aMediocreMan

Bradentucky seafood festival

seafood-fest-desoto-bradenton-2593 A man wearing only one flip flop, sits slumped over on a bench resting the side of his head on a oak tree about 20 feet from the main stage.

He’s wearing a black shirt with a red confederate flag on the front that says, “You’ve got your X, we’ve got ours.”

There are other men in only slightly better condition standing behind him drinking Budweiser from cans and smoking pot from a one-hitter that slides into a belt buckle. Behind them, a normal looking mom and dad with three young sons eat fried foods on extra-large toothpicks.

The weather is beautiful. It’s about 80 degrees, sunny with no clouds and very little humidity. The kind of weather that keeps the tourists around until the snow melts in their northern hometowns. The kind of weather that keeps the tourists clogging my streets while I try not to succumb to massive road rage.

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me,” is the Lynyrd Skynrd song being played by the band. About 25 to 30 people attempt to dance to the country anthem, but really just sway back and forth spilling beer on their feet without a care. Continue reading “Bradentucky seafood festival”

Dear soccer mom,

Dear Soccer Mom,

Hi there, you don’t know me, but you cut me off today while speeding through a 20 MPH school zone in your extended Chevy Suburban with the stickers on the back window that shows how many children you have.

I’m sure there was a good reason for you endangering the lives of young, innocent school children by blatantly ignoring the speed limit.

Maybe you broke a nail and had a “salon-emergency.”

Maybe one of your fake, silicon tits popped and you had to race to your plastic surgeon’s office before the other 20 soulless, insecure women beat you there.

Maybe you just found out that your husband was banging his much younger than you, much hotter than you, much tighter than you secretary and you were speeding to your lawyer’s office to draw up the divorce papers. Continue reading “Dear soccer mom,”

plastic parade

A-typical Rolex submariner sits on the dad’s wrist like a beacon of arrival.
His too-tight Ed Hardy tee sticks to his cross fit chest like an extra layer of skin.
Those hours in the gym, the broccoli, the grilled chicken, the spinach salads……
Eyes scanning the crowd looking for that 25 year-old who hasn’t yet sunk the Botox into her forehead…….

Wifey to his left, flipping her platinum dyed hair again and again and again.
She, looking for someone to make fun of, looking for someone to help her feel better about her collagen duck-faced lips.

Her third tit job, her fourth anal bleaching, her fifth affair with a new trainer, tattoo reads “MILF” along the panty line that only a select 50 or so willing erections get to see.

She, peering at the younger women while licking her lips with the misguided confidence of an American Idol contestant.

Continue reading “plastic parade”

the lost milf- dancing Al Roker

Dancing Al Roker (the lost milf)

her main job for the day is to take the kids to and from school. They are older now so the task has become considerably easier. Their Iphones have the alarm clocks now and they no longer care for breakfast.

“The bus leaves in 10 minutes,” she warns them each morning.

her bus is an extended Chevy Suburban with those cute stickers on the back window that helps everyone understand exactly how many kids and pets she has now. The windows are tinted as dark black as legally possible so no one can see her face absent of make up that earlier in the morning. The crows feet are deeper now and the dark circles widen with each year.

after dropping them off, kisses blown and back to the house. Once inside, time for the magical breakfast 5-4-3 cocktail……..5 grapes followed by 4 crushed and snorted Oxy’s followed by a glass of water with 3 lemon slices………….ah, let the numb morning begin. Continue reading “the lost milf- dancing Al Roker”

did Tony fuck Angela

whos-the-boss1 I keep asking myself the question………… Did Tony ever fuck Angela? I want to know, I want to know badly. If he did, I think it would have gone something like this:

Tony approached her right after he finished vacuuming the drapes. She had probably just returned home from a hard day of work at her advertising agency. She was standing by the door teasing her Grayish-streaked hair, almost inviting him to taste her middle-aged grapes.

“Hey Angela, you’re looking pretty hot standing there by the door. Why don’t you come a little closer so I can fuck you up the ass,” Tony would quip.

“Oh Tony, you’re so boorish, so Italian, so ruggedly…………….. what time is dinner,” Angela would blush and retreat to the kitchen.

Then Mona would enter the room, arm entwined with a an old drunk who resembled Bukowski. Tony and Angela could both smell the sex on her breath as she paraded around the room with the misguided confidence only shared by Blanche from the Golden Girls. Continue reading “did Tony fuck Angela”

in San Fran

parade First trip to San Fran, first trip to Cali, first trip to the Left Coast

Too scared to stay outside the financial district,

my pussy wasn’t ready for that cherry pop.

I like to hang around the less smelly creatures when I travel to big cities,

That whole piss, patchouli dread-locked stink doesn’t appeal to my golden spoon upbringing.

San Fran is a different breed;

More Asians than you could throw a noodle at

More homeless than New York

More trendy than Miami

Oddly polite, like how white people treat other white people in the deep south

Did the good society thing and went to the SFMOMA and stared at some cool artwork with meanings I will never understand

After that, Wifey and I started drinking at the Hyde Out, a local bar with plenty of flavor; Continue reading “in San Fran”

scenes from a waiting room (a car dealership)

Act I. (the elderly)
Old, musty ass wrinkled seniors wearing bad track suits; their lifeless, aged skin scarred with purple gum colored splotches hanging from their bones like loose sleeves.

A cell phone rings deep inside a purse, underneath the dentures and coupons, by the time the old woman realized it was ringing…… silence.

Act II. (the soccer mom)
Frost dyed hair, way too tight Hollister shirt, tight faded jeans with sequin pocket designs, elastic fake tits shaped into perfect round globes, husband at work banging his secretary who has even faker tits, but younger body. Continue reading “scenes from a waiting room (a car dealership)”

my addiction

soda I’m embarrassed, I’m ashamed and I’m weak because I have an addiction. I’m not proud of what it does to me. I’m not proud of what I do to get it. But I do it anyway.

When I first roll out of bed, it nags at me like a hangnail.

“Come get me, you know you need me. You know you can’t make it an hour without me,” it whispers knowingly in the back of my mind.

I look around my house in odd corners hoping to find a couple of quarters or dimes. If I can’t find enough there, I lift up my car seats and scour underneath to find the right amount to pay for it.

Once I find enough change, I get into the car. I don’t brush my teeth, I don’t bathe, I simply put the car in drive and get there as quickly as possible. Continue reading “my addiction”

adventures at Wal Mart

Adventures at Wal Mart (discovering opposable thumbs, this story is 100% true, it happened several years ago)

Today, I had to exchange a television at Wal Mart because the one I bought there a few days ago did not have a remote. This should have been a truly easy task to accomplish; but idiocy, poor breeding and patriotism stood directly in my path.

Act I. The Beginning of the Transaction: I walked in with the television and my receipt and made my way to the customer service counter. The employee was a young girl probably 19 or so with bad hair, but she was nice.

She took my receipt, stared at the “return/exchange” policy board behind her and told me that I had to exchange it for something that cost the exact same amount or something that costs more. She explained that she couldn’t give me a refund in any way, shape or form. “Whatever,” I thought to myself, I just wanted the exact same television, but this time with the remote it’s supposed to come with. Continue reading “adventures at Wal Mart”

another hotel bar

Another hotel bar; I’m on the corner bar stool, minding my own shit, hoping no one tries to talk to me, only thing I want to say is “Yes, one more please.”

Another business man, probably mid 40’s and a little fatter than most, sat down next to me, his eyes scanned the rest of the bar, looking for some strange pussy, hoping some desperate clit will let him in. His Brooks Brothers button up is wrinkled from sitting behind a computer for the past 8 hours and there are visible pit stains. He should work out more, he’s too puffy for a hookup, especially given the 10 to 1 male to female ratio. That’s the typical ratio, damn the women are “lucky.”

He ordered a Glenlivet neat. Shit, the puffy man has bigger balls than most. He’s really trying to impress, really trying to show the rest of the bar that his expense account is for real.

The bartender took notice, but only because the scotch means her tip should be bigger. Her bangs and wrinkled forehead tell me that she’s either 25 or 50 and she’s probably seriously questioning her life choices. He will talk to her about his two divorces, child support and how he’s hoping to retire to South Florida one day and buy a boat. “Do you like boats,” he asked her. She says she that she does, but only because she has to say that so she can make a payment on her Boost mobile cell phone the next morning before it gets shut off again. Continue reading “another hotel bar”