Today,
I come home from work, ready to be a father and husband. What do I find? My wife in a TIZZY! The reason for this wasn't because our landlord kicked everyone out of our building and is going to sell it to Russian Mafia members to cook drugs, it wasn't because our son was attacked by midgets at school, it wasn't even because she thought she was pregnant and at thirty-eight wasn't ready to be a weeble again.
No.
That wasn't it at all......
After talking to her for a few minutes and dodging flying dish towels and colorful metaphors, I finally pried out of her that she had been "graced" with a visit from the Jehova's Witness Missionaries. NORMALLY this isn't a cause to be upset, typically she would have said "no, thanks." and they would have been on their way.
Unfortunately, she was feeling generous. I say unfortunately because now she is angry, insulted and downright pissed off.
She let them in. THAT is where this story very quickly goes "down the tubes".
After a few minutes of them telling her how she needs to have her soul saved and the only way to do it is through "coming right with Jehova". She had some questions; Her first question was: "What does it take for me to get to heaven?" their response was "You don't get to go, you stay on earth with all of the good people." That is where the argument began.
She began by telling them that if she couldn't go to "heaven" what's the point of joining them or changing her beliefs. (She is agnostic). They told her that if she wasn't a "witness" she would go to hell.
She asked them if they were so good and religious, why do their churches have no windows? Some light and truth they have right? They responded that it was a concern about vandalism. If you are the right and true religion (read all the other Christian and non-Christian denominations) then you would have windows. At one point she pointed out that even the Satanic Church as a damn window. (natural light is a big deal for her).
They asked her if she believed that God was real and would pass judgment on mankind. She told them that she thought God was a loving fellow and would welcome everyone that tried to be good to heaven. She then asked them if they didn't think God had better things to do with his time than judge people for petty issues. This discussion went back and forth for a while, with my wife asking them questions from her agnostic point of view and them telling her she was wrong and would go to hell if she didn't change her beliefs to follow everything that the "Watchtower" told her to believe.
A few minutes of this went by, the discussion deteriorating into a full blown philosophical argument, Finally, probably out of desperation the male of the pair, red faced and frustrated shouted at her "You are a Heathen, and I damn you to hell!" (keep in mind they are in MY living room). My wife stood up, "You need to get the FUCK out of my house or I will cut you damn dick off asshole!" (She was NOT amused). The male again started in with the arguing and cajoling with her, mind you he didn't even attempt to apologize for his outburst, the female sat there next to him, looking like she wished she could crawl under the couch and escape. My wife stood up and walked to the kitchen, as she entered the kitchen, she shouted back to the "Missionaries" "You are gone when I come back in there, if not I WILL stab your asses!"
All she heard was the door slamming.
When I got home, she was still upset.
Folks, this is EXACTLY the right way to recruit new members to your Religion/Cult/Club/Business Right? I mean hell, if it were me and I were approached that way, I would DEFINITELY sign right up!
Have any of you had experiences like this with "J.W's"? Are they all this thick and dim witted?
I know Mormon Missionaries can be aggressive, but I have NEVER heard of any of them misbehaving like this....
How would you feel?
I think it's a powerful argument for why Atheism is SOOOO much better for your mind.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Taking the Bible Literally
This isn't my own writing obviously. It's been on the internet for YEARS (since at least 2006) it does raise some valid if not absolutely funny points.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Dear Dr. Laura,
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God’s Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.
I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to best follow them.
a) When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
b) I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
c) I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
d) Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can’t I own Canadians?
e) I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
f) A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an Abomination (Lev 11:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don’t agree. Can you settle this?
g) Lev 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
h) Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27. How should they die?
i) I know from Lev 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
j) My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev 24:10-16) Couldn’t we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help.
Thank you again for reminding us that God’s word is eternal and unchanging.
Your devoted disciple and adoring fan.
And to keep the fun going a funny picture you might enjoy....
Peace..EO
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Dear Dr. Laura,
Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God’s Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate.
I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the specific laws and how to best follow them.
a) When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?
b) I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?
c) I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.
d) Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can’t I own Canadians?
e) I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?
f) A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an Abomination (Lev 11:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don’t agree. Can you settle this?
g) Lev 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?
h) Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27. How should they die?
i) I know from Lev 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?
j) My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev 24:10-16) Couldn’t we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)
I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help.
Thank you again for reminding us that God’s word is eternal and unchanging.
Your devoted disciple and adoring fan.
And to keep the fun going a funny picture you might enjoy....
Peace..EO
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
If I were a religious man......
Yes, that's right, I am going to poke fun at religion, belief etc. If you think I'm wrong or a blasphemer, feel free to tell me. Matter of fact, I won't censor your posts (Like MORMON sites and many Christian pages do) Say your piece, you have that right here. Nobody gets censored save for pornography. Although it has it's place and I have been known to be a fan of it from time to time, it's place is not here.
So, without further adieu here we go......
Sadly it's not.....
Church/Religious belief actually looks like this:
Tell you what, if you look closely you can see that EVEN TRUE BELIEVERS, DON'T BELIEVE AND ARE ONLY GOOD WHEN SOMEONE IS WATCHING. Check out the pic, it's the perfect example of what I mean.
I remember a time I went to an "Adult Bookstore" to buy some "Adult Magazines", Yes I do occasionally check em out. (My wife bought me a subscription to Playboy). While I was in there perusing the different magazines for sale, I saw a familiar face --- MY BISHOP!! When I said hello, he did the "Whaaaaa!!!! Ummm hello brother..... I was just seeing what was so tempting about this for my talk on Sunday." -- Sure he was, that's why he was playing "pocket pool" and holding the magazine with one hand? Because he was doing research??? I don't think so...
The apologist would say that this van is in the parking lot to hand out brochures and to beg sinners to stop sinning. Maybe they are there witnessing? NO, they are jerking off in the peep-show and causing the scum bucket guy to do some work.
Let's get real.
Peace...
Monday, March 22, 2010
More Funny Thoughts
Jack Handy Quotes:
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.
If you ever crawl inside an old hollow log and go to sleep, and while you're in there some guys come and seal up both ends and then put it on a truck and take it to another city, boy, I don't know what to tell you
We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can't scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me.
It takes a big man to cry, but it takes a bigger man to laugh at that man.
If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is "Probably because of something you did."
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don't know what your rights are, or who the person is you're talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.
If I ever get rich, I hope I'm not real mean to poor people, like I am now.
I hope that after I die, people will say of me: 'That guy sure owed me a lot of money.'
"There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable."
Mark Twain.
"I admire the Pope. I have a lot of respect for anyone who can tour without an album."
Rita Rudner.
"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, "There's just something about you that pisses me off."
Stephen King.
"In the begining there was nothing and God said 'Let there be light', and there was still nothing but everybody could see it."
Dave Thomas.
"If there is no Hell, a good many preachers are obtaining money under false pretences."
William Sunday.
"Hearing nuns' confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn."
Fulton Sheen.
"Bisexuality doubles your chances of a date on a Saturday night."
Woody Allen
"I chased a girl for two years only to discover that her tastes were exactly like mine: We were both crazy about girls."
Groucho Marx
I believe in making the world safe for our children, but not our children's children, because I don't think children should be having sex.
If you ever crawl inside an old hollow log and go to sleep, and while you're in there some guys come and seal up both ends and then put it on a truck and take it to another city, boy, I don't know what to tell you
We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can't scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me.
It takes a big man to cry, but it takes a bigger man to laugh at that man.
If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is "Probably because of something you did."
Sometimes I think you have to march right in and demand your rights, even if you don't know what your rights are, or who the person is you're talking to. Then, on the way out, slam the door.
If I ever get rich, I hope I'm not real mean to poor people, like I am now.
I hope that after I die, people will say of me: 'That guy sure owed me a lot of money.'
"There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable."
Mark Twain.
"I admire the Pope. I have a lot of respect for anyone who can tour without an album."
Rita Rudner.
"When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, "There's just something about you that pisses me off."
Stephen King.
"In the begining there was nothing and God said 'Let there be light', and there was still nothing but everybody could see it."
Dave Thomas.
"If there is no Hell, a good many preachers are obtaining money under false pretences."
William Sunday.
"Hearing nuns' confessions is like being stoned to death with popcorn."
Fulton Sheen.
"Bisexuality doubles your chances of a date on a Saturday night."
Woody Allen
"I chased a girl for two years only to discover that her tastes were exactly like mine: We were both crazy about girls."
Groucho Marx
Thursday, March 18, 2010
The "Coffee Shop" (working title)
I thought I would share the first installment/chapter in my pet project. What do you think?
As usual, the coffee shop was teeming with customers. It always seemed to be that way after “bar rush”, the time before last call at the bars and prior to the drunks going home to sleep off their night of drinking. Most of the burnt umber vinyl booths were already full with rowdy drunks, eating plates of French fries and drinking gallons of overdone coffee. The only booth that wasn’t filled was number one. This booth sat directly next to the managers office and across from the walled off station where the wait staff prepared shakes, pies, and other desserts for the customers. There were two sections in the restaurant, “smoking” and “non”. On a bar night, you couldn’t tell the difference as the number of smokers smoking created a cloud of smoke that filled the entire building with the acrid smell of used ashtrays and bad coffee.
About twelve a.m. the “regulars” that have the unofficial reservation for the first booth in smoking right next to the managers office will be showing up soon.
“I hate those guys” whined Shelly, her shrill voice would kill small children if it were released in public. As the lead waitress, and resident speed freak she was not happy to have customers that demanded a bit of attention. Her preference would be that they sit down, shut up and leave as quickly as they came in, of course they should also leave a large tip. Shelly shook her head at the night manager Philip, her stringy brown hair creating a dirty wave around her face.
“I’m going on break before they get here.”
“Ok, just be ready to pick up your orders when you get back in here.” Philip, a diminutive chubby Hispanic, who, no matter the situation, always smiled and never had a harsh word for anyone shouted to her as Shelly walked out into the parking lot for her break.
“Yea, Yea I know.” Shelly muttered between clenched teeth holding her cigarette. Her cigarette wasn’t your typical Marlboro or Camel, this was her “special” cigarette. It was loaded with 2 rocks of crystal methamphetamine shoved into the end. When Shelly was secluded in a dark corner of the parking lot, she lit her cigarette and inhaled the first hit of speed. The effect was immediate, her pulse jumped up, everything around her seemed to slow down, even the cars passing on busy State Street seemed to be moving at five miles per hour, not the normal forty-five that the street signs called for. The air was cool on her skin, the perspiration of working in the coffee shop was evaporating off of her, cooling her. Shelly took another deep drag on her smoke, the smoke filled her lungs like a warm fog.
“I don’t want to go back in there” she muttered to herself, the tiresome work of being a waitress was not what she wanted for herself. Another deep drag on her cigarette.
As she exhaled the smoke, watching it billow out of her mouth and into the night air, she thought back to why she moved to Salt Lake City in the first place; she wanted to be an attorney. Her dream was to get into law school at the University of Utah and become an attorney. She knew that if she stayed at home in Idaho, she would always be the daughter of a diesel mechanic and work in her fathers truck wash in Pocatello for the rest of her life. So, move to Utah she did. She applied to the School of Law and was turned down for admittance. Her grades in high school were not good enough to get her into Law School and she hadn’t yet completed her prerequisite courses.
She then enrolled in school at Salt Lake Community College and started work on her Associates Degree, this didn’t last long, she began using speed as a way to study late at night. This turned into a daily habit that eventually forced her to quit school and look for work to support her habit. Since she had no real skills to speak of, she began working as an escort.
Contrary to popular belief, escorts do NOT simply go to dinner with rich men and dress in cocktail gowns and sip champagne with high society. Escorts work as “legal” prostitutes. For a few months Shelly spent time stripping and sucking the cocks of fat, bald, sweaty Johns for eighty dollars an hour, plus tip. Once this got old and after being arrested and dealing with a solicitation charge, Shelly had decided to go straight and get a job where she wasn’t being paid to take off her clothes and perform demeaning sex acts on strange men. This is when she began working at the coffee shop. It wasn’t the fifteen hundred dollars a week she was used to making; it was at least respectable work though.
“Damn, breaks over..” Shelly muttered as she took the last drag on her cigarette and began grudgingly walking back into the coffee shop. About half way through the parking lot, Shelly heard the deep throaty rumbling of multiple motorcycles pulling into the parking lot, accompanied by the banter of guys chatting as they pulled in.
“Shit, they’re here. There goes my night.” she really disliked those guys. They always showed up about this time every damn night and stayed till the coffee shop closed. All they ever drank was coffee, and sometimes, just sometimes, they would eat something. If they tipped, it was something south of five bucks. The worst part was that Philip would “comp” their drinks and food, meaning that they NEVER paid for anything. Philip said this was because they were “unofficial security” for the late night hours of the coffee shop. Really, Shelly thought is was because they were bums and never wanted to pay for anything they didn’t have to.
“Hey Shelly, how’s it going?” one of the guys shouted as he got off his motorcycle. That would be Pete. This guy always wore a black leather motorcycle jacket (the kind of jacket that you would see in old fifties biker movies) along with black leather chaps, black jeans, and a plaid patterned button down shift. His jet black hair cut into a mullet that reached the middle of his back. Pete sauntered over towards Shelly, his body moving side to side, similar to the way a cowboy who had been busting horses all day would walk.
“Gimme a hug!” Pete shouted as he moved toward her, his grin widening on his face as he approached her, his heavy work boots clomping on the ground.
“Ugh, not again” thought Shelly. This guy always wants to hug. She could taste the vomit rising in her throat.
“How you been, sweetie?” Pete asked as he approached her, all grins.
As he approached her, she could clearly see his unshaven, patchy beard and goatee. As his smile widened she could also see the multiple missing teeth and the ugly brown stains of tooth decay working their way through his remaining teeth.
“He would be attractive, if he had all his teeth and would shave once in a while,” she thought to herself. “Well, that and if he had a job.”
Pete hadn’t held down a job in over two years, he claimed it was because he was clinically depressed, which he used to “pick up women” on a regular basis, believing that women were attracted to dark, somber guys that never said much. This was in stark contrast to the behavior he was showing now, all toothless smiles and hugs.
“Been good Pete, how are you?” she replied. She really didn’t care. It was just the reaction to the question posed.
“I missed you. Had to come see you.” This was Pete’s attempt at flirting with Shelly.
“You were here last night, the night before and every other night for the last month, dude, so how did you miss me?” The sarcasm wasn’t obvious to Pete as he kept smiling, opened his arms, and stepped in to hug Shelly.
“Still missed ya, sexy.”
As Pete hugged Shelly, she could smell the combination of beer, bad aftershave and stale cigarettes. Not exactly a sexy mixture. The hug to Shelly, seemed to last far too long for her taste. Pete wrapped his arms around her and pushed his crotch against her, Shelly pulled back away from Pete.
“Gotta go back to work, Pete. See you inside, ok?”
Shelly quickly untangled herself from Pete and briskly walked back into the coffee shop, leaving Pete watching her walk away.
“Ok, babe.”
“Whatever,” Shelly whispered as she hurried back into the confines of the coffee shop. His neediness was obvious.
Pete watched her as she walked into the restaurant, thoughts of her naked on top of him running through his mind. He turned back to his friend who was just dismounting from his motorcycle, an older blue Yamaha 650 with a tall “bitch seat” on the back.
“I will get in her pants one day bro.”
“SURE you will, you know she doesn’t like you right?” laughed Byron.
Byron shook his long shoulder length brown hair out of his eyes, straightened his black leather jacket, pulled the black leather gloves off his hands and began walking towards the entrance to the coffee shop. His broad frame lumbering bear-like as he moved.
“No, dude she does. She just doesn’t know it yet,” Pete said confidently.
“Riiight, that’s why she looks at you like someone just pooed on the floor in front of her?” Byron stopped, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, removing a pack of cigarettes and his Zippo, he lit a cigarette, inhaled and smiled at Pete.
“She doesn’t dude, that’s fucked up bro.” Pete was not amused by this observation. Pausing, Pete pulled a smoke and his lighter out of his jacket and lit up as well. Byron reached over, patted Pete on the shoulder.
“Whatever man, let’s go get some coffee and relax.” Byron knew what the deal was between Shelly and Pete. He wanted her, and she wanted him to never talk to her again. It was like watching a puppy try to play with a cat that just wasn’t interested. Pete was going to eventually get his nose scratched.
Together they walked into the coffee shop. It was a bustling hive of activity. There were waitresses moving back and forth between tables pouring coffee and bringing sodas and fries to the various tables and booths scattered throughout the smoke filled restaurant.
“Look, the tables open bro,” smiled Pete behind his lit cigarette.
“Cool, I gotta hit the bathroom, be right there. Get me some coffee will ya?” Byron asked as he walked through the non-smoking section with his cigarette burning on his way to the restroom. Smoke trailed behind him as he moved to the restroom.
“oy, yoy yoy, you know you aren’t supposed to do that Byron!” Philip the night manager told Byron as he passed him.
“My bad, flipper.” Byron didn’t really care, after all this was HIS place and Philip wouldn’t do anything about it anyway, well besides “comp” his coffee and probably his dinner if he ordered one tonight.
The beer in Byron’s bladder drained from him into the urinal in a solid stream. It felt good to return the “rented beer”. After about 45 seconds, Byron shook the remaining drops from his penis and zipped back up. After washing his hands and checking his hair in the mirror, he left the restroom. On his way to the table where Pete was waiting Byron stopped. Bent over picking up some dropped silverware was Nikki, a little redheaded waitress with a butt you could bounce quarters off of. Nikki saw Byron watching her, looked up un-amused.
“Like the view?” Nikki asked sardonically.
“Of course.” Byron smiled, she had a nice low cut shirt on, and he could just about see her dime sized nipples poking through her flimsy lace bra.
“I bet you do.” Nikki went back to picking up the silverware, trying hard to ignore Byron’s attention.
“Yeah, have fun.” Byron walked past Nikki, nodded to Pete, waved to some other acquaintances sitting at their tables and booths and sat down across from Pete in their booth.
“You know she hates that bro?” laughed Pete as he stubbed out his cigarette and took a long swallow from his coffee cup.
“Uh, huh. That’s why I do it. It’s more fun that way.” Byron poured himself a cup of coffee.
“How’s the coffee?” Byron asked as he surveyed the restaurant.
“Shitty as always.” Pete smiled. The coffee was always crap here, but they didn’t come for the coffee. They came because that was what they did, and the coffee was free as long as they helped Philip control the “riffraff” that sometimes came into the coffee shop.
Byron stubbed out his cigarette, smiled and swallowed some of his coffee. It was bitter and tasted burnt. “Yup, it sucks as usual.”
“You guys gonna have anything other than coffee?” Shelly really didn’t care, she just had to ask. Her disdain was obvious.
“What kind of pie you got?” Pete asked.
“Apple, Cherry, Peanut Butter Cup, and Lemon Meringue.”
“So, is the Cherry good?” Pete winked as he asked, leering at Shelly’s ample chest.
“If you mean the pie, yes. If you are referring to something else, you will never know will you?” She was not amused by this attempt at being dirty.
“How bout some cheese fries?” Byron was hungry, but not for real food; just something to munch on.
“Anything else, or just the coffee and fries?”
“That’s it for me, Shelly,” Byron nodded to Pete.
“Just coffee for me.” As usual, all Pete could afford if Philip didn’t comp him was coffee.
“Uh, huh” Shelly turned and walked from the table, went back to the kitchen.
“Cheese fries for Byron,” the cook looked up at her.
“What no ticket?” The cook was new and he didn’t know that there was NEVER a ticket for fries.
“I wish.” Shelly was more than a bit irritated with the whole thing. If she had her way, they would never come into the restaurant again. For some reason Philip just insisted that, that was what happened.
“Ok, one cheese fry”
Shelly walked away from the window shaking her head and wondering just why she kept working here, tolerating all the stupidity that the coffee shop had to offer left her jaded.
Byron scanned the coffee shop from behind the mug of stale coffee. From his vantage point, he could see just about every table in the restaurant. In the booth next to his, a young couple were talking, the guy trying really hard to be interesting and funny while the girl toyed with her slice of apple pie alamode. Across the room sat a lonely looking elderly man that seemed to be staring off into space, almost as if he were waiting for a visit from the Grim Reaper to take his pain away. Scattered throughout the dining room were drunks, scantily dressed club girls, and various other folks just trying to eat their late dinners.
Pete lit another cigarette, inhaled and stared at the ceiling. “I really need to get laid. This dry spell is killing me.”
Turning his gaze away from the activity of the dining room, Bryon stared at Pete, swallowed more stale coffee and shrugged.
Pete, annoyed with the lack of response stared. “Well, you have nothing to say?”
Bored with the thought of dealing with Pete’s lack of a sex life, Byron leaned forward whispering to keep their conversation in the booth.
“Get a hooker, bud, if you really want to get laid. Just fucking do it already.”
“I want a relationship, B. I don’t just want to get it wet. Ya know?” Pete was a love freak. Every time he got laid he thought he was engaged to be married.
“You just told me you wanted to get laid!” Bryon was laughing, this guy was just too much.
“I want a girlfriend, sex and everything.” Pete always looked so melancholy when he started talking about relationships.
“And you think you will find that here, in a coffee shop?”
“I don’t know, I hope so.” Loneliness is such a depressing thing to watch.
“Rather than looking in bars and coffee shops, try grocery stores or the park. You will probably do better there man. Also it wouldn’t kill you to get a job.” It was a bit of a dig, but it needed to be said though.
“Whatever.”
Pete really didn’t want to hear that. He honestly believed that he was so depressed that it was a handicap and he could get disability and never have to work. Of course, inherent laziness never qualified anyone for disability income.
“What do you want to do later? I really don’t want to hang out here till 5a.m. again.” Watching Pete pine for Shelly was getting old.
“I don’t have any cash.” Of course he didn’t. He never did. The only time he ever had any money at all was after he donated plasma at the blood bank. Then the twenty or so dollars he got went into the gas tank of his motorcycle and a couple packs of discount cigarettes.
“How do you expect to get anything other than old hags at the bar without a job?” Pete just didn’t get it, you need to have some kind of money or at least be a decent prospect if you wanted to get with anything other than horribly ugly and or disfigured women that live in poorly lit bars. Being jobless, toothless and chronically depressed was never going to get him anywhere.
Byron lit up another cigarette, inhaled deeply and looked out the large glass window next to the booth, watching the late night traffic cruising up and down State Street. Across the street from the coffee shop, he could see a pair of street walkers offering their services to passing cars. Occasionally, a car would stop, one of the girls would lean in the window her short skirt riding up, giving an open view of her panty free crotch blanketed in dark hair. Her thick thighs wrapped in thigh high lacey stockings completed the view. She wasn’t terrible looking, but obviously a prostitute. Even if she dressed up, her body language would have given her away for what she was.
“Hey, Pete I see your future wife across the street!” Byron pointed out the window at the prostitutes across the street. Now maybe this would be fun he thought, to have a little fun at Pete‘s expense. That will make the night go by faster. Well, at least make it entertaining.
“Not funny.” Pete stared into his coffee cup. He hadn’t even bothered to look up or out the window. He turned the mug back and forth in his hands staring at the steam coming off the coffee, the cigarette between his fingers burning into a long cylindrical ash.
“Great, Dane’s here. Hide your smokes Pete.” Bounding into the restaurant was Dane Ogden, a rather rotund redhead. Usually, Dane’s company was welcomed even if he were more than a little annoying and had a tendency to be embarrassing from time to time. Every time Dane came around, he reminded Byron of an overexcited puppy dog, doing ‘shake’ for a doggy treat. Dane meant well, he just never seemed to get it to work out that way.
“Hey guys! Can I bum a smoke?” Now, Dane worked. As a matter of fact, he had two packs of unopened cigarettes in his jacket. He just didn’t see any problem in smoking everyone else’s cigarettes if he could get away with it.
“Jesus, Dane, you have smokes don’t you?” Annoyed by this, Byron wasn’t about to give up on forcing Dane to admit he had his own cigarettes.
“Well, I do. They just need to last till I get paid again.” The cheap ass son of a bitch was playing the ‘gotta last’ card. Not a new tactic, just a bullshit one.
“And mine don’t? Smoke your own, bud. I don’t have any to spare either.” Byron picked up his smokes and put them back in his jacket. After all, if you leave them on the table, they are free game.
“Fine.” Dane reached into his jacket and grabbed his cigarettes, pulling the cellophane wrapper off the pack he opened it up and slid out a cigarette.
“Move over.” this was said mid-motion as Dane’s large posterior slid in next to Pete.
“Whoah, you could have waited till I put down my damn coffee!” Pete was now wearing some of his coffee. Byron laughed loudly enough that the rest of the people in the restaurant could hear.
“Now that is funny!”
“Move fat ass, now I have to go clean up! Jesus, dude!” Pete slid across the vinyl seat of the booth, his now wet leather jacket making sucking noises as he moved.
“Relax, it’s only coffee. It’s not like I dumped a whole pot on you.” Dane was never good at just apologizing and letting things end. Dane flopped down into the booth.
“Oh, waitress, coffee me!” Dane waved his chubby hand at a passing waitress. The waitress stared at Dane, her face contorting into a ‘I just smelled pooh’ face and turned to the kitchen.
The restaurant was completely full now, people were moving from table to table passing out hugs as if they were anti war flyers in 1970. Everywhere Byron looked he could see smiles, drunken kisses, spilling drinks and harried waitresses running between tables doing their best to keep up with the constant ‘over here’ and ‘I need this or that’ requests from the customers. There was a near mob in the lobby of the restaurant all waiting to be seated, people were pacing, chatting and staring at the customers already seated at their scattered tables and booths.
Shifting in his seat, Byron picked up his coffee mug, sipped the now warm coffee, grimaced at the taste, and put the mug back on the table. The thought of spending the entire night in the coffee shop really did not appeal to him, but with friends with no job and no life what else was there?
“There has to be something besides sitting here we can do.” The monotony of always sitting at the coffee shop was getting to Byron.
“We could go to Sociables, except I don’t have any extra money.” Dane was suggesting the strip club that was a block and half away from the coffee shop. The strippers there were not exactly attractive, although with their over-inflated chest balloons they were something to watch, and the beer there was cheap if you bought it by the pitcher. Dane, just like Pete, never had any money to buy beer or tip strippers. Actually, a more accurate statement was this: Dane had the money, he would just rather mooch off his friends than spend any of his ‘hard earned money’.
“Fuck it, let’s go. I’m bored and want to do something other than spend another night sitting here staring at drunks and drinking this battery acid that they pass off as coffee.” Even though Byron would have to spring for the beer at Sociables, he would at least be doing something different tonight. Also, if he worked it right he could get one of his friends to maybe, just maybe, spring for a couple games of 8-ball on one of the bars fifty cent a game billiard tables.
“Soon as Pete gets back dude, we are going.” What was keeping Pete in the restroom anyway? All he had to do was clean up some coffee. It wasn’t like he had to wash his clothes in the laundry or something.
Pete, standing in front of the mirror in the men’s room stared at his reflection. The mirror was dirty and covered in water spots. The staff at the coffee shop didn’t exactly do a great job of cleaning the restrooms even with the ‘we pride ourselves in our cleanliness’ sign hanging on the door. The coffee stains on his shirt and jeans would be obvious for the rest of the night.
“Stupid fucker, never pays attention to anything.” Pete wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just himself in the mirror. Pete tugged on the bottom front of his now damp and coffee stained shirt. His jacket and jeans also would smell of coffee for the rest of the night. If Pete wasn’t such a wimp, he would have walked out of the restroom, marched up to the booth and kicked Dane’s teeth to the back of his throat. Instead, he just sighed, thought about how ruined his night already was and turned to leave the restroom. Pausing to take one last look in the mirror, Pete ran his left hand through his feathered hair, pulled out his comb and brushed the tangles out of his mullet.
“Damnit,” just a sigh as Pete turned to grasp the large steel door handle and pull the door open.
Pete walked out of the restroom, turned towards the dining area and, rather than walking past all the non-smokers he had just recently offended, opted to take the short-cut through the kitchen area back to the booth where Byron and Dane were talking.
“Hey! You aren’t supposed to walk through here!” Nikki shouted from the salad station.
Pete ignored her and kept walking through. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything to stop him other than go whine at Philip, and everyone knew that Philip would never do anything to stop him or any of his friends from doing what they wanted. After all, they were all ’unofficial security’ at night for the coffee shop.
“You are such a dick-head.” Nikki liked Pete and his friends about as much as she enjoyed her annual exam with her gynecologist. She turned back to the salad station and continued dropping pre-made salads into the small glass bowls in front of her. The wilted lettuce and spongy carrot shavings would soon be covered in the dressing of choice for the people ordering them. Nikki drenched the five bowls of salad in dressing, placed them on the tray, and turned to walk out of the kitchen area.
“Tray out!” Nikki walked around the corner, tray held in one hand above her right shoulder, grabbed a tray stand and moved towards her table.
As Pete approached the booth, Byron and Dane were smoking and chatting.
“Hey, move you’re in my spot.” This was Pete’s attempt at being a tough guy. He was going to bully Dane into moving so he could sit by the window. Dane turned his bulbous head toward Pete, shrugged and slid toward the end of the booth.
“Sit down.” Dane was seated next to the window now. Pete stood there for a brief second, torn. He wanted to sit by the window, but he just didn’t have the balls to force the issue with Dane. Rather than push the issue, Pete slid in the booth next to Dane.
“Gimme my cup.” Dane slid the mug over to Pete, the small amount of cold coffee in the cup sloshed around at the bottom. Pete reached to the middle of the table, picked up the plastic coffee urn and poured some into his mug. After adding four packets of sugar and stirring loudly with the dirty spoon in front of him, he lifted the mug and swallowed.
“This stuff is horrible.” Pete mumbled placing the mug back on the table.
“So, what’s the plan? We just hanging out here tonight?” All Pete wanted to do was drink coffee and fantasize about ‘making love’ to Shelly. Pete never just thought about having sex, he thought if you were going to go to the trouble of taking off your clothes and touching boobies and sticking your penis in a vagina, you should be making sweet love to her. Like all other males in their mid-twenties, what he considered ‘making love’ was in reality just clumsy fumbling and three minutes of ecstasy followed by the embarrassing moment when you realize you have to pull the condom off your penis and have no place to put it. This usually is the case since he didn’t have his own place to go with women and he usually wound up having to ‘make love’ in the back seat of a car or behind some bushes in a nearby park.
“Let’s go to Sociables. We can get a beer and watch some titties.” Byron was already going with or without Pete. This was just a formality. Invite Pete, let him know that you were going, he would more than likely go. If he didn’t it was nobody’s loss but his own. At least if they went to the strip club he would have some new mental material for his nightly masturbation.
Pete gulped down the last of his coffee, banging the mug loudly on the table.
“Why not? Let’s go see some boobies!” his toothless grin was large on his face, if it were Halloween, he would have made an excellent Jack-O-Lantern. Sliding out of the booth he shrugged his jacket on his shoulders, stood up and walked toward Shelly.
“Hey, I’m leaving.” Pete opened his arms as he approached Shelly. He was moving in for the ‘good-bye hug’. His look of expectation was enough to turn Shelly’s stomach. Shelly tried to turn away and ignore Pete. Maybe if she appeared busy, he would go away and not want the hug. Not a chance. She would have to hug him to get him to leave her alone.
“Leaving already? What’s the occasion?” her animosity was obvious to everyone within earshot, except to Pete. Inside her head a brass band began playing every happy celebration song she had ever heard. This was great! Those losers were leaving, they were only in the coffee shop for just under an hour, must be some kind of record. She was curious though, what would draw them away from the coffee shop? There wasn’t a Metallica concert or anything tonight, all their other biker buddies hadn’t shown up, and none of them had looked at their pagers and used the desk phone.
“Why are you leaving so soon?” She knew she was going to regret this question, it would be just her luck that Pete and friends would decide to stay and not leave.
Embarrassed, Pete didn’t want to give her the answer. He was still wanting to make her his girlfriend, and firmly believed that if she knew he were going to Sociables, she would be disappointed. He stood there and, if he were a deer, he would have been creamed by the SUV bearing down on him.
“Uh…um..” He was just stalling now.
“Pete, you going to hug her or stare at her, let’s go!” Byron shouted at him from the entrance to the dining room.
“We got strippers to tip!!” Dane always with a lack of decorum announced to everyone within earshot. Shelly laughed.
“Strippers? Is that what it takes to get you to leave early?” Amused, she reached out and hugged Pete.
“Have fun, enjoy the show.” Pete embarrassed hugged Shelly, squeezing her tightly so he could feel her ample breasts push into his chest. This caused a slight erection, noticeable if you were looking closely at his skin tight Wranglers. Shelly noticed and giggled.
“It was Byron’s idea, not mine.” He was still trying to salvage his perceived embarrassment. He didn’t need to be, Shelly really could have cared less about what Pete did for fun, and if he were going to Sociables, he wouldn’t be in the coffee shop, and that meant she could have a night of peace, as peaceful as it would be in the coffee shop after the clubs closed.
“You need to pay for your coffee!” Nikki charged toward the doors nearly bowling over an elderly couple walking to the counter to pay for their meal. She was determined that they wouldn’t be getting out of their bill again.
Philip, standing behind the counter at the register, turned to Nikki.
“Nikki, you know I comp their coffees. Why do you always do this every night?” It was easier to comp some coffees and maybe some pie or an appetizer than have to deal with broken dishes and police reports should a fight happen to break out.
“They are mooches, Philip, they don’t do anything except hit on the bar sluts, and ogle us. They should be kicked out, not given free stuff!” Nikki was right for the most part, Byron, Dane and Pete rarely if ever actually DID anything. Most of the time if the three of them just walked up to the booth where the rowdy people were, and asked politely for them to behave they usually did. Philip just liked having them there, so he would continue to comp their orders.
“Oy, oy, oy, Nikki just go back to work. I will deal with this.” He really didn’t do well with confrontation and would rather she just left it alone. Philip waved to Byron and friends.
“Have fun, see you later?” He knew they would be back, just had to ask every time. After all, he did just comp their coffees, he should be getting some security out of it tonight.
“Yeah, we will be back in a couple hours. Keep our booth warm bud.” Byron waved over his shoulder as he walked out the door into the warm night air. It would be nice to hit the bar, have a beer, and watch some strippers for a while.
Byron, Pete, and Dane began walking the short distance from the coffee shop to Sociables, on the dark street the two prostitutes Byron and Pete saw earlier were still plying their wares. If all the street lights worked, they would have been able to clearly see the red track marks on the insides of their thighs. Instead, all they could see is skinny prostitutes looking for their next customer, desperate for their next fix, and willing to do just about anything to get it.
“Check her out, nice legs!” Dane was almost drooling. If the prostitute had been a bell, Pavlov would have been impressed with the reaction.
“Dude, that’s a hooker, you know that right?” Not surprised by Danes reaction, Byron just didn’t think he knew the difference between a street walker and an available girl out for a good time. He was after all a thirty-two year old virgin. Everyone knew this about Dane, and there were numerous theories as to why he was still a virgin. Dane said it was because he respected women too much to have sex with a woman outside of marriage, or at least a serious relationship, and that was the kicker. Dane refused to get into a relationship, because he was terrified that he would hurt her feelings and then she would hate him. Being a people pleaser left him lonely and with a very satisfied right hand. Byron believed that the reason he was a virgin was simply this: he was a social pariah, he didn’t have the decorum of a cockroach in a bathtub and was always saying the wrong thing and the wrong time. Well that, and the fact that he looked like a balding, red-headed Pillsbury Doughboy with a perspiration problem.
“They aren’t hookers, hookers don’t work this far south.” This was a surprising statement coming from Dane.
“Like you would know.” Jumping into the conversation, Pete had to get at least a jab in even if wasn’t all that creative.
“Dane, is there something you would like to tell us?” Byron tapped his index finger on his goateed chin, trying to do his best ‘I’m a shrink’ impression.
Dane stopped, placed his hands on his hips and thrust out his man boobs. “No, everyone knows hookers only work down on North Temple.” He was sure of this, or at least he wanted Pete and Byron to think he was. Being the know it all he was, he couldn’t possibly be wrong, and even if he were he would NEVER let them know or admit that he could be. “Well, North Temple and Second South.” He was confident now that they wouldn’t be able to ‘call him on it’. It was common knowledge, hookers all worked down there, that is Salt Lake’s ‘unofficial’ Red-Light District. He had never had the balls to go get himself some from a prostitute, although on numerous occasions all his friends had offered to put together a ‘Get Dane Laid’ collection so he could get a hooker. Pete always extolled the virtues of ‘getting some’ and Byron never let a day go by that he didn’t ask Dane if he could get him a hooker, Byron insisted that getting laid would relieve all that tension and he wouldn’t be so worried about hurting some poor girls feelings, and he could find a girl to hang with. That, and Pete said most women didn’t want to ‘train’ a thirty-two year old man how to ‘do it’.
Byron put his hands on Dane’s shoulders, leaned in close to his face whispering in a conspiratorial tone. “Dude they ARE hookers, and Pete and I will pay if you want to get some. Hell, we’ll pay for you to have both of em’ bro.” Moving one hand from Dane’s shoulder, Byron reached down and grabbed Danes butt. “You aren’t gay are you, you do like girls right?” needling Dane always made Byron’s night, and this was going to be NO exception.
“I don’t want a hooker, and I’m NOT GAY!” Dane was shouting by the time he finished the sentence, his voice echoed off the sides of the buildings, causing the prostitutes to pause and turn towards the three friends. In a slow flood, the blood rushed to his face the bald top of his head turning crimson in the yellow street lights.
One of the prostitutes, a thin Hispanic girl with thick black hair and smallish breasts turned toward the three friends. Walking to them, her hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, the metronome of the streets. She reached one thin hand up into her hair, pulling the long dark locks away from her narrow face. “Hey, you boys looking for a party, or just window shopping?” her heavy Spanish accent made her sound sultry and wanton at the same time. She stood there, placed her hands on her narrow hips just above the hot pink thong peeking above her leopard print mini-skirt. Her low cut halter top showed just enough of her cleavage to make a potential customer curious.
Dane stood there staring, his mouth agape and eyes bulging from their sockets. “Umm. I. Umm. Well..” he stammered. Byron stepped back, folded his arms across his chest, looked up at the streetlight above his head laughing. It wasn’t the kind of laugh you hear when a comedian is performing a hilarious routine. It was more the laugh of an evil genius seeing his plot come to fruition. Pete put his hands into his jacket pockets and stared at the ground in front of him as if he expected the ground to open up and some great revelation to occur.
The tension was visible. Nervous twitches and coughs came from both Dane and Pete, neither of them were willing to say anything to the prostitute in front of them and they didn’t dare look at her either. Instead, they both just alternately stared at the concrete and the traffic passing on State Street.
After more than a minute of tense silence, the prostitute began tapping her booted foot impatiently on the concrete, she was becoming obviously irritated. “So you guys gonna get with this or not?” she moved her hands up and down her body in a wavy motion as she said this. It was her attempt at being alluring. It came off as dirty, and unattractive. “Well, who wants his dick sucked?”
Curiosity was getting the better part of Byron now, he wanted to see how far he could push this situation before somebody went over the edge. “How much…for a whole deal, not just a B.J. but for everything?” Byron didn’t want anything from her. He had other plans. If she were cheap enough, Byron was going to buy either Pete or Dane a hooker and then give them grief about it for weeks to come.
It was amazing; her demeanor suddenly changed. No longer aggressive and annoyed, the prostitute became a salesperson. “Baby, it’s $10 for a B.J., $20 for a B.J. and straight up sex, and if you want my backdoor, you have to give me $20 more.” It was like hearing a waitress read off the daily specials at the local greasy spoon, very dry and businesslike. “Oh, and if all three of you want a go, it will cost you an extra $20 each.” She was all business, there was no coyness or shyness with her, just money.
Enjoying this conversation, Byron pushed on. “How much then for these two with backdoor and they get to come more than once?” Pete and Dane shocked, turned and glared at Byron. Their fear and embarrassment were obvious and hilarious as far as Byron was concerned, he was going to have some fun, even if it cost him some money.
Her eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas, “Umm. For both of them and backdoor and more than once. Hmmm. I’ll do it for $40 each.” Smiling, the prostitute thought she had just made an ‘easy’ $80.00. Her mind racing, she began calculating how quickly she would be able to get these two guys off and get to her dealers house to get her Heroine. She was feeling it, she knew she would need a fix soon. “Who’s first, my place is across the street.” She was pointing to the Temple Motel. It was a rat trap of a motel dilapidated roofs, dirty windows and doors, and the smell of sweat. The kind of place a crack-whore would work out of.
One more request, Byron was ready to see what she would say to this last request. “Wait, they both want to do you at the same time. They really like to see each other’s faces when they shoot.” This was evil he knew. Pete and Dane were both so homophobic that they refused to sit next to each other in a crowded movie theater. There was no way they would both get naked and screw a hooker in the same room at the same time.
The prostitute stepped back two steps from where she had been standing, put her hands up in front of her as if to ward off demons. Her eyes were the size of Frisbees. The shock of this statement had taken her by complete surprise. “No, no, I don’t do that. You two are some sick fucks!” she turned and ran across the street, nearly being run over by a large white pickup truck. The truck swerved, honking, tires squealing on the pavement. When she reached the other side of the street, she ran up to a large black man standing next to the motel with his arms folded across his chest. He was a giant of a man, nearly six foot four and not a pound under three-hundred and muscular as hell. She began waving her arms as if directing aircraft on an aircraft carrier.
The black giant of a man pointed across the street, the hooker nodded emphatically. “HEY! You sick fucks!” the giant began walking towards the three friends.
It was obvious this was not going to end well. Byron realized that he had probably pushed this gag too far. There was no reason to get himself and his friends killed tonight. “Guys, it’s time to go. That dude looks pissed.” The three friends abruptly turned and as quickly as their feet could carry them, they began running toward Sociables. The neon signage on the building beckoning them to the safety of the bar and bouncers. The flashing nude dancer flickered above the entrance to the bar. Looking over his shoulder Byron could see the black giant running behind them. As he reached the entrance, Byron reached out grasping the handle of the door. “Inside, get inside, no way he follows us in here.” Out of breath and panting heavily Byron, Dane, and Pete burst into the bar.
As usual, the coffee shop was teeming with customers. It always seemed to be that way after “bar rush”, the time before last call at the bars and prior to the drunks going home to sleep off their night of drinking. Most of the burnt umber vinyl booths were already full with rowdy drunks, eating plates of French fries and drinking gallons of overdone coffee. The only booth that wasn’t filled was number one. This booth sat directly next to the managers office and across from the walled off station where the wait staff prepared shakes, pies, and other desserts for the customers. There were two sections in the restaurant, “smoking” and “non”. On a bar night, you couldn’t tell the difference as the number of smokers smoking created a cloud of smoke that filled the entire building with the acrid smell of used ashtrays and bad coffee.
About twelve a.m. the “regulars” that have the unofficial reservation for the first booth in smoking right next to the managers office will be showing up soon.
“I hate those guys” whined Shelly, her shrill voice would kill small children if it were released in public. As the lead waitress, and resident speed freak she was not happy to have customers that demanded a bit of attention. Her preference would be that they sit down, shut up and leave as quickly as they came in, of course they should also leave a large tip. Shelly shook her head at the night manager Philip, her stringy brown hair creating a dirty wave around her face.
“I’m going on break before they get here.”
“Ok, just be ready to pick up your orders when you get back in here.” Philip, a diminutive chubby Hispanic, who, no matter the situation, always smiled and never had a harsh word for anyone shouted to her as Shelly walked out into the parking lot for her break.
“Yea, Yea I know.” Shelly muttered between clenched teeth holding her cigarette. Her cigarette wasn’t your typical Marlboro or Camel, this was her “special” cigarette. It was loaded with 2 rocks of crystal methamphetamine shoved into the end. When Shelly was secluded in a dark corner of the parking lot, she lit her cigarette and inhaled the first hit of speed. The effect was immediate, her pulse jumped up, everything around her seemed to slow down, even the cars passing on busy State Street seemed to be moving at five miles per hour, not the normal forty-five that the street signs called for. The air was cool on her skin, the perspiration of working in the coffee shop was evaporating off of her, cooling her. Shelly took another deep drag on her smoke, the smoke filled her lungs like a warm fog.
“I don’t want to go back in there” she muttered to herself, the tiresome work of being a waitress was not what she wanted for herself. Another deep drag on her cigarette.
As she exhaled the smoke, watching it billow out of her mouth and into the night air, she thought back to why she moved to Salt Lake City in the first place; she wanted to be an attorney. Her dream was to get into law school at the University of Utah and become an attorney. She knew that if she stayed at home in Idaho, she would always be the daughter of a diesel mechanic and work in her fathers truck wash in Pocatello for the rest of her life. So, move to Utah she did. She applied to the School of Law and was turned down for admittance. Her grades in high school were not good enough to get her into Law School and she hadn’t yet completed her prerequisite courses.
She then enrolled in school at Salt Lake Community College and started work on her Associates Degree, this didn’t last long, she began using speed as a way to study late at night. This turned into a daily habit that eventually forced her to quit school and look for work to support her habit. Since she had no real skills to speak of, she began working as an escort.
Contrary to popular belief, escorts do NOT simply go to dinner with rich men and dress in cocktail gowns and sip champagne with high society. Escorts work as “legal” prostitutes. For a few months Shelly spent time stripping and sucking the cocks of fat, bald, sweaty Johns for eighty dollars an hour, plus tip. Once this got old and after being arrested and dealing with a solicitation charge, Shelly had decided to go straight and get a job where she wasn’t being paid to take off her clothes and perform demeaning sex acts on strange men. This is when she began working at the coffee shop. It wasn’t the fifteen hundred dollars a week she was used to making; it was at least respectable work though.
“Damn, breaks over..” Shelly muttered as she took the last drag on her cigarette and began grudgingly walking back into the coffee shop. About half way through the parking lot, Shelly heard the deep throaty rumbling of multiple motorcycles pulling into the parking lot, accompanied by the banter of guys chatting as they pulled in.
“Shit, they’re here. There goes my night.” she really disliked those guys. They always showed up about this time every damn night and stayed till the coffee shop closed. All they ever drank was coffee, and sometimes, just sometimes, they would eat something. If they tipped, it was something south of five bucks. The worst part was that Philip would “comp” their drinks and food, meaning that they NEVER paid for anything. Philip said this was because they were “unofficial security” for the late night hours of the coffee shop. Really, Shelly thought is was because they were bums and never wanted to pay for anything they didn’t have to.
“Hey Shelly, how’s it going?” one of the guys shouted as he got off his motorcycle. That would be Pete. This guy always wore a black leather motorcycle jacket (the kind of jacket that you would see in old fifties biker movies) along with black leather chaps, black jeans, and a plaid patterned button down shift. His jet black hair cut into a mullet that reached the middle of his back. Pete sauntered over towards Shelly, his body moving side to side, similar to the way a cowboy who had been busting horses all day would walk.
“Gimme a hug!” Pete shouted as he moved toward her, his grin widening on his face as he approached her, his heavy work boots clomping on the ground.
“Ugh, not again” thought Shelly. This guy always wants to hug. She could taste the vomit rising in her throat.
“How you been, sweetie?” Pete asked as he approached her, all grins.
As he approached her, she could clearly see his unshaven, patchy beard and goatee. As his smile widened she could also see the multiple missing teeth and the ugly brown stains of tooth decay working their way through his remaining teeth.
“He would be attractive, if he had all his teeth and would shave once in a while,” she thought to herself. “Well, that and if he had a job.”
Pete hadn’t held down a job in over two years, he claimed it was because he was clinically depressed, which he used to “pick up women” on a regular basis, believing that women were attracted to dark, somber guys that never said much. This was in stark contrast to the behavior he was showing now, all toothless smiles and hugs.
“Been good Pete, how are you?” she replied. She really didn’t care. It was just the reaction to the question posed.
“I missed you. Had to come see you.” This was Pete’s attempt at flirting with Shelly.
“You were here last night, the night before and every other night for the last month, dude, so how did you miss me?” The sarcasm wasn’t obvious to Pete as he kept smiling, opened his arms, and stepped in to hug Shelly.
“Still missed ya, sexy.”
As Pete hugged Shelly, she could smell the combination of beer, bad aftershave and stale cigarettes. Not exactly a sexy mixture. The hug to Shelly, seemed to last far too long for her taste. Pete wrapped his arms around her and pushed his crotch against her, Shelly pulled back away from Pete.
“Gotta go back to work, Pete. See you inside, ok?”
Shelly quickly untangled herself from Pete and briskly walked back into the coffee shop, leaving Pete watching her walk away.
“Ok, babe.”
“Whatever,” Shelly whispered as she hurried back into the confines of the coffee shop. His neediness was obvious.
Pete watched her as she walked into the restaurant, thoughts of her naked on top of him running through his mind. He turned back to his friend who was just dismounting from his motorcycle, an older blue Yamaha 650 with a tall “bitch seat” on the back.
“I will get in her pants one day bro.”
“SURE you will, you know she doesn’t like you right?” laughed Byron.
Byron shook his long shoulder length brown hair out of his eyes, straightened his black leather jacket, pulled the black leather gloves off his hands and began walking towards the entrance to the coffee shop. His broad frame lumbering bear-like as he moved.
“No, dude she does. She just doesn’t know it yet,” Pete said confidently.
“Riiight, that’s why she looks at you like someone just pooed on the floor in front of her?” Byron stopped, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, removing a pack of cigarettes and his Zippo, he lit a cigarette, inhaled and smiled at Pete.
“She doesn’t dude, that’s fucked up bro.” Pete was not amused by this observation. Pausing, Pete pulled a smoke and his lighter out of his jacket and lit up as well. Byron reached over, patted Pete on the shoulder.
“Whatever man, let’s go get some coffee and relax.” Byron knew what the deal was between Shelly and Pete. He wanted her, and she wanted him to never talk to her again. It was like watching a puppy try to play with a cat that just wasn’t interested. Pete was going to eventually get his nose scratched.
Together they walked into the coffee shop. It was a bustling hive of activity. There were waitresses moving back and forth between tables pouring coffee and bringing sodas and fries to the various tables and booths scattered throughout the smoke filled restaurant.
“Look, the tables open bro,” smiled Pete behind his lit cigarette.
“Cool, I gotta hit the bathroom, be right there. Get me some coffee will ya?” Byron asked as he walked through the non-smoking section with his cigarette burning on his way to the restroom. Smoke trailed behind him as he moved to the restroom.
“oy, yoy yoy, you know you aren’t supposed to do that Byron!” Philip the night manager told Byron as he passed him.
“My bad, flipper.” Byron didn’t really care, after all this was HIS place and Philip wouldn’t do anything about it anyway, well besides “comp” his coffee and probably his dinner if he ordered one tonight.
The beer in Byron’s bladder drained from him into the urinal in a solid stream. It felt good to return the “rented beer”. After about 45 seconds, Byron shook the remaining drops from his penis and zipped back up. After washing his hands and checking his hair in the mirror, he left the restroom. On his way to the table where Pete was waiting Byron stopped. Bent over picking up some dropped silverware was Nikki, a little redheaded waitress with a butt you could bounce quarters off of. Nikki saw Byron watching her, looked up un-amused.
“Like the view?” Nikki asked sardonically.
“Of course.” Byron smiled, she had a nice low cut shirt on, and he could just about see her dime sized nipples poking through her flimsy lace bra.
“I bet you do.” Nikki went back to picking up the silverware, trying hard to ignore Byron’s attention.
“Yeah, have fun.” Byron walked past Nikki, nodded to Pete, waved to some other acquaintances sitting at their tables and booths and sat down across from Pete in their booth.
“You know she hates that bro?” laughed Pete as he stubbed out his cigarette and took a long swallow from his coffee cup.
“Uh, huh. That’s why I do it. It’s more fun that way.” Byron poured himself a cup of coffee.
“How’s the coffee?” Byron asked as he surveyed the restaurant.
“Shitty as always.” Pete smiled. The coffee was always crap here, but they didn’t come for the coffee. They came because that was what they did, and the coffee was free as long as they helped Philip control the “riffraff” that sometimes came into the coffee shop.
Byron stubbed out his cigarette, smiled and swallowed some of his coffee. It was bitter and tasted burnt. “Yup, it sucks as usual.”
“You guys gonna have anything other than coffee?” Shelly really didn’t care, she just had to ask. Her disdain was obvious.
“What kind of pie you got?” Pete asked.
“Apple, Cherry, Peanut Butter Cup, and Lemon Meringue.”
“So, is the Cherry good?” Pete winked as he asked, leering at Shelly’s ample chest.
“If you mean the pie, yes. If you are referring to something else, you will never know will you?” She was not amused by this attempt at being dirty.
“How bout some cheese fries?” Byron was hungry, but not for real food; just something to munch on.
“Anything else, or just the coffee and fries?”
“That’s it for me, Shelly,” Byron nodded to Pete.
“Just coffee for me.” As usual, all Pete could afford if Philip didn’t comp him was coffee.
“Uh, huh” Shelly turned and walked from the table, went back to the kitchen.
“Cheese fries for Byron,” the cook looked up at her.
“What no ticket?” The cook was new and he didn’t know that there was NEVER a ticket for fries.
“I wish.” Shelly was more than a bit irritated with the whole thing. If she had her way, they would never come into the restaurant again. For some reason Philip just insisted that, that was what happened.
“Ok, one cheese fry”
Shelly walked away from the window shaking her head and wondering just why she kept working here, tolerating all the stupidity that the coffee shop had to offer left her jaded.
Byron scanned the coffee shop from behind the mug of stale coffee. From his vantage point, he could see just about every table in the restaurant. In the booth next to his, a young couple were talking, the guy trying really hard to be interesting and funny while the girl toyed with her slice of apple pie alamode. Across the room sat a lonely looking elderly man that seemed to be staring off into space, almost as if he were waiting for a visit from the Grim Reaper to take his pain away. Scattered throughout the dining room were drunks, scantily dressed club girls, and various other folks just trying to eat their late dinners.
Pete lit another cigarette, inhaled and stared at the ceiling. “I really need to get laid. This dry spell is killing me.”
Turning his gaze away from the activity of the dining room, Bryon stared at Pete, swallowed more stale coffee and shrugged.
Pete, annoyed with the lack of response stared. “Well, you have nothing to say?”
Bored with the thought of dealing with Pete’s lack of a sex life, Byron leaned forward whispering to keep their conversation in the booth.
“Get a hooker, bud, if you really want to get laid. Just fucking do it already.”
“I want a relationship, B. I don’t just want to get it wet. Ya know?” Pete was a love freak. Every time he got laid he thought he was engaged to be married.
“You just told me you wanted to get laid!” Bryon was laughing, this guy was just too much.
“I want a girlfriend, sex and everything.” Pete always looked so melancholy when he started talking about relationships.
“And you think you will find that here, in a coffee shop?”
“I don’t know, I hope so.” Loneliness is such a depressing thing to watch.
“Rather than looking in bars and coffee shops, try grocery stores or the park. You will probably do better there man. Also it wouldn’t kill you to get a job.” It was a bit of a dig, but it needed to be said though.
“Whatever.”
Pete really didn’t want to hear that. He honestly believed that he was so depressed that it was a handicap and he could get disability and never have to work. Of course, inherent laziness never qualified anyone for disability income.
“What do you want to do later? I really don’t want to hang out here till 5a.m. again.” Watching Pete pine for Shelly was getting old.
“I don’t have any cash.” Of course he didn’t. He never did. The only time he ever had any money at all was after he donated plasma at the blood bank. Then the twenty or so dollars he got went into the gas tank of his motorcycle and a couple packs of discount cigarettes.
“How do you expect to get anything other than old hags at the bar without a job?” Pete just didn’t get it, you need to have some kind of money or at least be a decent prospect if you wanted to get with anything other than horribly ugly and or disfigured women that live in poorly lit bars. Being jobless, toothless and chronically depressed was never going to get him anywhere.
Byron lit up another cigarette, inhaled deeply and looked out the large glass window next to the booth, watching the late night traffic cruising up and down State Street. Across the street from the coffee shop, he could see a pair of street walkers offering their services to passing cars. Occasionally, a car would stop, one of the girls would lean in the window her short skirt riding up, giving an open view of her panty free crotch blanketed in dark hair. Her thick thighs wrapped in thigh high lacey stockings completed the view. She wasn’t terrible looking, but obviously a prostitute. Even if she dressed up, her body language would have given her away for what she was.
“Hey, Pete I see your future wife across the street!” Byron pointed out the window at the prostitutes across the street. Now maybe this would be fun he thought, to have a little fun at Pete‘s expense. That will make the night go by faster. Well, at least make it entertaining.
“Not funny.” Pete stared into his coffee cup. He hadn’t even bothered to look up or out the window. He turned the mug back and forth in his hands staring at the steam coming off the coffee, the cigarette between his fingers burning into a long cylindrical ash.
“Great, Dane’s here. Hide your smokes Pete.” Bounding into the restaurant was Dane Ogden, a rather rotund redhead. Usually, Dane’s company was welcomed even if he were more than a little annoying and had a tendency to be embarrassing from time to time. Every time Dane came around, he reminded Byron of an overexcited puppy dog, doing ‘shake’ for a doggy treat. Dane meant well, he just never seemed to get it to work out that way.
“Hey guys! Can I bum a smoke?” Now, Dane worked. As a matter of fact, he had two packs of unopened cigarettes in his jacket. He just didn’t see any problem in smoking everyone else’s cigarettes if he could get away with it.
“Jesus, Dane, you have smokes don’t you?” Annoyed by this, Byron wasn’t about to give up on forcing Dane to admit he had his own cigarettes.
“Well, I do. They just need to last till I get paid again.” The cheap ass son of a bitch was playing the ‘gotta last’ card. Not a new tactic, just a bullshit one.
“And mine don’t? Smoke your own, bud. I don’t have any to spare either.” Byron picked up his smokes and put them back in his jacket. After all, if you leave them on the table, they are free game.
“Fine.” Dane reached into his jacket and grabbed his cigarettes, pulling the cellophane wrapper off the pack he opened it up and slid out a cigarette.
“Move over.” this was said mid-motion as Dane’s large posterior slid in next to Pete.
“Whoah, you could have waited till I put down my damn coffee!” Pete was now wearing some of his coffee. Byron laughed loudly enough that the rest of the people in the restaurant could hear.
“Now that is funny!”
“Move fat ass, now I have to go clean up! Jesus, dude!” Pete slid across the vinyl seat of the booth, his now wet leather jacket making sucking noises as he moved.
“Relax, it’s only coffee. It’s not like I dumped a whole pot on you.” Dane was never good at just apologizing and letting things end. Dane flopped down into the booth.
“Oh, waitress, coffee me!” Dane waved his chubby hand at a passing waitress. The waitress stared at Dane, her face contorting into a ‘I just smelled pooh’ face and turned to the kitchen.
The restaurant was completely full now, people were moving from table to table passing out hugs as if they were anti war flyers in 1970. Everywhere Byron looked he could see smiles, drunken kisses, spilling drinks and harried waitresses running between tables doing their best to keep up with the constant ‘over here’ and ‘I need this or that’ requests from the customers. There was a near mob in the lobby of the restaurant all waiting to be seated, people were pacing, chatting and staring at the customers already seated at their scattered tables and booths.
Shifting in his seat, Byron picked up his coffee mug, sipped the now warm coffee, grimaced at the taste, and put the mug back on the table. The thought of spending the entire night in the coffee shop really did not appeal to him, but with friends with no job and no life what else was there?
“There has to be something besides sitting here we can do.” The monotony of always sitting at the coffee shop was getting to Byron.
“We could go to Sociables, except I don’t have any extra money.” Dane was suggesting the strip club that was a block and half away from the coffee shop. The strippers there were not exactly attractive, although with their over-inflated chest balloons they were something to watch, and the beer there was cheap if you bought it by the pitcher. Dane, just like Pete, never had any money to buy beer or tip strippers. Actually, a more accurate statement was this: Dane had the money, he would just rather mooch off his friends than spend any of his ‘hard earned money’.
“Fuck it, let’s go. I’m bored and want to do something other than spend another night sitting here staring at drunks and drinking this battery acid that they pass off as coffee.” Even though Byron would have to spring for the beer at Sociables, he would at least be doing something different tonight. Also, if he worked it right he could get one of his friends to maybe, just maybe, spring for a couple games of 8-ball on one of the bars fifty cent a game billiard tables.
“Soon as Pete gets back dude, we are going.” What was keeping Pete in the restroom anyway? All he had to do was clean up some coffee. It wasn’t like he had to wash his clothes in the laundry or something.
Pete, standing in front of the mirror in the men’s room stared at his reflection. The mirror was dirty and covered in water spots. The staff at the coffee shop didn’t exactly do a great job of cleaning the restrooms even with the ‘we pride ourselves in our cleanliness’ sign hanging on the door. The coffee stains on his shirt and jeans would be obvious for the rest of the night.
“Stupid fucker, never pays attention to anything.” Pete wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just himself in the mirror. Pete tugged on the bottom front of his now damp and coffee stained shirt. His jacket and jeans also would smell of coffee for the rest of the night. If Pete wasn’t such a wimp, he would have walked out of the restroom, marched up to the booth and kicked Dane’s teeth to the back of his throat. Instead, he just sighed, thought about how ruined his night already was and turned to leave the restroom. Pausing to take one last look in the mirror, Pete ran his left hand through his feathered hair, pulled out his comb and brushed the tangles out of his mullet.
“Damnit,” just a sigh as Pete turned to grasp the large steel door handle and pull the door open.
Pete walked out of the restroom, turned towards the dining area and, rather than walking past all the non-smokers he had just recently offended, opted to take the short-cut through the kitchen area back to the booth where Byron and Dane were talking.
“Hey! You aren’t supposed to walk through here!” Nikki shouted from the salad station.
Pete ignored her and kept walking through. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything to stop him other than go whine at Philip, and everyone knew that Philip would never do anything to stop him or any of his friends from doing what they wanted. After all, they were all ’unofficial security’ at night for the coffee shop.
“You are such a dick-head.” Nikki liked Pete and his friends about as much as she enjoyed her annual exam with her gynecologist. She turned back to the salad station and continued dropping pre-made salads into the small glass bowls in front of her. The wilted lettuce and spongy carrot shavings would soon be covered in the dressing of choice for the people ordering them. Nikki drenched the five bowls of salad in dressing, placed them on the tray, and turned to walk out of the kitchen area.
“Tray out!” Nikki walked around the corner, tray held in one hand above her right shoulder, grabbed a tray stand and moved towards her table.
As Pete approached the booth, Byron and Dane were smoking and chatting.
“Hey, move you’re in my spot.” This was Pete’s attempt at being a tough guy. He was going to bully Dane into moving so he could sit by the window. Dane turned his bulbous head toward Pete, shrugged and slid toward the end of the booth.
“Sit down.” Dane was seated next to the window now. Pete stood there for a brief second, torn. He wanted to sit by the window, but he just didn’t have the balls to force the issue with Dane. Rather than push the issue, Pete slid in the booth next to Dane.
“Gimme my cup.” Dane slid the mug over to Pete, the small amount of cold coffee in the cup sloshed around at the bottom. Pete reached to the middle of the table, picked up the plastic coffee urn and poured some into his mug. After adding four packets of sugar and stirring loudly with the dirty spoon in front of him, he lifted the mug and swallowed.
“This stuff is horrible.” Pete mumbled placing the mug back on the table.
“So, what’s the plan? We just hanging out here tonight?” All Pete wanted to do was drink coffee and fantasize about ‘making love’ to Shelly. Pete never just thought about having sex, he thought if you were going to go to the trouble of taking off your clothes and touching boobies and sticking your penis in a vagina, you should be making sweet love to her. Like all other males in their mid-twenties, what he considered ‘making love’ was in reality just clumsy fumbling and three minutes of ecstasy followed by the embarrassing moment when you realize you have to pull the condom off your penis and have no place to put it. This usually is the case since he didn’t have his own place to go with women and he usually wound up having to ‘make love’ in the back seat of a car or behind some bushes in a nearby park.
“Let’s go to Sociables. We can get a beer and watch some titties.” Byron was already going with or without Pete. This was just a formality. Invite Pete, let him know that you were going, he would more than likely go. If he didn’t it was nobody’s loss but his own. At least if they went to the strip club he would have some new mental material for his nightly masturbation.
Pete gulped down the last of his coffee, banging the mug loudly on the table.
“Why not? Let’s go see some boobies!” his toothless grin was large on his face, if it were Halloween, he would have made an excellent Jack-O-Lantern. Sliding out of the booth he shrugged his jacket on his shoulders, stood up and walked toward Shelly.
“Hey, I’m leaving.” Pete opened his arms as he approached Shelly. He was moving in for the ‘good-bye hug’. His look of expectation was enough to turn Shelly’s stomach. Shelly tried to turn away and ignore Pete. Maybe if she appeared busy, he would go away and not want the hug. Not a chance. She would have to hug him to get him to leave her alone.
“Leaving already? What’s the occasion?” her animosity was obvious to everyone within earshot, except to Pete. Inside her head a brass band began playing every happy celebration song she had ever heard. This was great! Those losers were leaving, they were only in the coffee shop for just under an hour, must be some kind of record. She was curious though, what would draw them away from the coffee shop? There wasn’t a Metallica concert or anything tonight, all their other biker buddies hadn’t shown up, and none of them had looked at their pagers and used the desk phone.
“Why are you leaving so soon?” She knew she was going to regret this question, it would be just her luck that Pete and friends would decide to stay and not leave.
Embarrassed, Pete didn’t want to give her the answer. He was still wanting to make her his girlfriend, and firmly believed that if she knew he were going to Sociables, she would be disappointed. He stood there and, if he were a deer, he would have been creamed by the SUV bearing down on him.
“Uh…um..” He was just stalling now.
“Pete, you going to hug her or stare at her, let’s go!” Byron shouted at him from the entrance to the dining room.
“We got strippers to tip!!” Dane always with a lack of decorum announced to everyone within earshot. Shelly laughed.
“Strippers? Is that what it takes to get you to leave early?” Amused, she reached out and hugged Pete.
“Have fun, enjoy the show.” Pete embarrassed hugged Shelly, squeezing her tightly so he could feel her ample breasts push into his chest. This caused a slight erection, noticeable if you were looking closely at his skin tight Wranglers. Shelly noticed and giggled.
“It was Byron’s idea, not mine.” He was still trying to salvage his perceived embarrassment. He didn’t need to be, Shelly really could have cared less about what Pete did for fun, and if he were going to Sociables, he wouldn’t be in the coffee shop, and that meant she could have a night of peace, as peaceful as it would be in the coffee shop after the clubs closed.
“You need to pay for your coffee!” Nikki charged toward the doors nearly bowling over an elderly couple walking to the counter to pay for their meal. She was determined that they wouldn’t be getting out of their bill again.
Philip, standing behind the counter at the register, turned to Nikki.
“Nikki, you know I comp their coffees. Why do you always do this every night?” It was easier to comp some coffees and maybe some pie or an appetizer than have to deal with broken dishes and police reports should a fight happen to break out.
“They are mooches, Philip, they don’t do anything except hit on the bar sluts, and ogle us. They should be kicked out, not given free stuff!” Nikki was right for the most part, Byron, Dane and Pete rarely if ever actually DID anything. Most of the time if the three of them just walked up to the booth where the rowdy people were, and asked politely for them to behave they usually did. Philip just liked having them there, so he would continue to comp their orders.
“Oy, oy, oy, Nikki just go back to work. I will deal with this.” He really didn’t do well with confrontation and would rather she just left it alone. Philip waved to Byron and friends.
“Have fun, see you later?” He knew they would be back, just had to ask every time. After all, he did just comp their coffees, he should be getting some security out of it tonight.
“Yeah, we will be back in a couple hours. Keep our booth warm bud.” Byron waved over his shoulder as he walked out the door into the warm night air. It would be nice to hit the bar, have a beer, and watch some strippers for a while.
Byron, Pete, and Dane began walking the short distance from the coffee shop to Sociables, on the dark street the two prostitutes Byron and Pete saw earlier were still plying their wares. If all the street lights worked, they would have been able to clearly see the red track marks on the insides of their thighs. Instead, all they could see is skinny prostitutes looking for their next customer, desperate for their next fix, and willing to do just about anything to get it.
“Check her out, nice legs!” Dane was almost drooling. If the prostitute had been a bell, Pavlov would have been impressed with the reaction.
“Dude, that’s a hooker, you know that right?” Not surprised by Danes reaction, Byron just didn’t think he knew the difference between a street walker and an available girl out for a good time. He was after all a thirty-two year old virgin. Everyone knew this about Dane, and there were numerous theories as to why he was still a virgin. Dane said it was because he respected women too much to have sex with a woman outside of marriage, or at least a serious relationship, and that was the kicker. Dane refused to get into a relationship, because he was terrified that he would hurt her feelings and then she would hate him. Being a people pleaser left him lonely and with a very satisfied right hand. Byron believed that the reason he was a virgin was simply this: he was a social pariah, he didn’t have the decorum of a cockroach in a bathtub and was always saying the wrong thing and the wrong time. Well that, and the fact that he looked like a balding, red-headed Pillsbury Doughboy with a perspiration problem.
“They aren’t hookers, hookers don’t work this far south.” This was a surprising statement coming from Dane.
“Like you would know.” Jumping into the conversation, Pete had to get at least a jab in even if wasn’t all that creative.
“Dane, is there something you would like to tell us?” Byron tapped his index finger on his goateed chin, trying to do his best ‘I’m a shrink’ impression.
Dane stopped, placed his hands on his hips and thrust out his man boobs. “No, everyone knows hookers only work down on North Temple.” He was sure of this, or at least he wanted Pete and Byron to think he was. Being the know it all he was, he couldn’t possibly be wrong, and even if he were he would NEVER let them know or admit that he could be. “Well, North Temple and Second South.” He was confident now that they wouldn’t be able to ‘call him on it’. It was common knowledge, hookers all worked down there, that is Salt Lake’s ‘unofficial’ Red-Light District. He had never had the balls to go get himself some from a prostitute, although on numerous occasions all his friends had offered to put together a ‘Get Dane Laid’ collection so he could get a hooker. Pete always extolled the virtues of ‘getting some’ and Byron never let a day go by that he didn’t ask Dane if he could get him a hooker, Byron insisted that getting laid would relieve all that tension and he wouldn’t be so worried about hurting some poor girls feelings, and he could find a girl to hang with. That, and Pete said most women didn’t want to ‘train’ a thirty-two year old man how to ‘do it’.
Byron put his hands on Dane’s shoulders, leaned in close to his face whispering in a conspiratorial tone. “Dude they ARE hookers, and Pete and I will pay if you want to get some. Hell, we’ll pay for you to have both of em’ bro.” Moving one hand from Dane’s shoulder, Byron reached down and grabbed Danes butt. “You aren’t gay are you, you do like girls right?” needling Dane always made Byron’s night, and this was going to be NO exception.
“I don’t want a hooker, and I’m NOT GAY!” Dane was shouting by the time he finished the sentence, his voice echoed off the sides of the buildings, causing the prostitutes to pause and turn towards the three friends. In a slow flood, the blood rushed to his face the bald top of his head turning crimson in the yellow street lights.
One of the prostitutes, a thin Hispanic girl with thick black hair and smallish breasts turned toward the three friends. Walking to them, her hips swayed in a hypnotic rhythm, the metronome of the streets. She reached one thin hand up into her hair, pulling the long dark locks away from her narrow face. “Hey, you boys looking for a party, or just window shopping?” her heavy Spanish accent made her sound sultry and wanton at the same time. She stood there, placed her hands on her narrow hips just above the hot pink thong peeking above her leopard print mini-skirt. Her low cut halter top showed just enough of her cleavage to make a potential customer curious.
Dane stood there staring, his mouth agape and eyes bulging from their sockets. “Umm. I. Umm. Well..” he stammered. Byron stepped back, folded his arms across his chest, looked up at the streetlight above his head laughing. It wasn’t the kind of laugh you hear when a comedian is performing a hilarious routine. It was more the laugh of an evil genius seeing his plot come to fruition. Pete put his hands into his jacket pockets and stared at the ground in front of him as if he expected the ground to open up and some great revelation to occur.
The tension was visible. Nervous twitches and coughs came from both Dane and Pete, neither of them were willing to say anything to the prostitute in front of them and they didn’t dare look at her either. Instead, they both just alternately stared at the concrete and the traffic passing on State Street.
After more than a minute of tense silence, the prostitute began tapping her booted foot impatiently on the concrete, she was becoming obviously irritated. “So you guys gonna get with this or not?” she moved her hands up and down her body in a wavy motion as she said this. It was her attempt at being alluring. It came off as dirty, and unattractive. “Well, who wants his dick sucked?”
Curiosity was getting the better part of Byron now, he wanted to see how far he could push this situation before somebody went over the edge. “How much…for a whole deal, not just a B.J. but for everything?” Byron didn’t want anything from her. He had other plans. If she were cheap enough, Byron was going to buy either Pete or Dane a hooker and then give them grief about it for weeks to come.
It was amazing; her demeanor suddenly changed. No longer aggressive and annoyed, the prostitute became a salesperson. “Baby, it’s $10 for a B.J., $20 for a B.J. and straight up sex, and if you want my backdoor, you have to give me $20 more.” It was like hearing a waitress read off the daily specials at the local greasy spoon, very dry and businesslike. “Oh, and if all three of you want a go, it will cost you an extra $20 each.” She was all business, there was no coyness or shyness with her, just money.
Enjoying this conversation, Byron pushed on. “How much then for these two with backdoor and they get to come more than once?” Pete and Dane shocked, turned and glared at Byron. Their fear and embarrassment were obvious and hilarious as far as Byron was concerned, he was going to have some fun, even if it cost him some money.
Her eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas, “Umm. For both of them and backdoor and more than once. Hmmm. I’ll do it for $40 each.” Smiling, the prostitute thought she had just made an ‘easy’ $80.00. Her mind racing, she began calculating how quickly she would be able to get these two guys off and get to her dealers house to get her Heroine. She was feeling it, she knew she would need a fix soon. “Who’s first, my place is across the street.” She was pointing to the Temple Motel. It was a rat trap of a motel dilapidated roofs, dirty windows and doors, and the smell of sweat. The kind of place a crack-whore would work out of.
One more request, Byron was ready to see what she would say to this last request. “Wait, they both want to do you at the same time. They really like to see each other’s faces when they shoot.” This was evil he knew. Pete and Dane were both so homophobic that they refused to sit next to each other in a crowded movie theater. There was no way they would both get naked and screw a hooker in the same room at the same time.
The prostitute stepped back two steps from where she had been standing, put her hands up in front of her as if to ward off demons. Her eyes were the size of Frisbees. The shock of this statement had taken her by complete surprise. “No, no, I don’t do that. You two are some sick fucks!” she turned and ran across the street, nearly being run over by a large white pickup truck. The truck swerved, honking, tires squealing on the pavement. When she reached the other side of the street, she ran up to a large black man standing next to the motel with his arms folded across his chest. He was a giant of a man, nearly six foot four and not a pound under three-hundred and muscular as hell. She began waving her arms as if directing aircraft on an aircraft carrier.
The black giant of a man pointed across the street, the hooker nodded emphatically. “HEY! You sick fucks!” the giant began walking towards the three friends.
It was obvious this was not going to end well. Byron realized that he had probably pushed this gag too far. There was no reason to get himself and his friends killed tonight. “Guys, it’s time to go. That dude looks pissed.” The three friends abruptly turned and as quickly as their feet could carry them, they began running toward Sociables. The neon signage on the building beckoning them to the safety of the bar and bouncers. The flashing nude dancer flickered above the entrance to the bar. Looking over his shoulder Byron could see the black giant running behind them. As he reached the entrance, Byron reached out grasping the handle of the door. “Inside, get inside, no way he follows us in here.” Out of breath and panting heavily Byron, Dane, and Pete burst into the bar.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Top 50 Atheism Quotes (at least my Favs)
The post before I edited it slightly was originally posted at Icanhashappy's blog I just wanted to repost it as it made me laugh till I cried.
Now, before you go off all half-cocked and start correcting me. I am not saying everyone quoted here is an Atheist. I am just saying I like the quote and it makes me laugh. Hopefully you will find the humor in it too....
1. Religion easily has the best bullshit story of all time. Think about it. Religion has convinced people that there’s an invisible man…living in the sky. Who watches everything you do every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten specific things he doesn’t want you to do. And if you do any of these things, he will send you to a special place, of burning and fire and smoke and torture and anguish for you to live forever, and suffer, and burn, and scream, until the end of time. But he loves you. He loves you. He loves you and he needs money.
5. Faith means not wanting to know what is true.
6. Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.
8. It seems to me that the idea of a personal God is an anthropological concept which I cannot take seriously. I also cannot imagine some will or goal outside the human sphere. … Science has been charged with undermining morality, but the charge is unjust. A man’s ethical behavior should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties and needs; no religious basis is necessary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after death.Albert Einstein, “Religion and Science”, New York Times Magazine, 9 November 1930
9. If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed.
11. I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.
13. A man is accepted into a church for what he believes and he is turned out for what he knows.
15. Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.Mark Twain, quoted from Curmudgeon-Online
16. “In God We Trust.” I don’t believe it would sound any better if it were true.
18. We are afraid of the known and afraid of the unknown. That is our daily life and in that there is no hope, and therefore every form of philosophy, every form of theological concept, is merely an escape from the actual reality of what is. All outward forms of change brought about by wars, revolutions, reformations, laws and ideologies have failed completely to change the basic nature of man and therefore of society.
20. Lighthouses are more helpful then churches.
22. Those who believe absurdities will commit atrocities.
24. We could call order by the name of God, but it would be an impersonal God. There’s not much personal about the laws of physics.
28. Christopher Hitchens On Jerry Falwell: If you gave Falwell an enema, he could be buried in a matchbox.
32. Men never commit evil so fully and joyfully as when they do it for religious convictions.
Delos B. McKown
40. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime; give a man religion and he will die praying for a fish. Unknown
43. The opposite of the religious fanatic is not the fanatical atheist but the gentle cynic who cares not whether there is a god or not. Eric Hoffer
44. I think flying planes into a building was a faith-based initiative. I think religion is a neurological disorder. Bill Maher
45. There’s a phrase we live by inAmerica
46. If we go back to the beginning, we shall find that ignorance and fear created the gods; that fancy, enthusiasm, or deceit adorned them; that weakness worships them; that credulity preserves them and that custom, respect and tyranny support them in order to make the blindness of men serve their own interests. If the ignorance of nature gave birth to gods, the knowledge of nature is calculated to destroy them. Baron D’Holbach, cited in Jonathan Miller. (2004). A Brief History of Disbelief [TV-Series].
47. If I thought the Jews killed God, I’d worship the Jews. Bill Hicks
48. Properly read, the Bible is the most potent force for atheism ever conceived. Isaac Asimov
49. A belief which leaves no place for doubt is not a belief; it is a superstition. José Bergamín
50. One of the great tragedies of mankind is that morality has been hijacked by religion. Arthur C. Clarke
Now, before you go off all half-cocked and start correcting me. I am not saying everyone quoted here is an Atheist. I am just saying I like the quote and it makes me laugh. Hopefully you will find the humor in it too....
1. Religion easily has the best bullshit story of all time. Think about it. Religion has convinced people that there’s an invisible man…living in the sky. Who watches everything you do every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten specific things he doesn’t want you to do. And if you do any of these things, he will send you to a special place, of burning and fire and smoke and torture and anguish for you to live forever, and suffer, and burn, and scream, until the end of time. But he loves you. He loves you. He loves you and he needs money.
2. Atheism: A non-prophet organization.
3. I’m completely in favor of the separation of Church and State. My idea is that these two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death.
Friedrich Nietzsche
4. Which is it, is man one of God’s blunders or is God one of man’s?
4. Which is it, is man one of God’s blunders or is God one of man’s?
5. Faith means not wanting to know what is true.
6. Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.
Albert Einstein
7. What I see in Nature is a magnificent structure that we can comprehend only very imperfectly, and that must fill a thinking person with a feeling of “humility.” This is a genuinely religious feeling that has nothing to do with mysticism.
7. What I see in Nature is a magnificent structure that we can comprehend only very imperfectly, and that must fill a thinking person with a feeling of “humility.” This is a genuinely religious feeling that has nothing to do with mysticism.
8. It seems to me that the idea of a personal God is an anthropological concept which I cannot take seriously. I also cannot imagine some will or goal outside the human sphere. … Science has been charged with undermining morality, but the charge is unjust. A man’s ethical behavior should be based effectually on sympathy, education, and social ties and needs; no religious basis is necessary. Man would indeed be in a poor way if he had to be restrained by fear of punishment and hope of reward after death.Albert Einstein, “Religion and Science”, New York Times Magazine, 9 November 1930
9. If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed.
Gandhi Quotes
10. The most henious and the must cruel crimes of which history has record have been committed under the cover of religion or equally noble motives.Mohandas K Gandhi, Young India, July 7, 1950, quoted from Laird Wilcox, ed., “The Degeneration of Belief”
10. The most henious and the must cruel crimes of which history has record have been committed under the cover of religion or equally noble motives.Mohandas K Gandhi, Young India, July 7, 1950, quoted from Laird Wilcox, ed., “The Degeneration of Belief”
11. I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.
Mark Twain
12. It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me, it is the parts that I do understand.
12. It ain’t those parts of the Bible that I can’t understand that bother me, it is the parts that I do understand.
13. A man is accepted into a church for what he believes and he is turned out for what he knows.
14. What God lacks is convictions — stability of character. He ought to be a Presbyterian or a Catholic or something — not try to be everything.
15. Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.Mark Twain, quoted from Curmudgeon-Online
16. “In God We Trust.” I don’t believe it would sound any better if it were true.
Thomas Jefferson
17. Shake off all fears of servile prejudices, under which weak minds are servilely crouched. Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call on her tribunal for every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God, because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason than that of blindfolded fear.
17. Shake off all fears of servile prejudices, under which weak minds are servilely crouched. Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call on her tribunal for every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God, because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason than that of blindfolded fear.
18. We are afraid of the known and afraid of the unknown. That is our daily life and in that there is no hope, and therefore every form of philosophy, every form of theological concept, is merely an escape from the actual reality of what is. All outward forms of change brought about by wars, revolutions, reformations, laws and ideologies have failed completely to change the basic nature of man and therefore of society.
Benjamin Franklin
19. The way to see by faith is to shut the eye of reason: The Morning Daylight appears plainer when you put out your Candle. Benjamin Franklin, the incompatibility of faith and reason, Poor Richard’s Almanack (1758)
19. The way to see by faith is to shut the eye of reason: The Morning Daylight appears plainer when you put out your Candle. Benjamin Franklin, the incompatibility of faith and reason, Poor Richard’s Almanack (1758)
20. Lighthouses are more helpful then churches.
22. Those who believe absurdities will commit atrocities.
Stephen Hawking
23. Black holes would seem to suggest that God not only plays dice, but also sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.Stephen Hawking, NATURE, 1975
23. Black holes would seem to suggest that God not only plays dice, but also sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.Stephen Hawking, NATURE, 1975
24. We could call order by the name of God, but it would be an impersonal God. There’s not much personal about the laws of physics.
Jiddu Krishnamurti
25. Tradition becomes our security, and when the mind is secure it is in decay. Jiddu
25. Tradition becomes our security, and when the mind is secure it is in decay. Jiddu
Christopher Hitchens
27. What can be asserted without proof can be dismissed without proof. Christopher Hitchens
27. What can be asserted without proof can be dismissed without proof. Christopher Hitchens
28. Christopher Hitchens On Jerry Falwell: If you gave Falwell an enema, he could be buried in a matchbox.
Sigmund Freud
29. Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires. Sigmund Freud
29. Religion is an illusion and it derives its strength from the fact that it falls in with our instinctual desires. Sigmund Freud
Karl Marx
30. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.
30. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.
George Bernard Shaw
31. The fact that a believer is happier than a skeptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one. George Bernard Shaw
31. The fact that a believer is happier than a skeptic is no more to the point than the fact that a drunken man is happier than a sober one. George Bernard Shaw
32. Men never commit evil so fully and joyfully as when they do it for religious convictions.
Richard Jeni
34. With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
34. With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.
35. The invisible and the non-existent look very much alike.
Edward Gibbon
36. Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful.
36. Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful.
Robert Ingersoll
37. Our ignorance is God; what we know is science.
37. Our ignorance is God; what we know is science.
Huang Po
38. The foolish reject what they see and not what they think; the wise reject what they think and not what they see.
38. The foolish reject what they see and not what they think; the wise reject what they think and not what they see.
Benjamin Disraeli
39. Where knowledge ends, religion begins.
39. Where knowledge ends, religion begins.
40. Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime; give a man religion and he will die praying for a fish. Unknown
Dave Barry
41. If there really is a God who created the entire universe with all of its glories, and He decides to deliver a message to humanity, He will not use, as His messenger, a person on cable TV with a bad hairstyle.
41. If there really is a God who created the entire universe with all of its glories, and He decides to deliver a message to humanity, He will not use, as His messenger, a person on cable TV with a bad hairstyle.
42. Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?- Epicurus
43. The opposite of the religious fanatic is not the fanatical atheist but the gentle cynic who cares not whether there is a god or not. Eric Hoffer
44. I think flying planes into a building was a faith-based initiative. I think religion is a neurological disorder. Bill Maher
45. There’s a phrase we live by in
46. If we go back to the beginning, we shall find that ignorance and fear created the gods; that fancy, enthusiasm, or deceit adorned them; that weakness worships them; that credulity preserves them and that custom, respect and tyranny support them in order to make the blindness of men serve their own interests. If the ignorance of nature gave birth to gods, the knowledge of nature is calculated to destroy them. Baron D’Holbach, cited in Jonathan Miller. (2004). A Brief History of Disbelief [TV-Series].
47. If I thought the Jews killed God, I’d worship the Jews. Bill Hicks
48. Properly read, the Bible is the most potent force for atheism ever conceived. Isaac Asimov
49. A belief which leaves no place for doubt is not a belief; it is a superstition. José Bergamín
50. One of the great tragedies of mankind is that morality has been hijacked by religion. Arthur C. Clarke
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
My Parents
Both my parents are retired school teachers, they spent 20+ years in the public (read crappy daycare) school system here in Utah. They I think really loved what they did. My mom taught Kindergarten and my dad was a Third Grade Teacher for his entire career. Together they probably educated 1000's of children whose parents couldn't have given a flying crap if their kids learned anything as long as they passed each grade.
I say that to say this. My parents earned their retirements right? I mean, they worked hard took care of myself and my siblings (there were 5 of us total), they should enjoy their retirements right?
The first year they were retired, they did just that! They traveled, when I say that I mean I don't think they were home more than a week at a time that first year. They went everywhere; China, Japan, toured Europe, cruise to Australia, Caribbean vacations, Alaskan get-aways. Really, you name it, they were there. When they were doing this, they were happy. Always smiling and sending post cards from all over the world. It was great for them.
Then..................
Their church came calling for them. That's right, their church asked them to be Ward Missionaries. What this means is they are supposed to spend a few days a week "fellowshipping" people that have 'fallen' away from the church back into the church. Essentially for lack of a better description, they are the equivalent of sales representatives from your local cable company coming around and trying to get you to go back to their service.
At first it was ok I think..
Then, their "Mission Leader" informs them that they can NO LONGER travel. That's right, not only do they have to donate their time (which I think is admirable) they now have to give up their freedom to ENJOY THEIR RETIREMENT. I know they are TBM, I get that, I am just saddened to see them unable to do what they love.
If it was JUST the travel, I would have felt for them, but I would have I guess understood their commitment to their beliefs.
It WASN'T JUST THE TRAVEL......
My son placed second in his school's science fair, and of course he invited his Grandparents to come and see him accept his award at the awards ceremony.
They couldn't make it!! They were too busy with "fellowshipping" to take time to see their grandson be rewarded for his hard work. They are recruiting people into a faith that preaches 'family togetherness' etc. but, when the chips are down.........
Recruiting more people to pay tithing is more important than family......
I know my parents don't feel that way. They told me they tried to reschedule, their "mission president" told them they couldn't reschedule as that might cause the 'prospects' to feel inconvenienced! REALLY???
I love my parents dearly, I just do NOT understand that system of beliefs where you would sacrifice your freedom, and family to recruit people back into something they left, obviously by CHOICE because they weren't happy!
If anyone can please tell me how that works, and how it is justifiable, please I am willing to listen...
I say that to say this. My parents earned their retirements right? I mean, they worked hard took care of myself and my siblings (there were 5 of us total), they should enjoy their retirements right?
The first year they were retired, they did just that! They traveled, when I say that I mean I don't think they were home more than a week at a time that first year. They went everywhere; China, Japan, toured Europe, cruise to Australia, Caribbean vacations, Alaskan get-aways. Really, you name it, they were there. When they were doing this, they were happy. Always smiling and sending post cards from all over the world. It was great for them.
Then..................
Their church came calling for them. That's right, their church asked them to be Ward Missionaries. What this means is they are supposed to spend a few days a week "fellowshipping" people that have 'fallen' away from the church back into the church. Essentially for lack of a better description, they are the equivalent of sales representatives from your local cable company coming around and trying to get you to go back to their service.
At first it was ok I think..
Then, their "Mission Leader" informs them that they can NO LONGER travel. That's right, not only do they have to donate their time (which I think is admirable) they now have to give up their freedom to ENJOY THEIR RETIREMENT. I know they are TBM, I get that, I am just saddened to see them unable to do what they love.
If it was JUST the travel, I would have felt for them, but I would have I guess understood their commitment to their beliefs.
It WASN'T JUST THE TRAVEL......
My son placed second in his school's science fair, and of course he invited his Grandparents to come and see him accept his award at the awards ceremony.
They couldn't make it!! They were too busy with "fellowshipping" to take time to see their grandson be rewarded for his hard work. They are recruiting people into a faith that preaches 'family togetherness' etc. but, when the chips are down.........
Recruiting more people to pay tithing is more important than family......
I know my parents don't feel that way. They told me they tried to reschedule, their "mission president" told them they couldn't reschedule as that might cause the 'prospects' to feel inconvenienced! REALLY???
I love my parents dearly, I just do NOT understand that system of beliefs where you would sacrifice your freedom, and family to recruit people back into something they left, obviously by CHOICE because they weren't happy!
If anyone can please tell me how that works, and how it is justifiable, please I am willing to listen...
Monday, March 15, 2010
A short rant
Don't get me wrong...I am NOT absolutely NOT intending this to be a place where I will rant and rave about religion, politics or anything like that. Now, with that said, I will on occasion go off on subjects that I think I need to talk about..
This is one of those times. My brother in law, a great guy (he has to be he is married to a freakin' psychopath), we'll call her "F" since I don't want to be sued any time soon. Called me upset. It appears that he didn't have enough money to pay BOTH his mortgage and tithing (yes he is a member of the predominant religion here in Utah). I being logical told him "Pay your mortgage, you won't be going to hell for keeping a roof over your families head". --Logical and intelligent right? So "B" pays the mortgage and doesn't pay a full 10% (He told me it was closer to 5%).
Anyway a few days later I get a phone call with "F" screaming in her shrill "I'm Bat Shit Crazy" voice about "how dare you tell "B" to not pay tithing?!?!?" I guess her Bishop called on them and wanted to voice his concern at their not paying a FULL 10% that month.
Now, that chaps my butt on a couple levels...First, WFT?? I mean really, you don't DONATE 10% of your income in one month and the leader of your religious group calls on you to find out why??? REALLY??? That strikes me as messed up!! Last I checked, the United Way doesn't call me and say: "Hey you didn't donate the same as last year, WTF Dude?" They just say thank you and cash my check.
Second level of chappation: I advise her hubby to pay the DAMN MORTGAGE and keep a roof over their heads and she is mad at ME? Ok, that's it I have nothing else at the moment. Maybe I am wrong??
This is one of those times. My brother in law, a great guy (he has to be he is married to a freakin' psychopath), we'll call her "F" since I don't want to be sued any time soon. Called me upset. It appears that he didn't have enough money to pay BOTH his mortgage and tithing (yes he is a member of the predominant religion here in Utah). I being logical told him "Pay your mortgage, you won't be going to hell for keeping a roof over your families head". --Logical and intelligent right? So "B" pays the mortgage and doesn't pay a full 10% (He told me it was closer to 5%).
Anyway a few days later I get a phone call with "F" screaming in her shrill "I'm Bat Shit Crazy" voice about "how dare you tell "B" to not pay tithing?!?!?" I guess her Bishop called on them and wanted to voice his concern at their not paying a FULL 10% that month.
Now, that chaps my butt on a couple levels...First, WFT?? I mean really, you don't DONATE 10% of your income in one month and the leader of your religious group calls on you to find out why??? REALLY??? That strikes me as messed up!! Last I checked, the United Way doesn't call me and say: "Hey you didn't donate the same as last year, WTF Dude?" They just say thank you and cash my check.
Second level of chappation: I advise her hubby to pay the DAMN MORTGAGE and keep a roof over their heads and she is mad at ME? Ok, that's it I have nothing else at the moment. Maybe I am wrong??
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