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Coffee Club Comic Pt.9
Coffee Club Online brings you Part 9 of a continuing graphic adventure.
Follow the adventures of the boy and the bean, as he struggles to find his way out, or into, no space...
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The Frenzy Is Over
So, what the hell did happen in the new millennium? I am Jack's status quos. Seems
that very little has changed since the big change over. Sure, I had a bit of trouble remembering to write
2000 instead of 1999, but that ain't much different then previous new years.
It was some kinda frenzy just before, some weird last minute binge just in case the
world was gonna end. We saw the entertainment industry kick it up a notch with more crap-ass teeny-bopper
music that stinks like a pile of dog poo. We saw the stupidest movies come to full fruition. We saw our
beloved government signing into law fabulous and outrageous bills, with no opposition, cause you know, it was
all gonna be over once the bell toled 12 midnight.
Reckless abandon was the call of the day. Hip hip horah! So where did that get us?
Into a rather amusing year actually. With a universal sigh of relief, that the world didn't end, the
Millennial New Years Eve party rocked on and hard way into 2000. This was the party year. Non stop
concert tours from the pretty boys and girls. Award shows galore, like who knew the Brits could get any
sillier. Non stop media coverage of every last bit of fluff. Non stop party, party, party.
As a bonus, we also got the return of the real artists, who where hiding away in
fear of the end. We got to see
the real movies, afraid to show before 2000 because what would be the point if we no one was here to
remember how good they where. The alternatives started to show there faces, long absent, choosing to ride it
out and excepting thier fate.
I'm Jack's tired ass. As we approach the new year, I get the feeling that the frenzy
will subside. The year 2000 is done, and even though there is a small group that insists 2001 is the real
millennium, Jack don't think it'll hold much sway. The party is over boys and girls, time to figure out what
your really gonna do in this brave new world.
As for your old pal Jack. I'm gonna continue to slog it out on the front lines. More
coffee, more cake and more fun then you can shake a stick at. Don't be jealous. As I sit typing this, enjoying
a strong cup of sweet turkish coffee, I make a vow to all our readers. This year we're gonna kick it up a
notch, and we can only hope you'll all be here for the ride.
‘Nuff said.
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Random Musings Of Mild Misanthropy
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New Year Monkey Fest
Hello, dearest reader. So here we are at the end of ends: the end of a day, a week,
a month, a year, a decade, a century and a millennium - the real end of the millennium for those of us who
can count. Boy, I say boy, I'm sure glad all that is over. I'd like to think that we've all learned
something over all these years, scrambling around like monkeys with a bad case of the shits.
Gimme a banana.
That's right, nothing really changes, except that maybe we're getting a little
dumber. Sure, there have been some pretty neat things that have happened over the last thousand years,
but there's been more than enough to offset it and put us right back in our places, swinging from trees
and going eep-eep. There's the yummy joy of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, and then there's Folgers. We
used to have philosophers, and now we have guys like Clinton and Bush running things. No cure for cancer,
but plenty of doctors devoting their lives to facelifts & tummy tucks. Centuries-old finely crafted beer
recipes led way to Budweiser, and, hell: American beer in general. Theater became television. Monet...
velvet Elvis.
There is something very wrong with everyone!
But not you, right? You're better than all the rest. You spend your time preaching
about your elevated status as somebody who knows better and can point out the ills in all you survey. But
ya know what you hate to admit? You hate to admit that you'd have it no other way. You like the fact that
everybody else is a poopy-pants. That's OK, it's our little secret. We're not un-alike, you and I. I mean
really, I dislike about 95% of everything. I am a grumpy, bitter, crusty curmudgeon at the spry age of
"less-than-thirty-five". Work sucks, but I want money. Relationships suck, but I want sex. Fast food
sucks and is staffed by cretins, but I'm to fucking lazy to cook most of the time. You get the picture.
But all this is still OK because - master of rationalization that I am - I've realized that it's OK to
point out everyone's flaws and laugh, though you may share the same foibles. Why? Because. That's why.
BOO-YA! You are why! You don't need a reason! Because you know that you're better.
Self-awareness is what got you to put down that banana, hop outta that tree and start running around nekkid
with reckless abandon, rubbing your weenies and breasts all over strangers - and lovin' it! Everybody else
just doesn't have a clue; they don't know they're dumb. That's why they're happy! We've traded our
happiness in for knowledge - a license to ill, boyee. See, because we know we're better than
everybody else is like a philosophical diplomatic immunity: the "I know you are but what am I" of
reason. We are the new Philosopher Kings.
So, here's to the new millennium: the opening of the gates for a new hoard of
dullards, dolts and dunces, all un-awaringly eager to be the subject our deserving mockery. Mock, on dudes!
Sweet!
Farewell until next time, gentle reader. Do come back again and feel free to send
me your comments, suggestions, stories, whatever. Gotta go, the coffee's on.
"I wish I was in
Tijuana eating barbecued iguana..."
Edward Pants, Esq.
In life's coffee bag, be the bitter bean.
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Jill's New Years Cheer
Top 5 Things that Suck About New Year's Eve
5. It's just another day, dude.
4. Confetti down your bra. Vomit on your shoes. Weiner wraps.
3. Drinking way too much and feeling up every guy at the party. Using the massive amounts of alcohol
you've imbibed as the reason that you dry humped the host. No, wait. That's on the Top
5 Things that Rock list. Ahem.
2. For some inexplicable reason, Mambo Number 5 on repeat. All night long. Worse yet, you know all the
lyrics, you jump off the couch to dance every time it comes back on, all without a trace of irony.
1. The biggest premature ejaculation in the history of humanity. The sad lack of apocalyptic annihilation.
Where are the airplanes plummeting to the earth, where are the ultra right wing Christian militias emerging
from their underground bunkers to cannibalize the unbelievers? Sigh. Jill misses all the fun.
Top 5 Things that Rock About New Year's Eve
5. Getting away with doing another Top 5 list instead of having to write an actual article.
4. Making all those hilarious resolutions that will never in anyone's lifetime come to fruition.
3. The flowing rivers of alcohol.
2. Glitter on your decolletage. Shiny shoes. Weiner wraps.
1. Getting really drunk and dry humping the host. Using alcohol poisoning as the reason for denying it
the next day. Ahem.
BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND
Coffee Porn By Jittery Jill
"You've been naughty little monkeys," she admonished. "And now you're going to pay."
Mr. Tom wriggled his oiled and naked back against the hard wood of the coffee table. The duct tape that bound
his hands wouldn't be so terrible if he wasn't taped to Mr. Ed. There they lay, hip to hip, stripped of all
worldly garments, ball gags stuffed between their lips, eyes bulging with fear and desire.
Mr. Ed's considerable amount of body hair was matted with a sticky combination of cream, frosting, mousse,
bodily fluids, and frothed milk. Mr. Tom bleated like a sick sheep, while she leaned over his sweating face.
"This time the mugs in the other hand, hmmmm, boys?"
She climbed on top of their bellies, a pointed heel in each navel. Crouching above them with a shiny pitcher
of cream, grinding their nipples with the toes of her boots, she slowly adjusted the dials of the devices
tethered to the Messrs. Ed and Tom.
Their nether bits stood at attention, constrained by the buckles and straps of the vibrating machines. She
squeezed the pitcher of cream between her breasts and held two mugs steadily in the line of fire. Leaning
forward exposing the complete lack of underwear beneath her skirt, she breathed lightly upon the writhing
Misters Ed and Tom.
"Coffee's on," she gasped, as simultaneous hot spurts of black coffee jetted into the outstretched mugs.
Mr. Tom and Mr. Ed sagged beneath her, limp with relief. She slithered down from the mounds of their bellies
and squirted streams of cream into each mug.
"Jamaican Blue Mountain," she moaned, double fisting the hot liquid into her pouting mouth. "Makes perfect
porn every time."
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