On the Drinking of Coffee

I am a coffee addict.

There. I said it. We've all got our vices. Don't judge me.

Particularly as of late, as I have been on a new diet and have been devoid of nearly all liquid refreshment beyond water, have accepted that coffee - a beverage that I could not truly function without in the first place - is my lifeline. It is not a strange sight any longer to see me with a hot cuppa at any given time of day. Or night.

Also not unusual is paying for a cuppa when I'm not in facilities that are equipped for me to make my own. Starbucks - who no longer gets too much money out of me in return for those evil, delicious lattes - regularly receives my patronage as long as a good bold coffee or Americano isn't too much to ask. I get a great big cup with room for cream and off I to top it off with half & half (because those communists never have whole/heavy cream). I'll take a few feeble attempts at a sip before I pull out my trusty Gerber spring-assisted micro-stabulator and make the teeny, tiny ventilator hole big enough to actually pass air into the cup as I draw coffee out.

The whole Starbucks routine was taking place as I was reading the daily blogs until I reached for the Gerber and it wasn't there. And that's when it hit me.

Fuck the TSA. At least I made it around San Antonio International's shiny new porn-o-scanners. Fuck 'em all, in job-lots.

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I'm off to Phoenix here in a few. I'll keep y'all posted.



tweaker