storeeze

I threw a tantrum at Starbucks today The barista put foam on my latte. I clearly ordered it without Written right on the cup. I told her she was stupid. “Fire her,” I told the manager. By the end of my tantrum She was sobbing in the backroom. The manager apologized and Personally made me a new drink To calm me down. I took it and accepted his apology. I must go back and beg her forgiveness, I haven’t had a shower in three days.

Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.—King James Bible, 1611, Matthew, 5:15.   Inasmuch as the recent events surrounding the Lady Arlene (if that indeed is her real name) are not widely known, I have attempted a rude and hasty account from marginal notes, eyewitness accounts and a late edition of the Creve Coeur Crier. The first indication of something amiss was a no-show for a four o'clock showing of The Favourite, a film illuminated by candles, for it seems that on the previous night, she had been resting under a canopy in her handsome, four poster bed after the day’s entertainments. The Crier did not state if she had drawn unknown persons to her baits or excited any passions, but as of late, she had been much taken by a new cleansing ritual, touted by a talk show host with Axis pretensions, utilizing a regimen of pulverized kale enemas (not recommended). When she wasn’t running to the b