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Mugged
Do you know someone who has a disgusting coffee mug? Don’t we all know someone who refuses to take their mug home to wash it? Are there offices at work you are afraid to enter, for fear that you will be sucked into the dark coffee ring of oblivion? Well I think it’s high time the coffee makers of America step up and take some responsibility. They got us into this mess with their deceptively addictive product. They could take a lesson from the Dutch and institute a mug trade in program. The unwashed, coffee drinking masses of America could trade in their dirty, disease ridden mugs for cleaner, sterilized mugs.
Think of the benefits to the rest of us. Coffee drinkers would reap the benefits of better overall hygiene. Employers would benefit from healthier, more productive employees. Employees would be less afraid to “borrow” office supplies from their coworker’s desks, no longer afraid that they may become contaminated. This sharing of resources would, in turn, simultaneously increase productivity by decreasing operating costs, and stimulate the economy through the increased sale of personal security devices (desk locks, etc).
A mug trade in program.
The right choice for coffee drinkers.
The right choice for America.
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A sound in the night
My wife and children were fast asleep. I was enjoying a rare moment of peace when I heard a loud squeaking noise. It sounded suspiciously like a non-traditional entrance to our home being jimmied open. If I hadn’t just gone to the bathroom, I fear I may have left a damp spot on our new couch. However, since the tank was dry (so to speak), I quickly got a hold of myself and went off to investigate. Nope, the sliding glass door was secure. A quick (and quiet) survey of the bedrooms showed the windows were secure as well. Then I heard it again, only this time it was right next to me. I was in Adams room. It was Adam practicing for his career in show business.
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Something wicked this way comes
The other day one of my coworkers was extolling the virtues of the Interstate Highway phenomenon known as the Cracker Barrel. Personally, I don’t think the Cracker Barrel is “all that.” In fact, I think there’s something seditious about the whole thing.
How could a good, wholesome establishment for good old-fashioned home cookin’ be cast in with the likes of commie bastards? To be honest, I don’t really know. My gut just tells me there’s something not right with that place. My coworker suggested that it’s the attached “country shop” that rubs me the wrong way, and that being a male of the species I’m just naturally suspicious of anything resembling every man’s sworn enemy: gift shops.
I have to admit, he may be on to something there. Women folk teasing their men with home cooking and rocking chairs as a rouse, a foot in the door if you will, to get in some extra shopping time?!?
Some might call it good business, but I call it evil.