Service Dogs and Weak Chins
I went out for Sunday breakfast intending to work on Undertow. Instead, while waiting for a table, I found myself contemplating two completely unrelated observations about humanity: fake fucking service animals and weak chins. So much for the best-laid plans.
The Algorithm Was Clearly Written by Men
ChatGPT keeps trying to murder the American paragraph. When I finally called it out, the resulting conversation was fucking hilarious, and inadvertently proved that artificial intelligence has mastered another distinctly human skill: admitting you’re right without ever actually apologizing.
Holding Pattern
You can be excited about where you're going and still grieve what you're leaving. Both things can be true. Right now, we're somewhere between what was and what comes next, surrounded by hotel coffee, storage units, trucks, and shitty Wi-Fi. The emergency has passed. The rebuilding is beginning. And we're doing it together.
Apparently, Talking Isn't Always Helping
I fucking love this woman, and when she's frustrated, every instinct inside me wants to fix things. Turns out, sometimes helping isn't solving. Sometimes helping isn't talking. Sometimes helping is finding some shade, drinking some fucking water, and shutting the hell up. Apparently, loving someone means learning that too.
The Responsible Thing
I went to look at a used Indian expecting to find the dependable backup bike I need. What I found was something worse: a perfectly sensible motorcycle. It ran well, the price was right, and it was comfortable enough to do the job. It just didn’t try to rip my arms off when I twisted the throttle. Apparently, this is what responsibility feels like.
What a Fucking Ride
Sometimes the ride sucks. Not because of the rain. Not because of the miles. But because Murphy decides today's the day your comfortable bike is broken, your GPS loses its damn mind, your backpack weighs a hundred pounds, and your body files a formal complaint with every mile. Then your wife smiles at you across a hotel parking lot, and somehow none of it matters anymore.
I'm Next
A slow grocery-store checkout line shouldn’t become a test of human decency, but apparently that’s where we are. One woman thought I looked intimidating. Another thought she could maneuver around me and jump ahead. She was wrong.
Sometimes fairness is simple: if you were there first, you’re next.
Artificial Intelligence, My Ass
I spent forty-five minutes arguing with an artificial intelligence about my writing, only to discover that the thing computers have been good at for eighty years, counting characters, was apparently too much to ask. If I wanted confidently wrong answers, I already know plenty of humans.
AI Is a Tool
Artificial intelligence is a tool. A useful tool. A powerful tool. But like every tool, it has limitations. Mine seems particularly determined to turn me into a hairy biker named Randy, plaster motivational slogans on everything, and lecture me about conflict resolution every time I suggest solving a problem with a gun. A love letter, a rant, and a public roasting of AI, all rolled into one.
Are You Still Watching?
My sleep schedule has become absolute chaos. Couch naps turn into fake responsibility, fake responsibility turns into sleeping with the bedroom light on, and somewhere in the middle of all that nighttime nonsense I somehow manage to write a few pages before dawn drags me back into the world.
One Week In
After more than five years working from home, I walked back into the office. Day one, rookie mistake: no lunch. My boss asked if I liked spicy food. Minutes later I was sweating through a cup of ghost pepper noodles, stubbornly slurping the broth he told me not to drink. And I’d do it again.
The Alarm People
They scream when you sleep, they scream when you eat, they scream in public restrooms. Medical alarms don’t care about your sanity — they care about being heard. And like a bad relationship, they demand attention at the worst possible times.
We Used to Hang Horse Thieves. Now We Bill Them by the Hour.
Once upon a time, justice was swift. A horse thief caught with the horse? A gunman seen by the whole bar? The verdict wasn’t a two-season Netflix drama — it was a rope and a tree by sundown. Today, justice isn’t about truth; it’s about lawyers billing hours, juries awarding millions for potholes, and semantics drowning common sense.
Hurricanes, HOAs, and the Luxury of Whining
HOAs, hurricanes, and the endless whining of a society too comfortable to remember what real problems look like. Maybe we need a storm to shake us out of our petty bullshit.
Fuck You, AARP
AARP wants me to believe that turning 50 makes me feeble, clueless, and ripe for scammers. Funny, because I was coding HTML and downloading porn on dial-up while their interns were still eating glue.
Bromide Guy: Fools Who Use AI Foolishly
Clueless people aren’t new. They’ve always been here — people who can’t contextualize information but march forward with absolute confidence. The latest? A would-be dieter who wound up hospitalized after sprinkling pool chemicals on his food. Inspired by AI, powered by sodium bromide, and fueled by human stupidity.
Shut Up and Shoot: A Pool League Rant
Most people don’t join the bar pool league to compete—they join to drink and pretend they’re Minnesota Fucking Fats. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to sink shots, skip the lectures, and get home before sunrise.
Bills, Bulbs, and Bewilderment
Ever try to buy a light bulb and get four separate bills weeks apart? No? Then why the hell do we accept that from our healthcare system? A sarcastic look at modern medical billing, with light bulbs, lawsuits, and a whole lot of exasperation.