The last few days I've been feeling "in a funk" which, is completely different than "feeling the funk" or "feeling funky." The first one causes your body to slump its shoulders and your top teeth to stick out as if you were a mouth-breathing donkey. While the last two phrases cause uncontrollable gyrations of the pelvic area in the hopes of attracting a mate.
So at lunch, I got a Cherry Coke. And this is rare for me. I rarely suckle at caffeine's harpy teat.
Not because of some lingering vestiges of Mormonism's influence. No, I don't drink caffeinated beverages because it makes me BETTER than everyone else.
While everyone else is enjoying their coffee to not pass out during work, I am fueled by a self righteous sense of superiority. Surrounded by weak and pathetic drug abusers, I have lifted myself on to the highest horse by my own sheer will.
Mounted on high, I can view the disgusting subhumans clawing through garbage like raccoons - just to get another fix.
But today, I became one of those raccoons, and not even a classy raccoon like, the King or Duke of Raccoons. No, I was just a peasant raccoon with a conical leather cap and feces stained tunic.
Sure the Cherry Coke tasted like Heavenly Mother's carbonated milk, and my thoughts became clearer and my mood temporarily improved.
But at what price?
At what price?