A
STARBUCKS IS BORN
To The Sickos At Modern
Bride:
I don't know about
your section of the globe, but here in "Southern" California, coffee
houses are on the verge of becoming very popular. Mark my words: within
the next two or three decades, there will be a java house next to
every 7-Eleven, Circle K, Jerky Hut, Sperm Bank and Chinese Donut.
(Note to myself: finish the Bear Claw by noon tomorrow).
I frequent an excellent
"family-owned" establishment called "Hot Crotch" where the gracious
hosts serve scalding coffee flavored beverages directly to your lap.
While toweling you off thereafter, they tell a story about Clyde,
the goat herder.
One day Clyde, well
known for his "relaxed" manner and ability to procure great pot, found
his small flock of goats on their hind legs, dancing like dervishes
and bleating a Dionysian rhapsody as if accompanied by the goat-god
Pan or Master P. Then he noticed that his dancing goats were munching
on bright red berries. The berries tasted bitter, but Clyde was so
f*cked up from his hash haze that found himself exhilarated, clear-thinking
and abnormally joyful. He ran--ran, mind you--to tell his wife about
his discovery.
Clyde's wife, quite
surprised to find Clyde still conscious after 3:00pm, convinced him
to visit the monastery nearby to share these miraculous berries with
the rest of the world. Clyde mumbled "The one next to the titty bar?"
His wife, having once worked there, nodded yes, then kicked Clyde
in the nads just for fun.
When Clyde, very slowly
and awkwardly, approached the elder monk, the good father became furious.
Like most men of the cloth, he was distrustful of any mysterious power
outside his own. Also, it was almost time for two for one lap dances
next door. The father, in a literal burst of fire and brimstone, threw
the berries into a pit of meditation coals and scurried off to find
his billfold.
The result? The berries,
roasting in the heat, created a heavenly aroma that filled the room.
The other monks leapt to their feet in the midst of this caffeinated
incense and proclaimed the berry a gift of God. They then proceeded
to beat the living sh*t out of Clyde, just for fun.
Centuries later, as
demand for coffee grew, a guy in Seattle learned that yuppie types
with double-decker baby strollers and leather-seated hum-vees would
be willing to shell out $3.50 for a lousy cup of Joe. And there was
much rejoicing.
The moral? Beware
the Dancing Goats. And don't touch my Bear Claw.
