Monthly Archives: July 2012

Stop. Hitting that woman.

You asked.

I’m sitting, alone, a preferred manner, at a small, crummy, dive bar around the corner from my office. Just killing a little time before heading home.

There’s a blustery old guy walking up and down asking people if they think he looks seventy-five. People let him have his delusion, probably to lessen their time spent with this smelly old guy flapping his gums at them.

Inevitably, he reaches me. A man quietly sitting there trying to erase his hate of humanity one sip at a time. I’m sure this is going to lengthen that process.

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” He says poking my shoulder with each ‘Hey!’ “Do you think I’m seventy-five?”

The truth is, outside of a semi-useful head of hair, yes! Yes! He looked all of seventy-fucking-five years old.

But that’s not what you should say in a moment like this. I’m also not saying you should say what I did, but it is what I said,

“I don’t know if you’re seventy-five. So let me ask you a question to figure it out.”

“Be my guest.” He says flexing his droopy man-boobs.

“Do your balls touch the water when you take a shit?”

Huh. I guess now I’ll never know how old he is.

The Expert

An expert on everything is giving me his valuable thoughts on numerous subjects. As with all experts of his ilk (i.e. blowhards) he ended most of his thoughts with,

“But what do I know?”

A phrase I found amusing because it was he, mere moments before, who told me he was a very learned fellow in this and all subjects. After hearing that phrase follow a few nuggets of expert testimony I said,

“Obviously not as much as you think you do.”

Turns out, if you’re considered rude to folks like this they cease blessing you with their viewpoint.

I’m gonna have to make a note about that.

Oh oh.

I’m not paranoid but after reading this,

“. . .scanning software that monitors chats for words or phrases that signal something might be amiss, such as an exchange of personal information or vulgar language.”

I know I’m on the list.

I contain mostly vulgar language.

Facebook Monitors Your Chats for Criminal Activity

What’s the problem?

Haven’t you ever played the extreme version of rock, paper, scissors:

brick, knife, restraining order?

A guy walks in. . .

. . .and after exchanging what could be considered by some pleasantries he asks the burning question.

“Have you found God?”

To which I smiled and said,

“Are you  sure he’s lost? Before you start panicking maybe you should have his son swing by his house and do a wellness check.”

I don’t think I’ve ever answered that question from someone to their satisfaction.