Beware Sharp Dealing Souvlaki Merchants!

Hey everyone! As part of my continuing quest to piss off vegans, I'm now going to write about a lamb souvlaki.

One Saturday night a friend and I went out drinking on Brunswick St. No particular reason, just thought that something productive should be done with the weekend. After ignoring some good advice from a friendly irish bartender, we ended up at bimbo deluxe. You know, the place with the giant kewpie doll (perhaps the money spent on it could have been better put toward a paint job...). Two incredibly slow to arrive pizzas later, we left, but the artful paucity of toppings meant I was still hungry.

A few beers later, we were in Polyester Records, where I was drunkenly asserting that despite her questionable album covers, Bjork was in fact very talented. My arguments had never really won my mum over, and somehow I doubt they worked in this case either. Perhaps thankfully for the shop attendant, just then I espied through the dusty LP racks and sparkling clean windows the blue neon sign of a souvlaki shop.

We shambled accross the street and walked in, and my stomach shivered in anticipation as my nostrils caught the scent wafting from those amorphous flesh-hunks, unevenly bulging and receding like somebody's delicious first attempts at using a lathe.

About three gorges into my lamb (and CHIPS yes CHIPS IN THE SOUVLAKI)! souvlaki, I started feeling a little thirsty. My erstwhile companion confirmed that he was also, and so I meandered over to the drinks fridge, selected two merrily perspiring bottles of water, and presented them at the counter to make purchase.

Little did I suspect that this particular purveyor of  all things rolled up and meat was not entirely on the up and up. Upon my placing the bottles on the counter he took one look at my beer-altered countenance and said: "Ten dollars." Something was not right! It seemed to take a full minute before the implications of what I'd just heard filtered through to the bit of my brain that does maths, until finally, I simeltaneously realised and blurted out "Um..Five dollars EACH?!" The attendant stared intently into my eyes. The tortuous pause was like being stuck in/watching a Zack Snyder film. At last he said: "Seven dollars. Three dollar fifty, each."

I accepted, shaking from my first and hopefully last encounter with the dreaded Sharp Dealing Souvlaki Merchant.

Radiohead?

Most of those who give a crap will already have formed an opinion on the new Radiohead album "The King of Limbs." The other day, my GF and I were shlubbing out on the couch (as is often our wont), when I said "Hey, d'ya wanna listen to some music?" The object of my devotions replied "Uh yeah I s'pose." 

I proposed the new Radiohead. She seemed dubious on this point, opining "No, Radiohead sucks ballz" so I suggested as an alternative Tom Vek. She asked me who Tom Vek was. "Kinda garage-rocky british dude" was my illuminating answer, by which, blessedly, she seemed satisfied. So I put Tom Vek on.

During the first track my ladylove remarked "Oh yeah I've heard this" before returning to her facebooking. 



At about the fourth track in though, she who holds the everlasting candle of my heart suddenly paused, looked straight at me and made the following utterance: "Honey, are you sure this is Radiohead?"

Jealousy

It's a stereotype for sure, but most guys when questioned would agree that sometimes their ladies get a little...jealous. But, let me ask you, has your special lady ever gotten jealous over: a beverage?

When I informed my ladylove of my nascent intention to finally join the ranks of the blogerati, she was, as ever, encouraging and supportive. "That's a great idea honey, you can practise writing, I think it would be really good for you" she said. Extremely nice, nothing to complain about there. But upon my saying "I think I'll write my first blog thing about coffee" the proverbial really hit the other proverbial.

 "OH REALLY! So, you can write your bloody blog crap about COFFEE, but can't even write ANYTHING about me first?! You obviously love COFFEE more than you love ME!!"

After this, try as I might simply I could not convince my beloved that she was always first in my heart of hearts, and that my writing a post on a subject other than her own many virtues was in no way a repudiation.

I live in hope that the cracks in our relationship caused by my transgression might some day heal...

Coffee = Awesome.

Coffee is awesome. It just is. It makes you stronger, faster, and more attractive to both the opposite and the same sex. These three statements may not be entirely true, but the fact that you (well, I) almost believe they could be just proves how awesome coffee really is.

Coffee also has the magical property of making boring things interesting. With a mug in hand, staff meetings are transformed into wonderlands. Pie Graphs! Expenditure Projections! So many fascinating things, so little time! The formerly weird and annoying guy who laughs explosively after every managerial joke becomes totally relatable, and the fact that three middle aged executives cannot operate Powerpoint goes from stove-your-eyes-in drudgery to Marxian high comedy.

For this and so many other reasons coffee is indisputably the best drink in existence. In the end, if you don't like coffee, you're just not a real person.