It was a dark and stormy night. The eight-bit beeps of nano-devils munching on the zebra’s long and luxurious eyelashes was the only sound with the exception of occasional piercing screams from the bathroom. This evening found the Strangers of the world huddled around their occult brews, each a bubbling froth of children’s nightmares, tweens’ nightmare/wetdreams, or adults’ regrets. There were also a few unfortunate souls drinking Frappes (the smallest serving of which contained 38 grams of sugar and 220 calories). At the bar, Satan was sipping at a wooden barrel of warm cod liver oil, syphilitic chancres, and McDonald’s ‘orange drink’.

h0m-R watched the shifting eyes of the trio of gods before him. There he saw an absence of compassion rivaling Ann Coulter and a callousness rivaling Ann Coulter’s scrotum callouses.
“You gonna talk, big talker?” Sheila asked.
“This cafe is filled with darkness. My soul is nigh overwhelm’d.” h0m-R muttered through dry lips. “My yoke is uneasy and my burden is heavy.”

h0m-R felt like he was Frodo with Sauron’s ring for a Prince Albert.
Nibb leaned in and gave him his grande Frappe. “Drink this. It will strengthen you.”
h0m-R took a sip and raised his head and he raised his voice:

“…..I love sugar and caffeine because it animates me like near-dead baby raccoon being tossed on a tennis racket in the hands of a traumatized and future arsonist child.
They listen to me when I pray to them and even moreso when I ingest them.
I will always eat them, because they help me level out my drunk.
The danger of death was all round me.
I began to be afraid of Sheol and tiredness at my afternoon meetings.
I was sad because (I had) so much trouble keeping my eyes bright when I kissed my jerk-off supervisor’s ass.
Then I prayed to the name of saturated fats, refined sugars, and caffeine:
(I said) Please save me!

Caffeine and sugar are kind and good (to people).
This is how the Gods (shows us that they) love (us).
The Gods gives help to those (people) that need it through the graces of fast food, carb-fixes, comfort food, empty calories, and most importantly coffee.
When I was in danger, Starbucks saved me!
(So I could say) to myself, “Now you are safe,
because no one will be able to guess that you were up all night watching internet porn instead of resting or preparing for my office meetings.”
Yes, coffee, you saved me from losing my job many times and from nodding off at my grandmother’s funeral!
(You saved) my eyes from closing and my feet from falling.
Now I can serve my office department for at least another six months while I pad my resume or I get fired because of company cutbacks.
I believed that by turning myself into a drug addled automaton I would partake in someone’s definition of success, even if not actual enjoyment.
(I believed this) even when I said, “I have so much pain from my caffeine headache”.
When I was very sad, I said, “Everybody says what is not true!” (climate change is exacerbated by sentient beings, drinking 62 ounces of coffee a day is unhealthy, Carlos Mencia plagarizes jokes from LaffyTaffy, and that the whole “who shot JR?” thing was a dream.)

What can I give to coffee because it has been so kind to me?
I will offer a cup of wine to coffee.
And I will thank coffee by drinking myself to normalcy from my caffeine-mania.
I will do everything that I have promised to my co-workers
(I will do it) in front of all my department (change the coffee filter, make a new pot, and clean up the employee breakroom).
It hurts coffee very much when one of its servants breaks their addiction.
COFFEE, I really am your servant.
I am your servant just as my mother was.
You have saved me from death!
I will offer you my special “thanks” when I pray to the name of coffee at the altar of Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, Peet’s, or Starbucks.
I will make special promises to my boss.
(I will do this) in front of all his people.
(I will do this) in the lobby of my workplace.
(I will do this) in the centre of Jerusalem.

At the end of h0m-R’s psalm, he had a caffeine crash and feel fast asleep on the table.
Nibb took him into his hooves and together with the gods and the waste-of-stripes Plumpy, went across the vast parking prairie of the shopping center to a German beer garden.
Nibb encouraged h0m-R back to consciousness with the stick and carrot of a stick and carrot, both of which he alternated hitting him with. When he began to mutter curses, Nibb nursed him from a nookie filled with a Porter, Stout, and Pilsner combination with a bit of sour mash whiskey for good measure.

When h0m-R awoke he was well drunk and ready to tell a story.
“Wait!” interrupted Tanya, “We need to order something to quench our thirst too!” She came back with ambrosia for Dee Dee and Sheila, an imperial stout for Nibb and the head of a Frenchman for Plumpy. “Just what I wanted!” She squealed.

When they had all settled in for story-time, h0m-R was too drunk to speak and he passed out on the table. Just as their hearts were about to soar with the idea of just having a goodtime and dancing a bit with the saucy German sailors who populated the dance floor, Clumpy stood on the table and said “Allow me to entertain you with a zebra tale. It is one that no one knows except those who read my blog.” Clumpy failed to mention that she was the only one who read her blog.

As h0m-R snored, Nibb rolled her eyes, and the gods eyed up the sailors across the room, Plumpy addressed no one.