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I finished my fast but short run at the gym and after taking a much needed steam I rushed over to the local coffee shop for an iced coffee and some focused writing that is coming much easier these days.  procrastination finally retiring after fifty years.  I AM GOING INSANE AS I WRITE THOUGH AS EACH TIME I LOOK UP TO MY SCREEN LETTERS ARE MISSING FROM MY WORDS AND I CANNOT CATCH THE FUCKER TO KNOW IF I MISSED THE LETTER OR THE FUCKING COMPUTER KEYBOARD IS SHIT.  ALMOST AS FRUSTRATING AS TRYING TO BLOW YOURSELF BUT ALWAYS JUST A MERE MILLIMETRE AWAY.  LIFE’S FUCKING FRUSTRATIONS!!!
anyway, I make it to the local coffee shop and as I enter I say “HI” to the local “slow” man who is always sitting outside the coffee shop smoking and staring.  he looks insane but doesn’t look dull.  I gravitate more to the insane than the dull.  so I said, “hi”, and he said, “HI”, back and I entered the coffee shop.  shortly after entering the “slow” man was inside as well.
“what’s your name?” he asked.
“Jack”, I responded.  What’s your name?”
“Bob.”  he said back.  “what are you getting?” he continued.
“A coffee.”
“I have a coffee already.  I drink one a day.  sometimes two.”
“Sounds great Bob.  I’ll talk to you shortly. need to order.”
“yeah right.  right.  order.  I am sitting here drinking my coffee.  I might need another one soon but I have no money.”
“Here’s a dollar.  that’s all I have left.  one dollar.”
I handed him the dollar and he pulled out a bottle of pills and put the dollar in the empty pill bottle and then I ordered my drink.
I got my iced coffee and said “bye” to Bob.
“are you leaving now?” he asked.
“yeh gotta get back to work.  busy day.”
“yeah…okay.  have a good day then.”  he continued.
I grabbed my iced coffee and walked outside.  I looked inside the coffee shop to see if Bob was looking out before I grabbed my seat.  Bob was looking out as I was about to sit down so I changed seats.  as I was about to sit in my new seat I noticed Bob looking out again so I went back to my first seat.  there was only one seat on the patio where I would be blocked from Bob’s vision but two elderly well put together ladies were occupying them so I went back to my first seat and hoped Bob’s vision wasn’t good.  Unfortunately it was.  within minutes of sitting down Bob was out on the patio again.
“I thought you said you had to leave.”  Bob barked at me.
“I do.  I just have to finish something first and then I am going to leave.  I’m very busy today. trying to stay focused.”  I replied back.
“Oh…I’m just going to grab a smoke.  are you leaving?”
“soon…very soon.”
“okay, well if you want to sit over in the corner I can talk to you while I smoke.”
“Sounds like a great idea Bob but I just have to do this one thing and then I have to leave.”
“Oh…okay…I’m going to smoke…do you like my hat?”
“Yeah…I noticed it earlier.  It’s a nice hat.  I like the eagle on it.”
Bob pulled off his baseball hat and showed me the hat.  it was just some average touristy hat that you get at a truck stop but Bob loved his hat.
“Yeah, thanks.  It’s a nice hat.”
“yes it is.”
“Guess what?”  Bob asked.
“what?”  I replied back.
“I tried to go to the Jews and Bazz (Blues and Jazz but Bob must have a speech impediment or brain impediment) but they wouldn’t let me in.”
“why not?”
“They told me that I had to pay five bucks.  five bucks for what?  to listen to some music.  just to listen to music.  rip off.  a big rip off.”
“Oh for sure.  And you still have to pay for beers!!!”
I was now resigned to the fact that no writing was going to be done so I was taking the opportunity to stir Bob up and he fell for the bait.
“Oh I know.  hahahahahahahahaha.  and the beers aren’t cheap.”  Bob said as he stared at me with a look of anger, confusion, and blankness all in one.
“no they’re not.  good beers though.”
“Oh I know.  I love beer.  but I only drink one a day.  sometimes two.  but sometimes they put the beers in a big mug with a handle on the glass.  I love the handle.  you know. I just love the handle.  sort of like coffee.  I love beer and I love coffee.  especially with the handles.  easier to drink you know?”
“Oh yes I know Bob.  I hate it when there’s no handle.  how the fuck are you supposed to drink the damn beer???”
“Oh I know.  Molson Canadian it says on the beer bottle.  in really big letters.”
“Oh yeah…I love Molson Canadian (I hate Molson Canadian but still winding Bob up)”
“Yeah…Molson Canadian.  good beer.  hahahahahahahaha.”  Bob continued wit that strange look of everything.
“Well I better get going Bob.  I have to go.”
PAUSE.  PAUSE.  PAUSE.
“Yeah…you have to go right?  where do you have to go?”
“I have to get back home.  lots of work left.”
“Oh yeah…yeah you better get back.”
“plus it loos like it’s going to rain.  how are you going t get home?”
“The bus.  I ride the bus for free.  I have a pass.”
“How do you ride the bus for free?” (I knew but didn’t know if Bob knew).
“I don’t know but I do.  Look at my pass.”  Bob tried to show me his pass but I stood up.
“I have to go Bob.  I really do.”
Oh yeah…I like the Chicago Blackhawks and I sit in my garage when it rains.  And I like Kane.  Patrick Kane.  And I was born in Surgery (Sudbury) and my Dad is sick and my MOm is live and they live somewhere but I’m not sure where.  hahahahahahaahaha.”
Bob went on and on and on and on.  he wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t leave.  I am way too nice even though I am a fucked up mess and I sat there as Bob continued.  story after story.  stories filled with crazy laughs with crazy looks and awkward pauses and scary stare downs and I sat in silence.  watching.  observing.  wondering.  wondering what was wrong with Bob.  did he have siblings?  did he have friends?  had he ever fucked anyone?  had h been to jail?  had he killed someone?  had he ever had a job?  I wondered about Bob and his life as he continued on and on about everything from hockey to beer to scars on his head to his parents to cops to “Surgery” and “Jews and Bazz” and all kinds of other things.  other topics.
I finally told Bob with a firm but friendly tone that I had to leave and he seemed upset.  But I had to go.  tight schedule.  tight focus.
as I stood up to leave Bob spoke one last time.
“where’s your car?”
“Right over there.  the blue one over there.”  I pointed to my blue car.
“Oh…yeah…”
PAUSE.  PAUSE.  PAUSE.
Bob looked at me with that death stare of confusion once again.
I began to walk away.
“Hey.”  Bob yelled.
“Yeah.”  I replied.
“Do you have ten bucks I could borrow?”
“Sorry Bob.  I don’t have any money.”
And with that I walked away to my car.
Bob walked back inside.
people are unique.  just listen.  some are dull.  some are slow.  some are funny.  some do blow.
some are smart.  some are dumb.  people are unique.  listen and love.  slow down…sometimes.  and sometimes talking and engaging in conversation is much better than rushing to jobs that you hate to make money for bosses that you hate.
fuck everyone and their fucking dumb rules of life and just live.
I feel bad for Bob.

Jack Tait walked into a small coffee shop in Toronto and immediately saw beauty.  this came in the form of the hot twenty-one year old girl behind the counter serving coffee.  Jack ordered his coffee and then said, “I know you.”
the girl awkwardly smiled back at Jack and said, “are you sure?”
Jack said, “yes you’re friends with Sandy.  I was out with you and Eric one night on Roncy.  what happened to Eric.  I heard it didn’t go well?”
“Oh yeah…I remember you now.  I’m sorry.  I was pretty drunk that night.  Yeah after you left the night turned bad.”  this was all said with a beautiful smile and a giddiness that can only come from a girl under twenty-five.  as girls age they generally become bitter and tired but Jack knew to avoid those ones and stayed engaged in playful conversation with this beautiful girl.
“It got so weird.  I was with that other guy who I like and Eric got so jealous and he just got nasty and then left.  I’ve reached out to him a few times but he just ignores me.”  The hot girl continued.
“That’s too bad.  he’s a good guy but that’s brutal.”  Jack responded with his sixty-one year old wisdom.
“Yeah it is too bad.  I have told Eric many times that I only want to be his friend but he never listens.  Now I heard he’s right back with his ex.”
“Really?”
“Yeah really.  isn’t that crazy???”
“Yeah that’s terrible.  I don’t know.  guys are weird sometimes.  or maybe guys are weird all the time.  who knows?”
“What was your name again?”
“Jack…Jack Tait.  What was your name?”
“Chloe.”
“Nice to meet you Chloe.”
“Yeah same here.”
all this talk done with smiles and chuckles.  Jack Tait talking a good game but wanting to bang Chloe sooooo badly.  Never crossing the line outwardly but inwardly undressing Chloe and fucking her and kissing her and getting blown by her.  Jack Tait always a great multi-tasker.
After all the talk Chloe gave Jack his coffee and took his money.  two dollars.  Jack was wearing clothes for some reason.
“Thanks for the coffee Chloe.”
“No problem Jack.”
they exchanged looks.  Jack’s was one of yearning and horniness.  Chloe’s was one of trust and friendship.  maybe a bit of intrigue.  an intrigue that involves a man of sixty-one years old but seemingly twenty-five years old but looking like he is seventy-years old.  lots of thoughts exchanged without words.  harmless thoughts as thoughts are only thoughts but Jack Tait was and is a horny man who wanted to fuck Chloe but respected her enough to engage in conversation but still had the horny thoughts.  Chloe looked at Jack as an older man filled with wisdom.  but a harmless older man.  a nice older man.  a gentle older man.
Jack Tait drank his coffee while attempting to read Bukowski’s Notes of a Dirty Old Man but he could not concentrate.  his mind was on Chloe.  he played the nice guy but wanted to fuck her.  wanted to see her in her panties.  wanted to go back to her place and get drunk and flirt and caress and then drink some more and then kiss and then remove clothing and then touch her vagina while she still wore her panties but without a top.  her small but firm tits bouncing ever so gently.  Jack Tait thought of all of this as he attempted to read.  he thought of long lost fucks and long lost friends.  he thought of his long lost youth and the notion of being an old man in a young man’s game.  he felt depressed as he no longer was attractive to the young hot girl’s.  he could only fuck the old bitter washed up women who were desperate and sad.  fat and bad.  he knew he was still capable of banging these young hot girl’s better and longer than any young punk but that did not make a difference any longer as he just plain looked old.  older than their Dad’s and this was fact.  not fiction.
Jack Tait finished his coffee and said “bye” to Chloe.  She smiled and said “bye” back.
Jack Tait then walked out of the coffee shop and figured he would never see Chloe again.  when Jack Tait was in his thirties and even forties he would have somehow someway got Chloe in the sack but not anymore.  age finally catching up to him.  He could still fuck and still fuck good and fuck long but the young girl’s just did not find him attractive anymore.  he was old.  another fact.  Jack Tait walked away.  walked away from young girl’s.  walked away from old girl’s.  walked away from bars.  walked away from coffee shops.  he walked away from the big bad city and stumbled back to his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.  he opened the door and fell onto his purple reclining chair.  he ripped off his clothes and began hammering himself.  he hammered long and he hammered hard.  his eyes closed and his mouth twitching and contouring while his voice was filled with moans and groans.  his thoughts still clearly on Chloe as he continued to hammer away.  twenty-three minutes later Jack Tait finally exploded a big white juicy liquid from his throbbing penis onto his left hand.  he threw it onto the carpet and fell asleep.  a long tough thoughtful emotional day of realizations finally coming to an end.  death another day closer and life still trying to be won.
Chloe finished her shift at the coffee shop and walked home.  she walked in fear as she attempted to escape horny old men and their catcalls and  horny young men with small dicks and small dull minds.  she made it home and drank a glass of wine before calling the young boy she liked for some comfort.
Jack Tait was still asleep but while asleep he had a big red man looking down on him and asking the question, “CAN GUYS AND GIRLS REALLY REALLY BE FRIENDS???”

wonder woman is shit.  period.  I don’t give a flying fuck if the movie has a female director.  nor do I give a fuck that wonder woman is supposedly empowering for women.  WRONG.  the movie is a hunk of flying shit.  just like all the other super hero movies.  fake bullshit that Hollywood puts out for the sheep to follow and follow they do.  i will praise the woman who puts out a heart wrenching film about girls and the issues of growing up with their girlfriends who backstab them to be popular.  i will praise the woman who puts out a film about the issues of being pretty as a woman and the inability to have male friends as the males find it difficult to have such pretty “girlfriends” without thinking about fucking them.  I will praise the woman who puts out a heart wrenching film about a woman aging and having lost her husband years earlier and having elderly kids who no longer visit, sits alone in her townhouse passing time and smoking cigarettes reminiscing about the great old days with lots of friends and lots of fucks.  Just counting down the final days until she dies.  sad and alone.  I will praise all of these women just as I praised Malala for standing up to the Taliban.  But don’t force feed me shit and expect me to fall for the shit and eat the shit just because wonder woman is a so-called strong woman and the movie, which is shit, is directed by a woman.  fuck all of you for falling for such utter useless crap.  we need more heart and soul in our world not cgi explosions and fake wars!!!
wonder woman is shit.  period.  no one can or will convince me otherwise.  instead of trying to ram this hunk of shit of a movie down my throat why don’t you try watching some real films with real strong woman.  films that will make you feel.  feel deeply.  question life.  films that have love and loss and abandonment and family and laughter.  real human stories filled with real humans.
we all need to stop the insanity and give up on Hollywood fluff.  it is utter garbage and you should be ashamed of yourselves for falling for it.
Better films…much better and more inspiring for females:
1.  Two Days, One Night.
2.  The Kid With a Bike.
3.  Rust and Bone.
4.  Dancer in the Dark.
5.  Amour.

Jack Tait sat beaten down and depressed.  for the first time in his sixty one years on this earth he could no longer see a future.  he was always a positive hopeful man despite his constant arrests and constant failures.  he figured that eventually he would hit the jackpot and when he did he would turn around to all of his naysayers and say, “FUCK YOU…FUCK YOU ALL!!!”
But he could no longer see a future.  no longer see a path.  in fact he could almost no longer see period.  age catching up to the once invincible man.  over one hundred and fifty fucks.  one thousand drunken nights.  one hundred fights.  five thousand blown loads from his masterful right hand.  fifty arrests.  five girlfriends.  two pet cats.  two pet dogs and numerous premature deaths in his family.  Jack Tait was now alone.  alone and sad.  sad and worried.  he saw the end much clearer than seeing the beginning.  thoughts still invading his big brain but thoughts of loneliness.  thoughts of torture.  thoughts of young girls with hot bodies no longer looking at old wrinkled up men with one testicle.  a once proud fucking machine now fuckless and fucked.  Jack Tait sat back in his shitty purple reclining chair and chugged a bottle of beer.  he let out a huge belch and then drank another beer.  he let out another huge belch.  he drank one more beer and then screamed, “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
KNOCK.  KNOCK.  KNOCK…silence.  KNOCK.  KNOCK.  KNOCK…silence.  KNOCK.  KNOCK.  KNOCK.
“who’s there?”
“boo.”
“boo who???”
“why are you crying…hahahahahahaha.”
“Get the fuck away from my house little kid!!!  How the fuck did you find me here anyway?  I am alone.  I like being alone.  I am sad and alone but no one knows that I am sad and alone because I tell everyone that I like to be alone and I am happy to be alone.  I once had a dog who I treated like a human being and I fed him hamburgers and popcorn and let him sleep with me in my bed and let him drive with me and he didn’t wear a seatbelt but I did and the cops just looked in and drove away every time they did a spot check.  One time I was eating a bowl of chili when I was driving and my dog ate half of it and then puked and I laughed and kissed him.  I LOVE BEING ALONE.  I EAT ALONE.  I DRINK ALONE.  I WATCH SHITTY TV ALONE AND LISTEN TO SHITTY MUSIC ALONE AND I EVEN EXERCISE ALONE EVEN THOUGH I NEVER EXERCISE. WHEN I HAD MY DOG I PRETENDED TO WALK HIM BUT I JUST TOSSED HIM IN THE BACKYARD TO SHIT AND PISS BUT SOON THERE WAS NO ROOM TO SHIT AND PISS AS THE LAWN WAS FILLED WITH SHIT AND PISS SO I BROUGHT MY DOG TO THE NEIGHBOUR’S YARD TO SHIT AND PISS!!!!!  I AM HAPPY.  NOW FUCK OFF KID!!!”
“I am not a kid.  why are you calling me a kid?  open the door and you will see who I am.  open the door old man.  can you do that?
“who are you calling old man little kid?  I will beat you with my Louisville Slugger.”
“Ooooooooooohhhhh you’re scaring me old man.  I am pooing my pants and peeing too.  just open the goddamned door!!!!”
Jack Tait got up and drunkenly walked to the front door.  he tried to peep through the peephole but he didn’t have one.  he hadn’t had one since he lived in Toronto over forty years ago.  he unlocked the door and swung it open as fast as he could but no one was there. 
“hello?  where are you you little prick?”  Jack said with his raspy drunken voice.
“I will get you and when I get you you will wish that you hadn’t been born.  I am so sick of maggots and rats and pests and peasants.  they have ruined my life.  where’s my dog?  I had a dog.  Dusty???  Are you there?  C’mon Dusty.  Snoopy?  Is that you?”
still no answer.  no sound.  no life.  emptiness in a vast open field.  dead rabbits.  dead squirrels.  scared deer.  sound of silence which was peaceful but sad.  but still nothing in front of Jack Tait.  he looked to the left and saw his blue tricycle.  he looked to the right and saw his Louisville Slugger bat.  he drunkenly walked outside and screamed once again,”HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOO…IS ANYONE OUT THERE?????????”
silence.
Jack Tait began to walk.  he left his blue tricycle behind as well as his bat.  he walked down the long lonely driveway.  his feet dragging.  his knees sore.  his toes sore.  his back sore.  everything sore.  everything old.  an old man clinging to hope but losing the battle.  a mind still working but a body unable to work to the abilities of his mind.  a man still searching for truth but truth never really the answer in a life filled with lies. filled with deception.  a life filled with births and deaths and weddings and pregnancy’s and divorces and fucks and arrests and graduations and job hirings and job firings and drunken nights and hungovered days and blackouts and great times with family and shit times with family and Jack just kept on walking.  walking and walking.  alone and alone.  his one nut wishing he had a partner but that friendship ended the way all friendships end.  they just end.  no rhyme.  no reason.  you just take a morning shit and move on.
Jack Tait was walking until death.  lonely.  alone.  and sad.

  I sat watching these two male twenty somethings go on about their age.  “How old do you think I am?” 
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Ahhh…maybe twenty-five.”
“Ah…no man I am twenty-nine.  I’m turning thirty in two weeks.  I don’t want to turn thirty.  I’m getting so old but most people think I am only twenty-five so that’s good.”
“Yeah, that’s great.  I turned thirty two years ago but I still tell people I am twenty-nine.  People think I look like I am twenty-seven.”
“We’re lucky.”  they both said in unison with stupid smiley grins on their faces.
I sat there watching these two pinheads go on about their age as I drank my beer and pondered life at the age of fifty.
“who cares what age people think you are?  why are we so infatuated and consumed with age and what age you appear to look?  why do men give a rat’s ass about what age they look?  why are these two plastic people not consumed with how boring they both are?  how irrelevant they both are?  how dull and predictable they both are?  I don’t give a shit what age people think you are…if you are dull and boring at twenty-five then you will be dull and boring at fifty.  no face cream will fix that.”
phoniness constantly in play and seemingly no end in sight.  I finished my beer and then walked out of the bar.  I looked at the two dull robots and said, “bye.”  they did not respond.  they both looked at me but had nothing to say.  I am fifty years old and have fucked more than one hundred and fifty girls in my lifetime and could still out fuck both of these kids.  the youth of today growing up in a fake plastic world where Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber are relevant while Charles Bukowski is an unknown.  sad and pathetic.
I walked to my car and drove home.
I turned on the radio and blasted Brian Jonestown Massacre.  I drove through the busy streets then sat in bumper to bumper traffic on the highways.  I listened to my music and looked at all the dull cars and dull people driving those dull cars.  I wondered if they enjoyed sitting in traffic for four hours a day and what money they made at their jobs to justify sitting in four hour traffic.  seemingly wasting their lives away on old rundown highways filled with beaten and rundown people with no souls and no fire.  dull lives just trying to get by and unable to see through the bullshit of life.  the daily grind common among their friends.
as I continued my journey home and as the darkness began to descend on my journey my cellphone rang.  ring.  ring.  ring.  I looked at the caller id and it said Usque which is the name I had given my Mom thirty years ago.  there is a whole long story to the name but the quick explanation is that, while in court many years ago, I looked above the judge and noticed a sign on the wall that read, “AD MARE USQUE AD MARE.”  which I later found out meant “from sea to sea”.  the name stuck but I doubt my Mom even knows what it means  .anyway, I answered the phone, reluctantly, as a few weeks earlier I had a falling out with my Mom that reinforced all of my frustrations with my Mom.  another long story but the short version being that I needed a place to stay for a few months as I struggled in my relationship with Nicole and we needed to take some time apart to figure out some issues.  My Mom agreed to let me stay but upon arriving she was cold and angry and nagged me over leaving lights on and wanting to do laundry etc etc etc.  It was all done with a look of “disgust” directed toward me and this drove me back out the door and back to Orangeville to try and mend things.  At that point, I decided to cut my Mom out of my life for good and, although sad, was necessary.  If you can’t get love from your family who can you get it from???
Anyway, I answered the phone and my Mom immediately apologized.
“i’m sorry for being a nag with you while you were here Chris.  I shouldn’t have treated you that way but I am stressed as my stomach has been bothering me again and I am worried that the cancer has come back.  I am waiting on tests but I am sorry.  we should have went out for dinner and discussed some boundaries and expectations before you moved in.  But I am sorry.”
and with that all was good again.  TRUTH.  HONESTY.  VULNERABILITY.  and COMMUNICATION. 
I hope my Mom’s cancer hasn’t come back and hope she never dies.  I hope we can go out for dinner and discuss her life with all of it’s ups and downs.  FAMILY.  REAL FAMILY.  REAL LOVE.  not fake bullshit “announce on facebook love”…REAL LOVE.  That is all you need.
be real.
“guess what Chris?”
“what?”
“I ran into Bob Beckett the other day and he was shocked that I am turning eighty years old this year.  He thought that I was seventy-two.”
“Amazing Usque…that is amazing.”
I hung up the phone and drove on.  Brain Jonestown Massacre still playing.