of time.)

I am shocked we have not seen Santa on an episode of COPS. (The plates on the sled come back stolen, Santa is “Borrowing” the sled from a friend who’s name he can’t remember and that baggie of powder in his pocket? “That’s not mine!”)

It would be worth the soul-crushing disappointment just to see the Jolly Fat Man being fed into the back of a patrol car in handcuffs.

 

Just had a frightening moment.

I was sexually harassed.

I thought I was going to have to do a #METOO post on Facebook.

I was sitting here, reading this piece on my laptop, when I felt it.

A hand brushed my testicles.

I ignored it, maybe someone bumped into me.

And then the hand began fondling me.

I froze.

I was humiliated, I was embarrassed.

And then I realized the hand was mine.

False alarm.

 

In true caffeine-soaked, grinch-like fashion, I didn’t finish the blog ahead of schedule and have it post early today.

I am belting it out and will immediately post.

Although, that was how the first 6 months of the blog was done, nothing ahead of time, and that was some incredible stuff. (I can wait hear if you want to use the archive on the right to read the first six month. Summer 2011 was a good time for wine and shitty blogs.)

Everyone up to date? Good!

I would love to have some sort of excuse for my laziness, and I got nothing.

So lets throw the holidays under the bus.

Looking like a pretty good Christmas, beginning to shake a minor cold and have back to back 3 day weekends for Xmas and New Years.

I even allowed the barrista to shake a little cinnamon and pumpkin spice into my coffee, just to be festive.

So I am drinking Christmas today.

As long as Christmas tastes like coffee.

Mmmmmm coffee.

God bless us, everyone.

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Posted by on December 22, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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One for the ladies…

There is a holiday show on right now that has a penniless single mom who gave some woman CPR on the way to work, saves a life, is fired by the shitty Grinch she works for for being late and after a LOT of HIGHLY improbable “Notebook” type shit, she finds true love and the woman she save sends her a Christmas card with a few grand in it.

And I found myself changing my ways.

My caffeine soaked, Grinch-like heart has grown three sizes and I am about to toboggan my hairy ass down the mountain to Whoville.

Because that’s where the money is.

The next well monied old biddy that goes tits up in front of me has my full attention.

I will suck start that old broad back to life.

Right after I run her credit.

She’s turning blue, I will get eye contact for a sec.

“WHAT’S THE LAST 4 OF YOUR SOCIAL? THE LAST 4?!?!”

She has over a 750 and I’m jingling her chimes for the holidays.

I will be in the will before the paramedics get there. (I am a registered minister. I can perform it all myself. I am also a notary.)

Have I upset anyone?

Awwww, and don’t I just feel terrible about that?

It is officially that period between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

That time of year when anyone connected with retail laments their life choices and plots their suicide.

If you are a parent, you might be lamenting your life choices and plotting your suicide.

While the rest of us give thought to what to get our kids for Xmas. (I used Xmas on purpose. Lets leave Christ out of this, its more about the shopping. He was never a big shopper anyway.)

Stock market is booming, people are working and life is good, right?

Depends on who you talk to.

Half the government is denying they wiggled their dick at anyone and the other half is busy apologizing for it.

Thank god they are not outing regular Joe’s like me.

Have I wiggled my dick at the opposite sex on occasion?

You’re goddam right I have!

But, while I have never been prosecuted or forced to step down from a job, I might hesitate to run for office.

What is so sad is, the first accusation comes out and these entertainment bigwigs/politicians immediately claim it never happened, they don’t remember it and never met the accuser.

And then more accusations come in, like there is a line forming in the hallway.

And then their career goes the way of Bill Cosby.

Now, I would like to take a swing at Bill Cosby and his 54 rapes, but it suddenly occurs to me that I have a daughter.

So fuck that guy and his brother Russell.

Its almost upsetting enough to ruin my coffee.

I said almost, lets not get crazy.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on December 1, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Drowning kittens doesn’t sound so bad.

Stupid is as stupid does.

That is an iconic line from Forrest Gump, the story of a slow man who has wild adventures by simply being.

Deep thoughts there.

And then there is the college students sitting next to me.

There is a HUGE difference between being intelligent and thinking you are intelligent.

Someone told these two they were brilliant and they ran with that.

But the stupidity is mind numbing.

Think I’m kidding?

Top 3 brilliant utterances of the Mensa twins:

  1. “The professor doesn’t understand that you can know all the different elements of a subject and not be able to express them in test form.” (You mean that point where you acknowledge what you know?)
  2. “It’s a sexuality class, I shouldn’t have to discuss sex, I KNOW sex.” (How silly of the professor to discuss sex in a sexuality class. Hang it up, teacher! You missed the point!)
  3. “Calculus is misogynistic at its core. It should be illegal.” (Its fucking math, sugar! I agree it should be illegal, but for different reasons.)

I truly weep for the business community when this generation is five years out of school.

The amount of wrongful termination lawsuits will be staggering, right before all of them are thrown out of court.

Because you are allowed to fire people for being slow, lazy, dumb and self entitled.

Thats not illegal, thats smart business.

An entire generation you can label “Dead weight”.

I feel dumber for sitting next to these empty vessels.

I now feel bad for the “Empty Vessel” analogy.

Because it goes both ways.

You can fill an empty vessel with knowledge and facts and its a wonderful thing.

Or, as in this case, you can fill it full of shit and garbage and this liquidy stuff that has equal parts of shit and garbage in it.

Bad analogy, and a scary visual, shit and garbage actually have a purpose in life.

What is the purpose in life for these two mouth-breathers?

After they graduate with diplomas in women’s studies, they will flit from one job to another, not being good at any of them.

They will go to ANTIFA protests and get their topics wrong.

They will finally settle into non-paying volunteer work, because “Thats their passion”. (And charities are notoriously forgiving if you are willing to work for free.

And in the end, you and I will have to pay for their healthcare and student loans.

But, to get back to the empty vessel, whats wrong with filling it with coffee?

Mmmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 25, 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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Because something died up there.

There is a cloud of doom hanging over the day, and whatever died in your ass is where it started.

Starbucks is a public place, populated with random people, I am ok with that.

But, whatever freak dietary lifestyle you live that can render a bathroom uninhabitable for upwards of 30 minutes after you drop a deuce becomes everybody’s problem.

I was writing and sipping coffee-

Wait, let’s be honest.

I was sipping coffee THEN writing when I felt my fiber supplement change my agenda.

We will be shitting NOW, please.

I headed to the bathroom.

It was a single seater and occupied, so I waited.

No more than a moment later, I heard the toilet flush.

Soon after, the door opened and a business suit walked out.

I would give more of a description, but I either didn’t care enough to look, or wasn’t paying attention, so “business suit” is all you get.

I made it to the door jam when the smell hit my nose and my entire body locked up.

I was unable to enter the bathroom.

I broke my nose several times over the years and my sense of smell is greatly diminished.

This unholy stench bitch-slapped its way past all that, and gang-raped my olfactory system in a truly brutal fashion that made prison rape look like a sensual massage by comparison.

And this was just in a second at the door.

I went and sat back down at my table.

I was in danger of shitting myself, but it would be preferable to entering the feces slaughterhouse at the back of the room.

I managed to sit at my table in full rectal clench for 10 minutes, watching a total of 3 people approach the unisex bathroom only to be turned back at the threshold like souls denied entry into heaven.

Finally, I got to the point that I HAD to go.

I stood and pointed myself towards the back of the room.

The shitting myself danger was hitting critical and it was painful to stand up straight.

At the doorway, I realized just how poor the HVAC in a Starbucks bathroom could be.

I have heard of people under great stress speaking in tongues.

As I moved to the unholy porcelain seat, I became aware of a muttered, low level string of obscenities streaming from my mouth.

To say that it stank of shit would be an insult to ordinary shit.

This was first round hall of fame stink.

I will not be going into the gory, smelly details here, some things, especially rancid things are better left unsaid.

I finished, washed my hands in a daze, and staggered from the room, like a man surviving an explosion.

I considered myself lucky.

I would have to go home, burn my clothes and may never smell again, but I survived.

It wasn’t until the next morning that the miracle happened.

I decided to get a Sumatran blend, a pour-over, as a treat for my brush with death the day before.

And as I got to the cream and sugar kiosk, out of reflex, I took the lid off and raised the cup to my nose.

And inhaled a glorious dark roast from Sumatra.

Its was a miracle.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Best to stay upwind

Perfume was invented by the ancient Egyptians.

They used it in religious ceremonies, burial preparations and daily use.

It is some of the most expensive liquid on the planet, ounce for ounce.

So, the modern usage for women is to lightly apply it.

So why do you need to know that?

Because I am under an aromatic assault.

Someone reeks.

Remember what I said about the modern usage?

Lightly being the key word there.

How the fuck that morphed into dipping yourself in a large wine barrel of perfume daily using some sort of repurposed sexual rope and pulley system is beyond me.

The term “Old French Whore” comes to mind.

Not to dabble in misogynistic slut shaming, but now I am wondering what kind of old French whore.

Not like a modern one that you know she could bathe more, but she has a meth issue that gets in the way of productive thought, but a French revolution era French whore that bathes once a year, has an opium dependency and is rocking that whole “Les Miserable” vibe.

My nose actually hurts, how is that possible?
Growing up, one of my grandmother’s friends was an Avon sales lady.

And while grandma loved her perfume, You could smell the Avon lady when she pulled up at the curb.

I think the outrage, and sinus pain, that I am feeling is that the woman sitting next to me is not from my grandmother’s era.

She appears to be in her 30’s.

Stunning Japanese women that have an obvious talent for dressing and accessorizing never go wrong with perfume.

It boggles the mind that a woman in stiletto heels would not realize she smells like Miss Redneck at the homecoming tractor pull.

I am attracted and repulsed.

Let me clarify that.

My mind is repulsed.

My penis is lacking a nose or any sort of restraint, he finds her wonderful and would like to wear her ass for a hat.

(I am sure I will pay for that last line somehow, Karma has been taking cheap shots lately.)

The ring on her left hand tells me there is a mister somewhere, working his ass off to afford her expensive shoes and barrels of cheap perfume.

I wonder if his lack of a sense of smell has held him back in life?

Or perhaps he was raised in the family business, hand cleaning septic tanks.

Maybe she is the trophy/fetish wife?

None of my business, although my penis is nosey-rosey today.

The second my coffee cooled to the point that I figured I was offending some coffee based diety by not drinking it, I fled the building.

It took a full five minutes of walking and breathing deeply to clear out.

In thru the mouth at first, out thru the nose, just to push the crap out, then breathing in thru the nose after awhile.

And then I smelled the perfume on my shirt.

And realized I was sporting a semi against my will.

Karma, you are a twisted fuck.

 
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Posted by on March 31, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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My sensitive side.

Can I interest you in a Ghetto Latte with a shot of stank in it?

A homeless guy in line at a Starbucks is not a unique situation.

Caring, soft-headed individuals will give them gift cards to obtain high-priced coffee drinks and food. (The studies all show this is damaging, but people think they are helping rather than empowering and prolonging the homeless situation. Nobody reads anymore, so this will go on.)

But that is not the case this morning.

The gentleman wearing 3 layers of dirty clothes and a truly impressive aura of BO and urine does not have a card.

What he does have is an understanding of Starbucks courtesy policy.

“Venti hot water.” His voice is gravelly, feel free to speculate why. (METH!!!)

Starbucks will give hot water in their branded cups for free.

The reason is that they sell Via, an instant coffee product that I have an abusive relationship with.

I got my own hot water right after him and joined him at the cream and sugar kiosk.

On any C&S kiosk there is chocolate, vanilla, nutmeg and cinnamon powder, all with the idea of dressing up your coffee beverage. (As a people, we are a spoiled pathetic bunch.)

While I creamed and artificially sweetened my coffee, the homeless barista mixed all of the available powders, along with 8, count em 8, sugar packets, into this evil bitches brew.

His concentration was like a witch concocting a potion, allowing for the witch to smell like shit that somebody peed on…2 weeks ago.

Half of the previously full powder containers were empty by the time he was done.

I have to admit, I was really curious what the final product tasted like.

He sipped it every now and then, tasting the flavor.

I would have asked for a sip, but the urine smell was dampening my appetite.

Plus, since my immune system is not what it once was, I was iffy on my ability to shake off the plague, influenza or whatever was causing those lip sores.

Eventually, the homeless barista left, yet his stench remained.

It was a chilly morning, but the air conditioning suddenly came on.

I applauded the manager’s efforts to clear the air.

Perhaps another thing to include on the C&S kiosk would be Fabreeze.

It would be a great way to break the ice with a rancid smelling street dweller.

“Good morning! Would you mind if I Fabreezed you in an effort to cut down on that feeling of imminent vomiting and the crawling feeling on my skin?”

Tell me the truth, wouldn’t you have a different view of the homeless population at large if the stench of BO and urine was replaced with Ocean Breeze™ or the lingering scent of lilacs?

I know I would be more inclined to pony up some change and ease off on the taser-reflex.

I know there are those of you that, for reasons unknown that are probably rooted in childhood abuse, disagree with me.

Can’t help you.

BB King once said, “Some people, if they don’t know, you can’t tell them.”

He was right.

Because there is no Fabreeze for stupid, that stench lingers no matter how long the AC has been on.

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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