Turn your head and cough-ee

They always said it was a gateway drug, but I never believed them. Maybe I found the exhilaration too satisfying to stop. It was cheap, and plentiful, available on nearly every establishment, often in plain sight. Before I knew it, I became dependent, and sought out only the finest, purest, darkest powders available. From whipped, frothy, chocolaty mochas to inky-black syrup, I've yielded to the black beast.

You thought I was talking about drugs, didn't you? Don't give me this 'caffeine's a drug, too' nonsense. I know you're a user, slumped in the front-seat of your 1988 Ford Festiva nursing that scalded gas station blend, trying to stifle your sobs as you confront another work day. Maybe we should form a support group, and drink decaf all night? Cut generous lines of Splenda? Then we'd just be dry-coffeeholics, with all the jittery symptoms of our former, happier selves.

'He's so talkative tonight!'
(Whispered) 'I know...he used to be into coffee.'
'That's just sad.'
'Isn't it? And now our jar of Folgers Crystals is gone from the pantry.'
'Hmm. I wondered why he kept blowing his nose with coffee filters!'

The rights to the above dialogue are available for the right price (a full-tank of gas and a Twix Bar.)

Flavored coffee is an abomination. If I want to drink something stimulating that tastes like pumpkin pie, I'll call Perkins and buy a gallon-tub of No-Doze. A bit crunchy, sure, but my Ambien-laced Mammoth Muffin takes the edge off. Brewing flavored blends concocted in some MIT lab with floor-sweepings, sawdust and artificial additives ruins a coffee maker after the first poisonous drop pours through its calcified plastic pipes.

A guy I once knew a few years ago insisted on only getting his coffee water from a particular faucet in the building, claiming he could tell a difference. He used four different makers in four months, before quitting. He was never satisfied, and maybe he was a little odd (he went on to write for the Huffington Post) but, as fellow purists, who are we to question his dedication to quality?

Finally: There is NO excuse for tea, unless it's for a sore throat, or some shamanistic ritual. Like the Democrats, tea always overpromises and underdelivers. It always smells great, steeps, and tastes like boiled mittens.