NOT loosely done in the style of Derrida's The Post Card
Dear Tuesday Night Katie,
That cold coffee is a bad idea. I see it right there next to your computer; please throw it away. It is going to lace your speech and schoolwork with expletives. Do you want the last 6 pages of your play to be filled with Italian expletives that you may not even be using correctly? Didn’t think so. Just throw the coffee away. It’s not even good coffee. It is from the library coffee bar, which is corporate and they don’t know what a breve is. Not that you like breves, but still. They’re ill-equipped to serve you and the rest of the coffee-drinking community and don’t deserve your patronage.
Love,
O.K.
Dear Omniscient Katie,
Fuck you. It’s not even a whole cup of coffee and I’m going to drink it because otherwise I will sit here for 90 minutes reading Achewood comics, following imomus dot com links, and updating the online journal. I am tired of inserting decadence in parts of my life where productivity should go. First came the 2-hour 50-dollar Figurati lunches, then the underwear massage parties on my prison-quality bed, and now this urge to ride Mir’s dangerous green racing bike to Whole Foods at 7 pm to buy a cheese plate? FUCK THAT SHIT. That coffee is going in my belly. You make a nigga wanna stay on tour for days.
Sincerely,
T.N.K.
Tuesday Night,
Whateva’, playa’. Remember the LAST time you had stimulants at an unsavory time of the day? You thought Gigi was never going to speak to you again. There was so much drama you practically needed a blood transfusion.
Think about it,
O.
Sweet Beer-Battered Christ Basket with Fries, Omniscient,
I’m quitting now. Okay? Look, I’ve pushed the cup away so it’s hiding behind the flat-screen monitor.
--T.N.K.
Oh Tuesday Night,
You’re lying. I can tell when you’re lying because you’re looking around behind you, locating the library staff, making sure they’re not looking so you can finish that coffee. Don’t lie to me, Tuesday Night Katie. I’m Omniscient.
xoxoxoxo
O.
Omniscient motherfucking Katie,
Why is it that you’re never around to warn me about things like the Mercury Cougar’s radiator overheating, or the deadline to change the Jetblue reservations, or the probability of me leaving lecture notes at home on the couch, or whatever? Why do I always just get needled about coffee?
T.N.
T.N.-
I was around for the Jetblue thing, F.Y.I. You were just not paying attention.
O.
O.-
Blow me.
T.N.
T.N.-
At any rate, it’s too late. Your nonbiodegradeable Styrofoam cup is empty; prepare for a long, shitty night of rocking back and forth on your prison-quality bed and flipping through back issues of Fluxus and going, “What the hell was I thinking with that cold coffee shit? Why can’t I finish any of these articles? I think I’ll make a mix tape now… maybe someone on the east coast is awake…Where’s my phone? Did I leave it in the fucking library again?”
Regards,
O.
That cold coffee is a bad idea. I see it right there next to your computer; please throw it away. It is going to lace your speech and schoolwork with expletives. Do you want the last 6 pages of your play to be filled with Italian expletives that you may not even be using correctly? Didn’t think so. Just throw the coffee away. It’s not even good coffee. It is from the library coffee bar, which is corporate and they don’t know what a breve is. Not that you like breves, but still. They’re ill-equipped to serve you and the rest of the coffee-drinking community and don’t deserve your patronage.
Love,
O.K.
Dear Omniscient Katie,
Fuck you. It’s not even a whole cup of coffee and I’m going to drink it because otherwise I will sit here for 90 minutes reading Achewood comics, following imomus dot com links, and updating the online journal. I am tired of inserting decadence in parts of my life where productivity should go. First came the 2-hour 50-dollar Figurati lunches, then the underwear massage parties on my prison-quality bed, and now this urge to ride Mir’s dangerous green racing bike to Whole Foods at 7 pm to buy a cheese plate? FUCK THAT SHIT. That coffee is going in my belly. You make a nigga wanna stay on tour for days.
Sincerely,
T.N.K.
Tuesday Night,
Whateva’, playa’. Remember the LAST time you had stimulants at an unsavory time of the day? You thought Gigi was never going to speak to you again. There was so much drama you practically needed a blood transfusion.
Think about it,
O.
Sweet Beer-Battered Christ Basket with Fries, Omniscient,
I’m quitting now. Okay? Look, I’ve pushed the cup away so it’s hiding behind the flat-screen monitor.
--T.N.K.
Oh Tuesday Night,
You’re lying. I can tell when you’re lying because you’re looking around behind you, locating the library staff, making sure they’re not looking so you can finish that coffee. Don’t lie to me, Tuesday Night Katie. I’m Omniscient.
xoxoxoxo
O.
Omniscient motherfucking Katie,
Why is it that you’re never around to warn me about things like the Mercury Cougar’s radiator overheating, or the deadline to change the Jetblue reservations, or the probability of me leaving lecture notes at home on the couch, or whatever? Why do I always just get needled about coffee?
T.N.
T.N.-
I was around for the Jetblue thing, F.Y.I. You were just not paying attention.
O.
O.-
Blow me.
T.N.
T.N.-
At any rate, it’s too late. Your nonbiodegradeable Styrofoam cup is empty; prepare for a long, shitty night of rocking back and forth on your prison-quality bed and flipping through back issues of Fluxus and going, “What the hell was I thinking with that cold coffee shit? Why can’t I finish any of these articles? I think I’ll make a mix tape now… maybe someone on the east coast is awake…Where’s my phone? Did I leave it in the fucking library again?”
Regards,
O.