scone. And butter. I broke down today and went through Starbucks for a damn Venti Tazo Chai Frappuchino. Damn, it’s so good. Cold and creamy and undoubtedly chock full of sin. They should just cut through the crap and call it what it is. It’s basically a milkshake that is Adult-Friendly with that green alluring Starbucks logo on the side. The dome top reminds me of those Icee things that they used to give out at Kmart. And when I was inserting the straw into the dome thing, which looks vaguely like some misogynistic breast, I watched as the cream spouted up through the top. I lifted it to my lips and slurped it up, running my tongue delicately along the opening. And then I realized that I think I learned that trick from a porno movie and now I was basically fellating a damn Frappuchino.
Yup. Cup O’Sin.
I think Surly Girl doesn’t work there anymore, by the way. I’m uncertain about Viggo. There’s a new guy there who looks like Casper Van Dien. There is a gaggle of female barristas too, each with the prerequisite 23-inch waist. I wanted to ask one if she actually ever DRANK anything she served because the logistics of it boggled my mind. It reminded me of this short story I read in Omni magazine when I was very young, too young to be reading Omni magazine. It was about this guy with a weight problem but he was very successful. He’d lose weight and then every three years or so, he’d have gained it all back, so he’d take a vacation to some spa and come back looking like a movie star again. The only thing is that he was really being replaced with a clone, a clone that would then gain weight and bulk up and then call the ‘fat farm’ to lose it again. And the formerly fat guy (whose name, I believe, was Barth. See. That tidbit stayed in my brain for 24 years. Barth. Things like that are taking up too much space in my brain. I’m not going to remember the names of my grandchildren when I’m 60 but I’ll still remember that character’s name) then was put to work on a farm, where ironically, he did lose weight.
Well, maybe that’s what’s happening at Starbucks. Or maybe they just fire the ones that don’t look like extra cast members of Dawson’s Bloody Creek. Actually, I’d even hasten to say that the barristas at our Starbucks are even more attractive than the people of The Creek. I might even put them in league with American Idol, where it really doesn’t matter how well you sing, but rather how well you wear the clothes. Maybe there is a throng of less attractive, slightly puffy barristas crying as they are voted out by the Coffee Drinking Consumers of America.
Actually, I secretly think that Starbucks must be shipping them in. I mean, this is Green Bay, Wisconsin, where we don’t care how many calories it has, as long as it tastes good. Our women are large. We all drive trucks for a REASON, and that reason is larger towing capacity and heavy suspension. We eat deep-fried cheese, people! There’s no way to make that low calorie. None whatsoever. Our culture is built on butter! We have child-birthing hips, wide expanses of ass and big old bouncy chests. We’re big farm girls of hearty Belgian stock. There’s not a natural 23-inch waist in the crew, unless you consider the 2nd grade Brownie troop. Those little A-cups and tiny little perky bottoms just gotta be shipped in. That’s foreign T and A. No doubt about it.
But they sure do make a fine Frappuchino.
I’m not sure if I should be proud or ashamed of the fact that Word’s auto spell checker didn’t have “fellating” in its dictionary and I had to go to look it up.
