Bloggy McBlog Blog

Time was a man could have a cup of coffee at Starbucks without having to worry about people talking about him and giggling behind his back. Used to be you could have a cup of coffee and JUST BE LEFT ALONE in order to DRINK YOUR COFFEE IN PEACE! There didn’t used to be neo-nazi sex-girls in black and red spandex repeating quotes from Nitche over and over again in appalingly well pronounced Hoche Douche in the back of every coffee shop. A cup of coffee also used to only be $3.50.

I don’t know about you, but I prefer to add my own sugar and milk. They never get the proportions quite right if they do it for you. And if a cup of coffee isn’t just right that’s an opportunity for a perfect cup of coffee that you’ve missed and is gone forever! You can’t get it back. It’s over. You’re one cup of coffee closer to DEATH and you had a cup of coffee that wasn’t just how you like it. Maybe it had too much sugar in it. Maybe it’s not so weird to want two and a HALF sugars in your coffee. Maybe that’s not so strange. Maybe you shouldn’t make fun of people who ask for that if you run a coffee shop. Maybe you should just make the coffee the way they ask!

And the people in the coffee shop. So many laptops. Some people have three or four. Standing waiting for a table with a laptop in each hand and one tucked under one arm and another held between their knees. So that when a table does become available they drop the one between their knees rushing to get it before some yoga-toned young mother with a stroller and a baby in the stroller gets to it, her breasts screaming “Look at us! Look at us! We’re producing nutrients!” And she sits there, her own laptop perched on the baby’s stomach while she changes it’s diaper and gives it a bottle full of chai, smiling up at the poor man, who has just somehow aquired six more laptops from somewhere. And he smiles back, because what else can you do? You can’t scream at her, you can’t scream “CAN’T YOU TELL I WAS HERE FIRST! I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR A TABLE AND YOU TOOK THIS ONE THAT I WAS LEGITIMATELY ENTITLED TO! IT’S UNFAIR! UNFAIR! I SHOUT TO THE GODS! UNFAIR!” Not in front of the baby. It would cry.

Even I bring my laptop to the coffee shop. But I have to. I have to keep working. I have to keep up with the Work. It’s getting hard. It’s weighing me down, but that’s what is expected of you when you are king of the bloggers.

God, you can’t imagine the incredible suffering I go through on a daily basis. You can’t. There’s no way you could. Imagine a pine marten down your pants. I dare you. That’s the kind of suffering that might bring you up to a level where you could imagine what it’s like to be me. I’m telling you this.

You may say, “Mr. McBlog, how can it be that one of your greatness suffers so much?”

“Please, call me Bloggy,” I say. I don’t really mean it, because though I am humble, I know showing me respect is something you do for yourself and for society as a whole.

“No, I couldn’t,” You say. You sense that it would be wrong to be so familiar. You are right.

“Alright then.” I say. We stand there. We are awkward. I begin to get hungry. I am thinking of lunch AND BOTH OF US HAVE ALREADY FORGOTTEN YOUR QUESTION!!!!!

And then what should I have for lunch? If I ask you, you might take it as an invitation. I’m not sure I want to have lunch with you. Not really. ESPECIALLY NOT IF I HAVE TO PAY!! THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS PAY FOR LUNCH! But I can’t stand there all day waiting for you to leave. I need my lunch.

And when you finally do leave and I call to order lunch the guy on the phone can’t get my order right. I make every effort. I read from the menu listings in Chinese, “Little squiggly thing, like a yam with cross hatching, then what might be a goat or something,” I say. He says they only have pizza. I say I want a pizza with little pizzas all over it AND HE SAYS HE READ ABOUT THAT IN THE ONION!

THE ONION!!! THE ONION STOLE THAT IDEA FROM ME!!! I AM KING OF THE BLOGGERS! I INVENTED THAT! And he won’t make it either. He says it’s not possible. I say that if I was there I’d show him what was possible or not. He suggests some things which, though possible, I would not enjoy at all and I end up going to Subway for an foot long sandwich which turns out to be NOT EXACTLY 12 INCHES LONG and also to taste like crap.

Sometimes I wish for the icy fingers of death.