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I weep for the future.

It has been pointed out to me that I seem to hold an incorrect opinion.

I don’t agree with that, mainly because I am wrong so seldom that its not even on the radar.

So, while my critic is definitely wrong, I am forced to examine the statement. (Mainly to figure out how best to disparage the critic. I know, we’ve met.)

Here is the opinion they “claim” is wrong:

The youth of today are dumb. (My own golden bloodlines exempted, of course. I swear, its like being part of the Master Bloodlines or something.)

I feel pretty confident about this too.

Here’s why that’s bullshit:

I am in my second favorite breakfast spot and sitting in my third favorite booth.(Of COURSE there is a rating system.)

And sitting at the next table?

A pack of subversive hippies.

Young ones.

Dumb ones.

Future drains on society.

Great.

Nothing kills your appetite quicker than listening to a marauding pack of pseudo intellectuals pontificating about subjects they know NOTHING about.

Here are some observations that are not assumptions, but based on statements made by the useless pieces of shit at the next table and looking at other evidence in attendance:

  • All 4 unwwashed hippies in their carefully ratty clothes come from well monied people. (One reference about trust fund and allowance, 2 Mercedes key-chains and one visa platinum card in evidence.)
  • All four bitching about “Monsanto”, yet two of them had to be corrected that Monsanto is a corporation and not a product. (Actual quote “The government should make it illegal to put that in food. Put what in food? Monsanto.”)
  • The belief that healthcare is now free. (I actually got involved here and asked. All 4 are covered by their parents insurance.)

The complete ignorance and spoiled entitlement is staggering in its entirety.

I used to know a subversive, a real one, old school, he reads this blog and I have complete respect for him.

Back in the day, we had a LOT of conflicting views.

But he understood them. Well.

He could debate them. In fact, he insisted on doing so publicly. (His Reagan outbursts were epic.)

It is a pretty solid fact that if you cannot calmly debate your point in public, or online, without devolving into name calling, then you do not understand your subject enough to hold the opinion in the first place.

Here is why I did not simply dismiss this older subversive and his opinions back in the day.

Because he didn’t sit on his ass.

He was more than willing to verbally go toe to toe with you about his beliefs.

He wrote and performed protest songs.

And he worked his ass off.

He was never a drain on anyone’s wallet.

A work ethic is always to be respected.

And guess what, he now holds, 20+ years later, a position of immense responsibility and contributes more than most ever will to the greater good.

Which, I think, is why the next table bothers me so much.

If you are going to be an alternative free thinker, don’t expect me to pay for it, or by extension your father and for GOD’S SAKE, know what the hell you are talking about.

Not that ignorance doesn’t have its place.

Its the only way some politicians can get elected.

And if you think I am talking about a specific political party, you are showing your own ignorance.

No, this is a general rant about the lazy and the ignorant, citizens or elected officials, take your pick.

There are times where I feel like the Lorax from that epic Dr. Suess tale.

I sit in my tower and dispense the wisdom thru the shuttered window of this blog.

So listen to me as I say, making the blanket assumption that the youth are smart and given time will find their way.

Thats ignorant, in and of itself.

Youth is ignorant, no matter what age you are.

If you want to be an intellectual, do the legwork and don’t expect me to pay for this, intellectually or monetarily.

And THAT is why I am correct.

The youth of today are dumb and a significant percentage will always be ignorant.

You are now free to go about your lives.

Namaste.

 
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Posted by on September 25, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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Hating a stranger.

Its not often, but sometimes, when I least expect it, I instinctively hate people.

Case in point, I am in Starbucks, its not my favorite one, but its still a Starbucks.

For those of you that pay attention, its the “Icebox”, so named because the temperature is always at 60 degrees, Winter or Summer.

I used to think this was a bad idea, then I realized that on those days that I am there for an hour or more, I buy more coffee to keep me warm.

Maybe the manager is a genius.

And in she walks.

Something about her screams “Bitch”, loud and clear.

Of course she is on her cell phone, what else would she be doing?

And maybe it is just because I didn’t like her from the beginning, but I swear that the people around her moved just a touch more away from her than you would normally.

Maybe its an unconscious thing, just some sort of evil presence, like a low level fart in an elevator that you don’t know who did it, but you know it wasn’t you.

Anyway, she gets thru the line, gets a spinach quiche. (Red flag – Spinach quiche is the food of choice of pedophiles, serial killers and overly monied coffee hoes.)

Her drink, when it came, had a lot of foam, another red flag but I’m gonna let that go.

As luck would NOT have it, she sat at the seat next to me.

Conversation still going on.

Here are the highlight quotes.

  • “Marshal is having problems at school, he failed a test and the teacher is being a bitch about it. I told him he could stay home this week and calm down.” (My comment is to fucking long to put here, so its below.)
  • “Jack is still arguing about the alimony, I mean, I gave that asshole my life, and thats going to cost him.” (Lesson learned boys, some people, not all, just some people, when they are flat on their backs the meter is running. Talk amongst yourselves.)
  • The car is still not running right. Every time I put it in gear, I have to let off on the gas COMPLETELY. (You mean revving it and dumping it into gear is NOT good for the tranny?)

It was the Polish astronomer Copernicus who first offered the model of the universe that had the Sun at its core and not the Earth.

And it was the shithead sucking down a frappuccino sitting next to me that first offered the model of the universe that had Marshal at its core.

That means the center of the universe was somewhere local, still in his pj’s during mid morning and crying like a pussy.

For a long moment I was outraged.

We are currently raising a generation of kids that are being taught that, God forbid they ever encounter a problem, the only proper response is to freeze in place and over analyze it until someone comes along and either solves it for them, or it goes away on its own.

That was a shitty long moment.

The highlight was when I made her leave.

Its called the creep move.

It is a beautiful study in low level emotional intimidation.

I began to furiously scratch my armpit, the one closer to her.

I grunted slightly.

Once I could see her staring, I stopped scratching and smelled my fingers.

Wait for it……..

I scooted a half an inch towards her.

Then I turned my head, locked eyes, and smiled.

If you have ever seen someone fleeing a burning building, that is a lot like how she left.

Hung up her phone, stood and stomped her little feet out of Starbucks.

Even left her coffee creation behind.

I would feel bad, but, after all…

I didn’t like her to begin with.

 
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Posted by on April 24, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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What’s the going rate on a soul these days?

Prostitution is never a pretty exchange.

Here’s how it starts.

The guy, really no more than a boy, enters the Starbucks looking confused, then he spots someone and his face lights up with a smile from that the book he read last night on “Power Interviewing.”

The introductions are brief.

The kid gives him the Chapter 5 “Winning handshake”, and they sit.

The pimp is fairly low key, as far as pimps go.

Fashionably faded jeans, loafers, a shirt that could be a dress shirt if it was buttoned up with a tie. As it is, unbuttoned the top two, and the sleeves rolled up.

The working man’s pimp.

And the dance begins.

The pimp pulls out the kids resume, and begins to pick it apart.

Spying from the next table over, the kid’s resume is better than most.

Graduating with a finance degree from a decent school, interning for a CPA, then a law firm, then an insurance company, the kid is now a senior, and looking for a job.

The pimp looks it over and tisk-tisks a few times, then tears it to shit.

The critical moment in any pimp/whore relationship is right in the beginning.

The pimp has to break down the whore into nothing.

Its a brutal thing to watch.

All the kid wants is a job.

That is what the last 3 years of his life have been about.

He is doing it the way they all tell you it should be done.

The pimp knows better, he knows the steps to this dance, and he can help.

For a price.

As near as I can figure, he is a new-grad bounty hunting kind of pimp.

He gets his money by vetting grads and presenting them to the johns.

The companies.

Its a new spin on an old tale. (And not a happy tale at that.)

And the new version is just as distasteful as the old one.

About 20 minutes in, the subject turns to money, and this is where the serious soul crushing begins.

The kid has read websites and done his research, he knows how much he should be gunning for in his first job.

The pimp, on the other hand, needs to break him of that, convince him that everything he read is bullshit, and deliver him to the companies ready to accept their crappy offer.

Do the math. The pimp is not doing it out of love, the company is paying him.

And where does that money come from?

Money for the kid, of course.

And, while I didn’t get enough to figure out how, the kid is paying the pimp something.

Wow.

That is a tough deal to broker with a straight face.

Don’t get me wrong, I love haggling a deal, but this vile, leaves a stink.

I may need a shower after watching this, I just feel dirty.

All told, their meeting lasted 45 minutes.

The kid shook the pimp’s hand and walked out the door, smiling.

You poor bastard. God help you.

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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And you aren’t sure where your clothes went.

The difference between a county fair and an RV show held in the same location, is the variety of available deep fried foods.

At least, thats how I can see it.

Its the same collection of circus freaks that show up for the fair, but with one, clear difference.

Financial demographic.

An RV show draws a crowd that is every bit as weird and dysfunctional, but they are either gainfully employed and weird or retired with an income and weird.

Either way, they are buyers.

From the moment you come thru the door, don’t ever forget the fact that the entire reason for being of the entire event is to sell RV’s or stuff for RV’s.

Don’t forget that, mainly because the people working there don’t.

Walking in, I heard the following, much to my delight:

“I am not going to buy a damned thing, I am just hear to look.”

That is just so naive and cute, its like a 5 year old said it.

I really wish I was still in sales whenever I hear silly shit like that.

Right now, there are several of you shaking your heads and stating how you do that all the time, no one can sell you shit.

Do you know how many people like that say the same thing in those situations?

Pretty much all of them.

These are the people that those of us who sell things make our living off of.

The people who are just that fucking stupid that they are convinced they are clever.

You know who I am talking to.

It starts with the browsing.

You wander from RV to RV, grazing around the ones you like.

The salesman watches this and takes note.

And then, first pass.

“Can I answer any questions for you?”

Temperature gage, nothing more. Just to see if you are homeless.

50 percent of the time, you give them the Heisman, stiff arm, nothing.

“Just looking.”

They are expecting that. So much so that it barely registers.

So they follow up.

“I would never buy from someone who didn’t just leave me alone.”

Shut the fuck up, yes you would. And you have, there are few virgins here.

The guy is helpful, if he is dedicated, he knows his product and he knows the numbers.

Its all a numbers game from there.

Something like this:

10 approaches. “Can I answer any questions for you?” Ask it to 10 people to get 4 who are not rude and ask a question.

10 who ask a question, to get to 2 who are possibly in the market.

10 who are in the market to get to 3 who are willing to go to the tables, the Stockyard, to talk.

1 out of every 8 who go to the stockyard to get the 3 that will go to the isolated closers table. The Slaughterhouse.

1 out of 5 who go to the slaughterhouse will buy.

Do the math.

Roughly 400 approaches, numers subject to change, in order to get a sale.

Commission? $20K

Sweet work if you are good at it.

For every guy out there that believes he is just to mentally tough to be talked into a sale, they make their living off of you.

It just takes a period of stroking your ego enough to get you into position for the kill.

And, on rare occasion, someone will walk up to the sales guy and say, “I would like to buy this one, who do I talk to?”

That is the sales equivalent of having a deer shoot itself, then tie itself to the hood of your car.

And it doesn’t get any better than that.

And for the record, I know how this game is played and I still almost bought an RV.

 

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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Deep Fried Goodness

Question: When is a deep fried Twinkie healthy?

Answer: When its deep fried in pure canola oil and wrapped in recycled paper.

Welcome to the LA County Fair.

The sign I am looking at has well over a dozen, evil gut-buster delicacies, and at the bottom of the window, a sun-faded sign proclaims that all items are deep fried in pure Canola oil.

Well, that just makes it all better , doesn’t it?

County Fairs as a general rule don’t really have a strangle hold on the health food issue.

And I am good with that.

You almost have to have bad food at a fair.

Its expected.

Not to partake of the deep fried goodness would be like going to a Tijuana Strip club and ordering a lite beer.

It just misses the point.

There is always new stuff the is deep fried every year that I have never seen.

It amazes me. You would think that it has all been done by now.

Here are the 5 mainstays of the deep fried fair world.
1. Twinkies.
2. Oreos.
3. Foot Long corn dogs.
4. Snickers.
5. Funnel cake.

Of them all, corn dogs and funnel cakes I can deal with. With the rest I have to make a judgement call as to the current state of my stomache. Nothing ruins a day at the County Fair more than projectile vomiting.

As for the new comers to the deep fried carnie-world, here they are.
1. Kool aid (I shit you not.)
2. Cream cheese. (Not bad, actually)
3. Butter. (Good god.)
4. Bacon. (Which is then dipped in chocolate, just to add insult to injury.)
5. A ten inch wide maple donut, covered with bacon bits, topped with a hot fudge sunday, topped with whipped cream, nuts and cherry. (While not a true County Fair, fried food, I wanted it included here because it shocked the living shit out of me and I am still in awe.)

My fiancee continues to argue to this day that the nuts at least “Give it some protein.”

This is a lot like arguing that at least Meth is fat free.

Let me get back to that Maple-bacon-donut-hot fudge-sunday. It was incredible.

It wasn’t even on the menu, it was a combination of two separate items on the menu. When we suggested it to the cashier, she looked at us in confusion, like we had just told her that her cat had tennis elbow.

Didn’t compute.

Three cashiers, a manager, and two cooks later, it was decided that it could be done. The biggest delay was them trying to figure out how much to charge for it. To carnies, this is their whole reason for being.

We ended up paying the same price as if we had bought both a Maple-bacon donut and a Hot-fudge sunday.

Whatever, creating a legend is never cheap.

I ate half of that monster and my stomach still twinges. Projectile vomiting was on the table that day, but I managed to keep it together.

The taste was incredible.

Plus, it had peanuts.

 
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Posted by on October 12, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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I just met a girl named Maria…..

I am sitting in the Starbucks at the mall, doing what I do.

Which is listen in. Rude as it gets.

You have to bear with me on this one, my Spanish is rusty as hell.

Luckily, the young couple next to me at the Galleria Starbucks is switching back and forth between English and Spanish.

I love West Side Story, so here is the story of Tony and Maria.

Tony is Latino and looks to be about 12. He has all the characteristics of a guy in his mid to late teens. Maria is a Latina who is carrying a few pounds and appears to be about 13 years old.

They have 2 kids together.

I wondered at first if I miss-heard that, but it was repeated, so it must be true.

Children having children. (From the look and mannerisms of Tony, dumb kids having kids

Also, it appears that Tony is several months behind on what sounds a lot like child support.

Maria has made several comments about her abwella, or something like that. (After checking with my chola barber, it was abuela, grandmother in spanish.)

She is mellowing, but started out really pissed at him. Tony, however, understands how to shut her down.

Not 5 minutes into the conversation, she is laughing and slapping playfully at his hand.

Shit.

Not that I am against young love as a general thing, but this whole little scenario puts the vice on my butt something fierce.

What percentage of this generation is sitting in front of me?

How many more kids will Maria have with Tony before they get their lives together?

Or at least graduate high school.

Just kidding, I realize that they probably won’t graduate high school.

That is not necessarily a racial thing. I think everyone in their mid to late teens are complete morons, with few exceptions.

People in that age range should not be allowed to make any serious decisions for themselves.

But thats just me.

Although, maybe some of the tougher decisions in life should be made before you can acquire enough experience to chicken out.

The scary stuff.

Marriage, the military, Amway.

Of the three, I am in favor of marriage and the military.

But Amway is a fucking cult.

Lets get back to Tony and Maria before I get all the way up on my soap box.

The sad fact is, they are a small percentage of the other Tony and Maria’s out there, cranking out children like an assembly line.

I saw an article that stated that a lot of kids have kids because it allows them to do something important in their life.
As an esteem builder.

Kind of a self improvement thru reproduction.

I will laugh at that line for a few minutes and then I realize that there is a pretty good shot that I will be paying taxes to keep Maria and the kids in food and huggies for a good long time.

And I won’t even be invited to the family BBQs.

 

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Posted by on September 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Hella is not a word, people!

The first thing she said was:

“Babe? I need something hella good for breakfast.”

It was such an odd little phrase that I looked up from what I was reading as I walked along.

It was a young Asian girl, early twenties or so. She was hanging on the arm of the gangly boy walking next to her. It was that type of clingy type of arm holding like she was afraid he would float away like a balloon.

As we walked the last half block to Starbucks, she proceeded to call him Babe 31 more times, I counted. She used the word hella a lot less, but it was more annoying.

First of all, hella is not even a word.

It was like listening to Marine Corp recruits begin and their sentences with a specific word.

Sir, yes Sir!

When they turned in at Starbucks, I was both elated and bummed. Elated because I am always on the lookout for odd personalities and bummed that this vacuous dip shit was ahead of me in line.

My need for caffeine in the morning can be an ugly thing sometimes. I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just want my coffee.

There were 3 people ahead of us in line.

Lizzie, the girl, as referred to by her boyfriend, was like a hyper child in a toy store.

“Oh babe, the coffee cake looks hella good!”
“Babe, did you want the donut? We could split it and a coffee cake.”

My teeth began to itch.

If she were 5 with these communication skills, this would be cute. But, god damn it, this is a woman in her early twenties, and it was more like looking at a caricature of the most annoying woman the artist could think of.

Live and in person.

Shit.

I counted 26 more “Babes” in line.

Pace yourself, dear.

I took a seat right next to them and set up my laptop. I would rather get a root canal, but I am willing to take one for the blog.

The perfect opportunity to be a dick came when Lizzy told “Babe” that she had to pee “hella” bad.

I waited for her to hit the bathroom then caught “Babe”’s eye.

“Morning Babe.” I said this with as straight a face as possible, then sipped my coffee to hide the smiled.

He flinched and had the good grace to act both annoyed and embarrassed.

“My name is Mike.”

Spitting coffee is never a great way to start a conversation, but I could not contain it.

Whatever else I was going to try to say was lost in the laughter that came over me.

I lost it.

I fought for control for about five minutes.

Babe just sat there looking a little pissed, but going further down the road of being really embarrassed.

Lizzy came out of the bathroom and found Babe standing, waiting for her.

Before she could ask anything, he turned and walked out clutching both coffees and the baggie with the pastries.

There are times I need that as much as the coffee.

I think we all do, but have been told over and over that its rude.

Fuck it, I feel really good today.

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Open Seseme…

Oscar the grouch.

Represent, bitches.

Oscar was a grumpy shit way back when. Back when you were young enough to get in trouble for being in a bad mood.

I think it had to do with living in a trash can and being the unspoken homeless guy on the show.

Bert and Ernie had a house and they didn’t seem to have jobs at all. They were either mediocre kids, living without parents or retarded adults who might be gay.

Take your pick.

Back to Oscar.

I seem to end up dealing with the homeless a lot on this blog and I can’t figure out if it is an obsession or just good choices on writing content.

I saw a new Muppet Movie is coming out and it got me thinking about Oscar.

Oscar came at us during a time in our life when we were being bombarded with vanilla, black and white views of life. The cartoons reflected either a good guy or a bad guy. The good guys were always good and the bad guys were always bad.

And then there was Oscar.

Oscar was a good guy that bitched about everything. but everyone seemed to like, and he was just kind of made fun of, but he spoke his mind and was more or less accepted by the majority.

All without getting a time out.

I am seeing scary similarities between myself and Oscar.

And, in a way, I kind of like that.

Oscar pretty much demanded that you accept him and his shitty attitude at face value. He taught us to be pushy and outspoken way before that was allowed by school or our parents.

And never once did he get the recognition.

Hell, some of us have personalities based on it.

Willy the grouch.

Has a nice little ring to it, ay?

When my kids were growing up, I started watching Sesame Street again. I was a little twisted up by it at first.

The Muppets were puppets and never aged, so all my old friends were still vibrant and funny.

But the people changed.

They were older and what was once friendly and helpful was now kind of creepy and moist? and made me afraid to leave my kids alone in the same room with them.

But I got over it and sat with my daughter and clapped and sang. Daddy stuff.

And then your kids grow up and, at least mentally, you put the Muppets on the shelf again.

Until the grand kids show up. Then you can watch again.

And I will still be creeped out by the overly sugary-sweet delivery of the cast of humans then, too.

But the Muppets will still be there.

And, fuzzy pound for fuzzy pound, Kermit the Frog is the elder statesman of childrens television. He kicks the shit out of Spongebob with one thin furry arm held behind his back with a little black stick.

And he will bitch slap Hello Kitty without working up a sweat.

Although, Hello Kitty has a Japanese following that is fanatical and well monied, so maybe that’s a bad comparison.

Getting back to Oscar the Grouch, I like to think he was a roll model for some, if not all of us.

He catered to the inner asshole.

Thank you Oscar.

I would follow you into Muppet hell, you magnificent fuzzy bastard.

 
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Posted by on September 14, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Old School Evil Couple.

This is an early argument that a friend reminder me of, that I had all but forgot.

And it involves my favorite couple.

The Evil Couple.

For those new to the blog, the Evil Couple are simply a couple that comes into Starbucks near my office andhas the most uncomfortable arguments where Mrs, Evil treats Mr. Evil (And everyone else around) like shit she found on her shoe. My favorite description is that she treats you like a moron and she is sick of your shit. That little statement is as accurate now as when I first wrote it.

As a visual, Mr. Evil is a doctor (Always wearing scrubs), he has a local practice in Manhattan Beach. He is mid 40’s to 50’s, good looking, and you would trust your health to him.

Mrs. Evil is a conundrum that confuses and delights me, excites and shames me.

She is mid to late 30’s. She wears thick gray sweats, the kind that muscle guys in the 70’s wore, an over sized t-shirt without a bra. Watching her for a few seconds tells you this. When she turns to the side and her breasts (Impressive DD’s) take a second to catch up, you know something is up. Her hair would be long and blond, however, it is never styled and is worn in kind of a low rise blond afro.

This was the only way I have ever seen her dress.

Until recently. Apparently, she is in real estate, and when she is dressed up for work, I have not seen a woman this stunning for a long time.

When she rips into her husband or anyone around her, the entire encounter is made that much more evil by the fact that she has a Russian accent. It shouldn’t, but it does make a difference.

Enough background, on with the shit.

They were waiting for me when I got to Starbucks. The gods smiled and the table next to them was open.

Good. I hate trying to listen in from a few tables away.

Rude? Yes. Fascinating? Absolutely.

Anyway, the argument was just warming up when I got there.

The twins, it seems, were just starting a new school and the question was, “Should they be in the same class?”

“They will be picked on if they are apart, you know this.” Mrs. Evil has a way of ending her sentance that seems to imply that you are simply confused.

“They need to learn to rely on themselves, not on each other.” He is the calm cool voice of reason.

And she could care less.

“Why is it so important to you that they be unhappy?” He voice can drip sarcasm like no other.

“I don’t want them to be unhappy. Miss Cormack said-”

“She was a whore of a teacher, she spent so much time trying to show you her tits. She was a pig.” She finished with a definitive sip of her latte.

Mr. Evil says nothing. What do you say, really? The argument has shifted from arguing about the classroom assignments of the kids, to whether or not their old teacher (?) was a whore. I am a little shocked she hasn’t accused him of sleeping with her.

“I never noticed that sort of behavior.” Mr. Evil’s voice takes on the tone of someone that knows he is fucked, no matter where it goes from here.

“You loved it, go lie to someone else.”

I spoke too soon. I need to be more patient.

His phone chirps like a boon from the gods. The tension seems to breaks a bit.

They begin texting for a few minutes as if they are not in the middle of an argument.

And maybe they aren’t.

Maybe this is the way they interact on the day to day. A friend of mine once gave the opinion that she does this to drive their sex life, and that she must go with him to work and have make up sex either in the elevator or in his office.

At first, I dismissed such a twisted scenario. Maybe there is more to it than I saw then. Maybe twisted is how you have to view it. You have to twist yourself up or it makes no sense.

To quote Mr. Spock, “In an insane society, a sane man must be viewed as insane.”

God, I miss Star Trek.

 
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Posted by on September 2, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Of all the Gin joints in all the world…

There is a Starbucks in Hawthorne that always has their AC running when I go there.

I call it the Freezer.

Thank god they serve hot coffee there, because at 59 degrees, hypothermia can set in with iced coffee before you can finish your blueberry scone.

I got in line behind two people and when I finally stood in front of the cashier, my nipples were like little rocks, no lie.

I got my cup of addiction and had a seat.

Its not a Starbucks I go to that often, mainly because I gave my parka to Goodwill when I moved back to LA from Portland Oregon.

Just as I was setting up my laptop, I saw her come in.

Wow.

Every now and then you see someone with the beautiful gene and the intelligence to present it.

Stunning woman. Average height, maybe mid-thirties. Business suit cut well enough to accentuate an incredible build without being slutty. (Harder than you think.) Just beyond shoulder-length blond hair styled very feathery without going near “Jersey Hair.” Mirrored sun glasses hid what had to be blue eyes, and a flawless, perfect mouth.

I had this feeling that I knew her, My mind kept telling me that was impossible, she had the type of looks you remember seeing.

With her was a younger man in a business suit. He had that look of being just a step above car salesman.

Real estate agent.

I usually do my best not to stare, but I step over into rude often enough that I may just retire there and get it over with.

They got their coffee and sat down at a table just behind me.

Miss Gorgeous sat less than a foot behind me.

“A few good prospects today, the Asian lady kept telling her husband they would love living there. This should sell quickly.” The young guy had a salesman’s voice, suave and assured.

“She smelled like dead fish, I hated them.” The woman’s voice drifted back, cultured and European.

Oh shit…..I felt a chill make its way up my spine and raise every hair on the back of my neck.

I know that voice. I have written several thousand words about this woman.

My ass went into full clinch with recognition.

Mrs. Evil. Couple.

It was one of those moments where, to quote one of my favorite comics, “The left half and the right half of the brain come to a screeching halt. The left says to the right, Its dark in here, and we may die.”

This evil, rotten…..the only word that comes to mind is bitch, but it doesn’t carry enough venom. I would use the C word, but it isn’t broad enough in scope.

To suddenly have the image of an incredibly beautiful woman mixed in with memories of personally witnessing her absolute disdain for everyone and everything around her was almost too much to take.

Her voice pulled my tortured mind back to the present.

“Why did you keep talking about your sister? You kept going on and on, it was very uncomfortable. I doubt we will get any offers because of it.”

“What?” The young guy seemed confused, suddenly slammed. “We were talking about family and siblings. I didn’t think it seemed out of place.” There was doubt in his voice.

She pounced on it. “It was creepy, I thought she was an ex lover until you said she was your sister.”

That got him. “I really think that’s uncalled for.” He was indignant and rightfully so.

Not that it would help. He went for an end to the subject. “We’ll just agree to disagree.”

Take that disagree and cram it, buddy. You have no clue who you are messing with.

“You remind me of my cousin.” She changed the subject without warning.

“Huh, what cousin?” The young guy was off balance.

“He is young, a drug addict, he sucks old men for money. He would agree with you, you seem very similar.“

It was a football punt to the nut sack that the kid never saw coming. It was insulting on several levels at once.

He sputtered for a few moments, then just got up and left without saying a word.

I looked at the front counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her watching him go.

She made a noise that sounded like she was chuckling.

I wanted to turn around so badly, but I reminded myself that Mr. and Mrs. Evil Couple had no idea that they occupied such a prominent place in my life. Mainly as entertainment, but still.

When she spoke, I thought at first she was talking either out loud or to me. Then I realized she was on her phone.

“I don’t want to work with Henry again, he ruined the open house.” Sounded like the boss on the phone.

“I think he was high today, he hit on the wives, and a few of the husbands, I think.”

The buzz on the phone was someone outraged.

“Don’t worry, I have an offer to submit, one of my clients texted me on the way to Starbucks.”

The conversation must have changed, I couldn’t hear anything else on the phone, but I knew real estate people.

The broker she worked for may or may not believe her, but in real estate, or just sales in general, you go with the hot hand. If she was selling big, the young guy would be thrown under the bus without hesitation.

I love this woman.

There is something just old school menacing about her. Like the evil queen in the Disney version of Snow White, but with a better ass. The fact that she cleaned up into a stunner only served to make it all hotter and more shameful at the same time. It was one of those situations that was exhilarating, and at the same time, you just felt dirty.

She might be the antichrist.

Before anyone goes off on that comment, I didn’t say she was, I said she might be. All I know is that she is married to a doctor, lives in the tree section of Manhattan Beach, and gave birth to twins about ten years ago.

Absolutely nothing to connect her to most of Revelations.

Unless of course the twins are named Famine and Pestilence.

 
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Posted by on August 23, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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