My Favorite Question Is Why.

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It’s true, over the course of this blog’s existence I’ve tried different things for a while, wrote about certain things a bit, and even tried to get the community of followers to participate on occasion, but I can’t ever seen to keep focused on the new things or the introductions I might make. However, I was just going through my email for this blog and I’ve noticed a trend once again. There are people in and out of The Scorpion Army who are still sending me stories, still sending me pictures of themselves in various stages of undress, and still sending me fucked up shit that they found that they would like to see posted here. It appears that I have been slacking on my promise of posting whatever I want because I have my own set of rules, policies, and conditions. Is everyone right? Kinda. I don’t go for a certain demographic, age group, or political alignment, I shotgun blast my posts. If you like it then okay, if you don’t like it, then that’s okay as well.

So, maybe it’s time to start sharing once again the things that get shared with me, especially from members of The Scorpion Army, because they have already taken that one step of requirement, by simply following my blog. I have quite a backlog of stories, pictures, and oddities from around the world. So, it’s time, just fuck it, now we see how dicey things can really get. Normally I would ask if we are all fucking ready, but as it turns out, you just need to buckle up and enjoy the damn ride. I thought I would start by sharing the newest member of The Scorpion Army.

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Why So Fucking Serious?

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If you ever want trouble, come between an addict and her coffee. If you ever want to witness a coffee meltdown, fuck up my wife’s order at the local coffee chain outlet near our home. Oh yes, it happened, and I write today to maybe help myself understand why coffee zombies, my wife included,  go from zero to ballistic in .000001 seconds when their overpriced coffee crack is not prepared in a manner of perfection fitting for their standards. But, before I tell you a little story, let me just re-address the fact that there are a handful of places I absolutely refuse to go because I can’t fucking stand the mere thought of going inside. I don’t go with my wife or for my wife, hell no, fuck that shit, the people that work in these places are fucking rude, anal, and have lost their damn minds. I tend not to promote things or places I detest, so we not say the names of a national chain of make-up stores, the mall, or the national chain of coffee stores be written about today. Y’all are smart, figure it out. Let’s just say I have almost been divorced twice for my refusal to enter particular places of business.

Anyway, my wife has a ritual, on paydays each month, she pays the coffee monsters big bucks so her cravings can be satisfied. This means she gets high dollar coffee crack four times a month and on other special occasions. The rest of the month she fakes it with the little brew cups and different flavoured creamers. So, I get looking forward to something. We all have things we like and look forward to having, but coffee drinkers are fucking different, very different. I know the week is drawing to a close because her claws and fangs become more pronounced. So, let me explain what almost sparked the spring skirmish of 2017.

Yesterday my wife is on her way to work, making the ritual pitstop to get her blah blah blah mocha fucked up size name coffee. After waiting behind 12 or so cars she tells the speaker box the kind of coffee she wants. She says it in a fashion to which one would believe he is witnessing a line from a foreign film being spoken. It’s almost erotic in a way, especially coming from a person who lives in southeast Texas and can neither speak or understood one word in Spanish. Needless to say, after money has exchanged hands and she goes to take her first sip, it the wrong coffee. These fools have given her a cup of coffee with another person’s name written on the side. Bastards! How dare they do this inconsiderate and uncaring thing to her. Instantaneously​ mad now, she wants the blood, the balls, and this motherfucker’s first born for this fuck up. The nerve!

Of course this has to be resolved in a lady like, very polite manner, and she is in such a big hurry that she returns to the line of cars which is twice as long now. It’s the principal I’m told, she should not have to go inside to unfuck their overpriced coffee mistake. I’m, okay then. Here’s the kicker, when she finally arrived at the window, the spoiled little cunt sees the cup with my wife’s name on it sitting there all lonely and actually tried to hand it to her. How dare this bitch try to give her a coffee that was carefully crafted a mere 23 minutes ago, I mean, really bitch? All sarcasm aside, that girl is lucky their hands never touched because my wife would have dragged her out of the little window and gave her a stern talking to. Now a manager has arrived on scene to diffuse the “altercation”. She solves this entire thing buy re-making her coffee, up-sizing it for her, even adding sprinkles and whipped cream, and the refunding her $6 plus dollars. To top it off, since she knows my wife is a long time loyal patron, she gives he a gift card in equivalence to 30 days of free coffee made in the manner she prefers. That’s the equivalent to just shy of a $200 value for those of y’all counting at home.

So, it’s all been taken care of, right? Wrong! Why? Because I get to hear about the whole fucking thing for a second time once she got home. Also, had to listen to her talk and angry text on her phone the rest of the night. Now, I know it seems as though I am petty and don’t care about her problems, but it’s just fucking coffee. Don’t ever try to tell a coffee person it’s just “coffee” and expect to survive. Now I get to fight with my wife because I failed to take all of this bullshit serious one little bit. Oh, trust me when I tell y’all that it has escalated beyond an “I’m sorry” at this point, there may be big trouble brewing now. I know I’m a bastard for not taking this seriously, but how can I?

The image above was borrowed from the internet, a Google search more specifically, and do not have permission to use it today, tomorrow, or any other day. Oddly enough, I Googled “coffee zombie” and it was one of the results. I liked the look and decided to use it. If it belongs to you and you can prove it in writing I will gladly give you credit or remove it upon your request.

 

An Impression Worth A Fuck

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Your business card is your first and sometimes only fucking opportunity to make a good, honest impression.  Not having a fucking business card at all is no longer an option. In a world of endless networking opportunities, we need to have a fucking seamless way to exchange information.

More than anything, you want your fucking business card to reflect who you fucking are and what you fucking represent. Your business card should be a direct reflection of your own fucking personality and leave a good first impression with all the fucking people you give it to.

Many times, your fucking business card can be what they use to remember you. Less can be more when designing a fucking business card. Clean lines, neutral color schemes and straight to the point informational text is what works for most fucking people. This style is fucking great for individuals wanting to exemplify professionalism and fucking simplicity. These fucking people are looking for a simple, yet effective way to make fucking lifelong contacts and build fucking reliable relationships.

Now, I must admit, I re-wrote what I’m sure was a great blast e-mail advertising scheme, but I had no choice, I had to do it. But, wait, as y’all can see above, I already have a great fucking business card! However, those of y’all with no sense of humor may have missed my point so I will give it to y’all simple, people don’t want fluff and bullshit, they want you to keep it fucking real. Sometimes simplicity is the best answer.

Can you tell I tire easily of fucking spam e-mail, the unsolicited barrage of shit that nobody gives a fuck about? But, by all means, if you and your business rely on business cards, do it right and make sure you’re not selling a cart of bullshit.

Return Of The Scorpion, Reloaded

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Have y’all ever been awake in bed, staring at the ceiling about a million different things and in the midst of all your deep thoughts you find yourself wondering what it would look like with mirrors on the ceiling? Funny question, right? Not really. Not for me. As much as I looked forward to the return of The Sting of the Scorpion I found life kicking me in the balls with bigger things to worry about. In the end, at the end of each day, I find myself in bed unable to fall asleep because of suffering from a very busy brain.

I lay there wondering when life became so complicated. I’ll start with me, mine is the easiest to explain I suppose. Somewhere around the first of the year I went to the doctor because I was suffering from pain in my back that home remedies like ibuprofen and ice could no longer relieve. I was unaware of any injury to my back and figured it was age+work+fatigue+ I’m not 20 anymore= my pain. A series of tests, studies, and exams revealed that my L4 and L3 are ruptured along with my L2 on it way to oblivion. However, it not due to injury, it’s due to some degenerative disease I cannot spell or pronounce along with some pretty severe arthritis. In English, a+b+c= a severe deflection in 3 different directions accompanying the continued pressure on many nerves. After many doctors, a couple pain management specialists, and even some injections, the only answer I am given is to have corrective surgery. And at this stage, there isn’t any fundage to take care of that lovely deductable. So, that shits on hold.

My now 21 year old daughter is attempting to have children at a zero success rate. We, her and I, have been to the fertility clinic on more than one occasion and it was discovered she suffers from PCOS accompanied by a super high testosterone level. So, now she is on a “plan” to bring everything into alignment so eventually she can get pregnant. The challenge has been to keep her emotions in check but this has ramped her anxiety up a billion fold.

So, somewhere around early last month my wife and I were enjoying a very relaxing and romantic bubble bath together until I found she had a weird bump near the limph node of her left breast. The bubble bath ended. This started a series of appointments, exams, and consultations. Allot of fucking time had to pass while being in the dark, not knowing that answers we we seeking, and I cannot even imagine what this is doing to my wife on the inside emotionally. But, now we have news, there are masses, however not concerning masses, and all tests will be repeated in November this year.

As y’all can see, the last few months have been a fucking roller coaster from hell and we aren’t getting off just yet I’m afraid. So, I lay in bed next to my wife at night, staring at her sleeping and staring at my bare ceiling wondering what I look like staring into the abyss trying to empty out my mind so I can get some sleep. It’s hard enough having my problems I can’t get corrected and a thousand times harder watching time click by with the ones I love while they wonder about their own personal unknowns. So, have patience with me as I find time, energy, and the right mood to keep coming back, it will happen, but I have to take into account this thing I call my life.

Trying To Tame The Beast Is Hard

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Over the years I have looked at different ways to keep my composure before, during, and after a conflict. Over the years I have found that for me it is a total crock of shit and truly a waste of my time. I don’t do well with drama, I don’t do well with being lied to, much less these days I really have lost my desire to adult. Why should I have to be the grown up, the adult, the voice of reason, or even care? Why? Well, don’t ask me anything because I really just don’t know anything anymore. As I get a closer grip on 50 I have found that I care much less about so much more and it burdens me to try to explain why it’s this way now. I have a few basic rules, all of equal importance, so disregard any order y’all might see them put in. I would like to think, but often I’m proven wrong, that we all have a basic set of rules when interacting with people. Mine are listed below, in no particular order, they’re just listed.

Since I listen to a great deal of my own personal taste of music I get that others in the car may not have my tastes. On these occasions or instances I do bend and attempt to accommodate others, those others are on a short list which includes my wife, my parents, and the outlaws. Other than those select few I have a suck it motherfucker attitude and you can just endure what you don’t like. I have go to music on the public airways when I make the choice for others which includes classic rock and oldies country. But, as a absolute golden rule, if you see me turn the volume knob and hear the volume increase considerably that means whatever was being said is now on hold. One is free to sing along but you are forbidden to talk to me. I respect the fact you want to talk through a song I like but you need to respect the fact that I am not currently listening nor will I reply. Those who think they know me usually comply but not always.

I don’t do well with being lied to, not to my face, not behind my back, and surely not to save your ass. I would like to think that most people want the common courtesy not to be lied to. When it begins I tend to get that just suck it motherfucker look on my face. I don’t argue with a liar simply because most liars can’t keep the story straight. Just remember, lies are a relationship killer for me. Those of you who are veterans to this blog will recall a section of this blog called The Magic Weekend, well that was a very big motivation for it, the lies, the bullshit, and the lack of clear evidence. More often than not a person who must lie isn’t trying to be funny though, it’s pure deceitfulness.

I think the last thing I will mention, since I am still in the process of teaching my son to drive and it’s pretty fresh is dickhead drivers. One kind specifically, the dickhead who drives by the entire line of others trying to go the same place but can’t possibly wait and must forcably insert his/her car close to the front of the line. The can suck it motherfucker because you will hit my car trying. Fuck you, get in fucking line, we are all trying to get to our fucking destination. I 100% make the exception to all emergency vehicles, no matter what. But the rest of you slimy impatient motherfuckers can just rot in line with the rest of us.

I think in the end, it comes down to respect, something our society lacks because way to many people honestly believe that they should always be first. I’m not that person. I have taken the time to teach my children not to be that person. I know that three simple words, suck it motherfucker, solve many things for me personally. In regards to being finished or done for those regulars here, I’m done with people who will not make the choice to stand out and stand behind their choices.

Anyway, blah blah blah blah, thanks for visiting and enduring my nonsense. I just had all three of my rules crossed first thing this morning and wanted to vent a bit.