I don’t get a lot of sleep these days. Between drafting two new novels, my thesis, doing various other writerly projects, working, and having a life, there’s just not much time for it. Which is why, in a land of brainwave deadlines, the coffeepot reigns king. In order to slay REM cycles and stave off Twilight-grade prose, I trust only my cheap ass, battered, Black and Decker to keep me coherent.
Besides the beer hop, no finer brewable crop exists than the coffee bean. It’s so deliciously addictive that I thank the heavens daily that I don’t have to turn tricks under a bridge just to keep up with my habit. It would seem that the Colombians have got their shit together when it comes to picking out lucrative export enterprises. Do you hear that, dropout corner peddler? If you want to keep yourself flush in neon sneakers and knee-high Bedazzled jeans for life, and out of prison, legal addiction is where the cash flow is at. Go start a Starbucks franchise. Barring that, at least go and ask for a fucking application.
I’ll see you all Saturday, for which a funnier post is brewing. It’s tentatively titled Fuck Wal-Mart. I have no idea what Uncle Bryan’s got in store for you tomorrow, but if he’s anything like my uncle, well, it’s probably best to bring along a couple bottles of mace.
With that, I propose a toast to the coffee bean. Thanks for the sleepless nights and the irregular heart palpitations! And, while we’re at it, why not raise a mug to the nice Colombian families who are thoughtful enough to harvest the shit for a nickel a week.
Music: The Indelicates
Beer: Dunkin’ Donuts Dark Roast