I never liked coffee. Not the smell. Not the taste. Not the jitters. Not the shakes. When Starbucks was the "in" thing, I was still at Cinnabon - I love the Cinnabon.
I may not like coffee but I love company. I have 2 buddies - Jello and Manjee. These guys are good guys. Stand up guys. They like comic books and video games; go-carts and pizza; wings and beer....but they also like coffee. Now, when I say "coffee", I don't really mean "coffee". I'm talking about drinks that I can't pronounce and could never order. These drinks have names like "Frappalingus" and "Machallatio" - very authentic french names since we all know that coffee beans only come from Paris. These drinks conjure up dreams of tasteful bliss....
One day Jello and Manjee invite me out for a Cup o' Joe. I thought, "Sure, why the hell not? They're my buddies! They wouldn't lead me astray!" How wrong I was. It was a cool Autumn afternoon in the City of Orange when the incident occurred. We were winding down from a day of slave-wage-labor when Jello offers up a so-called coffee drink. It is key to this story to know I haven't actually had coffee for more than 5 years at this point. I don't exactly remember why I didn't drink coffee, just that it's a bad idea. Because I'm a great friend and attention whore, I go with my buddies. Jello orders a double-shot, extra-hot, low-foam, goats-milk, Carmallatio with extra llatio. I had never seen a drink like it! It was like a hot ice-cream sundae in a foam cup! Next up was Manjee. He went with the quad-cream, no foam, extra whip-cream, Iced Mochalingus with double lingus for good measure. This was an ice-cream sundae...with sprinkles to boot!
I order the same thing.
About 10 minutes later I remember why I didn't drink coffee. Coffee, much like prunes, is a natural laxative. I'm talking about DEUCES WILD type of laxative. I thought that the jitters and shakes came from the effect caffeine has on my body...not true...it's trying to control the ensuing "prairie dogging" that occurs when coffee enters my body that affects me so. At this point, I'm concentrating on keeping the cheeks together while Jello and Manjee begin a debate over the best Simpson's episode ever. I'm starting to sweat and can hear my stomach rumbling while a brick begins to form. This isn't a nice little house brick. Oh no Cyberspace....this is a cinder block that can be used as someone's backyard wall. I excuse myself from the conversation by saying something along the lines of "I think I'm dying...an alien pod is in my body...if I don't make it...tell my wife and kids that I've always loved them...."
Some years passed and I somehow forget about the incident. I am now living in the Great State of Texas. I need to transport my sweet ass Toyota Matrix from SoCal (Chino Bitches!) to the Big D (Dallas BITCHES!). What better way than to drive it with my lovely bride? And because it's blazing ass hot in Cali, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas I figure we should leave around 11 PM.
I've done the drive between Dallas and Los Angeles about 12 times. Every time I do it, I man up. I drive it straight - 24 hours straight. No breaks. No hotels. No sleeping. Eat and drink in the car. Only stop for potty breaks. I'm a MAN! A Man's Man! Not a Metro/Pretty man...Oh no! I GOTS THIS!
I must have been extremely fatigued on this day. We barely make it from LA to Blythe when I'm ready for a nap. I've only driven 3 hours and I'm going rounds with the Sand Man...and he's winning. I pull into a gas station and look for anything with caffiene. I find a bottled Ice-Frapalingus and decide that this is the best drink to get me from California to Texas. I take it one gulp! I'm ready to go! I CAN'T BE BEAT! I WON'T BE BEAT!
I'm not sure if it was because the drink was cold or because I was extra-tired, but it takes a couple of hours to completely infect my body....then things get bad. Really bad.
I make through Arizona, but when we hit the New Mexico state line an out of body experience begins. My stomach starts the familiar rumbling...but now I have the sweats. It's like I'm TD Jakes on Easter Sunday. It takes all of my concentration to simultaneously keep the cheeks together and the car on the road. There will be no prairie dogging on this day my friends. If the cheeks fail, it's Groundhog's day...and there is no shadow. I drive into Las Cruces, NM sitting sideways, my clothes drenched, sweat running into my eyes, body shaking, teeth and cheeks clenched with the force of a prehistoric alligator. Hallucinations begin and I know that my time is short. I find a McDonald's off the side of the freeway. Nelly may have seen the Golden Arches; I saw a porcelain throne on which I would be seated.
All I remember is telling Nelly to order herself breakfast and I would be back. We lost 2 1/2 hours that day my friends. Every time I thought I had fully purged my temple, I was mistaken. By the time I left the stall I was only wearing a sock. You all know what I'm talking about - when you get so hot and things are going so violently wrong you just start taking clothes off. I collect myself and my clothes off the stall floor; the both of us a crumpled mass. I begin to dress and am a bit light-headed from the total-body-cleanse that just occurred. I'm not sure, but I think I saw an angel in that bathroom. He looked into my soul. He didn't say anything, yet he did. Not with words...with his eyes, "Tell the world of your story, Famous Ray. For the masses must know of your bodily functions. You may never know the impact you will have and the Glory that it will bring His Kingdom..."
Cyberspace, stay away from coffee.