Cynical Sarcastic Prick. My Shtick. Political views. The news. What grinds my gears. My hopes. My fears. Talks with my son and how he makes me feel dumb.
Going shopping one afternoon for a couch at Rooms To Go turns into a nightmare as the salesmen simply won’t take no for an answer when I consistently reject their asinine 60.00 fabric protection plan. They almost lose an $800 dollar sale over a $60.00 spray.
I was selling my high quality chest of drawers on Craigslist when a psychopath contacted me. He wanted it dirt cheap. And when I said no, he got….creative.
My son ehem.. I mean his imaginary friend “Sloney” the Fred Fredburger doll has been plotting to murder me.
I can’t keep up with the news anymore. And due to the information overload, my brain doesn’t even have time to process and organize the information it receives yet alone write about it. It’s getting harder to get information straight. And since it is getting harder to keep track of information, it is harder to keep those in power accountable.
At exactly the same time that I was on CNN’s website reading the “Breaking News” article about a right wing Trump supporting terrorist fanatic who made death threats against reporters, ANOTHER breaking news story popped up on top of the page. about a Kentucky school shooting resulting in the deaths of 2 students and 18 injuries. Don’t forget to send your fucking thoughts and prayers because now is not the time to talk about this either. And tomorrow, we’ll already forget about it.
The ketchup bottle makes a strange farting sound when I squeeze it. This makes me determined to try to track down a restaurant customer to prove to him that it was me and not the bottle. Now why does this type of situation feel oddly familiar?
I recall a conversation I had with an old female colleague of mine. In order to protect her identity, let’s
“The Daily” wants to hear your story of a specific complicated sexual experience that you now are “re-evaluating.” Great! I get to compile my enemies list and rewrite history as I see fit. #metoo motherfuckers.
I ask if my wife will still love me even though I’m going bald. Because after all, it is what’s on the inside that matters. She has other ideas.
My wife thinks I’m just after her body. I convince her that it is what’s on the “inside” that’s important….. in a psychotic gruesome sort of way.
Rudeboy's World 