Life is short. Or perhaps it lasts for a really, really long time. No one is really sure. Which sucks. If they can't figure that out definitively then what else don't we really know? The perfect size for a jar? What a fuckin' miserable thought. Fuck that. Instead here are the silly, weird, unhinged, absurd, silly, stupid, completely unrelated to hinges (moslty), poorly edited, outpourings and thought vomits of a silly idiotic teddy-bear of a dickhead. Staring David 'Pinky-Von-Sox' Tieck
Thursday, August 25, 2011
I feel warm and fuzzy inside
I have a new goal that I have recently set myself – get addicted to coffee before the warm part of spring.
I have a weird long-term relationship with coffee. In highschool I thought consuming coffee, like using deodorant, and talking to the opposite sex was something that you shouldn’t attempt until you were a fully established adult. At the age of thirty-four I still feel a million miles away from being a fully established adult, so fourteen year olds drinking coffee gives me the creeps in the same way fourteen year olds doing anything other than going to school and playing with toys does (not those kinds of toys you sick bastards – did you really think I meant Barbie? That thing sets impossible standards!)
In my late teens or early twenties I tried coffee for the first time. I didn’t know it at the time but the coffee I was drinking, just by chance, had been filtered using a chemical rich urine-neutralizing shield designed to go into babies’ nappies/diapers. I didn’t really like the taste at the time, but I did start to grow hair on my spleen.
Over the next fifteen years or so I have had the odd sporadic coffee, only when I am in super cold climates, and usually only after I have already drunk two or three hot chocolates and I can feel the my stomach fat growing into my spleen hair.
Then this past week I went skiing. This meant that for a weird week I was waking up really early and in really cold weather. Those things BOTH go with coffee! Everyone else was drinking coffee, and even though I hate to give into peer pressure, I tightened my girdle that makes me look more like Barbie and joined the crowd. And I kind of liked it.
Upon my return to Sydney I made a vow to keep the earlier starts going, and instead of four hours of TV and Internet surfing to start the day I would head to a café, read the paper and do some writing. It has been awesome and productive, and I really want to keep in up. I just need to get addicted to coffee so I still crave it in the super hot Aussie summer.
That is why I am currently sitting in a chain coffee shop that’s named after a woman named Gloria and her pants. I have no idea who, or what, or why someone thought ‘Jeans’ should be in the title of a coffee shop, but I assume the meeting went something like this:
‘I have heard that some people find coffee has a laxative effect’
‘Ha ha, that’s hilarious, I wonder if anyone will ever accidently shit in their jeans in our new coffee shop?’
‘I don’t know, probably. So anyway what are we going to call this place?’
‘Well there is this girl named “Gloria Jeans” I’m trying to bang at the moment, can we name it after her cause that might help my cause?’
‘But that has literally nothing to do with any product we will sell’
‘But she is REALLY hot’
‘You’ll take pictures?’
‘Ok, a coffee toast to our new coffee shop name Gloria Jeans! Ughh, um, I need to run the toilet, there better be LOTS of toilet paper in there’
Of course, if I am totally honest, my new coffee goal is also based on my desire to meet cute girls, preferably ones that have body shapes of the EXACT same proportions as a Barbie. So this coffee shop that I have chosen as my new sometime home is immediately adjacent to a park that has a couple of well-established themes:
- It is a horrible wind tunnel.
- There are numerous aggressive magpies and crows that will attack you and literally snatch food right from your hand.
- It is almost always also completely and utterly choc full of mothers groups.
I don’t know what is going on in my neighborhood, but fertility rates in the past couple of years have swarmed to pandemic levels. It is utterly frightening. This park looks like a trash tip of strollers being crawled all over rat like toddlers and babies.
Today the park also holds two guys with off-the-leash-pitbulls, only a day or so after ‘pitball kills four year old’ stories have been all over the papers (I know this because of my early morning coffee habit). And this just confirms a suspicion I have always had - most mothers secretly hope their baby is blown away by a wind tunnel, snatched by a crow or eaten by a pitball. I blame the poor morals taught by Barbie.
I’m not a baby killer myself, but I do like to play a fun game concerning babies. I try to spot the cute girls caring for a kid, and then look for wedding rings. If none is apparent I assume that there is no chance on earth anyone would ever have a baby out of wedlock and conclude this girl must be a nanny. Then I lust over her for a brief little while before asking myself ‘do girls who become nannies share my same staunch determination to NEVER EVER become a parent’. Usually the answer is whispered back to me ‘actually she probably loves kids and if you ever had sex with her she’d fish your used condom out of the trash and drain it out into herself’. Now I loathe her for tricking me into being attracted to her, and for highly immoral sperm stealing. Then I make funny faces at her kid, because kids always love me and can’t help wanting to play with me. It’s the kind of rollercoaster ride that shouldn’t be possible from a beverage, and yet coffee comes through!
As for this coffee I am drinking right now? Well I am not enjoying it at all. Spring has really hit today, and it’s far too warm to enjoy a warm drink. I am going to keep it up though, I really want to burn off my spleen hair.
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Post a Comment