(Rambles Schambles. This is why I don't drink coffee anymore.)
I lost a bet this morning and was subsequently duct-taped to a chair and then had the new Justin Beiber single played for me while I screamed from the blood pouring from my ears-
Wait.
Actually it was far too soft to be injury-inducing. It was boring and incredibly innocent-sounding. I never met a twenty-one year old in my LIFE who sounded like that. I thought it seemed more like something he would have put out at thirteen or perhaps eight. It doesn't match his baby-gangster image or whatever fashion he seems to be doing.
Argh. I hate popular culture unless it's about something I actually like.
Snarf.
Once I was released from that chair (and the Justin) I spent the remainder of the day in church singing the soundtrack to Miss Saigon (I can do light but it has to be GOOD) at the top of my lungs while I scrubbed the coffee maker and tried to whip Sam's office into shape.
I was paid in coffee. Sam forgot what it does to me, I guess. You could tell already though, couldn't you?
I decided it was going to be a bulletproof coffee day too, which, without actual Internet (cheap fucking church) led us to beliebe (HA. That's not a typo, apparently it's a tweenage verb) that it was coffee with a spoonful of butter in it.
Well, THAT undereducated guess led to an hour and a half of making butternauts who would cling hopelessly to the rim of the cup before melting into the hot coffee itself, all the while making these amazingly quiet little screams of despair.
No one can save you, Butternauts! I told them, since I was the giant in my imaginary play. I like that kind of power. It makes up for everything else.
Oh and it only rained for three hours so far. Fuck.
