Freshen Up Your Coffee, Sir?

When I was drinking and drugging I took great pride in all of the implements I owned which enabled me to drink and use. More impressively, I had the ability to construct alcohol and drug delivery systems when necessary, making do with only the barest minimum of materials, using a wicked ingeniousness. I can't find the lever that opens the trunk on my car but I can do what is needed to alter my consciousness. If you give me any three items, any items whatsoever -- you can pick; for instance a piece of bark, a copy of The New Yorker, and the components of a World War II machine gun, I would have a fully functioning refrigerator and marijuana delivery system put together in ten minutes. I'm a creative guy when I put my mind to it.

Here in my overpriced hotel, I simply must start my day with a cup of coffee. You would risk losing your fingers should you try to get between me and my first cup of coffee. There is no reason for this. I'm a Type A personality, packed full of nervous energy, who happens to be a morning person. It's an acquired taste being around me before noon. It takes a strong constitution. It's not for the weak of heart. This being said the coffee is needed only for the BUZZ.

Some evil genius employed by this nice hotel has done his work well vis-a-vis the morning caffeine. Instead of a ten dollar mini-coffee maker that I can prime with the pound of Starbucks that accompanies me everywhere, like a tank of oxygen for someone with emphysema, the hotel has provided a cheap little device that makes one cup of coffee. You should have seen SuperK and me fight over that pod of coffee. The pod slides in on a cheap little plastic tray. Everything is disposable here in Eco-California.

I made a cup this morning using the pod. The coffee was crap. I took another pod and carefully sliced off the top, emptying the coffee into the toilet and undoubtedly causing some plumbing problems somewhere, for which I feel no remorse. Out of sight -- out of mind. It's someone else's problem now. I carefully injected Starbucks into the pod wrapper and made another cup of coffee. This backed the system up and coffee flowed everywhere but into my cup. After cleaning up to the best of my pissed off ability, I re-primed yet another pod and put a small slice of coffee filter -- I carry coffee filters that I can adapt to any normal mini-coffee maker found in most thoughtful hotels, using the small scissors that I carry for this purpose only -- into the bottom of the plastic tray. This caused more backing-up problems than Attempt Two. I tried to hold my cup under the wildly spurting coffee pod maker, most of the hot water hitting my hand, stoic in my disregard for the pain. This from a guy who cries if it's too cold outside, which it isn't here in San Diego. I'll take third degree burns for a cup of coffee.

SuperK: "Doesn't that hurt?"
Horseface: "Yes."
SK: "Why don't you . . . "
HF: "Please shut up now. And hand me the Neosporin."

My final attempt -- I'll defuse the mounting suspense and tell you I met with success -- involved refilling the pod with the $27 worth of Starbucks I have used to this point, rendering the rationale of saving the $10 on the pot of coffee the hotel would have brought to my fucking room. I layered in my dissected coffee filter, which I modified by piercing the surface with the needle I have in a small sewing kit I carry with me for no known reason, and began the process. Eureka!

This took me about an hour. I had so much angry adrenalin flowing that the coffee was totally unnecessary.