The Coffee Guy's blog

Coffee on the Carpet Baggers Case

Coffee alerts are on the radar so frequently these days I am a feared of rekindling the NORAD station in North Bay.  Everybody needs a mountain grown species of Java, even if the Robusta doesn’t like my attitude.  Burry your own roots deep into the mountainside to avoid slippage.

The thousands if not twos and threes of them must be strewn like sawdust in a butcher shoppe’ around the countryside’s of our fair and non-litigious land.  What has become of all the bunkers: Archie and Edith excluded?   Have they fallen and can’t get up?  Are they down at the corner bar waiting for one of Archie’s cronies to proffer up some plonk?

The culture of the Coffee Nazi aside, and no I am not going Kona on you, there are other things in the world of less import.  Pipelines running through wasteland, elections being fought on found smut from disingenuous co-respondents, sizable ships lost not at sea, Mediterranean countries bearish and not bullish, dirty bombs under sand hills in Iran, nookyoular fallout in Japan from a Tsunami at sea, satellites falling from military radiotronic interference, specious spies in Canada, and a Knock List revealing the revealer.

Nay I say, there are lesser causes than those thrust to the fore.  We need a cogent discussion on the egregious prices copped for coffee these days.   Not so much on the store front, but more on the sore front.  14 Smackeroos in the Loonie Tunes of this nation for the good stuff snuffs the wind from my sniffer every time I revisit the dispensary.  Ye olde 100 ounce can seemsa’ musta’ been a lotta’ less in the not to recent past.

Cough, cough.  Where have all the prices gone?  Long time passing?  Gone to good thieves every one.  Oh when will they ever earn?  When will they ever earn?

I have the makin’s of my roaster coved inside my brain at this juncture.  Summer fare for the functionary to foster up a nice gasser.   Green beans roasting on an open fire. 

I say I sees it now; home roasted coffee aroma wafting through the hood, drawing bike owning poop and scoopers alike around my garage, the original man cave.  Another cuppa slipping through the grinds.

Can I roast and pour for you?

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

 

 

Pestering Petulance in a priori Premise’s

My premise is not to surmise that your purpose was to disseminate formation or information for the masses.  Hence, I don’t want to hear it.  I was browsing sans browser, on foot, and in situ in a fav toy store of the guys. 

Dis’ guy let’s call him Mr. Impo’tent, was orating in the loudest of voices off and into the aether on his azure canine.

I followed him, knew his position on the bargaining his company was in, knew what he was about on the week-end, and knew where he was dining that evening.  Shortly in the timeline of the orb, I was in the adult beverage dispensary when I ofted upon Ms. Decibel.  I knew by the end, where she and hubby were flying, how much they paid, the departure and arrival dates, and sundry other laundry items.

The guy, I could execute industrial blackmail upon, the WHOAman, I could easily set up a second story man to perform a leisurely heist upon their abode while they are on their 10 day junket to SplitLip Saskatchewan.  Good God Magnum! 

Get a cuppa and leave the chattn’ to the face-time constituent.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

Stigmatic Coffee Stigma

Have you ever been to See billy?  Not the goat kind, the tin kind.  Great for all those camp coffees.  Thems’ a made with filler of chaff, barley, beans, wheat, corn meal, an sundry other fibrous non-flavoured fillerants.  Your average pound of coffee not weighing out with the correct amount of coffee?  Weighed it lately?  Does 11 and 13 ring a bell?

Anita Ward did in ’79; you can too!  More to the stigma of the matter; we assume that when it is stated on a package, that in fact what wherein we might find said stuffs.  Ingredients are those things which go into making the “buy”-product in your cart. They needn’t be IN that item at that point.  It might have changed.  They might have changed.  They might have been a catalyst.  They might have been and extractor, a solidifier, an emulsifier, a colourant, a cormorant, (yes the Avi referent) .

Remember the cat poo coffee? … and I quote, “Too oxymoronic for words or is it moronic forewords to think so?  How much would a civetization with too many Civet cats know about coffee to begin with?  And what with all the cats roaming that area, and Civet ones at that, was the gathering of the honey like fluid near the anus of these cats not enough for the perfumeries in the world?  Now they actually have to get more from the anus of these cats?  The excrement?   After eating but not masticating the coffee cherries?”

Ahh the summer of ’09 I remember it well.  The Civitation Coffee no so well.  I prefer the Plantation coffees myself. 

There are the somnambulists of you out there in the aether with disbelief on your CRT at this point.  After the most comprehensive history of the coffee story, my fav’o’spot was the description of the three fellas who started Starschmuck’s telling of how they came up with the lingo used with such panache today by the Rodeo Drive types across the continent.

THEY MADE THE NAMES UP! 

I am not the slightest bit compunctious about broadcasting sad ditty today.

Cogitate on this:  “Vente” made up! “Tall” (actually small) made up!  “Macchiato” made up!  “Frappuccino” made up!  “Misto: made up!

And you thought the language in A Clockwork Orange was weird, (uh…errr what happened to “i before e, except after c or when sounding like A, as in neighbor and weigh”?) Weird eh?  No not odd weird, word weird. Weirder yet, I have you wondering about the word weird. Wonder why?

The faster you foster feathered friends, the farther you can follow these fulminations. 

Another Cuppa Joe please maestro, let the refrain begin.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

Hippity Dippity Doo Dah New Year to YouToo Dot Calm!

The chorus of contacts making representation to me regarding responsible journalism has dropped to an all year low.  The fewer complaints leads me to believe my hard tack has turned to gruel.  No more fodder fueling the feastivals.

We have entered the year Y2K’s Dirty Dozen Year.  Picture yourself in the Lee of the Marvin Tree, sheltering yourself from the howling Cassavetes wind blowing in from the Savalas Telly valley.  Real men, fighting real dirt, on real streets, as mean as a Jim Brown junkyard dog.  Jim Croce could not chalk out a more prosaic yeare.  (“e” left on rightly).

With Bronson and Borgnine figuratively rounding out the crew, more grit was neer’ exposed on celluloid.  They drove Sutherland toward the fight  with full intention of George “Washington” Kennedying his at the Sten a ready for anything.

But instead on New Year’s day we get a “Stealth” flick.  With two no name Foxx and Lucas, and not of the Red or George kind.  All this salted with the Biel babe in a too tight flight suit.  No plot unforeseeable after the first fifteen, and no scriptology after the first audible nod.

Time for some real start of the year small-screen offerings.  And yes, no, I am not going to the big screen on smelly person day.

I am sayin’, still not sangin’.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

Blithe Man’s Bluff Behooves us.

 Merry Christmas to all and to all a good diurnal course. Santa and his Rangifer tarandus group have landed, taxied, de-sleighed, descended the shaft, left the goods, re-boarded, and departed. The bounty was massed under the Pseudotsuga menziesii and all fibrous covering removed to display the wonders of giving.

Waiting for the turkeyus humungousness to be extracted and masticated.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

Anybody Want a Cat?

Larger than normal specimen.  Not fat large.  Orange exterior pigmentation.  Bengal model, (webbed feet and loves water).  12 years of aging practices with all the upgrades.  New schooling techniques used in sanitation matters.  Anterior feet missing all talons.  Good home not necessary.  Willing to pay for removal.

Got Junk?  We do too, over and above the live sample above.  Really, you too can be the proud owner of this model.  My spousal compliment has issues.  This biomass has typical felinous like habitué.  Excessive sleeping most days, up to 23 hours per day, ready and wanting scratching when you are tired, will not endure scratching when you are ready.  Will stand on you when busy.  Will not sit on you when relaxing.

Now if you are inclined toward making and offer, the bidding has started with us paying a mere €20. Euro to the purchaser.  So you can see we are already in an international bidding war.  Get your stilos ready.  Sharpen you graphite based writing instruments, microwave your markers, just bid and bid frequently.

No shotgun bidding allowed.  All auto-bidders will be rejected. Only homo-sapius like responses accepted.  The winner of said auction will present themselves at our abode post-haste.  Our funding remuneration will be made in the hard currency of the nation.  No take backs, not touch backs.  Entrance to our domicile will be restricted on further postdated visits until thorough body and clothing searches are completed.  (it’s not that we are worried you will try to return your purchase unwantingly, but we are a paranoid crew).

Get your sorry butts over here and save us from our mystery.  This cat must go! Clearing out to the hardwood floors!  No unreasonable offer refused!  MSRP accepted on an OAC basis with VISA, MC, or AMEX.  We DO NOT accept Diners Club on felines.  This is not China!

Gotta get a cuppa’!

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

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Tis The Reason for this Folly

Fa la la la laaa  la la la la.

Con we now our wave a ‘tidal.  As the season truly finds it’s delft message in the corecto de politico movement, the erosion of the past is only surpassed by the line-ups at Wally World ( Sam Walton’ store).  Thou shalt not tread wherest thine brethren hast passed. 

This is for the most auspicious of us who can avoid the Blue in a staunch march against the lowest common denominator.  If I was a cussin’ man I would have had my guzzinta’s done by now.   Let me run you the numbers for ole Saint Nick’s sake.

Our continent:

One job, 40,000 Per year.  50 of these in one small manufacturing plant.  1,000,000 widgets at wholesale of $25 each.  Shipping, 20 loads on 53’ trailer. Average 1500 Kms , plus fuel, $3000 deliver costs.  Retailing Costs prior to sale$1.00 per unit,  Sale price $52.99 per unit.  Profit to manufacturer $2,000,000 before taxes.

Samuel’s way from off shore:

Reverse engineer, skip around copyrights, create widget plant in China $100,000.  Employ 200 people working 14 hours for 6 days and five hours on the seventh, wages, $2000 per year.  1,000,000 widgets at wholesale at 3.49 each.   Shipping via container $0.02 per unit.  Landed.  Shipping, 20 loads on 53’ trailer. Average 1500 Kms , plus fuel, $3000 deliver costs.  Retail pricing $34.99.

Now all seems well for the consumer right?  Until we do the numbers.

2,000,0000 wages in the locally grown version of the widget.  400,000 in wages off shore.   Income tax for the country, 560,000 dollars for the local manufacturing.  0 dollars income tax for the foreign stuff.

Total global economic activity for the continental composite. 80,050,000 dollars.  For the subcontinent built thingy, 39,006,000 total global economic activity.

State and retail taxes locally 6,358,800 for the home based product, 4,198,800 dollars for the offshore one.

And the pre-tax gross profit for the locally grown widget of 25,930,00 local dollars.  The import with wild Sammy Walnut, 30,974,000.

So not only does the blue behemoth make more profit, he pays less taxes, has less global economic activity, pays lower wages offshore, stimulates less economic activity locally with fewer local or states taxes paid, but he also has a net loss of continental wealth.

Let’s not have the blind leading the blithe down to the blue store any more than we have to!

Fa la la la laaa,  La la la la.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

Dracheotmy Dangers Draft Dailies

In the extreme extent of examinations exhibiting exultant extortions one naturally defaults to the antepenultimate position.  Six exes and not sex ibexes are not the easiest to string together in a sentence of intentionality.  We fostered together words and forms, reports and by-laws, letters and memoranda, and we came off Scott free.

The man backed down on principles of sanity restored.  My partner in crime and I sat before the courts watching the dispensing of penalties both foolish and undefended.   A good civic lesson not distilled by Honda.  Of issues of fines one would ponder, that merely remitting the set fines would be cheaper by half that the added fees and penalties of lateness and judicial financial compensation to the city.

By neither do I digest nor do I press the forward buttons.  The season is nigh upon us.  When was the last time you sighed about the use of “nigh”?  LED’s day-lighted the street as of the first as is specified in the neighbourhood beatification and sanity act.  The strip of strings strung gaily about, Santa’s sleigh slightly slanted ajaunt.

This end of the week we trudge through knee deep snow In search of the perfect branch bearing balsam.  Probably leaving with numerous examples for friends and family alike.  The beauty and stature of conifers conferred on.  Decisions made slashed and dropped like a twig in the forest.

Lest I foist undesirables on one or ‘tother of yee plebes in the aether, let me assure you we will get use from said baums.  Lighted and delighted for the visiting masses.  This street viewing from near and afar.  Propitious as we wish it in the Christmas Season.   We await the 12 days to count down to have our pine become a pear.  Our bees knees stuck in the tree to become a partridge once the turtle doves had departed.  The annual yule tide greets and meets.  Smiles will abound on faces.

Grinch has always had an invite to the street, yet never has he called in his note.  It has once been totally green, and the remainder at least skiff white.  To date we are teetering on another skifficuous 25^th.  Gaiety and frivolity, neighbours and friends abound on the ground.  Truly blessed with health and home, we assimilate the colours of the season.   Perhaps imbibe too much, eat too much, talk too much, walk too much, relax too much,  burn too much firewood, socialize and cavort too much, but it is truly these excesses which meld us together in a season of giving.

Let me be one of the first this year, Merry Christmas to all!   Nuff said.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

 

 

 

The Jailer Man and Parking Pam

Tomorrow the judge presides of the fate of our lil’town.  The streetwise co-resident and I proffer our arguments up for the bench to belittle if need be.

We the people, hold our truly believed basis to be true and trusted.  We will not let this slide.  The funds in trust teeter on termination of all primary and tertiary termini to be totally razed.

The good Bürgermeister in his wisdom has finally moratoriumized his posse of posers.  Was it the documentation or the video surveillance which stopped this?  Perhaps , but not likely it was the wisdom of His Honour. 

I stand before thee.  Coffee in hand.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, First of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler, Having been again to Australia, and now Grandad's Land.

In a Car Accident

The first thing they look at is your undewear!