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Dom Quinto Swims With The Leaves

    Foreword:  According to sources, Dom Quinto invented the leaf blower in 1957. Later that year, his mutilated body was found in a leaf-filled dumpster. Not one of his neighbors came forward to say they saw anything suspicious. Most strange.

          I live in a thirty-unit apartment building on the corner of a block containing million-dollar house, after million-dollar house. The view from my room is impressive, but fills me with envy. When I first moved in here, I spent a lot of time looking at these houses trying to imagine what kind of lives the inhabitants of these homes led.

           I mean, I could have actually stopped when walking up the street and had an actual conversation with some of them, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, that is an entirely un-British thing to do. We’d rather peer through the curtains and speculate. Also, as soon as my neighbors might discover that I lived in the 30-unit turd in their Utopia, they might shuffle their kids and pets back into their houses, making sure that the security system lasers are engaged to disintegrate any approaching riffraff.

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The Gospel According To BART (Strike Edition)

Welcome to the fifth “Gospel According To BART.” Now with some late-breaking news about the BART strike, we go over to our “on the train” news team Diane Summers and Ron Dayton……

“Guys, you’re on. Ron…wake up! You’re on live! Diane, can you hear me? Cut to Gary with Sports, I think they’re dead.”

BART's definition of "OUT OF ORDER" greatly differs from my own.

BART’s definition of “OUT OF ORDER”  differs greatly from my own.

So I'm confused. Is this the button to call the Agent or to get the elevator? If only it were clearly marked.

So I’m confused. Is this the button to call the Agent or to get the elevator? If only it were more clearly marked.

Dear BART,  Shit doesn't work as an adhesive. That is all.

Dear BART,
Shit doesn’t work as an adhesive. That is all.

This is why you should feel uneasy when someone sits RIGHT BEHIND YOU. He's already taken out the lady to his left. I don't know, maybe he's just taking a photo of a mole on the back of the guy's neck to show him and tell him he should get it checked out.

This is why you should feel uneasy when someone sits RIGHT BEHIND YOU. He’s already taken out the lady to his left. I don’t know, maybe he’s just taking a photo of a mole on the back of the guy’s neck to show him and tell him he should get it checked out.

Meanwhile outside the station, in the BART parking lot, commuters discuss transport alternatives to BART. "Hey, bro, cool bike. We have so much in common. Wanna go grab a coffee sometime?"

Meanwhile outside the station, in the BART parking lot, commuters discuss transport alternatives to BART.
“Hey, bro, cool bike. We have so much in common. Wanna go grab a coffee sometime?”

Phone theft on the BART system is on the rise. Cameras are not a guarantee of safety, please keep an eye on all your valuables, including laptops, purses, and especially phones.

Public opinion as to whether BART should strike is mostly in favor of not striking, but this chap says he is with them and on his own strike against whatever it is that he might be paid to do.

Whether BART workers are justified in striking is a hotly debated issue. But this chap says he is with the workers and peacefully picketing in a show of sleepy solidarity.

What’s The Matter? You Afraid To Die? – A Love Story

     One night after leaving a club in London I was standing on the curb waiting for a green light so I could cross Oxford Street. It was late and there was barely any traffic, but in my slightly drunken state I didn’t want to misjudge the speed of any vehicles coming my way. Just then, a beautiful woman with long, black hair ran past me, stopped in the middle of the street, spun around and said in an American accent, “What’s the matter? You afraid to die?” Read more


The Bay Area Twit

    The last time I was in England I was reminded of the difference between American and British customer service. When you go to a supermarket in the U.K. the cashier is responsible for ringing up your groceries AND THAT’S IT. If you want someone to bag up your things, forget it, you might as well have a grocery bagger flown in all the way from the States.

Fair enough.

     In the U.S. the supermarket cashiers are told to engage their customers, call them by their name, and be familiar to encourage a sense of community and loyalty. But it can all go horribly wrong when a clerk, as often happens, assesses what you’re buying and announces to you (and whomever is around you) what you’re having for dinner. This is all well and good if you’re buying chicken, corn, burgers and buns, and a 12-pack of Bud Lite.

    “I’ll bet you’re barbecuing,” they’ll say.

     “Yep, you got me, we’re barbecuing.”  Your mouth forces a reluctant uncomfortable smile. Perhaps you feel a little guilty that you are indeed off to a barbecue as the cashier toils away at their job for another 6 or 7 hours.

      But suppose instead of placing barbecuing supplies on that conveyor belt, you’re buying toenail fungus ointment, hemorrhoid cream, and 27 rolls of toilet paper. The last thing you want is an uber-chatty checkout clerk trying to do their best Sherlock Holmes impression, loudly announcing how they imagine the rest of your evening is going to go.

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Agent 99

Last week The Bay Area Brit turned three.

The terrible twos were good to me. And since three is one greater than two, I expect this third year to be …er…oh, shit… Math …hang on …carry the one…minus the Leap Year day last year…um…Awesome!

Today is February 25th and marks the one-year anniversary that my host, WordPress started keeping track of the various countries that visit The Bay Area Brit site. Now this won’t tickle your fancy as much as it does me/mine, but in the last 365 days I have had visitors from 99 different countries. Now I know what you’re thinking: So what, 99 people from 99 countries happened to stumble upon your stupid little, somewhat amusing site in the space of a calendar year.

Well that’s not quite the case.

My ego will not allow me to believe this was in any way an inconsequential feat.

I have had only 3 hits from China. It’s a country of a billion people, but I happen to know that those hits came from some pretty influential people. In my mind, I’m bigger than Chairman Mao at his peak, and there are giant banners with my face on it decorating Tienanmen Square. Maybe I should tell the lady that answers the phone when I order take-out from my local Chinese restaurant (Yang Chow) that I am extremely famous in her homeland. Maybe I will get the special friend and family discount or some free Chow Mein or maybe they’ll name a dish after me…That would be pretty cool.


I had a cyber-visitor from Iran. This was not recorded by my host but by a different site that tracks visits. They also showed a visit from someone in Sudan that also wasn’t registered by my host. Well whats up with that, WordPress?

My Iranian and Sudanese peeps want to know the Brit’s scoop too.

The day that film director James Cameron went 20,000 leagues under the sea off the coast of Guam in his mini-submarine, I got a visit on my site from Guam. True. Guess who in my warped mind I assume visited my site? That’s right. Mr. James Cameron. I also feel pretty sure that there will be a British character in his next movie loosely based upon you know who…wink-wink.

If something goes wrong down there at the bottom of the ocean, please tell The Bay Area Brit how much I love his work.
“If something goes wrong down there at the bottom of the ocean, please tell The Bay Area Brit how much I love his work.”

Okay, so yeah, I’m a tad delusional.

 I’ve had hits in Africa too. Ten countries in Africa. Did I mention how famous I am in Africa? I’m like Nelson Mandela meets Haile Selassie meets Shaka Zulu meets Charlize Theron. I could like totally be the President of Africa. Well, you know, if one person could rule a continent. *Note to self* learn Swahili.

I’m also massive in random East-European countries. Countries that I never even knew existed. And by massive I of course mean that I get a shit-ton of hits…and why not, yo, I’m eloquent and whatnot. I’m so whatnot.

I’ll bet that if the dismantling of the Soviet Bloc hadn’t already happened I could have helped with that. You know why? Because Mother Russia loves it some Bay Area Brit. Da, it is true.

Some people have said that I must have an agent that spends his calendar year going from country-to-country and logging in Internet Cafes and hitting up TheBayAreaBrit.com. I have encouraged my friends to support: (Whassup, Venezuela, New Zealand, Malawi, and some of Scandinavia) But an agent? If that was the case, wouldn’t I just have the agent go to one more country so I could claim 100 countries? But then I couldn’t use the cool Agent 99 Get Smart reference.


 The third highest number of hits after The U.S. and Canada (my face soon to be printed on the Canadian dollar BTW) is of my homeland: Great Britain.

However, In spite of the hits, I’m pretty sure the British don’t care about me….No, no, no, no …it’s okay…But that’s the beauty of being British: We really don’t care about stupid things like a trivial blog written by some Trans-Atlantic twat.

I’m appreciated in China, ALL of the former Soviet bloc, every European country, Iran and a bevy of other countries in the Middle-East. Almost all of Central and South America, Some of Africa, and all of Asia excluding North Korea. But the response back home in Britain? “Think you’re better than us do ya?”

“No, no, no, no. Well, yes, of course I do. Did I mention I’m a tad delusional?”

The Package

Look at me. I’m like a child on the morning of his birthday, waiting for the mailman to bring him a gift. No, it’s worse than that: I’m like a spoiled lapdog running to the window every ten seconds, waiting for his owner to come home. Every faint whiff of perfume that wafts through the slightly cracked window has him running around in circles near the front door.

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The Gospel According To BART ….part IV

Well, friends, it’s that time again. Here’s The Gospel Part IV. I put Gospels II, and III and a link to the first one below because I love you all so very much.

This young man’s ability to snore his way undisturbed though a busy evening commute was  astounding, until I poured piping hot coffee on his crotch.

Blocking the passage way with your Burning Man luggage and ugly clown pants will likely earn you an unwanted “decompression” from Desert-Life, especially on a late-night BART to the murder capital of California.

         Edith Humphrey, age 53, confronts her potentially life-endangering pollen allergy with reckless  abandon on the 2:17 to Fremont.

Text reads:   “Mom, I don’t think this is Tatooine, please beam me back. These are my co-ordinates.”

“OMG! Mom, ur the worst! Forget it. I’m gonna just take the train.”

“Actually, Mr. BART Po-lice-man, I don’t think my feet ARE  on the seat.”

“Sign? I didn’t see any sign.”

Ever wonder what lurks behind those dreadful poster ads? It’s Cyber-technology, and much like me, it’s watching you misbehave on BART. My favorite part is the guy who thinks I’m just randomly taking a photo of him. Don’t flatter yourself, dude. Besides, this blog is read in 76 countries, and that disapproving scowl could go viral.

The Gospel According To BART….Part III

Picture if you will, a series of tunnels and tracks that run through the Bay Area, both underground and above it. A place where not everything is what it seems. A place known as…..

Who knows what creatures you might see lurking out the window, tearing at the engine of the train.

When I’m having a rough morning after a late night fight with my wife, I love to bow my head, inhale the “fresh scent” of a BART seat and cry. It smells like dirty hair and things I regret saying while I was drunk.

These ads are everywhere. I care about them enough to make fun of their “awesomer” ability to make up words, but not enough to actually look up the website to see what the bloody hell it’s all about. WORST BART AD EVER!

It’s late, and on the BART platform sits proof that (somewhere) a Chippendale’s dancer is out of uniform.

If “fragile” means, “The suitcase that will crush all other suitcases when coming into sight at baggage claim,” then, yes, this suitcase is indeed “fragile.”

“My bike!!!!!!”……………BART would like to remind cyclists that it is not responsible for bikes parked on BART property.

“I can’t believe this jerk just put his feet up on my seat penning in me in like this. I’m going to tell him off any second now…..I’m just going to give this rude piece of shit a piece of my mind…..Oh, boy he’s going to feel my wrath….I’m just gonna……I’m ……Meh, maybe I’ll just stare wanly into an open space wishing that I had the nerve to say something.”

At least this guy had the sense to keep his feet off the seat.

Get me Bert Goldstein in Hollywood and find out why he hasn’t got me an acting gig in 5 months.

I said, “Ma’am, I don’t think this train goes to Paddington station.” She looked at me like I’m crazy and shuffled away from me. Yeah, like I’m the crazy one.

Always pay attention to the signs on the platform; they often contain information that must be obeyed.

The Gospel According To BART ….Part II

BART continues to be a source of amusement for the pic-and-caption team at The Bay Area Brit. I hope that you feel the same way.

The BART station agent’s financial woes are aired for everyone to see. However, if BART paid him more money maybe he would stay in his little booth the whole shift like he’s supposed to.

I keep seeing these ads on the BART platforms everywhere. I know when I’m scraping together the $2.75 to take BART in the morning, I often think to myself: “I should just donate my luxury yacht to some page 3 pin-up dressed like Donald Duck.” Really?

Speaking of ads: Why did the people that paid for the Judgment Day Warning posters pay to have their ads run through the end of July? Silly rapture-wanters.

This young man takes a heroin nap during the evening commute to San Francisco. He will wake up three hours later in Richmond and will have somehow lost his wallet, his ID, his sunglasses, and his Nikes.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this happen, people.

A Female commuter regrets her decision to partake in “Take A Convict To Work Day” when he tells her that he’s never really known true love before…until now.

You know I just couldn’t resist.

Here’s that link to the first Gospel.