There is a special place in hell for the people at almighty Google who run AdSense. I have written to Google so many times begging them to explain why I have not been paid my Blogger money. I am an old man and do not have the understanding to read the AdSense blogger reports on what my blog is doing. I write and write cause I love to write. Someone click on my blog address and you may want to buy my work..
My site on blogger is kingdavidsplace.blogspot.com. I feel as if I don't exist.
Help already Google. Call me or write me .
David
Monday, June 11, 2018
Sunday, June 10, 2018
David's Place: Pissed At A Starbucks Toilet
David's Place: Pissed At A Starbucks Toilet: There ought to be a law against people who go to a Starbucks bathroom, flush the toilet, turn on the hand blower, and then do not immediatel...
PHONE HARASSMENT BASTARDS IN NEW YORK
Someone please do something about a scam phone operation called U.S.Pharmaceutical. They keep calling and calling all day long acting as if their orthopedic garbage promotional call had been requested.
The area codes from their seemingly unlimited phone lines all start with (718) and show New York as the location that the calls are coming from. Wake up New York officials or any other authorities who are aware of this abusive phone scam.
No threats or demands requesting to be put on the do not call lists are honored. These animals are locked into to their phones obliviously making unlimited calls all day long. They are a bunch of subhumans who relentlessly dial away all day long torturing defenseless .people.
I would love to track down where their call centers are and yank away their phones. Then, I would like to find their own numbers and keep calling these creeps around the clock. Finally, I would like to find a way to legally destroy their businesses and prosecute the owners for invasion of privacy and all related illegalities.
Someone contact me with information or anything else to get these calls to end. This is happening on a wide spread basis according to my research. Thesw bastards must be stopped.
I would love to track down where their call centers are and yank away their phones. Then, I would like to find their own numbers and keep calling these creeps around the clock. Finally, I would like to find a way to legally destroy their businesses and prosecute the owners for invasion of privacy and all related illegalities.
Someone contact me with information or anything else to get these calls to end. This is happening on a wide spread basis according to my research. Thesw bastards must be stopped.
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
Pissed At A Starbucks Toilet
There ought to be a law against people who go to a Starbucks bathroom, flush the toilet, turn on the hand blower, and then do not immediately open the door and leave.
It's so rude to professional Starbucks pissers who are listening to the hand dryer thinking they will be able to relieve themselves when the blower goes silent.
Just the other day I stopped at my favorite Starbucks which is on my delivery route. I had a fierce urge to take a piss. My old bladder was bursting.
I entered and looked at the single bathroom door and there was no one waiting to go in. Relief, I felt happy for a second. Then, I turned the handle of the door and it was locked. "Shit," I mumbled quietly.
I started swaying nervously waiting to hear the toilet flush. It did quickly, Then the hand blower started blasting away.
Ah. Thank goodness. Relief was a few seconds away. I then heard the blower turn off and I already had my hand on my zipper in anticipation of emptying my bloated bladder.
But, the door did not open. Another few moments went by and I was sweating and swaying and getting crazy. I was just a little bit away from peeing in my pants. After all, I'm sixty nine years old. My bladder is no longer made of steel. Now, it seems to be made of tissue paper.
Another moment passed and I couldn't take it. I snapped. I pounded hard on the door with both fists. Nothing happened. Then, I started kicking the door while still pounding away with my hands.
Nothing doing.
I started screaming "get out of there" "I gotta go bad." Still, only a locked door. My bladder was at its limit. The piss was just about to burst out. It was personal now. This bastard inside was trying to torture me. I screamed "get the fuck out of there, asshole, I'm dying here".
The door finally opened and this little prick with a Chicago White Sox cap emerges, I felt brave knowing I was not going to get punched out by some nasty dude. As I roughly pushed past this little shit who was about four and a half feet tall and maybe eight years old I screamed at him " Did you ever think someone was waiting to get in here?" He looked up at me as if he had never been abused before.
I emptied my tortured bladder, came out and started heading back to my van. Just as I was pulling open the Starbucks front door this huge, strong, heavily tattooed arm clamped around the back of my neck. This big muscle bound, scary looking guy growls "that's my son, asshole" pointing down to the little prick who is now grinning widely at me. I say "umm, ah, I".
The bruiser, probably his father interrupts my stutter. He says "You have three words to say to little Tommy "Repeat them back asshole or say goodnight as he cocks his arm back and makes a fist"."Say, I'm sorry Tommy". I looked down at this little bitch who was now laughing hard. I looked at the brute before I humiliated myself. He was mad.
I'm sorry Tommy". "Ok" little Tommy says.
The tough guy looks at me as I opened the door walking away.. " "Go get your dick fixed shithead" he says. He waited for an answer.
I only could come up with "thank you"
What a pussy I am. My OCD made me replay the situation over and over for days. The conclusion was "I'm a pussy.
It's so rude to professional Starbucks pissers who are listening to the hand dryer thinking they will be able to relieve themselves when the blower goes silent.
Just the other day I stopped at my favorite Starbucks which is on my delivery route. I had a fierce urge to take a piss. My old bladder was bursting.
I entered and looked at the single bathroom door and there was no one waiting to go in. Relief, I felt happy for a second. Then, I turned the handle of the door and it was locked. "Shit," I mumbled quietly.
I started swaying nervously waiting to hear the toilet flush. It did quickly, Then the hand blower started blasting away.
Ah. Thank goodness. Relief was a few seconds away. I then heard the blower turn off and I already had my hand on my zipper in anticipation of emptying my bloated bladder.
But, the door did not open. Another few moments went by and I was sweating and swaying and getting crazy. I was just a little bit away from peeing in my pants. After all, I'm sixty nine years old. My bladder is no longer made of steel. Now, it seems to be made of tissue paper.
Another moment passed and I couldn't take it. I snapped. I pounded hard on the door with both fists. Nothing happened. Then, I started kicking the door while still pounding away with my hands.
Nothing doing.
I started screaming "get out of there" "I gotta go bad." Still, only a locked door. My bladder was at its limit. The piss was just about to burst out. It was personal now. This bastard inside was trying to torture me. I screamed "get the fuck out of there, asshole, I'm dying here".
The door finally opened and this little prick with a Chicago White Sox cap emerges, I felt brave knowing I was not going to get punched out by some nasty dude. As I roughly pushed past this little shit who was about four and a half feet tall and maybe eight years old I screamed at him " Did you ever think someone was waiting to get in here?" He looked up at me as if he had never been abused before.
I emptied my tortured bladder, came out and started heading back to my van. Just as I was pulling open the Starbucks front door this huge, strong, heavily tattooed arm clamped around the back of my neck. This big muscle bound, scary looking guy growls "that's my son, asshole" pointing down to the little prick who is now grinning widely at me. I say "umm, ah, I".
The bruiser, probably his father interrupts my stutter. He says "You have three words to say to little Tommy "Repeat them back asshole or say goodnight as he cocks his arm back and makes a fist"."Say, I'm sorry Tommy". I looked down at this little bitch who was now laughing hard. I looked at the brute before I humiliated myself. He was mad.
I'm sorry Tommy". "Ok" little Tommy says.
The tough guy looks at me as I opened the door walking away.. " "Go get your dick fixed shithead" he says. He waited for an answer.
I only could come up with "thank you"
What a pussy I am. My OCD made me replay the situation over and over for days. The conclusion was "I'm a pussy.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Viagra Does The Job Saving My Relationship
I woke up this morning in terror about my life. Broke and three days from being homeless thanks to my fucking girlfriend - ex-girlfriend. She gave me the boot just because my old dick won't go up all the time. Ok. Most of the time . Fine. Almost never. I get it. My dick is really a problem. But, its only been bad for 7 or 8 years. No big deal I tell her. "That's right" she says. "Your dick used to be a big deal. Now its mush just like the person its attached to. You two belong together. Two worthless . I don't know.... Things. Three days to find another sucker for free rent . Good luck. Your ex- main asset is now as useless as rotten eggs"
I hobbled over to to the computer table to take my pills. I glanced at the computer screen and my heart jumped.. I'm not too sharp but I do know a good deal when I see one. She thinks I'm dumb. Ha.
There it was. On the screen in big, bold print an offer that said." We can make you wealthy without even putting your socks on". I looked over at my ugly, dirty, smelly socks .I was pumped. I'll show her who' s dumb I thought"
I dialed the number in the ad. A lady answered. This is Ginny,"can I help you? "Yes, yes you can Ginny" "Thank goodness I called you" I'm Dave and I'm glad to tell you I haven't put my socks on.
. "What about your socks sir" Call me Dave please "Your socks? "Yeah Ginny. "My socks".
. " I just read your ad and it said "you can make me wealthy without me even putting on my socks."
So Ginny, how will you make me wealthy"?Sir" "It's Dave. Dave.
"Ok Dave You want money " You'll have to apply.
"No.No.No. Your ad said you could make me wealthy without putting my socks on."
"so, let's get started".
"Who are you please" I'm Dave " "and you want what"? I want you to make me wealthy". I haven't put my socks on so I'm qualified Ginny." "Uh Sir"." I mean Dave".
"How much did you want to apply to borrow Dave"? "Borrow" I gasped. "Your ad only says you can make me rich without putting my socks on. There is nothing in your ad about borrowing."
"I don't understand why you are talking about". "Your socks?.
"Ginny,you have an ad that says that you can make me rich without putting my socks on."
" Why would we loan you money for not putting your socks on"?
"Ginny, I don't know but you can get in trouble if you don't honor your ads."
"Trouble" "I'm just a temp here". I don't want any trouble."
You have to fill out an application if you wish to apply for a loan"? "What is your email'? "
Why do you want my email"? "So I can send you a loan application Dave". "I just said I don't want a loan. I want you to make me a rich. I have put on my socks so I'm qualified"
"Um" Sir, I mean Dave"
I'm just a temp here. We don't sell socks."
"Oh, I get it" "Your ad was a bait and switch" "You sucked me in'
"You can get in a lot of trouble for false advertising."
"Trouble" "trouble" I'm just a temp here. I don't want to cause any trouble."
"Now, I would like the phone number of the owner so I can sue for false advertising"
"You wont get in any trouble if you just give me the owners name and number"
"I don't know it Dave" "Just ask anyone who has authority in your office". They'll know it"
"Hold on please" "It's Bob Johnson Dave at 7776543. He's actually the owner of the company" "He's in in the mornings."
"i called Mr. Johnson and left a voice mail explaining my interest in his company making me wealthy.
It's been two days and he has'nt called me back.
But is all good now. I won't be homeless for a while. i conned my friend out of the 100 mg Viagras so I figure I have another week left here.
'
I hobbled over to to the computer table to take my pills. I glanced at the computer screen and my heart jumped.. I'm not too sharp but I do know a good deal when I see one. She thinks I'm dumb. Ha.
There it was. On the screen in big, bold print an offer that said." We can make you wealthy without even putting your socks on". I looked over at my ugly, dirty, smelly socks .I was pumped. I'll show her who' s dumb I thought"
I dialed the number in the ad. A lady answered. This is Ginny,"can I help you? "Yes, yes you can Ginny" "Thank goodness I called you" I'm Dave and I'm glad to tell you I haven't put my socks on.
. "What about your socks sir" Call me Dave please "Your socks? "Yeah Ginny. "My socks".
. " I just read your ad and it said "you can make me wealthy without me even putting on my socks."
So Ginny, how will you make me wealthy"?Sir" "It's Dave. Dave.
"Ok Dave You want money " You'll have to apply.
"No.No.No. Your ad said you could make me wealthy without putting my socks on."
"so, let's get started".
"Who are you please" I'm Dave " "and you want what"? I want you to make me wealthy". I haven't put my socks on so I'm qualified Ginny." "Uh Sir"." I mean Dave".
"How much did you want to apply to borrow Dave"? "Borrow" I gasped. "Your ad only says you can make me rich without putting my socks on. There is nothing in your ad about borrowing."
"I don't understand why you are talking about". "Your socks?.
"Ginny,you have an ad that says that you can make me rich without putting my socks on."
" Why would we loan you money for not putting your socks on"?
"Ginny, I don't know but you can get in trouble if you don't honor your ads."
"Trouble" "I'm just a temp here". I don't want any trouble."
You have to fill out an application if you wish to apply for a loan"? "What is your email'? "
Why do you want my email"? "So I can send you a loan application Dave". "I just said I don't want a loan. I want you to make me a rich. I have put on my socks so I'm qualified"
"Um" Sir, I mean Dave"
I'm just a temp here. We don't sell socks."
"Oh, I get it" "Your ad was a bait and switch" "You sucked me in'
"You can get in a lot of trouble for false advertising."
"Trouble" "trouble" I'm just a temp here. I don't want to cause any trouble."
"Now, I would like the phone number of the owner so I can sue for false advertising"
"You wont get in any trouble if you just give me the owners name and number"
"I don't know it Dave" "Just ask anyone who has authority in your office". They'll know it"
"Hold on please" "It's Bob Johnson Dave at 7776543. He's actually the owner of the company" "He's in in the mornings."
"i called Mr. Johnson and left a voice mail explaining my interest in his company making me wealthy.
It's been two days and he has'nt called me back.
But is all good now. I won't be homeless for a while. i conned my friend out of the 100 mg Viagras so I figure I have another week left here.
'
Thursday, April 26, 2018
What a shitty day
Shit can happen at any time. When you are a 69 year old guy who is not in great health to begin with beware of potential failures in your major bodily systems especially the gastrointestinal system (the bowels) when you do not have good control.
I have had Irritable Bowel Syndrome, (IBS) for a long time. That condition results in many episodes of stomach distress such as gas, bloating, constipation and diarrhea. Well, disaster struck a few days ago. I was driving on a busy Chicago st. when I felt bad gas pains. I knew diarrhea was coming quickly so I started looking for any structure with a toilet. I did not care where parked. I was ready to stop in the middle of the street. It was that bad. I spotted a building with a parking lot and pulled in.
My load was about to explode as I opened the car door and bolted for the entrance of wherever I was. I got about two steps and I knew I was a goner. The diarrhea exploded into my underwear soaking through my jeans. My stomach dumped another load into my already soaked and nauseating underwear seconds later..
I waddled back to the car and pushed the button to open the trunk. Then, I waddled again to the back of the trunk to use as cover. I pulled off my jeans and underwear and threw them in the trunk. I was wearing a sweatshirt and wrapped it around my bare torso. I looked into the jam packed trunk and found some paper towels and a pint of water. It was like discovering gold.
, I started pouring water on the paper towels and trying to clean up enough to start driving again without polluting the car with my shit stained ass, Each wipe seemed like eternity. I kept peering around hoping no one would see me. Finally, I was cleaned up enough so it felt possible to drive back home.
I wrapped my unsoiled, thin jacket around my naked torso and fumbled back behind the wheel.
I tied the unscathed little jacket around my waist. It would have to be my main wardrobe component to cover my bare ass and protect the cars upholstery. I struggled miserably in traffic for 30 minutes to get back to my underground garage space. I fortunately had no more accidents.
The garage was loaded with tenants because it was a busy Saturday afternoon. I gingerly half jogged into the garage doorway holding the jacket over my nakedness. I made it to the eternally slow elevators with two couples waiting with me keeping me company who naturally were going to higher floors then I. They didn't notice anything about my weird attire. I wondered, however, if they could smell me as we rode up..
I finally got to my apartment, threw off my jacket and sweatshirt and lunged into my bathroom. I never appreciated my shower until Saturday. Then I fell in love with it as the water splashed on me.
I washed furiously and started to feel human again as I contemplated my next move which would be redressing and going back downstairs to my car, spraying the entire interior and throwing the stink ridden clothes into the garbage can. I then did a major clothes wash and an hour later the ordeal was over except for spraying my car to get rid of any smells I could detect.
. A few hours later when I went back to the car it smelled fresh. The smell had not infiltrated the interiors.. What a nightmare.
I have had Irritable Bowel Syndrome, (IBS) for a long time. That condition results in many episodes of stomach distress such as gas, bloating, constipation and diarrhea. Well, disaster struck a few days ago. I was driving on a busy Chicago st. when I felt bad gas pains. I knew diarrhea was coming quickly so I started looking for any structure with a toilet. I did not care where parked. I was ready to stop in the middle of the street. It was that bad. I spotted a building with a parking lot and pulled in.
My load was about to explode as I opened the car door and bolted for the entrance of wherever I was. I got about two steps and I knew I was a goner. The diarrhea exploded into my underwear soaking through my jeans. My stomach dumped another load into my already soaked and nauseating underwear seconds later..
I waddled back to the car and pushed the button to open the trunk. Then, I waddled again to the back of the trunk to use as cover. I pulled off my jeans and underwear and threw them in the trunk. I was wearing a sweatshirt and wrapped it around my bare torso. I looked into the jam packed trunk and found some paper towels and a pint of water. It was like discovering gold.
, I started pouring water on the paper towels and trying to clean up enough to start driving again without polluting the car with my shit stained ass, Each wipe seemed like eternity. I kept peering around hoping no one would see me. Finally, I was cleaned up enough so it felt possible to drive back home.
I wrapped my unsoiled, thin jacket around my naked torso and fumbled back behind the wheel.
I tied the unscathed little jacket around my waist. It would have to be my main wardrobe component to cover my bare ass and protect the cars upholstery. I struggled miserably in traffic for 30 minutes to get back to my underground garage space. I fortunately had no more accidents.
The garage was loaded with tenants because it was a busy Saturday afternoon. I gingerly half jogged into the garage doorway holding the jacket over my nakedness. I made it to the eternally slow elevators with two couples waiting with me keeping me company who naturally were going to higher floors then I. They didn't notice anything about my weird attire. I wondered, however, if they could smell me as we rode up..
I finally got to my apartment, threw off my jacket and sweatshirt and lunged into my bathroom. I never appreciated my shower until Saturday. Then I fell in love with it as the water splashed on me.
I washed furiously and started to feel human again as I contemplated my next move which would be redressing and going back downstairs to my car, spraying the entire interior and throwing the stink ridden clothes into the garbage can. I then did a major clothes wash and an hour later the ordeal was over except for spraying my car to get rid of any smells I could detect.
. A few hours later when I went back to the car it smelled fresh. The smell had not infiltrated the interiors.. What a nightmare.
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