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do you want Froth with that?

09/04/10

  10:34:33 am, by   , 377 words  
Categories: Tales from a Pervert

do you want Froth with that?

The froth returns, and The froth giveth and the froth taketh.
In this case it was a latte at vida in greenpoint.
As I stood with Eddie in the queue, I looked at the Capetonian clientele.
And you know what?
I wouldn't hesitate putting a bullet in the head of every person present.
This is in vast contrast to the bald, middle aged losers that hang out in the Johannesburg based versions of the franchise. I was indifferent to those folks. Now I'm leaning against the pillar in front of the cashier, my eyes floating over satisfied, moronic faces.
I see them standing there, absently posing, in their Friday best, trying so hard to look interesting and cool, trying to impress with their designer labels, talking Shit to their equivalently retarded social counterparts, and I feel a like puking.
What drives people to become like this?
I understand the effects of Capetonification, hell, I coined the term, but I have yet to unravel the mystery of it's transfer from one asshole to another.
Is it like an STD?
you fuck a Capetonian and turn into a wanker by day two?
I need to know.
It's got to be discovered.
You know, I was born here, lived here all my life, and I'm not yet as delusional as these cocks.
Is it the proximity of the mountain maybe. An aura that shifts and slides over it's flanks taunting all those who come into contact with this invisible cock-mist?

But hey, its early. Plenty of day left to ponder the questions of life.
The lattes arrive and we take them out in record time.
Vida makes a good cup, and I always appreciate a good cup when I'm still drunk.
I'm still shaky, my eyes bloodshot, and i smell like an old wino. I got home at 3am this morning, after Ryan, Craig and I depleted a case of millers and an unsuspecting bottle of johnny walker red.
I'm starting to regret my timing, but the latte is like a small reminder that I am slowly returning to life.
Eddie and i sit around for a while longer, but the urge to kill somebody pushes me to leave.
Now I just got 8 hours of forced mind-masturbation to get through.

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Capetonification

Meet Tony Conrad. Writer. (He thinks so) Capetonian. In a city of morally-challenged assholes, he just might be the biggest one. At least that's what his lady says. He's trying to change that. And failing... All Material is owned by the writer thereof, Tony Conrad Copyright © 2013

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