Coffee Talk

When the fuck did coffee become so complicated? When did a cup of joe become so fucking pretentious? Have you ever stood in an elevator, holding your cup of 7-Eleven extra large and notice the dirty looks you get from the people with their vente Starbucks skinny half americano lattes? "don't engage in conversation with that man. He doesn't know his coffee. Look! it's not even a sippy lid. ugh." It's not just coffee anymore, is it? It's a statement. It's buying into a brand because everyone else is. The coffee isn't any better. It's definitely not worth the extra $3 for a smaller cup than 7-Eleven. But we pay it...so much so that we won't get a coffee anywhere that doesn't have a barrista to pour it for us. Now, don't get me wrong; I don't hate Starbucks or Second cup. They made it big with making coffee pretentious. All the power to them. I mean, they wouldn't be so successful if it weren't for the demand. And, I mean, we could get our coffee from the small locally owned coffee place just down the street, but...well, they're not Starbucks, and we know we'll be in an elevator full of people, and we don't want to be judged.

Hey, I'm guilty too. I used to make my own coffee before my drive to work, throw it in a mug and off I go. But now, I'll go out of my way and leave 15 minutes early to stand in line for it. Essentially, my entire morning routine revolves around it. I'll pass the small coffee place on route, and notice there's no line up, but...well they don't know their coffee like Starbucks does right? Starbucks has fucking barristas for shit sakes.

Let's face it. The morning interlude of business skirts and trench coats, hard hats and coveralls making the shuffle through our busy streets is saturated with an otherwise simple beverage served hot, but given expensive French and Italian names that if interpreted by logic means ridiculously over priced. But it's become part of our culture and identity. The pick me up before a hard day's work, and the relaxation after the 5 o'clock bell. It's what we hold in our hands as we reflect and connect. It's what keeps us warm on cold nights when we're watching our kids play soccer, or hockey. When we're relaxing on our patios or taking strolls, or even when we gather together and voice our discontent during the occupy movement. I just wonder who's going to clean up all the empty Starbucks cups when it's over. Maybe I should just grab a coffee from the small locally owned place down the street. It's getting cold outside, and it's about time I become part of the solution.

If You Give a Man a Hummer

                                                         If You Give a Man a Hummer



If you give a man a Hummer, he'll probably ask for a Set of nice rims to go with it.

When you buy him the rims, They'll remind him that he'll need to keep them clean. He'll want some car wax. You both check the garage, and realize you have none.

You'll hop into his Hummer which he has already named Peggy-Sue, and race off to the Auto super store (taking the long way of course)

When you walk inside the auto super store, all the cool gadgets will inspire him to pimp out Peggy-Sue, so you'll spend the next 3 hours picking parts, then book it in immediately to have them installed.

The excitement and anticipation will make him hungry. He'll want breadsticks. You'll take a rusty cab that must have had a dirty vagina air freshener 5 Miles to the Olive Garden.

While you wait up front for a table (even though the restaurant is half empty), the Frank Sinatra music and the hostess with 11 pounds of foundation and peacock feathers for fake eyelashes will make him think of Vegas. He'll want to book a trip.

With the remaining minutes you have left on your iPhone data package, you will call Nasir & Cousin's travel agency to book a flight and hotel. They'll give you a deal on 2 tickets and a room for 4 days and 3 nights, supposedly on the strip....Boarding is in 2 hours. You'll need to pack.

You get your breadsticks and Sicilian Scampi's to go, hop in another rusty cab (this time smelling of Old Spice and used condoms) and race back to pick up Peggy-Sue.

When he sees that Peggy-Sue is only half done with all the pimpery, he will want to cancel the trip to Vegas.

You will call Nasir& Cousins to cancel, only to find out that you'll still be on the hook for the Hotel. Hearing this will inspire an epiphany, and he'll decide to take Peggy-Sue to Vegas instead.

You push back check in at the Hotel in exchange for attendance at a time-share luncheon. This will remind him of the breadsticks,

You'll eat in the parking lot while you wait for Peggy-Sue. He'll want to reminisce about the day.

As you eat your breadsticks and Scampis, and joyously reminisce about your day, he'll tell you how special you are for giving him Peggy-Sue, and that he can't wait to drive her to Vegas with you.

And chances are; when you drive the trip to Vegas in Peggy-Sue...He'll want a hummer to go along with it.

MacSeriously?

It's 9pm. I've been working since 7:30am, and I'm finally on my way home. Seeing as it's past my kids' bed time, and way past my wife's give a fuck time, I decided to satisfy my hunger by potentially fucking an otherwise perfect day, and taking my chances with a MacDonald's drive thru.

So I pull up and take my place in line....I couldn't see around the corner, but I estimate that I was car number twenty fuckin seven. It took "Perfect" by P!nk, Some fucking remake of "Glory of Love" and Bruno Mars to finally get to the circa 1970s speaker where a guy...maybe a girl...could be a frickin leemer, It doesn't matter, they all sound like Yoda on that thing....Anyways, I get to the circa 1970s speaker where Yoda pipes up with the insincere, roll of the eyes "Welcome to MacDonalds, can I take your order?" "Hi", I say. "can I please get a swiss mushroom chicken deluxe?...Just the sandwich. I don't want the combo." Now, here's the thing...I fuckin know that they probably didn't bother to listen, because they're busy counting change for the guy in front of me, and any minute from now, I'm gonna hear the speaker crackle, and Yoda's gonna say "I'm sorry...what did you want?" "Could I please get a swiss mushroom chicken deluxe? No combo. Just the sandwich."...."Did you want the angus or the chicken?"...."chicken. I said chicken."....."And to drink?"....."I don't want a drink...just the sandwich"..."Are you sure? It's only..." "Just the sandwich."..."Okay, just pull up to the first window." So I navigate the curve to the window. Of course I've got to lean out my window, and support half my body weight with my penis just to pay Yoda, because to get any closer would mean leaving half my car on the corner of the building through the turn. Yoda then greets me at the window as my body trembles from the strain I'm putting on my dick to hand him the money. Keep in mind that I waited 3 weeks in line to spend 4 hours to order one sandwich, and my penis has probably suffered irreparable damage. He then hands me $9 in change from a 20 and asks me if I want ketchup. "I just ordered a chicken sandwich right?" ...."Oh! I thought you wanted a combo"....."Nope. Just the sandwich."...."Oh....just wait. I have to get my manager."...."Y'know what? I'll just take the fuckin combo with a root beer."..."Oh, Okay....would you like some ketchup?"...."this is normal for you, isn't it?", I said. "What do you mean?"....."Yes, I'd love some ketchup." Yoda reaches down, grabs a mitt full of ketchup, and I grab it from the dumb fuck's toe fingers, and fuck off to window number 2.

Window 2 is so much different than window 1 isn't it? I mean, they're still stupid. It's just that there's more of them, and they have room to run around, and a lot more things to fuck up in the process. Anyways, I pull up to window 2, and I am greeted by a girl that looks like a mix between Pippi Longstalking and fucking Elvira extends her arm with and says, "here's your iced tea."...."I didn't order an iced tea.".....are you sure?"...3 weeks in line, 4 hours to order, a chicken sandwich which is now a combo, and a strained penis. And Pippi/Elvira asks me if I'm sure?...."what's your name?", I ask her. "Janet.", she says....."are you sure?" She gives me a confused gaze..."I know. Stupid question huh? Yes, I'm sure. I ordered a frickin root beer." "Oh, right! yes you did!" She passes me my drink with one long lanky arm, and my food with the other. Considering I grew a fucking beard trying to get my shit, I peeled outta there so I could get home and enjoy my sandwich...and fries...and root beer.

I rip into the driveway, and am in the house before the car door closes. The kids are asleep. My wife is...fuck, I don't know...doing whatever it is a wife does in an unhealthy happy marriage, and I am sitting in my chair reaching into my MacDonald's bag, pulling out a fucking swiss mushroom angus burger! And to add insult to injury, the assholes forgot the fucking mushrooms.

Fuck you Yoda. Fuck you Pippi/Elvira. Fuck you P!nk and bruno Mars, and whoever the fuck it is that sings that shitty Glory of Love remake. And FUCK YOU MacDonald's! FUCK YOU!

Who Cares?

I have friends who swing. I have friends in same sex relationships. I have friends who have opted to enjoy an open relationship, and the one thing that pisses me off about all of them, is that they're happy. It seems the only people that aren't happy are the people who aren't effected whatsoever by who my friends choose to be with or how they decide to live their lives - People who believe it's more important that their conventional beliefs should not only be shared by everyone else, but practiced. Other than that, their unhappiness towards something, or someone that has no bearing on their lives is utterly ridiculous. What is even more ridiculous is that politicians would rather let people starve, an economy tear itself apart and watch inactively as real issues fall upon death ears and air tight wallets as they campaign to disregard the right to pursue happiness in event that the happiness of others may be a result of a contravention of their beliefs. In short, there are real issues out there that will affect everyone in the near future that are being ignored, all because some tight wads in suits don't agree with Dan marrying Bill. Seriously, who cares?

Their argument, of course is how conventional marriage is effected by non conventional relationships, as proven by the significant increase in divorce rates. We are being negatively influenced by the deviance of others. Yes, divorce rates are at about 56%. To put this into perspective, the divorce rate in the 1950s was about 32%. And though I agree the divorce rate is rather high, I believe the reasons dreamed up by our Governments is a load that should've been swallowed long before it became the illegitimate love child on someone's fucked up agenda.  We should also keep in mind that the cum wads that run our nations (Canada and the U.S) are primarily baby boomers, and let's face it, the last of the idiots who still believe old school works.

Speaking of old school, lets dive into why divorce rates were so much lower in the fantastic 50s shall we? This won't take long, trust me. 2 reasons: Reason 1: It was harder to get a divorce. Reason 2: There was just as much adultery going on then as there is now, but the wife was expected to shut up and suffer through her husband's indiscretions, and make sure his dinner is ready for when he gets home from fucking his secretary all day. The 30 out of 100 marriages that ended in divorce were probably initiated by the indiscreet husband once he was done sucking the sexuality, identity and happiness out of his loving wife and decided to nest up with a younger model. 

Our old school politicians have wives with new school mentalities, and it bothers them. They cannot allow the liberties being practiced today. It fucks their shit up. And to hell with the real issues. Their beliefs must be upheld! I'm sorry hungry people. I'm sorry people who can't afford education or health care. Until our politicians are swingers, gays and poly-ists, nothing is getting done in our Countries.

Yeah, We're Dumb....

Boys are dumb. And yes, I mean boys....from the age of just ejaculated to just expired. If it walks on two legs, has thumbs and a penis, it's a boy, and it's dumb. We may grow facial hair, and our hands get bigger, but we truly never grow up....ever. I'm not saying this for the purpose of making fun of men as much as I'm making an attempt to make women realize that you cannot change us, or train us. We are like a blend between Peter Pan and Luke Skywalker. We learn to adapt and use Jedi mind tricks to make you believe we're becoming distinguished and responsible...dare I say thoughtful even, but we're still thinking about different ways to acoustically enhance our farts and we still muffle our giggles every time your boobs jiggle while you're reluctantly giving us a hand job because we took out the garbage. Next time your giving him a wank ladies, take the time from rolling your eyes or watching The Bachelorette to look over at him. You'll see what I mean.

Boys aren't completely dumb. We know alot about alot of things. Cars, for example. Beer. Movies....Alot. We also know how to cherish and enjoy said things. We also know (and this will be contrary to popular belief) quite a bit about women. We do...yes we do. We also cherish and enjoy women....for the most part. But here is where dumb comes into play;

Though we can differentiate between a car and a woman, you cannot deny the correlation we have created between the two - best demonstrated by the fact boys refer to their car as "her" and "she". Thus we have evolved to the likewise treatment of you her and car her. It is in this metaphoric display of behavior that I will use a car to elaborate on our dumbness as boys;



When we first get our new car (and by new, I mean new to us. It could be used, but for the purpose of making my point, let's pretend noone gives a fuck) We drive her gently at first. We look back at her the entire way through the parking lot when we get out. She gets cleaned twice a week, and we maintain the ever lovin out of her. We will brag to our friends about her, then we'll ditch them on poker night if it meant driving her for an extra couple hours. Time will go on, and as we feel more comfortable with her, we'll maybe take her on the highway and introduce her to our wild, rebellious, exceed the speed limit side. We'll take her on road trips ...maybe show her off to our parents. More time will go buy, and though the novelty has worn off, we still love her...but we may take her for granted. The weekly washes have become bi-monthly. She hasn't seen that look back in a while. Come to think of it, we've already forgotten where we parked her a couple times. We've stopped going out of our way to ditch our friends to spend more time with her. We've started taking short cuts, and have put her through the lumps and bruises of bumpy roads on more than a few occasions.  She's been out of windshield fluid for 2 weeks. Her oil is low and dirty. Speaking of dirty, we have started to leave our garbage on her seats and floors. Beginning to sound familiar ladies?  Of course we still love her, and we need her just as much now as we did when we first got her, but we can't drive her forever, and the day will come where we'll give her up for something newer. But why do we need to right? She's been good to us. She's been reliable, dependable, faithful. Her paint job, though a little faded still catches our eye, and she's still able to drive any way you'd like. But let's face it; we live in a bigger, better society, and it looks as though the writing is on the wall. We've been looking a little more intently at other cars. At times we've even made a conscious effort to peer through their windows. We've started to notice how attractive their trunks look, and have thought about what's under the hood. Then comes the day when have made up our minds and it's over. A good thing is over.

Boys are dumb because we're too involved with bigger and better. It's an ideal. It may be shallow and ultimately unfulfilling, but it's an ideal nonetheless. Boys are dumb because we can't see past this when it comes to women. And we don't realize what we have until it's gone. All we have is the search for someone who can make us feel the way you did. All we can do to keep us satisfied with what we've done is take time to remember the days we had together. Our only solace is reminiscence and hindsight. And we've been left to settle for moments where we whisper I'm sorry...not just to you, but to us, and the us that could have been. It's a sad and tragic life really. But so many of us boys live it.......which is why we love car shows and show n shines....

Every Asshole Has One

Fellas; let's face it. Ever since we were able to consciously grab things with our hands as babies, we have had them wrapped around our penises at least twice a day. The second the diaper came off, we were using our pee-pees like a Bow-Flex; working our triceps and biceps. We'd grab that shit between our heals and pump our gluts, and stretch it until it looked like an elastic band towing a semi. As we got older, we realized we could touch things with it...like table legs, couch cushions, Mary Jane from Daycare's pony tail, even ice cream. If it was within reasonable distance, our tally-whacker was going to come into contact with it, and we would be astounded. It was a love affair like no other. I am pretty damn sure that anytime our penis was exposed, A Beach Boys song would play in our heads and a montage of penis shenanigans would ensue. It's when we got to our teen years where it became more of a love - hate relationship. We noticed that some boys' penises grew or were growing, and others, despite a little bit of pubic hair action, were not. We also noticed that when we would touch things with it, it would magically grow...This by the way ladies, is why men are so fascinated with their junk...it fucking grows....it does something other than just sitting there...it moves. We had found our moxy. That's the love part..The hate part came to fruition through the fact that some penises were big. Some were small. Some were freakishly curved or unsymmetrical, and some looked like an o-henry bar while others resembled baby carrots.  Though when we would pull one off, they all did the same thing, the way we masturbated differed. Some guys would masturbate like they were sanding a baseball bat, and others would rub one off as if they were holding a tea cup. It's all relative really, because whatever we're touching our dicks with or banging it against doesn't care what they look like, or how they feel...It was when we found out that a penis is to go in vaginas, and that we have to impress the girl that comes with the vagina that everything changed.....

                                                                


Girls....The quintessential force of nature that drives the obligatory impulse within men to pimp their penis in order to attain vaginal contact.  In other words; parking our car in your garage ladies is the only goal we have. All other goals are subsequent controlled variables in order to get that done. Our income though on the surface is monetary, we measure our income in pussy. For example; a Doctor makes great pussy. A janitor..not so much. Cars are measured in pussy power, not horse power like you've been lead to believe.  Everything we do and have is measured by the pussy system. Everything except a penis...That's still measured in inches... and in the penis world an inch goes a long long way. But really, when all is said and done, and we've found our vagina, we men will all end up hiding in the bathroom sanding our bats and holding our baby carrots like teacups. Just like we did before we even knew what a vagina was for.

And just as a side note; we have all heard the whole size doesn't matter routine. We know what it means. It means yes, you have a small penis. Too late, I'm stuck with it. Ladies; you're not convincing us, you're convincing yourselves. It's ok, we love you for it. Just for once though; when he says take it all, try not to snort giggle

Accountability Down the Hatch

Frederick Voss; you're an idiot. And get used to seeing your name in this post Freddy-boy, because I'm going to make damn sure that if anyone Googles your bitch ass, that this post is number one on the list.

Now before I dive into my rant about Frederick Voss, let me provide a little background information on Frederick Voss, his decision to get hammered and hop onto his motorbike:

Frederick Voss decided to walk into Tiffany's in Toms River NJ and drink his face off. He then decided - with a blood alcohol level of .196, to hop onto his motorbike and drive away. Of course he gets into an accident, and then gets arrested, and convicted with driving under the influence. Frederick Voss  then decided to sue Tiffany's for over serving him. For a more lucid interpretation; here's a link  http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2011/06/02/court-convicted-drunk-driver-can-sue-nj-bar-that-served-him/ 

Now, I can understand, and to a certain degree appreciate the decision made by the State of New Jersey Supreme Court to allow Frederick Voss  to sue Tiffany's for over serving him. Given his blood alcohol level and the fact that, in this matter, there is no precedence set. The court finds itself without precedence due to the ambiguity present by conflicting State laws. Therefore, It isn't in a position to not allow the case to move forward, and it is in this regard that I would like to begin my rant and prove to the Court that Frederick Voss is a fuckin douche bag who needs to be bitch slapped and pissed on;

Fred...may I call you Fred? Are you married? Do you have children? I'm going to assume that you do, but I doubt that a man of your age who doesn't have the capacity to man up to his own actions would. Besides, if you do, I doubt the word respect finds itself in the same sentence with Frederick Voss. albeit, and purely for the sake of argument we will pretend you're married with children. What if you lost your wife to a drunk driver? What if your kids' lives were cut short because some hammered douche bag decided to take his car for a whirl? Would you expect justice? Let's hope that doesn't happen, because you have negated that expectation. You have taken that away from anyone who will loose someone they love to fuck wads like you. And it's fuck wads like you that force the rest of us to take responsibility for your decisions in fear of getting sued because a panel of 7 people don't want to be bothered with decisions that could affect their careers. You have abused the law, and now you are abusing the system that maintains the law. I could go on forever about how fucking irresponsible you are, or about how ignorant you are...how low you are, and how down right pathetic and inhuman you are for taking an act that could have potentially killed someone and turn it into an opportunity to cash in on the backs of people who shouldn't have to babysit your worthless ass despite your decisions. Instead, I'm going to list some facts:

Fact: You know the effects of alcohol. Fact: Unless you're Amish or deaf dumb & blind, illiterate, and don't own any media device, you have probably heard by now drinking and driving is illegal. Fact:There will always be a point when you're drinking where you acknowledge you have to drive home, so it's either stop drinking or make arrangements. Fact: The legal limit is .08. With a blood alcohol level of .196, you didn't give a fuck that the limit was .08. Fact: Given the last fact, you were determined you were going to drive drunk before you even hit a blood level of .08. And Fact: To further drive home the last 2 facts, you made the decision to drive TO the restaurant knowing you would be drinking. Sounds like premeditation to me...Lawyers; are you writing this shit down?

In closing Frederick Voss; you are scum. It's people like you that creates distrust, and the unwillingness of people to give a fuck. It's people like you that have left families to mourn the loss of their loved ones. You are a fuckin idiot Frederick Voss, and I pray that the guy who takes the same road home as your wife does decides to take a cab home after having a few, because heaven forbid you go seeking accountability if she ends up on his front grill.

Good luck with your lawsuit.

PS.....