Cakey Pants recently sent me an article about Kopi Luwak, a coffee that comes from the
ass of tiny
marsupials named paradoxurus. The paradoxurus eat sweet coffee cherries and poop them out. The pooped
out coffee cherries are gathered and roasted into the world's rarest beverage.
Now am I alone here as the only person who doesn't want to drink coffee from a marsupial's
me old fashioned, but I'm not imbibing anything that's passed through a rectum. Not that I don't
appreciate the interconnectedness of all things. You know, I eat a forkful of chocolate cheesecake here
in Toronto, and in Fiji, Marlon Brando sheds his pants. Tiny monkey creatures eat cherries in Sumatra,
while in L.A. a rich bitch pays seventy five samoleans for a quarter pound of ass coffee. It's all one big
wild wheel of life.
Which brings me to scat. What's up with the eating of stuff out of asses? Not that everyone
a little butt licking now and again. Or the occasional anal action. But ingesting stuff from an ass? Poo
eating? Eating things that have been in the poo of others, and what' s more, paying for it? Has the planet
gone mad? And more importantly, will people pay to eat stuff that's been in my butt?
I promise it'll be sweeter than any Kopi Luwak.
Lilo & Stitch
This is the best Disney flick I've seen since Bambi. Oh, come on, Bambi's a classic. If
you didn't cry when Bambi's mother bit it than you're a lying lie face.
In Lilo & Stitch, all the female characters
are drawn with realistic proportions, and none of them have caucasian features, which is often an issue when Disney
decides to visit other lands. And the Stitch is a creature of which I have grown exceedingly fond. He's vicious,
maladjusted, violent, fluffy and cute with a serious coffee problem. Just like Me!
Here at last is a Disney character
that I can relate to and empathise with. I care if Stitch finds a family. I care if Stitch gets to destroy to his
heart's content. I want Stitch to stick it to the man. He's a rotten little beast with anti social tendencies.
He drinks coffee out of a baby bottle and wrecks stuff.
I want to be just like Stitch when I grow up.
My company kitchen (see kitchen review two issues ago) receives a number of different
publications. We get most of the large daily papers, even the Post for the right wing fascists among us.
We also receive a variety of different industry publications. Yesterday as I was refilling my coffee mug
for the seventh time, a glossy title caught my eye.
'Rich Guy' was spelled out on the cover in 72 point type.
You could have seen that title from a block away. Inside the magazine was a cornucopia of cars, watches, one
person helicopters and cigars. There were interviews with wealthy dweebs who thought they rocked soooo fucking
hard because they're walking around with a wad of dough in their back pockets.
I'm not sure who this publication
is aimed at. Guys who want to have money? Chicks who want to have guys who have money? I don't think the guys
who really do have money will bother to buy this magazine.
It seems to be aimed at dudes that suffer from
delusions of grandeur. Peurile marketing stance aside, it's a damned funny title and worth a glance if you're
ever dreamed of owning your own one person flying machine.
5 Things Jill Hated This Week
5. Having missed the Michael Jackson interview
4. Corporate politics
2. The white crap that's floating on the top of my coffee
1. Avril Lavigne