[EDITOR'S NOTE: This was written Thursday morning and would have been posted that night, were it not for a disagreement between myself and my laptop. I wanted it to load Windows, it was (and still is) not feeling up to the task. Posts may be infrequent, in direct opposition to my footer, until we can work this out.]
I've had two cups of tea this morning. Not exactly a grande latte, but it's enough caffeine to make me feel funny. The fact that I describe it as "feel funny" probably distinguishes me from more normal, more caffeine-dependent segments of the population.
When I drink hot tea, tiny little men assemble at battle-stations inside my skull. Each is armed with a jack, and each jack is used to gradually stretch my brain outward; in the end, my body hangs from my head.
When I drink coffee, all of the same characters are involved plus one: a
power-hungry overlord, name like a male American Gladiator. The tiny little men work harder, faster, obediently moving to the rhythym of the overlord's Ben Hur-esque drumming. "That's enough," the overlord says when he is satisfied, "Now head down to the legs and fidget!" My knee bounces for an hour.
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