The coffee machine died.
I booted it to the bin in a fit of caffeine deprived rage, but the father rescued it.
I plan to give the poor unfortuante appliance a decent send off. There will be flowers and dark clothes and tissues and sherry for the guests, which of course will consist of me, my favourite mug and next doors cat since I am obviously burying the machine in the garden where the mooching moggie has taken up residence.
After much agonising I have decided that there will be no tea at the wake. Of course, under normal circumstances there would obviously be tea, the source of all comfort and the staple diet of widows and mourners. However, I deemed it in bad taste to have tea at the funeral of a coffee machine (tea being the mortal enemy of coffee after all, I have to keep the teabags and the instant coffee in seperate cupboards to prevent an interkitchenal incident.)
I would cremate the poor, unfortuante provider of coffee goodness, but I don't know what it would do to the oven and I value the microwave too much to even try it.
And thus... I am left only with the trusty kettle and a cupboard full of teabags, but I will struggle on. I have instant, and I swear I can hear the teabags snickering. If I was a more suspicious person I'd suspect a consipracy, but that would be silly, as teabags lack the intellectual capacity to plot and scheme, which is essential to any good conspiracy.
This, my dear friends, is what happens when you deprive me of sleep and much needed caffeine. I go potty. The above paragraph should be a testament to that. I would go to bed, only I have moved beyond the realm of weariness and have arrived in a giddly little world know only as Land Of The Twitching And Dancing Purple Spots. I am watching a repeat of Who Wants To Be A Millionare and I have decided that either Chris Tarrant is high, or I am. Although what I could possibly be high on I have no inkling... mashed potato maybe? I have eaten a most dishonourable amount of mashed potato today. Can you everdose on the fluffy substance? Has it ever been done? Can I give it a shot?
Again with the ramblings. I really must stop this. People will begin to think me insane.
This is lack of caffeine for you, a horrid affair. It does strange and ruthless things to ones grey matter. I have practically drowned myself in tea throughout the course of the day, and yet my hankering for strong black sugary coffee endures. Jesus help me.
But Jesus won't help me, not after the incident with the crucifix and the pentecost candle in Sunday school when I was nine. Proudest moment of my life, I actually coerced a man of the cloth to raise his voice in anger! *glee* But somehow I don't think Jesus would forgive me, no matter what the dusty old book says. I am sure the poor old, facial hair afflicted chap feels violated, but honestly, he did go and wear his hear like a hippy, what was I meant to think, he loked like an anorexic Barbie doll nailed to a wooden cross and all my wicked fantasies came to life.
I still don't know what happened to all those Barbies I maimed after that encounter.
Anyway, the point is, he wouldn't forgive me, and I don't want him to, since Lucifer and I are on intimate terms. The dark prince would undoubtedly see my absolution as a heinous betrayal, and the kinky bastard does have a rather generous helping of cock (even though he is a fallen angel and angels have no jiggly bits, but this is my twisted mind to get lost) so when it comes down to it, I choose the devil.
Basically all that was me saying that Jesus won't help me. See... lack.of.caffeine.
I do think I hear the teabags calling...
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