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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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What the mob wants.

This is appropriate.

When reading a particularly suspenseful passage in a book, to worry the nail on your finger.

When bored, put your elbow on the table and prop your chin on your palm.

Neither one of these are weird.

This is weird.

When sitting in a Starbucks reading a book, (Get a Kindle you freak!) and running your hand across your OWN face as if you are caressing the face of a lover.

For 20 fucking minutes!

There is a creep factor here that is off the charts.

It creates something in the casual observer much akin to swampass, but with a karmic filth to it that only jailed pedophiles and Ned Beatty truly understand.

My morning is ruined.

I would have left 20 minutes ago, but I opted for a sumatran roast and it really is spectacular.

Excellent coffee is the one thing that can make me put up with unacceptable shit.

And unacceptable it is.

This is not like a moment’s discomfort, go about your day, act like it never happened.

This is like, go home and burn your clothes, cry naked in the shower, join a support group type of deal.

In a another era, we would have chased him thru the streets, naked and bleeding.

Him, not us, just in case that wasn’t clear.

I didn’t ask for my morning to go like this.

I came here with the intention of writing a sweet blog about St. Patrick and Ireland and a cute legend about snakes, and maybe end the post with a prayer.

And then this happened.

Pedophiles and lynch mobs.

Set against a background of rich Sumatran coffee.

Think about something twisted for more than 5 minutes and the Japanese will have dozen websites up within minutes, charging a monthly fee to watch a clammy-palmed gang of creepy motherfuckers, all fondling their faces a reading moth eaten romance novels with Fabio on the cover.

He is the type of guy that is heavily into Pinterest. (If you don’t see whats wrong with that, I cannot help you.)

He’s no stranger to police lineups.

I swear, at some point in his life, he has been standing in a police line up dressed as Santa Clause.

“Number 4, please step forward, drop your pants and say HO HO HO.”

If my coffee were not so hot and just now becoming drinkable, I would not put up with this shit.

Oh shit!

He’s on the move, no doubt saw a helpless victim across the room that he wants to drag into his raised 70’s van.

He goes to the counter.

I am staring at him thru the steam coming out of my cup.

“Can I get a refill of the Sumatran?”

Oh.

We are drinking the same thing.

I hate to be shallow about this, but it really is a good cup of coffee.

And besides, my mother likes old school romance novels.

And he does know his coffee.

Eh.

Ok, so he’s not all that bad.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on March 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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At least wear a condom

There is something to be said for old school making out.

There is also something slightly uncomfortable about not being one of the makeout participants.

But there is something evil in the delight washing over me as I watch other non-participants being REALLY uncomfortable about the aforementioned making out.

There is a thirty-something couple that is sitting on the cushion seats at Starbucks, making out like they are cheating on someone.

There is no inappropriate touching going on, everyone is fully clothed, but I am beginning to suspect that either their lips are stitched together or he is performing some sort of dentistry on her with his tongue.

Table to their right is inhabited by every disapproving old lady you have ever met.

Old ladies come in pairs as a general rule.

Its a lot like a buddy system, one to talk trash, the other to nod their head.

And, from the looks of it, these two old biddies are just about to shit themselves.

On the other side of our amorous couple is the Creeps.

The Creeps are just staring.

Creep #1, we will call him Peeper, he likes to descretely peep out of the corner of his eye and pretend no one sees him looking.

Creep #2, we will call him Alpha Creep, doesn’t give a shit, he is just blatantly staring.

Alpha Creep has enough of a pervy creep vibe to him that he may start masturbating at any moment, and it would not shock me.

Getting back to our carnal customers.

We could call them Romeo and Juliet, but that seems a little too easy and over done.

So, Fred and Ginger are going at it like he is leaving for the war tomorrow.

I would say get a room, but they have two untouched cups of something in front of them, so they have technically paid the rent on the 2 spots on the cushions they currently inhabit.

I mean, if a homeless guy can buy a small coffee and sleep in a chair, then two fully clothed patrons who DON’T stink can dry hump on the table.

Plus, its kind of sweet.

I mean, making out as an art form seems to have been on the decline for the last decade.

And I don’t understand why?

I mean, done right, making out is one of the more erotic things two people can share.

And we all seem to forget that in pursuit of the infamous “Hook Up”.

Evidently, hook ups are happening left and right.

By the way, they still don’t have cures for STDs, but they are all on the rise.

Which is why the hook up is not something I can do.

Remember the movie Jaws?
I stopped going in the ocean because of that movie.

I am sure that I will become that rare statistic that will be eaten by a shark.

Same thing with STDs.

It would be just my luck to catch something and my shwantz would fall off and scurry away like a frightened snake.

Who needs that type of stress?

But, I am liking Fred and Ginger.

To be perfectly honest, they aren’t boring, they smell nice and I am not worried that they might attack in a drug fueled rage.

So I say, let them stay.

 
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Posted by on November 4, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Got something to say?

For God’s sake, wash your ass!

I don’t think I am asking for too much here.

I cannot name a time that Starbucks ever had a stank like this going on.

And the sad part is, it’s a self inflicted wound.

Starbucks did it to itself.

It all has to do with free electricity and lax policies concerning the homeless.

Every table is wired in a starbucks.

They do that so people like me will stay awhile.

The longer I stay, the more I will buy.

But here is the flaw in the plan.

The homeless will spend a dollar and stay all fucking day.

The government gives away cell phones with chargers and free cell plans.

The one thing the government does not give away is charging stations with free electricity.

So here is the one flaw in Starbuck’s plan.

I am positive that I am the customer they planned on with the whole setup.

As opposed to a $1.50 sale to someone who will then sleep in a massive BO stupor for 10 hours.

I can guarantee that little scenario is not on any business plan at the corporate office.  

I broke my nose years ago playing hockey, so I don’t smell much these days.

But the stench of the unwashed ass of the homeless guy at the next table is killing me.

“How can you be so cruel? You don’t know what his life has been like. Walk a mile in his shoes…blah, blah, fucking blah.”

Cry pussy, cry your eyes out.

All actions in life have consequences.

A dozen minor decisions pile up into 1 major issue.

Ignorance of the laws of life is no excuse.

“But thats not fair!”

Right, its not.

Doesn’t mean thats not how it is.

Sorry to get real on you, but that little rant I found balled up in the back of my head, so I dusted it off and put it out there.

Shit in my head has a shelf life.

I keep nothing past the due date.

That little philosophy will not win you a lot of friends and it will lose you a few, but at least you know that the ones that are left have a little backbone to them.

Excellent sign of people who I will piss off is that they use the phrase “There is nothing funny about ___”

Censoring yourself is like an addiction, it seems harmless at first and then you realize one day that it effects everything you do.

Trust me on this one, you don’t wake up one day with this type of literary tourettes.

Its a place you end up, not a place you begin at.

There is a scene in the epic tale Cyrano De Bergerac where Cyrano talks about being his own man:

“But, to sing, to laugh, to dream,

to walk in my own way,

free with an eye to see things as they are,

a voice that means manhood.

To cock my hat where I choose.

Not a word, a yes, a no?

To fight, or write.

But never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart.”

Edmond Rostand was the shit.

I wonder how he took his coffee?

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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