We rode on the horse like we were in love and drunk on coffee. But that’s silly, because we weren’t drunk and in love. We were just drunk, and not from the coffee either.

We [Americans] became a nation of java junkies, wired from dawn to dusk intent on running faster, getting richer, dancing harder, playing longer and getting higher than anybody else.

And thus Charles found himself wandering around a hotel, trailing federal agents as he held a cardboard coffee cup holder in each hand, instead of out killing misbehaving werewolves.

I’d kill every politician with a spoon, if I thought they had coffee for brains. But they’re simply not that intelligent, and I wish the people would wake up to that fact.

If I were handicapped, I’d travel by horse. Well, that’s assuming my wheelchair would be stable on the horse’s back. I’d be a coffee addict and porn historian.

I’m so tired I could drink a cup of coffee as deep as the Grand Canyon. But I couldn’t take the first sip, because I’m too afraid of heights to get close to the lip.

We've only been sitting here forty minutes. I'm never at the morning table less than an hour and a half. I do some of my finest plotting over breakfast coffee and raisin brioche.

I had a dream about you. I was drinking a cup of coffee, and you were a cup of coffee in the process of taking over a man. I thought I was consuming you, but you were conquering me.


I just got circumcised, and to help the homeless, I’m going to make a tent out of my foreskin. But right now I’m offering free coffee if you haven’t got a place to sleep.

People assume because I'm a coffee expert I drink lots of coffee. I can't. It takes me half an hour to brew my perfect cup. Do the math. I simply don't have time to drink more.

I’ve got two jobs to do. One of those jobs is to not cry. It’s not a job, but it is in its isn’tness. I could go for either a cup of coffee, or an empty cup full of sleep.

My hands fell asleep, so I washed them with hot coffee. Then I had donuts for breakfast, by way of spinning circles in my car and burning rubber in the parking garage of my office building.

The simple act of sitting here sipping this cappuccino is its own testament to my commitment to living the writer’s life. Which is to say: doing nothing but doing it exceedingly well.

I use my windshield wipers when it’s not raining. I’m an umbrellaless pedestrian, and I can’t tell the difference between Starbucks’ coffee and a mud puddle in a cup.

If coffee meant vagina, I’d ask you if you wanted cream in your coffee. But it doesn’t mean that, so I’ll just sit here and continue sipping my mug full of steaming vagina.