Coffee and more bad news

It really is a funny old world. Just this morning I received some very bad news from Bertie. According to the so-called DNA expert, the unfortunate incident that occurred whilst I was watching the Anna Nicole Show some two years ago, could not possibly have resulted in the impregnation of said Ms. Smith. What a blow. I cannot but help notice that they were not so quick to reject the claim of that crusty old fossil once married to ZaZa Gabor. Once again we see one rule for the rich and another for the poor.

Still by way of consolation I see that my favorite squeeze, Britney is back on the market. I know that she is a bit wacko but I think her new look makes her real hot. At least the drapes now match the carpet and I am here to tell you that you can’t say that about too many Kissbotty County women.

Talking of Kissbotty folk, quite a few have asked me what the deal was with Coffee and Kangaroos. I presume that they ask because they don’t know the answer. In similar vein no one in Kissbotty asked about Ms. Whiplash’s trombone. I presume that is because they DO know the answer. You've got to love living here.

As I said it’s a funny old world.

TCB

Coffee and Hell's Bankers

Today’s rant concerns the antics of Branch, Banking and Trust (BB&T). When we first arrived in the land of opportunity one of the first things that we had to do was open a bank account. Purely by an act of good fortune we stumbled across First Virginia Bank. These were wonderful people. Apart from offering first class service with a smile we got to know them all by their first names and they treated the Boss and I like old friends. Well they say that all good things come to an end and thus it came to pass that First Virginia was bought out by BB&T. Within months the Manager left, followed by the assistant Manager and then most of the staff. Now as an immigrant myself I don’t have a racist chromosome in my body but if you are employing people to deal with the public then it is my guess that they should have a reasonable command of the language. BB&T didn’t get the point and it soon became impossible to speak to anyone on the telephone. (Yes I accept it may have been my fault for having an English accent). Then strange charges started to appear. My favorite was a $10 deduction every month. This apparently was our fault, as we had not given First Virginia our social security numbers when we opened the account. Now BB&T were being fined by some regulatory authority and rather than tell us, they just tacked the charges onto our account. It goes without saying that, despite giving BB&T everything that they asked for, this charge came and went over the next year. By the way if you have ever tried to open a bank account without a social security number you will know what a cartload of BS this was. About this time we were making up our own words for the initials BB&T, my favorite being Ball Busters and Thieves.

When we moved to Kissbotty County we decided that we should change banks and say goodbye to BB&T forever. I wrote out a check on the old BB&T account that left just $3 in the account so that if they gave me a hard time about closing it I could just walk away. Well I did not count on the avarice of the scumbags from Charlotte. Before I could close the account they hit me with a $10 handling fee (they had never pulled this stunt before). Now the account is $7 overdrawn so the hit me with an unauthorized overdraft fee of $35. They then write to me to let me know and charge $35 for the letter. Then some other BS and before I can blink I am being threatened over a “debt” of $99. Apparently if I do not submit to their extortion I will be reported to some credit agency and my life will be over. Well I say bring it on BB&T. I shall be instructing Bertie Grabbit (Sue, Grabbit and Runne LLP) to issue writ (or whatever you colonials do) for mental anguish, tortuous interference with business, habeas corpus, Flagrante delicto and whatever Bertie can pull out of his hat. Of course this suit will be on the back burner until Bertie has successfully brought to fruition my paternity claim in the case of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby.

In the meantime might I suggest that any of you unfortunate to “bank” with BB&T that you seek alternative bankers? I heartily endorse the great folks at Coffee House Banking in Smallville in fact I left a small deposit there just last night.

TCB
PS FOTL1 tells me that she had a similar experience. She had a redundant BB&T account with $11.29. BB&T decided to clean her out and call it a closing fee. Scumbags!

Coffee and the Sprog

The Boss has asked me to point out that on February 23rd 1985 she was delivered of a gift from heaven aka Fruit of the Loin 2. She did NOT “drop a sprog”. Oh well at least we are talking, sort of, again.

Coffee and (no) love

So it’s Friday night and I thought that I might be able to get my sentence reduced. Well as I am sure you know we have no parole in Virginia and as we say here if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime. Sadly it looks like there is no parole in the Boss’s heart either so it is another 7 nights in the small house (tool shed) for me. Actually things have gone from bad to worse. Today I was presented with a salmon pink envelope inscribed with the initials CB. “What is this, my dewy cheeked English rose” I ask. With steel in her voice and ice in her heart she replies “Happy anniversary CB”. There then followed a rip in the time space continuum. A few seconds that saw my life flash before me. A time when my normally clenched and rigid colon turned to water and all I could say was “aye aye err aye”. To make matters worse 22 years ago the Boss managed to drop a sprog. Yes indeed it is also FOTL2’s birthday as well. Normally the Boss takes care of this but this year the card read “Happy Birthday from Mummy and no one else”. Not only did I not get parole, my love life is now officially on death row.

As if my life could not get any worse my little Canadian friend GenBen is still firmly north of the border (is that a double entendre? I do hope so) and DQ has disappeared into the Carolinas ostensibly on some sort of education thingy. Fortunately Ms. Rita Whiplash has a number that I cannot forget. 1-900 SPA-KNME. It looks like tonight I shall have to let my fingers do the walking or as we say in Quebec “Je suis dans merde creek sans le paddle”.

TCB

Coffee and the Cold

I tell you people I work for a slave driver. I told her this morning that I couldn’t go to work today as I was suffering from anal glaucoma. “Anal Glaucoma” she said “what’s that?” “Well” I replied, “it’s when I just can’t see myself hauling my ass to work”. Today I am cleaning U bends with my toothbrush.

Actually the real reason for not wanting to get out of bed is that it is too damn cold. You always know when it is really cold here as the Smalltown lawyers have their hands in their own pockets.

Oh I slay me, I really do.
TCB

Coffee and Kangaroos*

One of our regular couples, who are both in their mid eighties, came in for breakfast today. They are immigrants from New York and he used to be in the scrap metal business. If you have ever seen the Sopranos you will know where I am going with this. When we are quiet we will sit with “Don” and his lady and chat as they have their coffee. Today Don left us for a short while in order to renew his CCP. For those of you unfortunate enough to live in a State that spits on the second amendment allow me to explain. Here in God’s own State we can openly carry a gun, with a few exceptions, pretty much anywhere. Now if you want to, you can also take a short training course and then apply for a concealed carry permit (CCP). Virginia is a “shall issue” state, which means that unless there is a reason not to do so you will be issued with a CCP. It goes without saying that the Bitch and FOTL1 are both CCP carriers.

Whilst we are sipping on our Kopi Luwak Don returns in high dudgeon. His renewal has been rejected as he had forgotten to mention a minor conviction on his record. It transpires that 20 years ago a couple of scumbags tried to break into his yard and he beat the living snot out of them. As he is telling the tale I started to do the math. 85 years old now, 20 years ago equals 65. Damn he was 65 and he kicked the crap out of two burglars, sweet. Well the father of one of them decided to take Don to court as the kid had lost a couple of teeth. On the steps of the courthouse the father who had a gold front tooth made the mistake of taunting Don. Don replied taking a pop at the old man in order to collect some gold for later. From then on the story went down hill rapidly. As he is telling this story you could see his eyes turning that flint grey color and I thought that even at 85 this was one old man that you would not want to cross.

Here are a couple of epilogs to this tale. The first is that a week after the court deal (after which Don had to pay $290 restitution) the little thug turned up again and from the safety of the other side of the fence told Don that he was going to wait until Don got old so he come back and whip his ass, can you imagine waiting for a 65 year-old to get old? As it happened he never did whip Don’s ass and 20 years later the two are good friends. The second is that Don, who is well retired, misses the old business and wants to start a scrap yard. He has asked me to consider going into business with him. It occurs to me that the Boss and Mrs Don could run the Coffee House which would free me up to take up a new career busting heads. Of course no one is going to respect someone called Coffee Bitch but “Il Patroni” has a nice ring about it, don’t you agree?

Onwards and Upwards
TCB

* OK so a free Latte to the first person to understand the title of this blog. DQ, you are way too smart so don’t even think about trying.

Coffee and Home (alone)

Home at last, home at last. Thank God almighty I’m home at last. Yes indeedy I am safely ensconced back in Chateau Coffee.

Well that was a horrid touchy feely weekend of getting to grips with our inner beings. I am not sure if it achieved anything but there were one or two amusing moments. Brad or Brett or whatever his name was (and I never really took part in any of this, courtesy of my travel bong) apparently suggested that we should all look deep within ourselves. Well some silly bint from up north, probably a lawyer from Fairfax County if I’m any judge, took him way too literally. The daft slapper tied a mirror to a stick, looked deep within herself and found two rings and a Rolex. I haven’t laughed so much since my mother (may she rest in her quicklime) caught her left breast in the mangle.
Still as a bonus to you dear reader I am going to share the wealth and the only thing that I picked up this weekend.

Apparently in order for me to get in touch with the Boss’s inner woman I have to;
Wine her,
dine her,
call her,
hug her,
hold her,
surprise her,
compliment her,
smile at her,
laugh with her,
cry with her,
cuddle with her,
shop with her,
give her jewelry,
buy her flowers,
hold her hand,
write love letters to her,
and go the end of the earth and back again for her.

Just for the record for any woman to get in touch with my inner man she has to;
Show up naked.
Bring beer.

Well I shall not be working or blogging tomorrow so you are on your own. President’s Day has me moving my beer fridge and bong into the tool shed. I think that if I move the lawn tractor out and an airbed, duvet, personal DVD thingy and my vast collection of smut in, I shall be in good order. What is more, oh joy of joys, it turns out that Ms Whiplash makes house calls. I wonder if the sound of music can be heard from the “guest cottage” out by the road. If not I shall invite Ms Whiplash to bring her trombone. Apparently it is a bit rusty but I don’t see why that should bother me any. As long as the POA Nazis do not discover that I have turned my “illegal” tool shed into an “illegal” guest cottage I shall be in fine fettle for the rest of the winter.

Testosterone rules baby
TCB

Coffee and Feelings

Since I blogged Coffee and Hearts the Boss has been more than a touch testy. In an attempt to restore the old joie de vie she suggested, nay demanded, that we attend one of those relationship weekend seminars. If you have ever had the misfortune to do one of these things you will already know what a miserable orgy of humiliation and self-deprecation it all is. Anticipating the worst I had the good sense to pack an ounce of Morocco black for the trip and just before we started, spliffed up. As expected Brad or Bruce or Bryan or whatever his name was droned on and on and on about being in touch with our partners feelings and blah blah blah. After what seemed like a lifetime of soul searching I finally returned to planet misery as he started a little exercise to prove one of his many points. “ OK CB what is the Boss’s favorite flower?” he asked. Oh thank you Jesus I know the answer to this one. “I do believe that it is self raising” I replied with a happy smile.

Apparently I am spending the next 14 nights in the tool shed.

Coffee and Health

When I was running my little medical outfit up north one of our greatest expenses was health insurance. Admittedly we had a great plan but it soon got out of hand and we were paying $1500 per employee per month. I managed to find a more reasonable plan but over the last few years that too crept up in price until we were once again paying over $1000 per employee. Now you can surely imagine that these sorts of prices are way beyond the means of the Smalltown Coffee House so we have recently joined the millions of Americans with fake medical cards and ID. I know that I mustn’t rag on at my adopted country but really people you have seriously screwed up this healthcare business. There are some very simple solutions to this mess but none will work until you make it illegal to bribe politicians. (Yes I know that it is called lobbying but it is illegal in pretty much every civilized nation). As I am seriously at risk of becoming tiresome here I will stop now and simply proffer this paragraph as a prelude to the following true story.

Here in Smalltown we have quite a decent sized hospital, which is part of a large chain (if that is the correct term) spread across southern Virginia. Recently they appointed a new administrator and he is now a regular customer of ours. He is actually quite a decent chap and is slowly crossing the shell hole filled no-mans land between customer and friend. Jim came in for lunch yesterday, looking like the world had just fallen out of his bottom. Instead of the usual hi test coffee and chili he ordered the veggy surprise and water. Ever one to cheer my fellow man I enquired as to what was happening. It turns out that his cholesterol is through the roof, he has some other issues and basically life now revolves around no alcohol or any food that involves taste, aka not worth living. In an attempt to make lemonade out of lemons I mentioned that at least he was assured of the finest medical attention for free. Looking sadder than a one legged man at an ass kicking contest he replied,”Not really, most of my meds are not covered and I am $450 a month out of pocket”. Isn’t that crazy? The Chief Executive of Smalltown’s Hospital has a crappy health plan, I am outraged. Why are you people not self-insured? Actually I should explain the true cause of my outrage. You see my secret health plan was to offer Jim a free cup of coffee and then ask if he could get my bum grapes done on the DL. Clearly if these people don’t look after their own I am going to have to stick with my rubber ring cushion.

As I said at the beginning you have seriously screwed up this healthcare business.

TCB

Coffee and Sponsorship

Samlltown’s Scout Leader, Lawson D Woods called in this week. Half way through his Café Noir and petite fours he casually mentioned that $250 would sponsor a boy scout. On reflection my response of “WTF you must be different planet buster” was hardly appropriate. I therefore went on to explain that if “sponsoring” is a synonym for paying money to keep little mouths shut then I am currently “sponsoring” two girl guides and let me tell you that those painted jezebels are bleeding me white. Lawson quickly left with a disgusted look and a failure to tip. I am guessing that he is losing his mind as once again he has forgotten my name although why he would call me Mr. P D O’File is a mystery.

Still this talk of sponsorship has given me an idea. I wonder if I could sponsor an attorney or two in the District Court. Nothing too crass, perhaps a button that flashed up a subliminal message “Call a recess, send the jury to the Coffee House”. The more I think about this the more it sounds like it could work. My first thought was to offer the job to Bertie Grabbit but I think that he is too honest for my shenanigans. Yes I know, “honest attorney”, that must be the biggest oxymoron ever (just ahead of American Healthcare and British Cuisine). Still (Simple) Simon Hemmer (Hemmer Rhoyd and Piles LLP) is up for anything as long as it involves an Alexander or two so he is my man. I shall let you know how it goes down.

Habeas Corpus baby.
TCB

Coffee and Hearts

Contrary to the ugly rumor that is being spread (by guess who) I did not actually forget Valentine’s Day. For years I have heard the expression “It’s the thought that counts” and I thought, “Oh sod it, I just can’t be bothered”. Subsequently I came to realize that this was not the best tactic in my attempts to get the Boss to lift her moratorium on the horizontal rumba.

I tell you if it wasn’t for Smalltown’s Mistress of the Night, Ms. Rita Whiplash, I would be stuck in front of American Idol with the rest of you party animals.

Mercy mistress. mercy
TCB

Coffee and (un)Happiness

Things that make me unhappy.

Kissbotty County weather. Last week we were promised a big old snow storm, we got a few flakes. This week we had an ice storm warning, it got a touch chilly. I am so disappointed. What is going on? As I write this, the mutual scrote scratchers, Dick ‘n’ Ed at Kissbotty Radio (home to all the hits) are once again announcing “Kissbotty County Schools code red five”. This means I am off to Applebees to spout some Faust and see if I can get the English teacher to bend over. Whatever, bring on the weather I have a four-wheel drive to check out. Damn this global warming.

Dish Satellite Network. The list of Dish’s crimes defies belief so forgive me if I miss a few salient points. For a start that advert that hooked me clearly stated $29.99 per month. It did not say that $29.99 is a teaser, which lasts for 10 months, but you have to sign an 18-month contract. They also fail to mention that $29.99 does not include the decoders that you need to rent at $5 per month each. Free professional installation only includes connection to an existing cable socket. If you want a television in your kitchen and the kitchen is not wired then it ain’t gonna happen baby. I wonder what amateur installation would be. I have a vision of the dish man throwing the decoder through a window and driving off. Of course the irrevocable 18-month contract does not prevent Dish from upping the rates, and this they have done. I am expected to be placated by the fact that I now subscribe to America’s Top 250 (as opposed to America’s Top 180). This does not mean I get another 70 channels, I guess Dish just pulled another number out of the air. If what I get is America’s Top anything, you people are in serious trouble here. By the way, removing Court TV from the line up and then turning it back on does not constitute another channel. I just wish I were smart enough to know if the knock-off decoders on ebay actually work.

Things that make me happy

Heated leather seats. For someone who never successfully navigated the anal stage of psychosexual development, that lovely warm feeling down below is so reminiscent of a potty training failure. I think I am going to drive all day.

Beep beep
TCB

Coffee and Drugs

I love pharmaceutical reps, they have a rotten job and I don’t think that anyone could argue that they are not on the bottom rung of the sales ladder. Much of their sales technique revolves around bribing doctors and this is where I come in. Quite often a booted and suited rep (and in these cases rep is short for reptile) will come in and order 18 bagels and gallons of coffee and so on. They also like to leave me little tokens of their appreciation of my overt manliness and that is why I have a collection of a gross or two of ballpoints and other trinkets. So it came to pass that I found myself using a pen advertising Lovenox. Yes indeed Lovenox. Now is it just me or does Lovenox sound like an STD. “Sorry Pet I don’t think that I can tonight, my Lovenox has flared up again”.
Intrigued I hooked up to their website and apparently Lovenox is nothing to do with the galloping knob rot but rather a deep vein thrombosis medication, who would have guessed.

On the website there is a quiz to assess your risk of a DVT so I thought that I would give it a go. Of course I lied about my physical condition (just like I do when filling in those dating site questionnaires). So having told Lovenox that I have a body mass index of 2.0 (whatever that means), I run 2 marathons a week, have a pulse rate of 40 bpm and unfeasibly large genitalia, Lovenox determines that I AM at risk of a DVT, the lying scumbags.

Actually I could never trust a drug company whose website shows such a lack of quality control. Apparently there is a medical condition called a hearth attack. I suppose this happens when you are all fired up and feeling grate.

Now I think I can spot a rep on the horizon so I need to water down the coffee and rub some Nivea Intensive Care Lotion onto my Lovenox.
TCB

Coffee and Tuna

So it’s Monday lunchtime and some complete knuckle shuffler has the audacity to ask me if the tuna salad was fresh. I instantly replied that indeed it was not, in fact it was made last week and we left it hanging around all weekend. He looked at me waiting for the rebuttal and when it didn’t come, asked if I was messing with him. No I reply these Virginia winters are great as we can just leave this stuff outside the backdoor and it keeps pretty fresh for weeks. I guess that he didn’t believe me as he ordered the tuna and left quite a decent tip.

Now I have to nip out back and rescue the tuna from the jaws of a marauding possum.

Toodle Pip.

TCB
PS I later realized that he wasn’t being a jerk, he probably had an inoperable brain tuna.

Coffee and Snow

Well that was another hideously dull day. For a while I thought that I wasn’t going to have any customers and this I blame on the weather. There is not too much to recommend Fairfax County but at least they can manage to conduct business when it snows. Here in Kissbotty the merest hint of a snowflake closes the schools for a week and we all grind to a halt. I am guessing that when the snots are off school parents have to baby-sit and therefore don’t go to work. This means that they don’t buy coffee and they don’t go out for lunch. One of the school administrators came in (at about 11:30, in jeans and looking very smug) and told me that the closures are due to the fact that Kissbotty County does not want kids hanging around bus stops in the cold. Well people let me tell you when I was a boy we didn’t have school busses, I walked three miles every day and what is more it was uphill in both directions. We were so poor that my parents bought my clothes from the local Army surplus store. Can you imagine the shame of walking to school dressed as a Japanese Admiral? By the way these closures are announced by the impossibly perky Dick and Ed on Kissbotty radio (home of all the hits) and they are punctuated by strange statements such as “Kissbotty County code green four”. These statements are actually the secret code for which bar the teachers will meet up at for a lunchtime alcohol and weed fuelled orgy of lust and depravity.

Anyway it really is too much to expect me to sit here and twiddle my thumbs. I swear to God if it wasn’t for the DQ and the fishing waders (I never tire of that) and my old mate the mountain man I would have gone gaga today. Yes indeed the mountain man returned today with his dear old Mother (or Mama as we say in the south). The poor old girl isn’t too good these days and has had quite a few falls, probably shine induced if I am any judge. To prove the point she shuffled off to give the Boss a hug (which let me off the hook), tripped over her own feet and launched herself across the shop. Fortunately the Boss was there to catch her, and it was fortunate as if I had been there I would have deftly side stepped and granny would have been toast. Ladies if you want to throw yourself into this Bitch’s arms you need to be wearing a school uniform. Sadly Granny is looking a little frail these days and I rather fear for her marbles. She and the man mountain were the only ones in the shop when she asked if I knew the person in the corner. After a few moments of MM and I shrugging shoulders and rolling our eyes MM pointed out that she was actually looking at my reflection in the mirror. Without missing a beat she said that we looked so alike he could be my brother. And so the world turns.

Ever one to utilize my copious quantities of spare time I checked out the BBC news to find out how the Champagne Socialists are ruining England. I spotted that back in the UK 160,000 turkeys have been slaughtered due to an outbreak of bird flu. It seems to me that the World Health Organization have seriously dropped the ball on this important issue. If we all put some non-drowsy formula Day Quil in our birdbaths I am sure that the problem will be solved. Of course it goes without saying that we will also need to use some Night Quil for the owls.

Also back in the UK I see that Sir Paul McCartney is having troubles with his divorce. Perhaps he should try to put his current predicament into perspective. In olden days, if you were unfortunate enough to be robbed by an omniped, it would almost certainly be a pirate. At least he's going to come out of this alive.

Talking of pirates I see that video piracy is now so prevalent in the UK that they now have their own rating; it is of course, AAARRRRRR

From the local news pages I see that a nasty tornado passed through Florida last week. Now a Florida tornado and a Smalltown divorce have something in common. In both cases someone is about to lose a trailer.

Finally here is some driving advice for the elderly in Smalltown. Pressing the pedal on your right will make your car go a little faster. Forget all that rubbish about suffocating at speeds above 15mph, it was all a myth.

VAROOOM
TCB

Coffee and the Dream

Have you ever had that dream where you are at work and you suddenly realize that you are naked? I did last weekend and it wasn’t a dream. Here is how it went down.

Every fourth Saturday we open the Coffee House for a Ladies Church group, they are a charming bunch and we enjoy looking after them. At about 10:30 they are all done and they wander off to spread the word or whatever. As we were already in town we decided to indulge in a spot of shopping. During the week I had seen that Smalltown’s Gun, Live Bait and Pawn Store was closing down. Now for the longest time I have been itching to own a side lever percussion cap black powder 50-caliber mountain rifle (I only mention the details in case any of my vast army of readers feels the need to get me a Valentine’s Day present). So the Boss and I were in the store only to find that the vultures had pretty much cleaned the place out. I wandered around aimlessly in my white shirt and black pants feeling, for some unknown reason, just a little uneasy. I could hear a faint murmur and could not help but to think I was the subject of the whispers. Then it hit me. Oh dear God I was the only one in there not wearing camouflage. Never have I felt more emasculated, I was naked amongst real men. There was only one thing to do and that was run. To add insult to injury the only vehicle outside that wasn’t a pickup was our company mini van. I am going to have to leave town.

Addendum One

To cheer me up the Boss took me to the Walmarts to get some beer. There we were at 11:30 with just a case of long necks in the cart when we bumped into one of the Ladies of the church group. I looked at her, the cart and then the Boss and blurted out “That’s her breakfast in the cart” She looked at me, smiled and replied, “That’s OK, I might be a Christian but I ain’t no saint”. Now that my friends is a God botherer that I could live with.

Addendum Two.

It transpires that the Smalltown Gun, Live Bait and Pawn Store is closing down due to the harassment of the New York District Attorney. Allegedly some guns that originally came from the store ended up in the hands of New York scumbags (who I believe make up the greater percentage of the population). I cannot imagine that New York miscreants travel all the way to south Virginia to buy guns so this persecution of Virginia tradesmen seems somewhat convoluted. As I recall the war of northern aggression was caused by the north interfering with the commerce of the south. It seems like these people never learn, perhaps they will soon come realize that that spot of unpleasantness at the Appomattox Court House was simply the longest cease fire in the history of the CSA. New Yorkers also need to realize that guns don’t kill people, people kill people. (Although I admit, pointing your finger and shouting bang, bang does not have the same effect).

Well that’s enough ranting as I seem to have got of the point a touch. Here is a little situation for you to work on and determine your stand on the second amendment.

You're walking through a scummy area of New York City (that is to say almost anywhere) with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, a dangerous looking man with a huge knife comes around the corner and is running at you while screaming obscenities. In your pocket is a Glock 30 and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?

New York Answer:
Well, that's not enough information to answer the question! Does the man look poor or oppressed? Have I ever done anything to him that is inspiring him to attack? Could we run away? What does my wife think? What about the kids? Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand? What does the law say about this situation? Is it possible he'd be happy with just killing me? Does he definitely want to kill me or would he just be content to wound me? If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me? This is all so confusing! I need to debate this with some friends for a few days to try to come to a conclusion.

Virginia Answer:
BANG!

Coffee Bitch's Answer:
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Click Drop the clip, reload
Boss: "CB, he looks like he's still moving, what do you kids think?"
FOTL1: "The Boss is right CB, I saw it too..." BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
FOTL2: "Nice grouping CB!"

Coffee and Erotica

I have to confess that things have been a little slow on the lovin’ front of late. I have a bad feeling that I might have breeched a confidence when I blogged the Rodeo position last week. Anyway for whatever reason I have had to hang up the spurs for a while. Now it is scientifically proven that when one is getting plenty of humpty dumpty, one emits pheromones that makes one more attractive to the opposite sex and the end result is that one becomes mentally, physically and emotionally drained. Conversely (and nature can be horribly cruel in this regard) when you are getting none, you get even less. So amidst the barren desert that is currently my love life, two little pieces of erotica wandered in and I thought that, in the absence of anything more physical to do, I would share them with you.

The first incident involved the Digital Queen of Smallville who popped in for lunch. I don’t know if it was my hangdog expression or the complete lack of pheromones but for some reason she decided to taunt me with the details of her workout. Apparently she does something called “quiverless buns” or something. This workout is so demanding that she can hardly move the next day. So she is giving me all the details involving squats and lunges and weights as well as rivulets of perspiration running down hidden crevices. (On reflection I may have imagined the sweat, but you get the point). Tomorrow I shall call her trainer and find out when her next session is and when she is too tired to get away I shall pounce. Then we will see who has quiverless buns. In the meantime I shall content myself with continuing to check her out as she leaves, and that my friends is probably the closest I shall get to getting some ass for the next few weeks.

Erotica part II. Here in Kissbotty County one has to hauls one’s own trash. So I was at the dumpster when I spotted a fair looking woman off loading her crap. She was kind of big boned in a muscular country way, wearing tight jeans and a tighter top. She had that dirty blond hair style and as she climbed onto the bed of her truck her top rode up to reveal one of those slutty tattoos across the small of her back. Her body language basically radiated the message “Yes I do, and what is more I am very good at it”. As I limped my way to the dumpster I swear to God she smiled and winked at me. Having set the scene here comes the erotica. She was driving a Ram 2500 Diesel Laramie package with a 9-inch lift, 20-inch chromes and Pirelli slicks. And if that doesn’t give you a chubby then you must be one of those Californian pansies that drive a Honda Hybrid.