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Coffee appreaciation thread (pg. 4)
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| elFreak |
| i drink way too much of it. |
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| Surfmorworkless |
| What the deuce is a Tim Horton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????:conf: |
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| elFreak |
| something better than you, kind of like dog turds except way tastier. |
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| Moral Hazard |
| quote: | Originally posted by Surfmorworkless
What the deuce is a Tim Horton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????:conf: |
Tim Horton was a hall of fame hockey player. In addition to kicking ass and taking names on the ice he started a chain of coffee shops named after himself but with an apostrophe s. It's the biggest coffee retailer in Canada... incredibly popular. |
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| elFreak |
they sell tim horton's coffee at walmart in burlington vermont.
we are slowly taking over.
i have a partial love of krispy kreme "box of coffee". |
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| Adam420 |
| quote: | Originally posted by Surfmorworkless
What the deuce is a Tim Horton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????:conf: |
Best cookies evar!!!!111 |
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| ChemEnhanced |
| quote: | Originally posted by Surfmorworkless
What the deuce is a Tim Horton!!!!!!!!!!!!!!???????:conf: |
Tim Horton's
Tim Horton |
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| Theresa |
LOL!
I moved into the perfect location. I you not, there are 4 Tim Horton's within walking distance to my place :) Makes me a happy Theresa. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
My alarm is a paroxysm of dissonance at 6:17 a-m, a self-imposed sort of torture to steal me from whatever dreams held me still for a few fleeting hours. I rip myself from my warm nest, a task easier said than done, but one necessary to silence that incessant device causing just enough intended panic to achieve its purpose.
The sun's not even up yet. This can't be right. Clearly, I have woken up on the wrong day, this rise was only a test I set for myself to maintain some vestige of a Circadian Rhythm. I did this for that unrivaled sensation of slipping right back into bed without the worry of imminent responsibility looming over me. Yeah, that's it.
Somewhere around halfway through my shower do I realize that I am supposed to be awake at this point, that the impending dawn is calling me to attend some other sort of self-imposed torture and that I did, to my dread, wake up this early on the correct day. I am in fact doing everything that I am supposed to do.
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I say good-bye to my cat as I am out the door - why the hell do I do that? My commute is cold but brief. I am driving through the state park on my way to work - there is frost on the ground, but no snow this time, thank . I'm going 10 ing over the limit, why is this head in a Lexus SUV tail-gating me? I hope they crash and are paralyzed for life. ing s.
I arrive at work to the -stained smile of my hotel's bat night auditor. On the very best days, he does not greet me at all, but on this one - oh, on this one - he's got something utterly irrelevant to relate to me about how my paperwork isn't up to his quirky yet useless obsessive compulsion. My eyes drown out his words even more than my ears do - I must look pretty ed and practically glazed over as that accusatory beak of a nose holding this man's glasses up at the tip waves to me like some claw, his bitter, pursed lips mouthing whatever bull his insane existence has projected to me on this , morning. But I shouldn't be so hard on the guy - he's been working graveyard for, oh, three decades and the numbers have been tough on him. Plus, I'm pretty sure he was in the storming of Guam. Fetch.
But the old man relates something to me that only years and years of painstaking routine could lead to the occurrence of - he says those words: "why don't you get a cup of coffee, bud?" Nevermind that he addressed me as "bud". Suddenly, this man is an angel. This man is Prometheus and he has enlightened me with the very fire my species is destined to take for granted. What immortal force could subjugate him for the passing of such a secret - such an epiphany? Perhaps the whole of existence is governed by some surd-evil Zeus; some cold consciousness who frosted this world just to see us writhe, but no longer! My hands are a trembling blur as I pour that obsidian brew into my massive stonewear mug, a sudden vortex of hypnotic cream and blackness to rival even that of Pluto's aphotic diadem. The smell, a robust and dulling lull of roasted alacrity, the likes of which make my very bowels rumble with want for expulsion. My lips instantly heat as they touch my mug, I swig down a great gulp, one that reaches my tail and stirs my realization of my coordinates. I am at work. North is that-a-way. I remember my name. I have things to do today. Jupiter has 4 primary moons: Io, Europa, Ganymede and Calysto. Pi is 3.141592... something. That bag looks heavy, may I help you with that, ma'am?
Yes, I do exceedingly enjoy coffee. |
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| elFreak |
(hello? aw , nigga. what the time is it, man?
Oh God damn. nigga do you know what time it is?
Aw , what the s goin on? you alright?
Aw, nigga what the is wrong wit you? )
When I die, it I wanna go to hell
Cause Im a piece of , it aint hard to in tell
It dont make sense, goin to heaven wit the goodie-goodies
Dressed in white, I like black tims and black hoodies
God will probably have me on some real strict
No sleepin all day, no gettin my dick licked
Hangin with the goodie-goodies loungin in paradise
that , I wanna tote guns and shoot dice
All my life I been considered as the worst
Lyin to my mother, even stealin out her purse
Crime after crime, from drugs to extortion
I know my mother wished she got a in abortion
She dont even love me like she did when I was younger
Suckin on her chest just to stop my in hunger
I wonder if I died, would tears come to her eyes?
Forgive me for my disrespect, forgive me for my lies
My babies mothers 8 months, her little sisters 2
Whos to blame for both of them (naw nigga, not you)
I swear to God I just want to slit my wrists and end this bull
Throw the magnum to my head, threaten to pull
And squeeze, until the beds, completely red
Im glad Im dead, a worthless in buddah head
The stress is buildin up, I cant,
I cant believe suicides on my in mind
I want to leave, I swear to God I feel like death is in callin me
Naw you wouldnt understand (nigga, talk to me please)
You see its kinda like the crack did to pookie, in new jack
Except when I cross over, there aint no comin back
Should I die on the train track, like remo in beatstreet
People at the funeral frontin like they miss me
My baby momma kissed me but she glad Im gone
She knew me and her sista had somethin goin on
I reach my peak, I cant speak,
Call my nigga chic, tell him that my will is weak.
Im sick of niggas lyin, Im sick of bitches hawkin,
Matter of fact, Im sick of talkin.
(bang)
(hey yo big...hey yo big) |
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