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A little like Romeo and Juliet (Maybe)

There is a time and a place to lose your shit in a bad relationship.

But early morning at Starbucks is not the place.

Let me introduce Rudy and Tam.

Do we all remember the story of Romeo and Juliet? 

The star-crossed lovers that had a love so strong that the apparent lack made life not worth living?

Yeah, this has nothing to do with them.

Rudy and Tam have a different story.

Depending on how you view this, they are either in the middle of a really horrible breakup or this is just another day in the middle of one of the most dysfunctional relationships I have ever seen.

Lets meet Rudy and Tam, shall we?

Ladies first.

Tam is 2 women in one. 


She is double the width and weight of your average woman. 

I don’t view that as fat-shaming as much as being mildly observant. 

She is also a mix of various clothing styles. 

Ugg boots are always nice, but striped rainbow thigh-high socks throws off the look badly.

Also, and this is just a personal choice, a tight tube top loses its charm when its 3 sizes too small and pushes the muffin top out to the point of needing a new name.

The Mushroom Cloud.

I have reread and edited the last few sentences several times to try and get it under the “Being Mean” wire and I finally have just given up. 

Some of you will read it and get your panties in a twist over it, and I will have to somehow live with that. (Let’s be honest, I have said worse and you were ok with it for a variety of reasons. If you are going to be a regular here, you are going to need to roll with an extra set of undies.)

Anyway, now that the wardrobe description is out of the way, like any movie set, the last step is hair and makeup.

The hair is a progressive mix of old school chola hair spray high mixed with black and a sickly strip of grey. 

The makeup has raccoon style black eyes and enough lipstick to make a professional clown say “Damn”!

This description is harsh and intentionally mean mainly because I don’t like her. (Plus, this is my world and I get to be a prick if I want to.)

As if this little visual treat is not enough to catch my eye, she is alternating between whispering hideously angry shit at Rudy, but ending each sentence with a 2 syllable scream.

“Mumblemumblemumble, FUCKING RUDY!!!” 

As far as vulgar public displays go, its not bad, I have seen worse, but it’s been awhile. 

Rudy, for his part, sits like a soldier experiencing severe PTSD, and maybe he is. 

This woman is the closest thing to the Vietnam war I have seen.

And how long has Rudy been dealing with this conflict?

Its like the relationship version of the “1000 yard stare”.

And he doesn’t move, like at all.

He just stares straight ahead and sips his coffee. 

And eventually, his strategy, or lack of, pays off. 

She stops. 

Breathing heavy, with a twitch in her left eye she just sits and glares at him. 

And then, in a most unsatisfying way, its over.

Rudy just gets up and walks out, trudging like the weary soldier he is.

And Tam follows. 

To her, the movement is like the bell in a boxing match. 

It’s back on. 

Outside, she seems to be screaming for the whole sentence now. (Loud enough to be heard thru the big bay window. 

Good luck, Rudy. 

You’re going to need it, son. 

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Posted by on March 2, 2020 in Uncategorized


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What happens in Vegas may haunt you forever.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

I personally hate that phrase, this despite the fact that there appears to be some truth to it. 

But let me posit the idea that perhaps your behavior should be kept under control so it doesn’t take an entire city, a modern day Sodom and Gamora to handle your shit. (Gamora or Gomorrah? One is the fabled vile city and the other is the hot green chick from Guardians of the Galaxy)

Although, you do have to admit that access to an entire city where you can cut loose and show your ass a bit definitely sounds like a stress reliever. 

Like a city version of a service dog that helps you “Keep calm”. (How about you just learn to deal with emotions instead of being hand held like half a tard all your adult life?)

Either way, I am in Vegas for the weekend. 

I like Vegas because of its honesty in declaring that it exists to take your money. (And if you think you don’t live in a city that is lying thru its teeth about how badly it wants your money, I have a land deal I would like you to invest in, dumbass.)

But I also love Vegas for the time honored activity of people watching.

For those of us who like to watch others, Vegas is a Mecca of sorts.

There are 5 types of people to see in Vegas. 

  1. The first is the Total Tourist. They take pictures of everything, see as many shows as they can and can tell you who is headlining at every casino. They are your safest of the Vegas people to be around.
  2. The second is the Party Tourist. At a minimum, they are drunk all the time. At their worst, they are on a vile cocktail of alcohol, chemicals and natural supplements that makes them a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode. 
  3. Number three is the sly gambler. This guy always has a scheme to take the casino for big dollars. Its like watching an amateur going against a pro. The casinos have been rocking this game for half a century and rarely, if ever, lose. The casinos are a lot like a bear toying with a raccoon. Eventually it gets tired and smashes its living toy into the dirt. Many a sly gambler go home broke with a badly broken hand as a reminder to stay out of a particular establishment.
  4. Four is the regular local. They work for some component of the gambling establishment. These range from dealers, pit bosses, waiters/waitresses, security, clerks, cashiers, support and last but not least is the regular citizen. (Regular citizens live nearby, eat at the buffet and gamble a touch and they are SO not feeling your over the top party vibe.)
  5. Dark Vegas People. These are your drug dealers, human dealers, illegal fight club admissions and illegal high stakes gambling hosts. These are the guys to avoid like the plague. They are much more than you think and what you’re used to back home. (And they bury a lot of people out in the desert.)

All in all, you can have an amazing time in Vegas, as long as you realize that you: A. Are not “The MAN” and B. No, you don’t “Have this shit covered.”

Just keep your head down, have fun, be safe, and go home in one piece, a few dollars left, no STDs or one step ahead of a “Fixer” that wants to buy your girlfriend.

Now, be a good kid and go play.

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Posted by on January 26, 2020 in Uncategorized


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The Dick Tracy triggering post

Does anyone remember Dick Tracy?

For the millennial’s in the crowd, first off, congrats on being able to read, check you out! But, for those born after most cool stuff happened, let me do some age-splaining for you. (Age-splaining is when someone older and wiser takes time out of their busy blog post to condescendingly inform you of something that you don’t know because it isn’t on social media.)

Dick Tracy was a comic strip about a detective that came in the Sunday comics portion of the newspaper. (Made out of paper! OH THE HORROR!)

It syndicated to hundreds of newspapers nationwide for no reason I can fathom. 

It sucked. 

They even tried making a movie out of it in the 80’s with Warren Beatty and Madonna.

It was an unqualified piece of shit from beginning to end. 

But from the comic strip to the movie, the one thing that stood out was the villains.

They were the laziest creations known to man. 

They all had names based on physical attributes or actions. 

There was one called “Redrum, the man without a face.” (He was a hitman, duh his name was murder spelled backwards. They drew him by just not drawing his face.)

One character they drew with a bunch of wrinkles and called him “Pruneface” (He looked shockingly like a scrotum. It was creepy 

If you’re still reading this, I know the question you want to ask.


I do, and hears why.

There are 3 Dick Tracy villains in Starbucks right now.

I was sipping my morning addiction when I looked up and began laughing. It made me laugh loud, and it wasn’t even that funny. (Some of these are just for me.)

And here is the villains that made me laugh:

  1. Flat Top Jones. The Dick Tracy villain had a flat head and combed his hair out flat over it. Our Flat Top has a normal head, but an afro that he combed out flat. Its a freakish look that I have never seen before. 
  2. Mumbles. You guessed it, he mumbles. So does the modern-day Starbucks version of Mumbles. Non-stop mumbling while staring at his laptop. I took the opportunity to look at coffee mugs for sale on the shelves behind him. He is watching semi obscene anime that borders on hentai. (Anime porn) No clue what he is mumbling. There is a creep factor that is off the charts at this point.
  3. Two face. The Dick Tracy version was a man with half his face mangled, the other half perfect. The Starbucks version is a Millennial that is on her cell phone, loudly defending the fact that she slept with her friend’s boyfriend and then told her about it because she “Couldn’t live with herself she was so guilty.”. Of course, that horrific guilt didn’t keep her legs together. Like an act of nature, she had no control over the act. In her mind, it is like blaming a hurricane for snapping your orange tree in half. My favorite line of her whole conversation was “Two-faced? How am I two-faced?” Good lord. (Ok, my Google research reveals that the Dick Tracy version of Two-Face was called Haf Haf. However, even the creator of the comic strip, Chester Gould, freely admitted that it was a straight rip off of the Batman villain. 

Now, I realize that writing about a comic strip that started in 1931, I lost more than half of you from the get-go. I am fine with that.

This was more an odd stroll down memory lane for a comic strip that I may have never read at all.

But I might have to, now.


The Caffeinated Humor Books – CLICK HERE



Posted by on January 5, 2020 in Uncategorized


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Working that shit 9 to 5

Lizzie is a working girl.

Correction, Lizzie WAS a working girl. (And if you are unsure of the meaning of the term “Working girl”, take a second and google it. Otherwise, a lot of this makes no sense.)

I was sitting in one of my favorite Starbucks near my house.

It’s one of the larger Starbucks. About a dozen small tables, and about another dozen barstool with a long shelf spots.

But the busiest section is a 15’ long chain of tables. Holds about 20 people and is always full.

I am at the big table and the crowd is perfect. 

A few odd personalities to write about, but everyone being quiet and doing their own thing.

And then Lizzie sat down. 

“My name is Lizzie.” She looked straight ahead as she spoke smiling. (Typically, when someone says anything beyond “Are you in line?” Or “Are you using that chair?”, there is usually a pitch for money not far behind.)

Lizzie was one a very pretty young lady. Emphasis on the word WAS. Life and it appears to be drugs have aged her fast. There is a tweaker vibe that surrounds her like one of those weighted blankets. Heavy, constricting.

No one said anything. 

“I used to do drugs and escort, but I don’t do any of that anymore. I am sober and trying to get my life together.”

And, no one said anything. (Basically the same protocol as a bear coming into camp but without the falling to the ground to play dead. We all just sat there, playing dead and avoiding eye contact.) 

She went on to tell all of us everything she is up to in her efforts to stay sober.

It suddenly occurred to me that Lizzie is full of shit and tweaking as we speak.

Finally, she wound down and got to the point. 

“Could you gentlemen spare a few dollars to help someone trying to do better?” (When I begin guessing, I am shockingly correct most of the time.)

As far as lines go, its a strong one. I haven’t seen this pitch before. (You could fill an old school set of encyclopedias with the amount of cheap pitch’s for money that are out there.)

I ponied up a couple of dollars, just in case karma is paying attention on a Saturday.

The guy next to me had been scowling the whole time and his scowl only deepened.

Finally, he sighed and reached into his wallet, pulling out a few bills. 

One of them that I could see was a twenty dollar bill. (Now I feel bad for giving just a few dollars.)

He held them up for Lizzie to see.

“My van is right outside.” (Now I don’t feel bad for giving just a few dollars.)

“Yeah, ok.” Lizzie smiled and pretty much bolted for the door, followed by her “John”.

Huh, go figure. 

The guy who had been sitting next to “John” reached into his jacket and pulled out a buzzing cell phone. 

“Hey Lonnie, what’s up?” Even quiet speech carries indoors.

“Naw, just me, Kennie is in his van screwing Lizzie again.” (Switching gears, “John” is now Kennie.)

Lonnie must have asked about Kennie.

“Nope, they always get high after, he’s useless for the rest of the day.”

More conversation I can’t hear.

“I’m leaving here, I’ll meet you there.”

With that, he was up and out the door. Maybe not as quickly as Lizzie abandoned her sobriety and rejoined the working class, but fast enough.

I heard on the news that the economy is booming and people are going back to work.

In more ways than one.


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Posted by on December 29, 2019 in Uncategorized


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The Empire of the Fussy Shitter.

Some kids are fussy eaters. They have a whole list of shit they won’t eat, most of which, they have never tried.

Others are fussy dressers. Colors and styles have to match…etc. Otherwise they aren’t going anywhere.

And, rarely, you run into a fussy shitter. The name is descriptive enough, don’t you think?

I am posted up at Starbucks at one of the larger tables with some ambitious nursing students.

They are working on nursing degrees and a career while I am working on a snotty little blog that no one reads. 

The door opens and a couple comes in with a child. The parents are in their early 30’s? And the little boy is about 5. 

Dad and the somewhat frantic boy beeline for the bathroom while mom stops nearby and makes a call on her cellphone.

“Hi mom, its Tanya.” (The name Tanya went thru a wildly popular period than it ever should have. Seriously. And they are always trouble. Its like the name summons some ancient goddess of cheesy drama or something.)

“Rog is in the bathroom with Tyler. Its bad today, this is the fourth place we have been to so far.” She looks back at the bathroom with the look of hope tinged with fear. Whatever is going on there, its got her fairly beaten up mentally. 

“No, we have been to 4 different bathrooms so far and there has been something wrong with each one. We are still an hour from home.” She listens to the phone.

“We tried that mom, he shit his pants. And we will not put pullups on him. The other kids might find out and make fun.”

Good lord.

I don’t know that I have run into the parents of a fussy shitter before. 

That is a whole new brand of oddity. 

On the one hand, you do what you have to when your kids are little. There are parents who never raise their voices or tell them no. It is a whole thing that wildly over indulges and leads to the creation of millennials. 

On the other hand, beat your kid, lady. 

5 is way too early to be knuckling under to whatever the kid dictates. 

You are setting yourself up for a lot of future shitty happenings. (Pun kind of intended.)

I went to high school with someone who went home at lunch to use the bathroom. She lived nearby and was pretty hot, so no one gave her any trouble.

I found out years later from a guy who dated her for awhile, she had some sexual issues revolving around defecation. (The home town version of 2 girls, one cup. Google that one at your own risk.)

And here it is, happening right in front of me. 

I realize how harsh it sounds, especially given the ridiculously over-compensating that parents and opinionated shitheads without kids nonsense out there.

But if they would simply sit his fussy ass on the toilet, telling him to shit or sleep there, they would be on the road. 

It’s not a quick fix.

It’s a habit they allowed to form and it will take awhile to break, but it can be done. 

One of my kids was a fussy eater. Had a whole list of shit they would not eat, all of it never tried before. 

So I made a rule. 

You can decide you don’t like something, but you have to try it. Not a nibble, a loaded spoonful.

You can only force yourself to dry heave so many times before it wears on you. 

They eventually expanded their menu nicely and it stopped being a problem. 

A few minutes later, Dad and Tyler came out, mission accomplished.

Lucky number 5. 

As they left, I was tempted to share my wisdom with them.

And then I realized that they were on their own journey.


Being enlightened can be a burden at times.

Mmmmm coffee.

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Posted by on December 22, 2019 in Uncategorized


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Welcome to the Freakshow

When did the airport become Walmart?

There are a number of videos on Youtube that show people making poor clothing and life choices in Walmart. 

And it is a flat out freakshow. 

But when did the freakshow take their weird act to the airport?

Here is where we’re at so far. 

It started slow. 

In line at the TSA checkpoint, I saw a guy that looked like a basketball in a polo shirt. (Let that visual sink in for a second.)

Nothing seemed out of place until he bent over to untie his shoes. (TSA checkpoint, remember?)

And then I saw it.

A whale tail.

You heard me right.

M-ER F-ING Whale tail.

This is something I can never unsee. 

Like a 1 second Vietnam War, this may affect me for the rest of my life.

I staggered along thru the checkpoint in a stupor, even the excessive pat down barely registered. (Someone fondling my testes usually gets my attention.)

While putting my shoes on at the bench after my #MeToo moment, while trying desperately not to see the whale tail again, the attractive business woman sitting next to me farted. 

Not a lady-like toot followed by an embarrassed “Oh my! Excuse me!”, but a full barreled flatulent ground zero moment followed by locking eyes with me and glaring like I was the one at fault.

She made a beeline for the bathroom right after she got her shoes on. (Possibly shit herself. If it was me, I would want to check after a blast like that too.)

There is a horizontal escalator that moves you along faster to the far off gates.

It was here that I wondered if you could get crabs in the butt crack?

I only ask because the guy in the skinny jeans ahead of me is raking his fingernails up and down his as with the fervor of a man who’s ass might be on fire. 

The scent of patchouli oil drifts back to my nostrils. (This does not help my already poor opinion of bohemian types. A smelly ass hippy with an itchy taint is still a smelly ass hippy. Plus, Ear gauges, need I say more?)

I get to my gate and figure all is well, just bide my time and I will soon be on the plane.

Life, it seems, has other plans. 

Airport security shows up and yanks some guy to his feet at a nearby gate. 

It seems a young mother has lodged a complaint. (As they frog-march him away, it occurs to me that if you are going to wear pajamas like regular pants, either sew up the bathroom slit in the front or wear underwear. I would be ok with airport security walking him down a few flights of steps so he could “Accidentally” fall down the steps and learn a deeper meaning of “Common courtesy”.)

And finally, I am on the plane.

But we are not done.

As I was boarding, Whale-tail is arguing with an attendant about the full size suitcase he claims is a carry on. 

I made the mistake of booking an aisle seat. 

This means that I spend all of boarding leaning to the right so that EVERY guy walking by doesn’t rub his ass on my shoulder. 

Look, I know how whiny and pitiful all of this sounds and I would be the first one to shout PUSSY at anyone else with the same bitch-list.

But, this is my world, and you are just a squirrel, trying to get a blog-nut.

The fact that the stewardess on the loudspeaker giving the safety speech has a decent harelip doesn’t even phase me. 

But the guy across the aisle picking his nose so deeply that it looks like he is up to the second knuckle is starting to freak me out.

A young mother with a cute little daughter sit down next to me.

With mom watching, the little girl rummages under the seat in front of her and digs out a piece of gum someone put there.

Immediately puts it in her mouth and begins chewing.

Mom says nothing. 

Gonna be a long flight.

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Posted by on December 15, 2019 in Uncategorized


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Anatomy of a pickup

The setting is almost as important as the seduction itself.

Your moves lose momentum in a shitty setting. 

For example, you spend an evening putting your moves on a desirable member of the opposite sex. (Or same, we are progressive here.)

Pick the perfect setting:

In a sports bar, with a group of friends to relax with, bumping soundtrack in the background to lighten the mood and a game on the giant screen to give that illusion of an important event.

That is a strong play.

Here is the opposite.

Her grandma died, you are a distant friend of the family, and decide that her grief stricken behavior gives you the green light.

If you hesitated longer than a second about which one was perfect, you really need to pay attention. (If it was the funeral you are either brutally ignorant or playing a darker game than most.)

While the previous two examples were just a test, it gives you a perspective to appreciate the awkwardness of the following.

Its a taphouse/grill/sportsbar setting.

Both parties have had a few drinks. 

It is a festive setting.

All the signs are there.

  1. She is doing the hair flip WITH the giggle. Everything he says is hysterical. (I can hear the conversation, it is NOT hysterical.)
  2. She is emphasizing sentences with a touch to his arm, he is responding with leaning in to touch her left shoulder and speak into her right ear. It is not that loud.
  3. He has his wallet out and keeping the alcohol flowing. She discretely told her cock-blocking wing woman to take the night off. (She didn’t say that, but its more fun than saying she mouthed the word “GO” to her friend.)

The scene is set for a romantic evening. 

If it goes on too long, they both run the risk of getting too drunk.

For him, that means that she may drift past horny and enter an emotional state where she just cries and talks about her ex.

For her, that means he exits perpetual hard on state and enters what is known as “whiskey dick”. It means that the alcohol robs him of his erection at gunpoint, demanding a ransom of sleep and will not return it until then. (Alcohol seems friendly, but it is NOT a friend.)

However, it doesn’t look like that will be a problem.

Even over the noise of the crowd, I clearly heard “Would you like to go?” along with her immediate head bob.

There is no game of “Go talk” or “Check out my friend’s party” or even the completely ridiculous, but shockingly successful “You should hear the new speakers in my car”. (That is pulling out of a pretty successful playbook right there.)

So they go. 

I wish them well.

He risked a lot of embarrassment if she shut him down loudly and publicly.

She risked a crapload more just because the biggest danger to her is, well, him.

You always hope they are having a fun and lively sexual romp for the evening and might even be the beginning of something for them.

Or she might have smelled chloroform for the first time and he is feeding her into the trunk at this moment. (He better hope her dad isn’t Liam Neesen. Because he doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what you want. If you’re looking for ransom, I can tell you he doesn’t have money… but what he does have is a very particular set of skills. Over 10 years and that movie still rocks.)

So lets hope we see them having grand slam in the morning and talking about their second date.

(But just in case, I know somebody who claims they know Neesen’s publicist, thats a start..)

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Posted by on December 8, 2019 in Uncategorized


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