Before we started cruising, I was a happy, well adjusted person. And now, 2 months later, the transition is complete. I am just another American zombie, ill-adjusted, grumpy, unable to put two words together or complete simple tasks, devoid of humor.
I’ve fought this infection, this disease my whole life. I’d see these malcontents all over - at the store, at work, yes, even at home. I’d feel a mixture of pity and contempt, served with a side of superiority. What kind of losers willingly subject themselves to this misery?
This disease isn’t free, either. First, the medicine may only cost $2 a week. It’s a vile, bitter, nasty concoction, and yet, once the disease sets in, you can’t survive without it. Very quickly it’s $2 a day. Within months, it’s $20 a day, and it’s the best $20 you’ve ever spent. Soon you find yourself wholly given over to the treatment of this disease. In-home apparatuses are purchased; idols to the god that demands constant obedience and worship.
Your society is re-ordered to involve only other followers of the gods. This isn’t a problem, as 99% of Americans are infected. Clubs for banishment of non-worshippers to weak countries like England are formed. We strong, brave Americans could solve the social security problem, even world hunger with all the energy and money that’s spent on worshipping the gods of this disease. And we will! Just bring more liquid black gold!
World domination is possible for those that wield the supply of liquid black gold. Our captors would simply have to withhold supply for 24 hours. No one would be able go to work, let alone get out of bed. Stocks would crash. Massive car, plane and boating accidents would ensue. Out of the chaos, the stricken would demand their black gold. Understandably, we wouldn’t be able communicate with words our willingness to sell our souls, our children - anything we could get our hands on, just for a sweet wiff of the stuff. An ill-tempered grunt would suffice, much like an X in place of a signature.
The bitter, yet oh so, so sweet smell makes me, a poor unfortunate captive hum with an awakening joy. The first sip brings my first word: Aahh. I place my empty mug down and run to the bow, singing at full strength (much like the liquid black gold coursing through my blood) My veins are ALIVE with the flow of COFFEE!
Are you an addict? What kind of in-home apparatus do you own? How many cups a day does it take to keep ill-humored you at bay?
