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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 whore-like existence

The brilliance of this blog is a lot like an orgasm from a celibate man. It’s more than you expect, a little overwhelming and will most likely get you right between the eyes.

Like an intellectual money shot that gets in your eyes and blurs your vision for a moment.

FYI, some of these images are meant to be disturbing.

A little like a mental Rolfing that leaves you refreshed, but in a little or a lot of pain.

So, that being said, here is the wisdom.

Your shit is not that fucking important.

Before you dismiss that, think about it, not read it and sip your soy milk, 2 shot, caramel latte with cinnemon and sprinkles that you paid $6.99 no less, and actually think about it.

Let me define “Shit” for you.

Shit is a generic term with rude imagery for a purpose.

It denotes your politics, food choices, pets, children, religious beliefs, and anything not covered previously in this sentence.

Now for the other shoe.

Not that fucking important means Not that fucking important to anyone else.

This whole train of thought was brought on by some over the top statements on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram by some serious attention whoring drama queens that all make the same sad desperate “Look at me” statements.

If you like (Insert person, cause or belief) then unfriend me now. (Insert a whiny point of view usually based on poorly reported biased news.)

It wears on you after awhile.

One particularly stunning woman I know made this comment to anyone thinking about voting for a political candidate that they don’t like.

I didn’t unfriend her, but I did unfollow her, she is a fan of the blog. (I truly hope she reads this and understands that its nothing personal, but she is a dipshit. She also like to post lingerie pics that are worth seeing. Don’t judge me.)

Unfollowing is a good way of making sure that when I post, they get my post, but I don’t have to be bothered with their fleshy-headed bullshit any more than I have to.

At first glance, you might think there is a mean edge to this post, today.

Far from it.

This is more of the blogging version of tough love.

Like a stern parent or a tough cop, occasionally, I have to go upside your head to get your attention and change your perspective.

And, like all children of stern parents, you try to rebel, bitch about how harsh it is and then, years later, you realize how goddam right I am.

Your welcome.

And yet, there is also a seedy side to this.

Like I have said before, to achieve the pure innocence that I have, you have to travel just as far down other side of the scale so it all balances out.

And yet, I never rebelled against my parents.

I don’t view that as a weakness of character, especially when its the opposite.

You would have to know the absolute forces of nature I call mom and dad just to understand that synchronicity made total sense.

Mom is a total therapist, been a professional psychic for over half a century, and dad is the original man, a mechanic with a rock solid lock on how a man behaves in the world.

My gratitude for the luck of my birth and my parents is boundless.

And here we are.

I do not view their influence as having to do with the cruder side of this blog, that unfortunately, is all me.

I have taken what they gave me, and turned myself into some sort of sex worker in print.

You come here, once a week, do your business, avoid eye contact, then leave awkwardly.

You could at least leave the money on the dresser on your way out.

Or a cup of coffee.

Mmmmm coffee.

 
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Posted by on August 12, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Don’t be showing your koochie in public.

There is a special bond between two people that grew up together.

Time doesn’t touch some friendships. They just endure and continue on as if nothing happened and no time has passed.

Here is what I am looking at.

Picture two girls, either late teens or early twenties.

Judging by their conversation, they grew up together, but have not been in touch for a number of years.

And life has led them down different paths.

They say you can’t judge someone based on their looks.

Bullshit.

I don’t need to walk a mile in your Nike’s just to figure out that they would never fit me.

I would much rather sit in morally superior tower and cast judgement on others.

Here is why.

The first girl, she is the good girl next door.

Clean cut, smelling of Ivory soap and with freshly brushed teeth that once had braces.

She is a law student by my guess. Innocently studying to lose her soul and become the embodiment of badness in the business law.

If you are a guy, your mother would have been thrilled if you brought her home from college for Thanksgiving dinner. (Or a girl for that matter. She is that wholesome.)

If you are a girl, (Straight girl), your mom would prefer that you hang out with her because she is a “Good influence”.

So do we all understand that she is the essence of “Sweetness and Light” in this little scenario?

Good.

Now we move on to her friend.

Ok.

So, go live the life you want to live, but if you look like, talk like, act like, behave like, and generally are, in fact a ho…

Then you’s a ho.

Opposite end of the spectrum time.

Let’s call her Babs.

Babs is a little chunky, got some pasty looking legs, but that is not stopping her from wearing a minidress that is high enough to shock her OB Gyn and tight enough to threaten circulation if she washes it just once.

There are some faded bruises on her thighs. And we are not speculating where they came from, just noting that they are there.

She is missing a tooth near the front that brings Meth into the equation.

There is some bags under those eyes that are there a decade or more ahead of schedule.

It would not shock me to find a tattoo on her lower back, right under the tramp stamp that you KNOW is there, that says “Property of Hell’s Angels”

You can google that one and still may not find out how you get that little tattoo. (I was told by a girl who had one right before I grabbed my clothes and backed slowly out of the room naked.)

So Babs has been road hard and put away wet, just to use some equestrian verbiage there.

Life has been tough and some bad decisions have been made.

But the good girl and the bad girl are now catching up on things.

School, jail, relatives, deaths, and what not.

And the good girl is managing to keep her flinching to a minimum.

And the bad girl is managing not to tweak too much.

And while they seem to be getting along, that is a long latte to get thru.

But they finished and parted ways after a little while.

Someone had to go study and someone else had to go handle some “Bidness”.

And life goes on.

 
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Posted by on December 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Where do bad girl’s come from?

Where do all the bad girl’s come from?

And I am not talking about the ones we went to high school with, we all pretty much KNOW where they came from.

I mean the next generation of questionable floozies that are coming up thru the ranks as we speak.

Two of them, at least are in Starbucks right now.

It is Saturday afternoon and I am taking a break from a bike ride along the beach because my ass falls asleep if I don’t.

And, if the idea of it being sunny enough in Southern California to ride along the beach in short while the rest of the US is snowed in and warily eying each other trying to figure out who to eat first, please remember that its all relative.

Not relative in the usual sense, I mean that my relatives had me in a place that the weather rocks most of the time and your relatives decided freezing to death was muy bueno.

Not my fault.

Now, back to the evil with cleavage that are waiting for their lattes.

The management of Starbucks can thank their lucky stars that I do not find women half my age to be viable or they would have a major scene involving the police because I am not above humping a leg in public to make my point.

These girls figured out what men like and the Almighty has blessed them with extra.

Some might argue that showing enough cleavage from a DD cup that there is danger of public nipplege is unecceptable in some part.

I disagree.

However, if either one of these Barely Legal (Girls, not the Hustler video series, not that I’d know.) youngsters was my daughter, the police would be involved.

For homicide.

Modesty is a dead thing in this country.

I saw an interview with a young woman who had put off going to college for a few years because, and I quote, YOLO.

She admited to being 30 years old as the reporter explained that YOLO means “You Only Live Once.”

Two things.

The first one is that putting off college for 12 years is not putting it off, its refusing to admit that you flunked the entrance exam.

The second thing that comes to mind is that, indeed, you only live once, so why waste it as an aging hipster consistantly soaked in Ecstasy, cheap alcohol, and semen from random hook ups.

Two are bad for your complexion and the other will get you aids.

(A friend, reading over my shoulder, just asked me if I am intentionally trying to piss people off. Guilty as charged.)

An interesting flip side of the coin is watching the older men in a locale react to these low-rent ho’s.

Its just an opinion, but a man in his late 40’s that finds an 18 year old girl hot could be a pedophile.

I stopped reading Playboy years ago for this very reason.

She’s not hot if she’s young enough that I could have fathered her.

Argue that one all day long, its not gonna work.

Tell your story walking, Short eyes.

(Found that phrase on Google, prison gaurd slang for pedophile. Thank you Google)

My father once told me, (Source of MASSIVE amounts of wisdom) you are free to look and dress anyway you want to in life, but don’t ever make me embarrassed to point you out as mine.

Words to live by, ladies.

 
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Posted by on January 24, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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