LIFE’S WONDERS PRAISED IN SUGGESTIVE, ODDBALL, AND NONSENSE WAYS
In an effort to offer a counterpoint to my usual cynical antics, I’ve committed myself to a weekly, year-long discussion of my life’s joys. But, never one for the more traditional approaches, I intend to keep things a little off side, a tad outlandish, and always one foot outside of polite company.
It should come as no surprise that I have an addictive personality. I mean, come on – cocaine, right? Who could refuse that shit?
But I’m not here to talk about my more amusing vices, which leave me nasally congested and hilarious, nor about my affinity for small, dwarfish-looking dogs. No, I’m here to discuss my insatiable need for tea.
Well, black tea with sugar and milk, but that’s still black tea, you crazy hippie (green tea is for suckers).
Tea, you see, is warm and comforting and nowhere near as conducive to diabetes as, say, Coca-Cola or Pixy Stixs (which, for your information, can also be snorted). Even better, drinking tea makes you appear far more patient and intelligent than your coffee swilling cohorts. Buddhist monks, for example, drink tea; dirty Americans drink coffee. Need I say more?
But, sir, you say, tea isn’t addictive. There’s barely any caffeine in it at all.
Sadly, friend, you are mistaken. You do not partake of this steaming, leafy concoction with the same animal ferocity and hunger as I do. Each morning I drink five cups. FIVE. And that’s only in the morning. You may say that tea is not addictive, but my constant headaches tell me otherwise.
But, sir, you try again, couldn’t that be a symptom of a malignant brain tumour?
And to that I say . . . well, shit. I’d never thought of that.
Damn. Now you’ve really got me worried.
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