I like my coffee the way I like my women: after waiting impatiently in a long line.
Why is it, when I have nothing to do, I drink more coffee? It's as if I'm in a big hurry to get nothing done.
If anything, I believe that when I die, I will have to stand in front of all the children who went to bed hungry while I was on earth and read aloud a list of my eBay purchases. I shudder to think of it. Explaining to a poor child with a swollen belly why I didn't give his village fifty cents a week but spent twenty-seven dollars in a bidding war for a Mars Attacks coffee cup.
