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My how you’ve changed, Tiny Tim

(Tiny Tim was kind of a main-stream side show freak that played the ukulele and sang in a high enough soprano made dogs howl. The importance of this will be apparent soon.)

The one thing you never want to do when out clubbing in Vegas is cross a line.

Let me set the scene for you.

Ceasar’s is one of the higher end casinos in Vegas.

The crappiest bar there is still better than 80% of bars elsewhere.

The pretty people are out in droves.

Some of the dresses cost as much as a bottle of high end wine.

The drinks are amazing, but cost a bloody fortune.

The breasts that are on display are expensive, not common work at all. (I am not saying I have extensively studied this subject on numerous websites, but it is important to have a hobby.)

So the last thing you want to see….. is Tiny Tim.

If I had to make a guess, I would say that Tiny Tim is the manager of tech support at a Best Buy is Walloby City, Kansas. (Walloby City is technically not the middle of nowhere, but you can Uber there for under $5 even during prime time.)

The best thing you can say about Tiny Tim is that he has plenty of confidence and he is thoroughly convinced that he is a “Hot Piece of Ass”.

The worst thing you can say is that he has never been, is not and will never be a “Hot Piece of Ass”.

The casino is high 60’s, on the comfortable side of chilly. 

But Tiny Tim had a good sheen of sweat going on when he walked into the bar.

And once he started dancing, flop sweat is the term that came immediately to mind.

Knowing that you are prone to flop sweat, you would thing Tiny Tim would avoid bright cottony t-shirts. 

Bright red cotton shirts darken if you sweat even a little bit. 

But they create dish plate sized sweat stains around your armpits the second you use the phrase “Flop sweat”.

The second worst thing you can say about Tiny Tim is his dancing is a visual affront to the senses.

That is why this next line is going to come off as fat-shaming.

Its not, but let me explain.

If you are just under 6 feet tall, your weight could be an average of 160lbs to 220lbs, depending on what kind of build you have.

So Tiny Tim’s bowling ball like shape puts a weight at over 300, but not more than 400lbs puts an idea of exactly what type of dancing you are expecting from him. 

White guy shuffle, right?

WRONG!

Tiny Tim loves to twerk it seems. 

Yeah. Let that sink in.

If you suddenly feel an urge to shower and scrub your skin raw, resist it. 

No amount of soap will make you feel clean after this. 

There is a group of guys on the edge of the small dance floor.

They look like mid-level managers for a manufacturing company. 

One guy looks like a beefy Ichabod Crane. (Sleepy Hollow? No? Fine, tall and geeky looking)

Ichabod is standing in place, bopping to the music, but is not noticing Tiny Tim’s ass, moving closer with each twerk.

And then it happens.

Tiny Tim’s ass makes contact.

To say that Ichabod flinched is to ignore the definition of the word. 

Ichabod’s entire body torqued and he shot back about 3 feet.

“WHAT THE…!?!?!?”

Tiny Tim knew what happened, judging by the little smirk, it was his intention.

Ichabod has several emotions going on at once. 

First, he’s pissed. (Somebody touched him on his naughty bits without asking for permission to come about.

He never expected his trip to Vegas to include his own personal #MeToo moment.)

Second, he seems like he wants to be confused, maybe praying that he is reading the situation wrong.

(Keep praying, sluggo. Tiny Tim rubbed his ass on your junk. In certain cultures, your are now engaged.)

Third, he seems……disappointed? (Was he perhaps thinking that he deserved a hotter dude? Your dress shirt and jeans look is really not that studly.)

The interesting thing is, Tiny Tim has not stopped dancing. In fact, he has turned away from Ichabod.

Ichabod has been used and cast aside like a cheap one night stand. 

And he didn’t even get breakfast.

Poor guy. 

I hate it when relationships don’t work out.

I am a romantic at heart. 

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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Oh, the places you will go… on caffeine.

The odd things that stick in your mind and come back to you at the weirdest of times.

I sat down to write and realized I didn’t have a solid topic picked out.

So I closed my eyes.

And the circus began.

Three things hit me almost at once at random.

And I realized that they were so different from each other, that I was done, I had my topic.

Or topics, plural. 3 of them, in fact.

  1. Just a fleeting memory. I was bicycle commuting (Which sounds better than “I was riding my bike” like I am 5 years old or something.) thru a somewhat more ghetto-ish section of town. (That sounds racist, but I am seriously trying for it not to be.)

I pass a car lot that has loud hip hop/rap playing. A salesman in a shirt and tie leads a couple to see a car at the front of the dealership, on the street. Husband and a wife with a lot of “Junk in that trunk” (This is an important fact.)

Just then, the song changed. A serious twerking song started. Without missing a beat, the wife bent over and started shaking that ass. Also without missing a beat, the salesman began miming smacking that ass.

And the husband’s smile never faltered for a second.

And my first thought was, what a salesman.

A sales mentor told me years ago, as long as your customer is right there with you, in congruence, you can say/do pretty much whatever you want.

Same goes for ass smacking.

  1. The second scene takes us to far away Venice beach. A beautiful local in Southern California, a massive vacation spot. There are sights to see, people vacationing, absolutely stunning weather….

And the homeless. Venice and Santa Monica, among all the beach communities, encourages the homeless. The police are handcuffed, to use an ironic comparison, and basically leave the homeless alone.

There is a beautiful outdoor cafe, right on the boardwalk, a third of the tables in the cafe are indoors, with the remaining two-thirds out on the covered patio. The view is the boardwalk, the sand and the ocean. Truly scenic.

Street performers are plying their trade about 10 yards away. I have been watching a truly gifted guitar player/singer make his way thru covering most of Simon and Garfunkel’s best hits.

For some reason, I happen to look behind me and see a homeless guy making his way up the alley next to the cafe. It is either a homeless guy or a shabbily dressed grizzly. The hair/fur has not been cut recently if ever, and I am thankful that I am upwind. For some reason, despite my love of live performance, something about the homeless guy catches my eye. He just cleared the building and stopped right next to the wrought iron railing of the cafe. There is a well-monied couple sitting just on the other side of the railing. These are important people, you can tell by their dress and comportment. I don’t mean actually important, I mean they feel they are important. The key giveaway is when the guy signals the waiter, he snaps his fingers. He is either from New York or Europe, because that is the only place that kind of shit is not considered rude.

And then, the show begins. The Important couple does not seem to see the homeless guy, or are at least ignoring him. But, the homeless guy decides it is time to take a shit.

So, with no hesitation for his surroundings, he drops trow, squats and begins to shit. I can hear at least one grunt, but my mind is perfectly capable of making that up in the effort to enhance the moment.

And then, the true magic begins. The homeless guy wobbles a bit, like he is losing his balance, and reaches out with his right hand, and grabs the rail of the cafe, along with the back of the Important guy’s lightweight jacket. It pulls him back slightly. He peers over his shoulder and sees what is going on behind him.

And loses his shit, figuratively, compared to the literal one going on behind him.

The Important guy yells and tries to stand, but can’t because he is kind of pinned to the rail by our unwashed, defecating minstrel. The Important woman begins screaming, and you really cannot blame her, she has the straight on view of what is landing on the pavement.

The entire scene is tailor made for a movie starring Jim Carrey.

Enjoy your meal.

Welcome to Southern California.

  1. The final scene is a quick one. The title of this scene is, When is a Victim Not a Victim?

A mother and daughter are in line at Starbucks. The daughter is looking at yogurt and fresh fruit parfaits. Mom is just scowling for an unknown reason. The daughter picks out her selection and turns back to mom just as the spot in front of the cashier.

“Eating those will make you fat.” Mom says in a monotone bitch voice.

“Tough taking advice from a fat woman.” Daughter says in that same monotone as she walks past her.

Suck it, you belittling hypocritical bitch.

 

So much for a random sampling of the caffeinated thoughts of a true addict.

But at least the coffee is hot.

Mmmmmm coffee…

 
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Posted by on September 9, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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