Please don't eat my babies

See here, Mrs. Green, I got a bag full of your babies, and I am going to eat them.

Oh No, please don't eat my babies!

But they I so delectably sweet, I must. And there is nothing you do about it. Muahahahaha

Oh no please not my babies, I will do anything you ask.

Anything?

ANY-thing....

Hmmmm....

And that is how I got this bag full of green and white m&ms

Merry Christmas Jerk

Merry Christmas You Jerk.

What did you give me? Nothing but some cheap plastic toys that I ate in less than five minutes and this stupid ass hat that I can't shake off. Sure laugh it up, but while you are messing around with your new espresso machine, and gorging on chocolate without giving me any, I am going to go chew on the cord for the Christmas lights.

That'll teach you to turn me into Santa's little helper: Asshole

I say young man can you let me go? Or at least give me some milk and cookies, I am all bones and beard. I am sorry I did not bring you a new hot top coffee roaster that you wanted. But times are tough. You should be happy with your new espresso machine and five pound sack of beans.

More little turd adventures

The other day I took the lil turd out to the dog park to work on some "trust building" exercises. Since he is a rather small dog (20 lbs wet) and would most likely just run out of the way if I fell and try to have him catch me, our trust building exercise consists of walking around the trails of the dog park with his six foot lead dangling from his harness. I let him run around like a banshee and pray that I have enough time to step on the leash and pull him out of any trouble that he is bound to get into.

Because, he most definitely looks for trouble to get into.

For a neutered male, this little mother fucker has got some big balls and if there is something to chase, bark at or roll in, he is generally the first in line not giving a shit about what anyone else has to say about the matter.

"Go on, give me a bath jerk, I am still going to roll in this dead rat!"

Anyways, being a good dog owner, I still to my best and try to build some trust by allowing him to run around, provided he comes when I call him. Scary enough, he generally does come when I call, but then there are times he is too busy doing other shit.

And the other day one of those times happened.

"Brisco..." I had yelled after realizing that I had been contemplating a scenario for my latest post apocalyptic zombie porn tale for a bit too long while looking at the some cool looking apartment buildings that jut out of green mound of El Cerrito's Hill and that I had not seen him fly past me in a while.

"Brisco!" I called again, "where the fuck are you you little turd?" I yelled as I walked further up the grassy embankment to see if perhaps he had met some dogs in the large field that we always play fetch in, but I heard no sign of a squabble that usually comes in his wake so I turned around and looked in the bushes that bordered the ledge that led down to a muddy little beach that looked out across the water at a Costco which lay on the other side.

There he was, standing on the filthy beach staring very intently at a large bird hanging out in the shallow muddy water. I made it about half way down the cliff, screaming his name like bloody murder (which apparently is not a good way to get your dog to come to you), when he decided that the mud look like it might hold him and took off after the bird.

Seeing the little shithead swimming through the mud was quite a site, if the vision of me getting stabbed by my girlfriend for letting our dog drown in mud had not prevented me from laughing, I might have. Instead I scrambled down the path and hoped to cheese and rice that the little bugger did not try to swim over to Costco (although i did need to go there and pick up some shit anyway).

Thankfully, i was all juiced up on a butt load ( literally) espresso from the new espresso machine that my girlfriend has surprised me with as sort of a early Christmas gift (I had been gulping down SO shots of El Salvador Finca La Florida all freaking morning) giving me the ability to race down the hillside and over the beach like the six million dollar man. I was even ready to plunge face first into the muddy water and chase after the little asshole, but thankfully, he struggled his way back onto the beach and I was able to catch up with him, after jumping over a few jagged rocks and random junk that tends to jut out of the peninsula that once was a landfill.

I stepped on his leash before he can make another go at the bird, which seemed to be enjoying the game, and pulled him up to my eye level. I held a liver treat up to him, letting him smell it and then threw it into the muddy water, before dragging is stinky muddy ass home. I actually laughed like an evil villain as I gave gave him a bath. He deserved it, the little turd, but I have a feeling if he had a chance, he would do it all over again.

Grinch is going to a Ween concert

Just finished up doing some internet shopping this weekend.

Tis the season, right?

Bullshit. All of it was for me.

Sure, I thought about looking for some stuff for the fam and other loved ones: Scouring ebay for that perfect lame ass christmas themed sweater, taking an machete to amazon to see if perhaps I can get everyone I know a book or something (i do my best to encourage literacy).

I even (too keep this post some what relevant) contemplated buying up ten elbows of some very very expensive Organic Ethiopian Harar Biftu Genema Coffee and roasting it all up and shipping it out to some of my closest Facebook friends. This was the best fucking coffee I have had the pleasure of roasting up in the last couple months, probably one of the tastiest of the year and ironically one of the priciest. Okay, so its 8 bucks as pound tag is not so bad compared to Kona Coffee, Geshas, or any coffee that comes out of a animals butt, butl when you are looking to buy up a big sack of it, the price can be a bit hard to swallow.

But, still I was ready to do it. Ready to by a whole bunch of this kick ass coffee and roast it all up and ship it off to spread some good old fashioned mother fucking Christmas cheer yo. I was not even going to drink any myself, just ship it all off to everyone I knew, sending the message of peace on earth, goodwill and other shit while blowing away everyones taste buds with the awesomeness that was fresh roast.

Then I found out that Ween was playing in Oakland.

Since it was was already sold out, I had to pay out the ass plus a little more in the form of a convenience fee (fucking convenience fees) to get two tickets on Stub Hub. It was a bundle but its Ween you see and I had to go.

I just had too.

I did buy some coffee from Sweet Marias, but it was just a meager six pounds for personal use, the ten pound monolith was sent to the shopping cart's trash can.

Hey, quit looking at me like that. It was Ween okay, and they only tour once in a while. Besides, I probably would have ended up keeping most of the Harar for myself anyway. Go ahead call me a Grinch. But, this grinch is going to a Ween concert.

>

TUrkey licking Thursday

Hey There Turkey Licker. How is going? Ready for the Big T-Day? I had to get up a little early on this cold ass Thanksgiving morning to get a good start on the candied yams that I promised to bring. I also promised to bring some green bean casserole, but Yesterday, when I went to Trader Joe's it was a flipping madhouse by golly. People were scrambling everywhere like looters in security camera footage grabbing what they could and then getting in line before it got too long. I had made a list of shit I needed, but mob frenzy took over and soon I was in the the midst of them fighting an old lady for the last pumpkin pie sample , dodging kids, scaling walls, grabbing organic sugar pumpkins that I really did not need, and pretty much forgetting about the list altogether; the crunchy onion things, the green beans, the mushrooms and such were completely ignored.

I walked out of that asylum with my large recycled pop bottle bag full of all kinds of shit, but only about half of the things that were on my list. Instead attempting to revisit that terror, I decided to walk over to the Lucky Supermarket instead. Besides, according to the sticker on the organic sugar pumpkin, I needed some condensed milk in order to make a good flippin pie (don't ask me why, but I like using flippin now).

The supermarket was also nuts, which of course it would be on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Once again my mob mentality took over mixing with the the energy rush I got from the sugar in pumpkin pie sample and I charged through the crowds, grabbing what I thought I needed and getting the flip out of there.

Pie tins check, marshmallows check, oh sweet evaporated milk 10 for 10 bucks, check and mate. I even stop to check to see if they whole nutmeg because Alston Brown from Good Eats says that you should always use fresh ground nutmeg but it turned out to be way to flippin expensive. I did see a Campbells soup green bean casserole display, but my hands were already full, so I hustled my way over to the self checkout where I was forced to wait as two panicked middle aged women did their best to figure out how to get the machine to ring up their produce.

So, the people are just going to have to live with my candied yams and homemade pumpkin pies with un-fresh nutmeg. Also, I had to improvise a little, since the pie recipe called for condensed milk and I got evaporated, but I think it will be okay. I also forgot the whip cream, but I am pretty sure there's a 7-11 along the way. Well thats what I am doing up so early, getting ready to prepare my part of the upcoming feast. Of course, I am also drinking some coffee, a Ethiopian Harar/ India Sanskrit blend that is really rocking and making me wish I had some more of and doing a little writing in my blog.

Oh pooper scooper, look at the time, I really need to get started on those yams. besides the Lions game is almost on, and I need to prepare myself to be scared, hopeful, optimistic and then dissapointed once again.

The little turd

Yesterday Morning, as I was finishing up a pot of India Sanskrit that I had roasted up the day before and doing my best to finish up an article on Dandelion Wine (the drink, not the book). The little turd pictured here was doing his best to bug the living crap out of me. He has this little game he likes to play with me when I am at my computer desk . He takes his nasty "suckle ball" and uses it as a sort of battering ram to force his way through the roll-out keyboard tray and get to my lap.

This suckle ball is a indestructible fluffy white ball that has pretty much been hauled over every filthy square inch of our apartment. When he is not trying his best to tear it apart or dragging through his own filth, he is contentedly suckling on it.

Here is a pic of the nasty thing

I think it is made from recycled plastic bottles or some shit like that.

It smells like dirty dishwater and piss.

So anyway, he dumped the nasty thing on my lap, and then just stood there, giving me that expectant pleading look, that all dogs seem to master. Being busy and in no mood to dick around with his smelly old ball, needing to finish up my article on dandelions , I did my best to avoid his stare, took a sip of my coffee, and continued plodding along on my keyboard. The India Sanskrit brew had gone cold, but still tasted okay, although not as good as the Mysore Nuggets. It was a bit too hearty and Robust like for my taste, but it could have been the P1 roast cycle that I used.

"MMMphhh" Said the little turd, as he danced to and fro and did his best not to bark at me, which would have led to banishment to the living room.

So I took the ball and tossed it, wiped the residual filth off on my pants and continued typing.

This was a mistake.

Because, once engaged in such activity, the little turd naturally assumed that it was playtime. So once again he took the ball and shoved it up through the keyboard rollout and into my lap and once again put on his pained look of expectation. Needing to get some shit done that morning, I sighed and shoved him and the ball back down, only to have him push back up and drop in in my lap. Then just as I was about to take his damn suckle ball throw it out of the room and then shut the door on his ass as he followed it, he stood up with his paws on my knees, did a little shuffle and then promptly farted a long wheezing fart that sounded a bit like a balloon deflating.

What a character this guy is.

Grampa tells a story

Grampa, grampa, Tell me a story!

Fuck Off kid, Grampa's busy eating delicious candy.

But Grampa! Pleassssse? Tell me a story and I wont stab you with a screwdriver anymore.

Oh, all right....

Once upon the time in a enchanted kitchen across the hallway their was this Magical Roaster that, through the transforming power of heat, helped turned special beans into the greatest elixir that all of history has ever known . Behmor 1600 was its name, an it was truly a very, very special machine.

Grampa, you are not going to talk about coffee again are you?

Do you want a fucking story or not kid? Now, eat some candy and listen to my tale.

So anyway, the mighty little Behmor was truly a magical machine that the kitchen creatures could not live without. However, when it came to loading in the virginal green beans into the sacred wire roasting drum, properly sealing it and placing it in the sacrificial alter to be slowly turned and burned and transformed, great care needed to be taken by the head roasting genie to make sure that everything was safe and working and shit. Otherwise great calamity could come to all the kitchen forest creatures.

Grampa, are talking about last week when you were roasting up an 11 oz batch of Papua New Guinea Peaberry and failed to properly place the drum in the holding notch and then forgot to double check to make sure it turned ok before turning on the roaster and going back to writing your post apocalyptic zombie porn tales only to have the drum fall off the spindle thing a few minutes into the roast and spill the beans all over the chaff collector?

Umm maybe, but hey, I threw in magical creatures and virgin sacrifices and stuff. What the fuck do you want from me kid?

Well, you told me that story already. So tell me another one.

Once upon a time in the magical subtropic mountain forests of India, there was this special tree with magical cherries...