If you’re anything like me, mornings are the worst. Dragging my sorry bottom out of bed is about the hardest thing in the world, and once I do stumble downstairs, I’m already dreaming about getting back under the covers. I’m groggy, I’m cranky, and, until I get that first precious sip of piping hot coffee, I’m a total rapist.
Like I always say, “Just hand over the coffee and nobody gets sexually assaulted!”
Here’s a little friendly advice: Do not try to talk to me before I’ve had my 16 ounces of Brain Juice. I’ll just mumble something unintelligible, rape you, and probably shoot you the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen, to boot. I can’t help it!
But all it takes is one whiff of that first pot brewing, and I swear, it’s like the clouds part, the sun comes out, and I don’t feel like raping quite so much. That’s when I give a Hallelujah and thank God, because the coffee’s on its way and I do not want to spend any more time in a federal penitentiary!
Most days, I’m not even a functioning human being without my morning mug of French roast. I’m all “leave me alone, back off, rape, rape, rape, rape, rape, I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
Come to think of it, my dad was a pretty big coffee drinker, too. I remember waking up early with my brothers and sisters to watch Saturday cartoons until Pops, like a mean old bear, came barreling down the stairs, growling for his coffee. And when he did, boy, you’d better believe we steered clear of him.
Otherwise we’d get the raping of our lives!
The thing is, I’m actually a pretty pleasant guy once I get past those morning mopeys. Talk to me any other time of day, and you’d never guess I’m someone who, without his cup of joe, will rape you repeatedly and without warning. But what can I say? I guess I’m just addicted to my daily dose of brew and a rapist.
Lucky for me, the folks at my office are very understanding. It’s quite the running joke among my coworkers, actually. “Whatever you do, don’t get between Brett and his coffee, because he’ll rape you if you do! He’s literally raped everyone who’s ever done that!”
It’s true. My trusty java is the only thing that separates me from people who walk around like angry zombies and serially rape anyone within a quarter-mile radius.
You might say, “Brett, why don’t you just give up coffee altogether?” I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. Once. It lasted all of three hours and God knows how many rapes. In fact, I think it even made things worse! Just ask my poor assistant Lacy. And my project manager Dan. And the entire sales staff, everyone at the supermarket, several joggers, three dogs, and that UPS driver. Criminy, I almost tore that guy a new one!
But, hey, nobody’s perfect. I just make sure to keep a jumbo travel mug with me at all times, carry lots of pepper spray, and never order coffee from a drive-thru for various logistical reasons. It’s a tough world out there, and if you need a little extra kick to get going in the morning, so be it. I certainly won’t judge. Although I will probably rape you.
