coursing through your
veins, you can feel its presence:
fucktastic caffeine
Ode to Caffeine
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Bubba Grizz
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masteen
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Sweet nectar of life,
Caffine, you complete me. And
Starbucks owns my soul!
Caffine, you complete me. And
Starbucks owns my soul!
"There is at least as much need to curb the cruel greed and arrogance of part of the world of capital, to curb the cruel greed and violence of part of the world of labor, as to check a cruel and unhealthy militarism in international relationships." -Theodore Roosevelt
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Bubba Grizz
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Rikk Wolvenkin
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Drolgin Steingrinder
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Dregor Thule
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My long ass day..
I recently read that the acute fatal dose of caffeine was 4000 mg, about 40 cups of coffee. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. There are no limits. Books are for idiots anyway. Are you going to gobble down this line fed to you by some coffee-bookworm, or are you going to be a man and test your hypothesis? So I decided to confirm whether or not I would die if I drank that much coffee and the following is a journal of my experiment:
1 CUP: I was at the Am/Pm on Cherry Blvd.. After one cup of coffee (two creams, lots of sugar) my skin tingles and J.J Cale comes through nicely on the radio.
2-5 CUPS: I read up about the history of coffee in Prolongevity II by Albert Rosenfeld, bite my nails, pee constantly.
5-10 CUPS: A freckle on my arm burns my eyes. I can see every hair, thin wisps like blades of grass, knuckles pink and cracked. I begin to tap my spoon and carve my name on the table when the waitress asks me to leave.
10-15 CUPS: It's freezing out in the parking lot. I jabber to myself about how Muhammad composed the Koran after fits of epilepsy and review hundreds of multiplication tables "seventy eight times seventy eight is six thousand and eighty four" then down five more cups of 7-11 coffee in a row.
15-20 CUPS: Nosebleed, fierce breathing. I flick my War Amps key-chain tag up and down the front of my knuckles like a hockey card in bicycle spokes. I pick at some gum on my book and see the image of Peter Pan on it... horns honk, cars splash in puddles as they drive by and my brain is too slow from the cold... I sip on some hazelnut cream coffee to warm me up.
20-25 CUPS: Somewhere around here I run into Safeway and head directly for the bulk coffee bean section. I cup my hands, open the spout with my teeth, and pour them in like Glossette raisins. And again. The bitter taste of the beans doesn't really register, more of a sensual computer program, everything is information, processed by a billion-upon-billion-cell wet computer. More beans, more cognition. All that goes on until a Filipino woman in a red apron runs towards me from the left.
25-30 CUPS: No one seems to care that I am conducting an experiment. They are all "just leave! just leave sir!" Fine. There are exactly 14 cars in the parking lot as I leave heading directly for the Great Canadian Bagel (Six thousand and thirty six times six thousand and thirty six is...) ...wrinkled lips hung open in amazement...too much data...the click of a ZIPPO, dirty sneakers worn under clean work uniform...a girl hugs mommy as they walk and her face squeezes up...shift shift shift...
"What'll it be?"
I scowl (heart thumping (thump thump thump thump) ) then remember myself. "Coffee" I say.
"Flavored or regular?"
I look at the flavored coffee, it was Irish Cream so I have that, fast, and another and another...
30-35 CUPS: The Starbucks in Chapters glows like a giant plastic Jesus, but the patrons all look like pre-historic cockroaches.
"Yes?"
"Coffee."
"Mild or Dark?"
"Whatever."
"Mocha? Flavoured?"
"Whatever."
"Grande, Mandy or Brandy?"
"What?"
"What size?"
All three girls behind the counter turn to me and my body goes numb. Accept no limitations. No preservatives added… I rupture a blood vessel in my eyeball from puking. The waitress recoils "Jesus are you-"
"I'm fine!" I say. I make a big show of being fine, patting myself down then peering at the back of my hands which drip with vomit. The roaches all sip their fucking Grandes and gawk in horror when my cheeks puff and I wretch all over the espresso machine.
They wrestle me to the ground but I have the strength of a Nun in religious ecstasy, biting the toes off of a patron Saint, whirling into the mass-candles, guzzling holy wine through teeth mashed shut.
I have a vision of how I will spend the rest of my life:
I will raise the dead, squeeze jewelry into my navel, build the hydraulic pump-lungs of cyborgs, and mechanoreceptor decks for virtual reality, ... guiltless and free, onwards and upwards until I pass out and collapse under the weight of my own mania.
I struggle free, kiss the coffee-girl and marvel at the wonderful smell of bitter breath on her soft lips...
35-39 CUPS: It is a blur of beans, violent threats and the burning chemical smell of pepper spray.
40 CUPS: I go to a peaceful place. Grass and leaves rattle in the wind like a thousand soft raindrops. A dandelion parachute flies towards me, and at the last moment I snatch it out of the air, then open my hand to see if I did get it. But it wasn't my time.
Later the cops found me cowering behind a backyard wood-shed, disheveled, frightened and claiming that someone was trying to kill me. I told Police that I'd shorn my hair with a safety razor and removed a dental bridge to disguise myself.
note: Don't try this at home. You will most likely die.
I recently read that the acute fatal dose of caffeine was 4000 mg, about 40 cups of coffee. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. There are no limits. Books are for idiots anyway. Are you going to gobble down this line fed to you by some coffee-bookworm, or are you going to be a man and test your hypothesis? So I decided to confirm whether or not I would die if I drank that much coffee and the following is a journal of my experiment:
1 CUP: I was at the Am/Pm on Cherry Blvd.. After one cup of coffee (two creams, lots of sugar) my skin tingles and J.J Cale comes through nicely on the radio.
2-5 CUPS: I read up about the history of coffee in Prolongevity II by Albert Rosenfeld, bite my nails, pee constantly.
5-10 CUPS: A freckle on my arm burns my eyes. I can see every hair, thin wisps like blades of grass, knuckles pink and cracked. I begin to tap my spoon and carve my name on the table when the waitress asks me to leave.
10-15 CUPS: It's freezing out in the parking lot. I jabber to myself about how Muhammad composed the Koran after fits of epilepsy and review hundreds of multiplication tables "seventy eight times seventy eight is six thousand and eighty four" then down five more cups of 7-11 coffee in a row.
15-20 CUPS: Nosebleed, fierce breathing. I flick my War Amps key-chain tag up and down the front of my knuckles like a hockey card in bicycle spokes. I pick at some gum on my book and see the image of Peter Pan on it... horns honk, cars splash in puddles as they drive by and my brain is too slow from the cold... I sip on some hazelnut cream coffee to warm me up.
20-25 CUPS: Somewhere around here I run into Safeway and head directly for the bulk coffee bean section. I cup my hands, open the spout with my teeth, and pour them in like Glossette raisins. And again. The bitter taste of the beans doesn't really register, more of a sensual computer program, everything is information, processed by a billion-upon-billion-cell wet computer. More beans, more cognition. All that goes on until a Filipino woman in a red apron runs towards me from the left.
25-30 CUPS: No one seems to care that I am conducting an experiment. They are all "just leave! just leave sir!" Fine. There are exactly 14 cars in the parking lot as I leave heading directly for the Great Canadian Bagel (Six thousand and thirty six times six thousand and thirty six is...) ...wrinkled lips hung open in amazement...too much data...the click of a ZIPPO, dirty sneakers worn under clean work uniform...a girl hugs mommy as they walk and her face squeezes up...shift shift shift...
"What'll it be?"
I scowl (heart thumping (thump thump thump thump) ) then remember myself. "Coffee" I say.
"Flavored or regular?"
I look at the flavored coffee, it was Irish Cream so I have that, fast, and another and another...
30-35 CUPS: The Starbucks in Chapters glows like a giant plastic Jesus, but the patrons all look like pre-historic cockroaches.
"Yes?"
"Coffee."
"Mild or Dark?"
"Whatever."
"Mocha? Flavoured?"
"Whatever."
"Grande, Mandy or Brandy?"
"What?"
"What size?"
All three girls behind the counter turn to me and my body goes numb. Accept no limitations. No preservatives added… I rupture a blood vessel in my eyeball from puking. The waitress recoils "Jesus are you-"
"I'm fine!" I say. I make a big show of being fine, patting myself down then peering at the back of my hands which drip with vomit. The roaches all sip their fucking Grandes and gawk in horror when my cheeks puff and I wretch all over the espresso machine.
They wrestle me to the ground but I have the strength of a Nun in religious ecstasy, biting the toes off of a patron Saint, whirling into the mass-candles, guzzling holy wine through teeth mashed shut.
I have a vision of how I will spend the rest of my life:
I will raise the dead, squeeze jewelry into my navel, build the hydraulic pump-lungs of cyborgs, and mechanoreceptor decks for virtual reality, ... guiltless and free, onwards and upwards until I pass out and collapse under the weight of my own mania.
I struggle free, kiss the coffee-girl and marvel at the wonderful smell of bitter breath on her soft lips...
35-39 CUPS: It is a blur of beans, violent threats and the burning chemical smell of pepper spray.
40 CUPS: I go to a peaceful place. Grass and leaves rattle in the wind like a thousand soft raindrops. A dandelion parachute flies towards me, and at the last moment I snatch it out of the air, then open my hand to see if I did get it. But it wasn't my time.
Later the cops found me cowering behind a backyard wood-shed, disheveled, frightened and claiming that someone was trying to kill me. I told Police that I'd shorn my hair with a safety razor and removed a dental bridge to disguise myself.
note: Don't try this at home. You will most likely die.
where does that originate?