Turtlelan1: i cant stop laughing
I don't care where my coffee comes from. It can come from a Blue Mountain, a French Vale or a dirtlot in Troy, Michigan, just GIVE ME THAT BLESSED BEAN-JUICE already!
I don't have the time for Ultissima Venti Fine Drip with Raspberry and Lilac Cremora and Raw Brown Sugar, and in my personal opinion people who *do* need more to do with their time.
And when people come over and stare at me as though I just took out my teeth and made suggestive comments about their poodle because they open my fridge and see a can of Maxwell House for my morning jolt, rather than a folk-art-painted foil bag with wire closey things to keep it fresh as a virgin snowfall and "Ultra-Snootified for your Spiritual Enhancement" written on it in tasteful calligraphy, I tell them to get the fuck out of my house because this is a place for REAL people with REAL issues and maybe they should get a REAL life.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good cup of rarefied coffee. But if my caffeine deprivation headache is swelling faster than the blueberry chick in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory while they carefully hand pick just the best beans from the bag of super-neat Nepalese coffee and place them delicately in the precision hand-crafted sterling silver bean grinder turned only by the finest stock of migrant workers, I have a tendency to beat them into unconsciousness with a ladle and head across the street to 7-11 to partake of their "Columbian" coffee.
Because, dude...you gotta have your priorities.
ShadowWalker137: Well, but then Tuesdays become the new Monday, and then we have to outlaw them, and then it's Wednesday as the new Monday. Hey, wait a sec, soon we'll have nothing but weekend. Okay, I'm beginning to see the wisdom in this plan.