Just Like A Caveman

Some people smoke crack rocks in the back alley behind their shoddy apartment complex on the eastside, and some people eat a whole bag of double filling oreos each night because everyone's addicted to something. There is also this small group of vile assholes who see it fit to be "addicted to life" which is utterly dispicable but completely beyond my control. Quite honestly I respect the meth heads a lot more than the Ned Flanders because atleast their addiction is both potent and predictable. No hobo is really gonna say "Hey wait, that meth high sucked compared to my card board box!". Life on the other hand, pfft, I make empty suicide threats everyday! I usually follow it up with a "Don't worry moooom, I'm joking. You'd get too stressed out if I did that and I know how intense work has been for you lately."

For me, the cute little addiction I have no problem fostering is coffee. Caffeine mmmm, and my dealer is always hanging around at the local superstore, 7-11, or kitchen cupboard. He's a flexible little bastard.

I find it modestly amusing that early mornings and addictions can reduce me to a non-pronoun using degenerate. When that coffee hits my tired tastebuds, my brain just spits out a quick uncensored response; neanderthal style.

"Mmmm, so good."