Coffee and Hells Bankers (cont)

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Coffee and more temptation

Ah Friday again, if ever there was a day that set my loins on fire it is Friday and it looks like a fine end to a fine week. We started off with quite a few visits from Smalltown’s young mothers; apparently the kindergartens close during spring break so the ladies are stuck with their sprogs and, in need of respite, they take them out for coffee. Now some of these ladies are PHAT so I definitely gave them more attention than is strictly necessary. In any other business this would be called stalking, but here in coffeeworld I can get away with unrestricted letching. I happened to notice that one of them had a nice little rose tattooed on her stomach and as you know I am a sucker for that stuff. She seemed pretty cool about showing me even though I accidentally pulled a button or two off in my haste to unbutton her blouse. The snot gobblers are a bit of a nuisance but I find that a couple of loops of duct tape works wonders, and to be frank the look of pathetic gratitude on these mother’s faces is the only reward I need. If the visits continue into next week I shall know that it is not just the coffee that they are after. Watch this space.

We also salute the legal system this week. My favorite telephone call involves the words “jury lunches” and we got the call twice this week. Of course it is not just the jury lunches but also all the visiting attorneys who have not yet discovered my penchant for providing truly indifferent service. I tell you people, some days the streets of Smalltown are paved with gold.

Talking of attorneys, as we were, here is a completely true story. Freddy Sue ( Sue Grabbit and Runne LLP) was too busy to walk down the hill for a lunch, so he sent one of his women. (As a slight aside this must be a southern thing, as Yankee women and for that matter English women don’t fetch lunch or collect dry cleaning for the boss, now back to the story). Bertie Grabbit and Ronnie Runne were already in and were chowing down. So our lady of the lunch orders the usual for Freddy and then says, “Freddy told me to give you a $2 tip”. Under normal circumstances I don’t like to accept tips on carryouts, oh who am I kidding I grabbed the two bucks and jammed them in the pickle jar before she changed her mind. After she had gone I related the tale to Bertie and Ronnie and mentioned how nice it was and that perhaps they could consider doing the same so that I got tipped out but didn’t have to suffer their presence (I know, I really am a great host aren’t I?). Well the odd thing was that Bertie didn’t really fight back much and our conversation was like pulling the wings off flies so I gave up. It turns out that Bertie has a little pile of morning medications and a pile of evening medications. The evening meds include a sleeping pill and can you guess what Bertie did? Of course you can. I noticed right away but I wonder if his clients did.
The next day Bertie came in with his wife and daughter. He asked for his usual so I proffered two lines of coke and a spliff, how we all laughed, happy days.

Do you remember our old friend the mountain man from previous blogs? He has become quite a regular and I still get a kick out of watching this huge hillbilly drinking white tea out of bone china. He is a great guy and also somewhat of a ballroom dancer. Apparently he has been taking lessons for years and now he is the redneck Fred Astaire. Actually the humor of this is all visual so I guess this paragraph is fairly pointless. Still look on the bright side, I had to type this nonsense whereas you, dear reader, merely have to flit your eyes to the next paragraph.

It turns out that I may have been a little too hasty in dismissing the avaricious advances of BB&T. Having received a statement which shows a zero dollar balance I have now received notification from some debt collectors in West Virginia. Clearly the moronic moneygrubbers at BB&T don’t realize that western Virginia and West Virginia are not the same place. Still bring it on boys I can’t wait to see you collect on a debt of $0.

And that was the week. Thanks to Bertie’s mix up on the meds I was able to seriously shortchange him and as a result, tonight I shall slip into the arms of Bacchus on a river of Grolsch instead of that poison from Milwaukee.

Watch out liver here comes Friday night.
TCB

The Bitch Shows and Tells

Another day of laughter and lattes draws to a happy conclusion. We actually had a blinding day as the register showed we took $575,121, comfortably a Coffee House record. Sadly closer inspection revealed that the total might have been due to my ineptitude when playing the Boss’s piano (aka the register). So not only was the register light by some $574,534 but we now owe Virginia $28,756.05 in sales tax and Smalltown $23,004.84 in meals tax. Now I don’t know how staff appraisals are done at GE and Hewlett Packard but here in the Coffee House they are done with a swift knee to the groin, which is why, once again, I am typing whilst sitting in a bucket of iced water.

A little earlier we played a game of show and tell. As you will recall I decided to get myself inked up again and put a portrait of FOTL2 on my shoulder. You will also recall that DQ showed more than a passing interest. Well DQ and DQ’sF were in and DQ decided that she wanted a sneak peek. So I showed my artwork, DQ’sF showed her belly button stud (and damned exotic it was too) and DQ showed ….. errr…. emmm oh that’s right, nothing, zip, nada. What a rip. I tell you people I am so getting that woman inked up. I figure a small coffee bean under the bikini line maybe. Try explaining that one away to Mr. DQ

Finally do you remember Coffee and the age of innocence? If not click the link. I was thrilled to see that even the Bard is in on the act. Hundreds of years ago he said it far more eloquently than I ever could.

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's Day?

Better to that than to the Summer's Eve,

A popular feminine deodorant spray

That hardly puts me in the mood for love.

-William Shakespeare

TCB

The Coffee Bitch Wins

I am delighted to report that once again Bertie Grabbit has worked his magic and the feltch babies at BB&T folded faster than Superman on laundry day. Yes indeed, yesterday the USPS delivered yet another missive from North Carolina but this time far from threatening me with financial ruin and hemorrhoids they credited the account with $99 (all the fees and penalties that they levied) which brought the account balance to zero and then they closed the account. I find it somewhat ironic that this is the result I wanted some months ago. I wonder how much this nonsense cost BB&T, or to be more acurate you, the poor saps that actually pay their outrageous charges. Still it’s always the way, when you are steeled for a good punch up you are faced with capitulation. I was sort of looking forward to standing shoulder to shoulder with Bertie in Federal Court whilst he does his renowned impersonation of Winston Churchill “This Sir, simply will not stand”. Oh well perhaps if Bertie can work some more magic in my Anna Nicole Smith paternity suit I will have my day in court.

Coffee Bitch 1; Lily livered bean counters 0

Coffee and Body Art

It’s been a funny start to the week. Mondays are usually our graveyard days. I have zip to do (apart from looking busy so that the Boss doesn’t find work for idle hands). I have set up a few mirrors so that I can sit at my coffee station and look into the kitchen. I tell you, I can watch women work all day. The mirrors also have the advantage of alerting me to the approach of the Boss so that I can a) look busy and b) wipe the pastry crumbs off my apron. It’s a life I tell you. For some bizarre reason Monday was huge, we never stopped working and that is what I need to talk to you about. You see when we are busy and you arrive, you can be assured that the service is going to be crappier than normal. So it seems to me that you have a few options. The best plan (A) would be to come in, leave a nice big tip, apologize for bothering me when I am busy and leave. Failing this you could walk around the block a couple of times and see how we are on your return. If we are still busy revert to plan A and we will all be happy. Anyway give it some thought and we can see how it goes.

In contrast Tuesday was so quiet even the roaches came out for a picnic. I was so bored I decided that I would go get myself inked up again. This body art business is hugely addictive which is odd as it is not exactly pleasant. It is not that it hurts or anything, it is just a long, long time to be sitting still. Well I was discussing this with DQ and she was looking at me with that mixture of interest and apprehension. We chatted a bit more and I think that she might be a candidate for a spot of body art. Of course it might be more fun not to involve her in the decision loop. I think perhaps a roofie latte, bundled into the back of the company minivan and a trip to Magic Dan’s needle emporium. Now what would DQ like to wake up to tomorrow morning? Perhaps a horny little devil?

I really do have too much time on my hands don’t I?
TCB

The Bitch walks through the woods.

We have, here in Smalltown, a religious sect (although I am sure that they would hardly thank me for calling them a sect). Now the ladies are quite a pleasant bunch but in contrast the men are a dour bunch of mono-syllabatical (yes I know, he just made that word up) miseries. It is almost like they have an eleventh commandment, “Thou shall not enjoy thy life”. It is all very strange but stranger than this is the fact that the ladies scare me. Yes I actually feel my pulse rate and BP start to surge and I have just realized why.

As I may have already mentioned I was pretty much self raised and for want of better company, used to immerse myself in as many books as I could. I cannot recall where my parents were but as the faithful reader will already know Mummy was not in the kitchen. In order to explain where the old man was I need to tell you a little tale. Decades ago English pubs would have two bars with separate entrances. One would be the public bar, which was pretty much sawdust and spittoons, whilst the other would be the lounge bar (or select or snug or similar), which would be nicely decorated with a carpet and comfortable seats. In order to pay for the near utopian conditions of the lounge bar the landlord would charge an extra few pence for the drinks and this also had the bonus effect of keeping nearly all the cheap bastards out of the “posh” end. I say nearly as it was common practice for my old man to order in the public and when the landlord's back was turned, sneak out of the door, across the parking lot and into the lounge (yes, all to save 2p a pint). The real bonus for the old boy was that in those days the landlord would always place trays of snacks and tasty nibbles on the bar and this was where the old man would obtain his nutritious and free evening meal. You will be the better enabled to judge his meanness when you discover that he had rubber lined pockets so that he could take the contents of the drip tray home with him at night. Well that was a strange tale, wasn’t it? Now back to the point.

I read and I read and I read. As soon as I could I read. Then I found the Brothers Grimm. Was there ever a more appropriate name for an author? Dear God what is all that about? These are nasty, nasty stories, full of child murder, abandonment, incest and necrophilia (Sleeping Princess my ass, the bitch is dead you pervert). The worst of these “children’s tales” has to be Hansel and Gretel. I was about four years old when I read this and I tell you people I didn’t close my eyes for a week afterwards. If you do not know this charmless little tale have a look here, but most of all look at the picture. There it is, the witch’s bonnet, that is what scares the living crap out of me. Every time I see one of these people I imagine being shoved into an oven, albeit a damned huge oven these days, and cooked alive.

Sleeping with my eyes wide open.
TCB

Coffee and Dirt

Well it has been yet another day of crushing disappointments. All I wanted was a little excitement or possibly nudity or failing that, some juicy gossip, but no, the fickle finger of fate once again failed to point at the Coffee Bitch. I thought the day was going to start with some excitement when a guy came in real early, told me that he would order in a second, sat down and starting getting out his fixings. Well as I have repeatedly said I am the most tolerant Bitch in the world but even my world has limits (honestly, it does, no really it does). So pausing only to collect my buddy Mr Glock from under the counter I prepare to escort him gracefully off the premises. Seeing me approach he held up his hand and said “It’s OK I am a diabetic”. Well he sorted himself out and then apologized for shooting up in public but apparently it was an emergency fix. By now he is either hypo or hyper glycemic and he needs his carbs for which purpose he orders three monster BLTs and a gallon of soda so all is forgiven. However I still watched him eat with my finger hovering over the 1 having already dialed 9-1.

Years ago back in the UK I had a buddy whose pancreas died at the age of 30 and sadly he went straight onto the needle. Whilst he was getting used to insulin he carried a card that read something along the lines of; I am a diabetic if I appear to be intoxicated I maybe in insulin shock. Please call Emergency Services”. I thought this was such a neat idea I carried a card that said, “I am a drunk. If I appear to be intoxicated I probably am, do not inject me with anything”.

Later DQ’s friend came in with a colleague for lunch so I thought I might just pump her for some dirt on DQ. Of all the people in Smalltown I was sure that DQ would be a rich and hitherto untapped source of indiscretions. DQ’sF (for want of a better nom de plume) started off with “We went on a conference together once”. Oh yeah baby this is what I want to hear, “but nothing bad happened”. Putting my tape recorder away I turned to her colleague who told me that she graduated High School with the girly lawyer next door and what is more the girly lawyer was a cheerleader. Now one hesitates to make sweeping generalizations but I think that we can agree here that all cheerleaders are noisy, promiscuous little trollops whose only ambition is to gratify the needs of the quarterback under the bleachers. So pen akimbo I waited only to be told that she was a really nice person. God if things get anymore refined here I will have to start inventing stories.

Next time these two are going to get one of my famous Ketamine Hydrochloride lattes and then we will see who is the pillar of discretion.

Watch this space
TCB

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