Coffee and Fireworks

I decided that we would celebrate the 4th (or sleazy traitors war of insolence against the King day as I prefer to call it). So we invited a few of our favorite customers (all two of them) to Chateau Caffeine for a spot of barbecue and some fireworks. Both the barbie and the fireworks necessitated a trip to Bigtown and just for a change we spent a glorious Sunday morning at Sam's Club. The very next day the Kissbotty Gazette had a front page article from the Fire Marshall reminding all of us Kissbotians that fireworks were illegal in Kissbotty County. WTF! I have been screwed again by Sam's who are conveniently situated in another county, what a rip!

I can't help thinking that fireworks should be legal everywhere on the 4th. After all you people did rebel against your King so what if a few homes get burnt down, it's a small price to pay.

PS My guests (who were clearly not impressed with the selection from Sam's) decided that next year we should all pop across the state line, into North Carolina where apparently they really know how to make fireworks.

Coffee and Jack Lalanne

Fruit of the loins I and II both came home for Father's Day which was a rare treat indeed. FOTLI recently bought a juicer and has been boring me to sobs about it for weeks. Well she took it upon herself to bring it down in order to demonstrate how great it was. I have to say that I kind of enjoyed messing with it and we made some cool drinks; carrot and orange, kiwi and grape, melon and celery and my favorite, bloody marys. Being the curious person that I am I had to try the pulp to see what that was like. The carrot was dreadfully dry, the orange was nice as was the kiwi, the melon was not up to much at all. All in all I probably ate more roughage that I had ever had and of course there had to be consequences. Yes indeed, I spent all of Father's Day on the crapper courtesy of that smug git Jack Lalanne and three weeks later I still don't dare fart. Worst Father's Day ever

Coffee and Porn

Once again , my favorite theme. Now remember folks you heard it first here, Smalltown is about to get its first porno store, I am so excited I can hardly wait. No doubt you are amazed that I have scooped the Smalltown Gazette and even the Bigtown News but there it is and this is how it went down.

Hugh Jazz (the town manager) and (Simple) Simon Hemmer (Hemmer, Royds, and Piles LLP) the town's attorney were having a meeting and so secret was it that they decided to have it in the Coffee House (I know, what were they thinking)? It turns out that some porn empire has decided that the good citizens of Kissbotty county need to have their love lives jazzed up with a touch of erotica and as Smalltown is the county seat where better to open shop but here. Much to their chagrin the town's elders have been informed by Simple Simon that it is unconstitutional to ban porn from the town. The best that they can do is make life difficult by enacting all sorts of vindictive legislation. For example, they cannot situate outside a school (mind you they probably would not want the pro bono competition, see here) and so on. Still I know how these things work, there will be much huffing and puffing and eventually the porn boys will bung a few Franklins to the council and we will be away.

The last time the Boss and I accidentally stumbled into a porn store we found ourselves in the artificial wiener department. After much deliberation the Boss selected a rather ambition model in black with a white top. She got to the checkout and the clerk said "Madam, that is my vacuum flask".

Happy days

Coffee and Sufferage

As I have mentioned from time to time, Kissbotty county is a pretty rural agrarian environment with classic southern values. It is not unusual to see the dog in the front seat of the pickup with the woman riding the bed and many folk adhere to the old Shakespearean quote of "A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, The more you beat 'em, the better they be." Not of course that I subscribe to such nonsense you understand but when in Rome.......

Anyway I was on my travels this morning when I spotted one of those magnetic ribbon thingies stuck to the side of a minivan. Instead of saying "Support our troops" it said "End domestic violence now". This is what happens when you allow Yankees to move into our country. I tell you people this is just going to upset the equilibrium and before you know where you are women will be expecting to vote. Worse still if Kissbotty women realize that the female orgasm is not an urban legend I am going to be screwed (or not screwed more likely).


For now I am going to get my own ribbons made and every time I see a domestic violence ribbon I shall replace it with a "Iron my shirt" ribbon.


Recently these Yankee "women" held some sort of protest meeting, can you spot me?

The Health Inspector

Well we got through another snap health inspection this morning. I guess that after 4 straight all clears the inspector felt the need to flex his regulatory muscles. The best that he could do was to point out that the tomatoes were a bit on the warm side. The boss pointed out that they had only just been purchased and he would be better employed checking the temperature of the chiller at the Walmarts but he was having none of it.

After he was safely out of earshot (I am not that stupid) I mentioned that if he wanted to mess with the fruit he could always check out the temperature of my plums. The boss looked at me and without the slightest hint of shame mentioned that the only reason that we ever passed a health inspection was that she allowed him to check the temperature of her melons.

What a trollop!

Coffee and Drugs

Fruit of the Loin II is coming home for the summer next week. When we lived in North Virginia there were so many restaurants and stores that they pretty much dragged kids of the streets and offered them jobs. Here in Kissbotty jobs are few and far between and I suspect they are saved for the local kids. Last year FOTLII had no luck in finding summer employment and ended up being used as slave labor here in the Coffee House. Determined that this was not going to happen ever again she made a list of every potential employer in Kissbotty (excluding me and the Boss). I noticed that on her list was the local Homo Depot and she had been told that they were a pretty good employer. As it happens the manager is a fairly regular customer so I offered to put in a word, which I did. Unbelievably FOTLII made an unexpected visit yesterday and whilst she was here the Homo Depot manager turned up. I introduced them and he offered to interview her straight away, mentioning with a wink that next week might be too late.

So she trots off, gets interviewed and passes a urine test. You have no idea how disappointed I am. How can a child of mine possibly pass a snap drug test without a week to flush out? This is clearly a complete waste of a college education.

Coffee and Fruit of the Loin II

Coffee and the Hill Folk

So a couple of hill folk wander in yesterday afternoon. They were fairly smartly dressed and I was bored so I thought I would entertain them with my stories and general wit. After a while we got to a show and tell of our tattoos and I have to say that I am in awe of these ladies who unashamedly display their little nooks and crannies. Well the afternoon drew to a close and she told me that she had often passed by the Coffee House but never before come in. She said that she thought it was an uppity place for lawyers and the like but now she had met me she realized that wasn't the case.

Color me speechless.

Coffee and the brown trout

Today we have a sad anniversary here in Southern Virginia. Of course it has brought out all the nutcases and one even had the temerity to leave their pamphlet in my slice of coffee heaven. Inside this glossy toilet roll I am told that school shooting are caused by people who believe in evolution as they have no regard for life. Well so far so good but then we get serious and it seems that anyone who looks at a pretty woman is a fornicator and anyone who has had sex outside of marriage is going straight to hell. Well Kissbotty it looks like we are all doomed. I tell you I am so tempted to start the Coffee Bitches Church of Satanology. I could leave leaflets telling people that they will not go to hell if they don't fornicate (preferably with me). Now I think about it, every single church is about send me your money and every single cult is about having sex with your leader. I could be onto something here.

On a different tack, the Dean of Students at Collegetown has closed every single student kitchen. There has been a spate of students urinating in the ovens and then turning them on to high. Then they started to load them up with text books and turning them on, oblivious to what happens to paper at 475 degrees. The latest prank (and what has caused the Dean to close the kitchens) is that someone has developed a penchant for cooking faeces, isn't that nice? So Fruit of the Loins Two who is a grown up grad student cannot cook her dinner because someone has been crimping off a length and microwaving brown trouts.

I mention this only because in the wake of the Virginia Tech massacre some "experts" believe that students should be armed on campus. Would you really want a Glock 27 in the hands of someone who gets their goodies from roasting dumps?

Coffee and the Drag Queens

Lawdy, lawdy, lawdy I am back from therapy after having judged the "womanless" beauty pageant. What a nightmare! My fellow judges were some local businesswoman and a weather forecaster whose main claim to fame was being fired for posting pictures of his wiener on Myspace. Actually on reflection I think that a "friend" did it for him and in consequence I was not sure which side of the street he was driving on. Fortunately I had the woman as a bufferzone but I can tell you I was pretty clenched all night.

I can also tell you that Kissbotty's finest transvestites are a pretty ugly bunch and during the course of the evening one of them had the audacity to kiss me. That sort of nonsense hasn't happened to me since the 7th grade at St Edwards Church of England School when I foolishly followed a trail of M&Ms into the boiler room and was ravished by Mr. Toerag the janitor. On a slightly happier note, unlike Mr Toerag, Miss Mona Lott didn't use her tongue and for that small mercy I shall be forever grateful.

Now if you will excuse me I am off to Kissbotty High School to score me some naughty schoolgirl porn and try to restore some heterosexuality here.

TCB.