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July 28, 2000
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Jill's Got Splinters
Another scintillating week in that la la land we like to call
Newfoundland. Can anyone stand such outright natural beauty? Jill's got the scoop...
Coffee With Any One Vote
The results are in for most preferred male to have coffee with. The
winner by a wide margin is(70% of the vote)...Christopher Walken.
He's a strange one, and well worth sipping java with. Maybe if your lucky
he might do a little tap dancin' for you, maybe if your lucky, he might slap you around a bit
with a shovel.
Now you can vote for the female you would most like to
have coffee with. I am Jack's free will. We worked long and hard to compile a list that
covers many tastes and styles of female that might be the bomb to drink with.
I am Jack's power of the vote. So, vote in the Best Female
catagory.
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Coffee With Jill's
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To Be or Not To Be...
This indeed was the question that the Caffiend and his partner
Pajavagirl where asking themselves, as they stepped off the train in the small, unfamiliar
town of Stratford.
Their will and determination proved no match for the locals...
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Another Year
Oh yes faithful readers, your humble narrator Cake Pants Jack is a year
older, and perhaps a year wiser. What kinds of things have I learned do you ask? Many things,
some even include coffee, but most include good friends and warm feelings.
I'd love to attribute some of this to the all mighty bean, and in some ways I can. Coffee helps bring
people together, even those that don't partake in its loveliness. Coffee shops are where people meet,
landmarks to help guide you through the big city.
Always a favorite after a long night on the town. Coffee rarely lets you down, even if it isn't very
good. You're just glad that at 4am, when you just don't want to go home, you can find a coffee shop and
talk till the sun comes up.
Coffee lubricates communication. Maybe it's just expected, maybe it's what we are
taught, that when you're having coffee, you're having a conversation. Coffee both stimulates and relaxes.
In this paradox is most likely the key to it's magic.
I am a year older, but I don't feel it this time around. I feel a lot younger then I ever did before.
This year I have realized that there are way to many years left in my life, which makes Jack very happy.
I am looking forward to the rest of my life, to what it will offer, to what it will bring. I'm looking
forward to more coffee as well. I am Jack's exaggerations. Yes dear reader, it does sound like I'm giving
coffee to much credit. It doesn't really deserve it you know, but what it does deserve is to be consumed.
I, Cakey Pants Jack am doing my part, I hope you to can see your way to doing your part. Thanks for a
lovely year, and I'll get back to you next year, and tell you how that went as well.
Ta Ta.
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Random Musings Of Mild Misanthropy
Ten things I never should have put in my coffee pot:
- My dick
- My $50.00 Cohiba Esplendido
- Bacon fat
- Tobasco
- OXO (beef flavour; chicken=OK)
- My dirty spark plugs
- A raw egg (a la Rocky)
- "Coffee Time" coffee
- "2000 Flushes" puck
- My weed
Coffee at work!
The only thing that keeps whatever is left of my sanity at my unspeakably
unbearable, soul-draining, life-sucking job is the fact that our cafeteria actually makes decent coffee.
I'm not talking vending
machines here, I'm talking about actual small-batch-brewed coffee, kept fresh and hot in proper dispensers.
I poo you not, kind reader! I have a choice of: aromatic Mocha-Java, hearty Continental or robust Pacific
Blend (my personal favorite).
Each dreary day, I complain unceasingly about the morass of incompetent
boobery that surrounds me; insufferable fecundity and general bullshit abounds.
My apathy towards the
monkeys I work with (and for) grows faster than Ron Jeremy in an Amsterdam all-girl youth hostel. But, I
know that just a short 378 steps away (yes, I counted them) lies my hot, black, orgasmic salvation, and I'm
not talking about Pam Grier. God bless my cafeteria. God bless.
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.
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Could You Please Send Me A Slice
I am Jill's complacency. Yes indeed, my urban angst disappearing in the early
morning mist. Good fucking god, I'm having Nescafe moments.
I want to go home.
People here drink tea with tinned milk, and everyone thinks I'm a chemo patient.
The finer human sense of outrage has been diluted by one too many church sing a longs. All the women dance
in pairs at the local club. And that is not at all as entertaining as it sounds.
I haven't had a decent coffee in nine days and if it wasn't for this relaxed
feeling I have, I'd have one hell of an itchy trigger finger. And everybody's uncle's got a rifle under
the bed.
Yes, by god. It'd be great to be alive if I could just summon the energy to enjoy
this curious sensation. Nights of deep sleep, lack of responsibility, and the positive fact that I am the
coolest person in a four hundred mile radius.
I am Jill's naptime. Nighty night.
Metal in my mouth
What is this floating in my cup?
Tin milk in coffee
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