Calmer Than You Where good ideas go to get gooder.

How many times can you be told “there is something seriously wrong with you” in a day before it crosses into an “unusually high” number? 

Benito Mussolini runs the Starbucks by my house. If that’s not Mussolini then it’s a goddamn angry battle bear dressed as Mussolini wearing a black apron.  

It’s imperative that you know exactly what you’re ordering before you touch the door handle.  If you don’t pre-game in the parking lot beforehand he will know it the minute you walk through the door.  Indecision is to  Mussolini Barista as fear is to bees. You also need to understand the barista language and say things in the right order.  

A typical morning at my Starbucks:

MurderBeast: What can I start for you sir?

Customer1: I..uh..well, maybe a..

MurderBeast: fuck you!  Don’t come to my workplace and be a pussy.  Do I come down to your office and stand around crying all day? Back of the line, Mary!! You better hope you grow a pair of stones before you get back up here again.

MurderBeast: Ma’am, what can I start for you today?

Customer2: I’d like a cinnamon dolce latte with a sprinkle of…

MurderBeast: …a sprinkle of shut the hell up?  What size you ignorant whore?  <pounding shoe on counter with each step> FIRST you tell me if it’s iced, THEN you tell me the size, THEN you tell me the drink, FINALLY you tell me any special instructions or add-ons.  For crissakes, I’ve seen you here before.  This isn’t new. Go sit in the timeout chair until you figure it out.

MurderBeast: Sir, what can we do for you this morning?

Me: Venti coffee…please…sir.

I’m sure the other drinks at Starbucks are wonderful.  I’ve seen people at other Starbucks enjoying blended frappacinos made with solid gold and liquid cocaine while they lounge in a sunny meadow and play hide-n-go-seek with unicorns. It looks heavenly.  But I’ll never know because by the time I step over the carcasses of those that have tried and failed before me I’m too scared to do anything but order a giant ass coffee; the only order I have memorized well enough to say through my wild eyed terror.

Took a little heat for this tweet gem (Twem?) this morning: Debated if I could tweet, “ate Mexican bacon with Danny Gans this morning or if it was too soon. Decided it was too soon.

So apparently I’m an “insensitive and irreverent asshole” that deserves “everything coming to you.” Frankly, I couldn’t agree more. I am an asshole most the time, but only for personal amusement reasons, and I do deserve everything coming to me (not sure if that’s supposed to be good or bad, but I’ll take it).

I don’t want to get on the bandwagon of bitching about people on Twitter because I really am fine with people hating me on Twitter; that’s part of the grand experiment. But remember, no one is forcing you people to follow me on Twitter. What’s most interesting is, these comments didn’t even come from people that follow me. These people sought me out and then were disappointed. Shit, join the club. I think it was Dr. Phil that said something like, “when did people start caring so much about people they don’t care about?”

I am a Golden God….or at least a Golden God’s asshole. Love me. Let me make a little birdhouse in your soul.

You can’t sell horse tranquilizers to a midget!