My Bastard espresso machine finally bit it last night.
Well, considering it "Dead" may be an exageration, but the years of untold abuse have finally wrecked it to minimal functionality. I got the damn things back when I used to work at a residence program for troubled teens. Stress, hostile staff, and client varying from affable to homicidal were daily companions. I wouldn't eat for days on end, and was likely down the road to that functional alchoholism affected by all those who do that sort of work, and is echoed in Federal Judges, Private Dicks, and gloveless wasp masturbators.
Then I realized what made my day go better. Espresso. As many shots of it as could be crammed into a cup and hosed down my throat. Real coffee too, no overdone espresso roast. This buffered brain and animated my despairing flesh into rigorous action. I was among the madness, of the madness, yet somehow above it. Indeed, a No Life King.
I bought the device out of cynicism, barely able to squeeze the $20 out of my budget. "Professional Reinvestment", and it fueled me. When I left that shitty line of work, I brought it along. Office work was, and still is a breeeze by comparison, and becomes downright hillarious when I imbibe enought high powered coffee to provoke extreme paranoia. My co workers too, benefitted, and a tide of enlightening, panicked brown sludge flowed sacrementally among the living. Even when an idiot in the west office set a cube on fire with a space heater, I rsiked my work to use it, running it bootleg out of the bottom drawer.
Recently, it began to break down. The cheap glass pot exploded. The tip of the steam foamer broke off. The gaskets leaked, but cackling as the steam spewed it only made me appreciate the damned monstrosity more. Then in a fit of cleaning, the handle came off the portafilter. My roomate brought it before me in shame, knowng what he had just seen die.
Still technically functional, I consign it to mad science. STEAM!
That espresso machine kept me alive through long summer hours in the Boston office.
It inspired me to preach the word of Eris to the masses in Downtown Crossing.
It will be sorely missed. :cry:
The espresso machine is dead.
LONG LIVE THE ESPRESSO MACHINE.
When the shadows of this life have gone, I'll fly away...
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(http://www.blackcommentator.com/262/262_images/262_art_second_line_alexander_large.jpg)
Like a bird from prison bars has flown, I'll fly away...
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(http://www.hurricanebrassband.nl/images/JazzFuneral.jpg)
I'LL FLY AWAY, OH GLORY, I'LL FLY AWAY,
WHEN I DIE, HALLELUJA BY AND BY,
I'LL FLY AWAY!
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(http://www.hurricanebrassband.nl/images/JazzFuneral3.jpg)
The espresso machien leaves behind our waterboiler, stovetop espresso thing, french press cup, and many refirdgerator cold brew projects for giving Nurse East Death Coffee.
Calling hours will be whenever anyone feels like viewing the remains, in whatever state of deconstruction or reconstruction they happen to be in.
Donations in memoriam of fine ground coffee, chocolate espresso beans, or hard liquor gleefully accepted, but not expected.
Quote from: Richter on June 30, 2010, 04:11:15 PM
The espresso machien leaves behind our waterboiler, stovetop espresso thing, french press cup, and many refirdgerator cold brew projects for giving Nurse East Death Coffee.
Calling hours will be whenever anyone feels like viewing the remains, in whatever state of deconstruction or reconstruction they happen to be in.
Donations in memoriam of fine ground coffee, chocolate espresso beans, or hard liquor gleefully accepted, but not expected.
Small barrel roller. No shit.
Hm... and I jsut happen to have a perfectly functional motor form the busted fan....