A nice chocolaty cocoa coffee combination is best enjoyed over the A.M. carnage presented by the carnivores of the night, otherwise known as, affiliates. Prior to working here, I never ingested caffeine. One sip and I’d be wired for hours. In college I drank a Red Bull on a Tuesday and didn’t fall asleep until Thursday P.M. It’s true. Now I’m hooked, like all of the other business-minded lads and ladies. But when I’m monitoring mailings at two o’clock in the morning after getting in at not-yet sunny six the day before, coffee is more of a mental relief jolt than anything. Especially when I am looked upon for answers, and one slow minute could mean two slow days. Although, with coffee or not, I have to grant myself with one notch of achievement in regard to my interns. In my eMM crew we have two interns who both think me the freak of the cavalry, but in a nice way. I hope. Not all has washed away just yet, seeing that one went on vacation to Argentina and brought me back an “Argentina BRYAN” pen holder, and the other got me a “BM” money clip for Christmas. My little thug saw that my pens were strewn about with no allegiance to any particular portion of my desk, so he got me an Argentinean pen holder. My homegirl noticed my wad of cash and cards in my front pocket, and engraved a money clip. Not only do I dislike bulky items [wallets, phones, etc] in my pockets in general, whether it’s psychosomatic or a physical impairment, ever since I read that a wallet in your back pocket causes imbalances in your back, I have abandoned them almost completely. This can become a nuisance when I go to the gas station and my Unocal 76 credit card is in my drawer at home in place of on my person [you can only carry so many cards comfortably at once]. But that’s not a huge ordeal, now is it?
My life and love adores the chocolaty cocoa coffee that I present to her on a nightly basis. When she absorbs the delightful aroma, all it takes from there is a slip of my floppy disk and a couple of smooth keystrokes and she will begin to purr her heavenly hum. So what do you make of this… An animal detective service called “Sherlock Bones.” Funny, right? Only their tag line is, “finder of missing pets.” A veterinarian called Sherlock Bones might be all right, conjuring up images of the sleuthy vet finding all kinds of angles to mending Rudy’s fractured leg. But Sherlock Bones in reference to a pet at large? I’m not into that, primarily because “at large” typically means “at dead.” Sorry, but I just like to present most likely scenarios here, folks. If Rudy’s leg is healed and you open the fence to let him jazz down the street for the first time in two months, if he turns the corner and jets across Elm and out of sight, what do you do? Jump in the car, jump on the bike, jump on your girlfriend, depending on how important Rudy is to ya. What you don’t do is call f’n’ Sherlock Boner. Still no “f” words allowed? How many weeks I gotta bang these beasts to be given cuss word access? Jeez, open a packet of Splenda and let the words sprinkle out naturally. Or unnaturally, technically. Unnaturally speaking, even with plenty of Splendy in my chocolaty cocoa coffee, I think it’s time for my lover’s final stroke of the evening. If you don’t hear from me next week, call Sherlock Bones, because this dog is out roaming the streets.
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