I have mentioned before the evil menace that is the unknown person I call The Design Guy. He is an especially evil madman who, by little tricks of broken design, is bent on slowly and methodically driving normal people (using myself as a benchmark of course) insane. Today I am going to talk about one of his evil designs: the standard coffee maker carafe.

What you say? You haven’t noticed anything wrong with the carafe? It is the hallmark of The Design Guy that he is insidious and subtle. Think about this for a minute, when you use one of those plastic tea pitchers you can pour liquid out of it at the rate of a gallon per second without spilling a drop. You could put out a fire with it and not spill any.

Try that with a coffee carafe. By the time you have your cup half full you’ll need to start another pot while you mop the floor. In fact, I can pee faster than I can pour coffee out of one of those. On a cool morning the coffee at the bottom of my cup has already gone icy by the time I get coffee to the top of the cup.

Here’s the thing, I don’t like coffee much. When I’m pouring coffee it is because I am:

A. Sleepy.

B. Cold.

C. In a hurry.

D. Need to crap.

E. Switching from type B to type A for the morning commute.

F. All of the above.

I am most definitely not having a sensuous, slow moment with the coffee. I’m not filming a remake of Nine and a Half Weeks or pretending to. If I want to do that, I’m probably not going to work and coffee breath is not exactly a good start for that anyway. No, I need my coffee to come out like a fire hose without dripping. And it’s the 21^st century, I know we have the technology.

E.W.

I’m also beginning to suspect that the coffee dribble cup I have (which amazingly only dribbles when I’m wearing a non-black shirt) is the work of The Design Guy.

Sung to the tune of Let It Snow:

Oh my stomach sure is upset
And the Tums just aren’t working
I really would like to fart
Let It Blow! Let It Blow! Let It Blow!

Update: Seems I got this wrong, the first part rhymed better per the Queen so it should be:

Oh my stomach sure is hurtin’
And the Tums  they aren’t a workin’
I really would like to fart
Let it Blow! Let it Blow! Let It Blow!

Are you the Sun, Moon or Stars?:

Evil got Asteroid 2010RF3328.

You are a small ball of dirty ice. Calling you mud would be inaccurate, you just aren’t that warm. Your existence has been long, boring and pointless. You will, however, go out in a blaze of glory when you crash down and ruin the morning for thousands. You are pretty much the reason asteroid rhymes with hemorrhoid.

What is your sexual color?

Evil got Plaid.

You are a color who’s only use is to make school girl skirts for perverts like you.

Which horse breed are you?

Evil got Glue.

You are the horse who causes loan sharks to get up early and break the legs of gamblers. Flies won’t land on you because you smell too bad. The stable keeper’s boy quit because of what you did in the stall.

What army job are you?

Evil got Derelict:

At your best you are Sargent Rizzo. As a midlevel leader you are Major Burns. You’d be safer with your back to the enemy, since your own troops are the ones most likely to shoot you. As a general you are George Custer. The best way for the army to put you to good use would be as ablative armor for a tank.

What era are you from?

Evil got B.C.:

The difference between you and a caveman is only language and mathematics. And that only makes you far more dangerous with a club.

What drink are you?

Evil got Mad Dog 20/20:

Yes, your best friends like to hang out in alleys and kick back on their sofas… er ok, pallets and watch the show. The show doesn’t have a name, but if it did they would call it “Say Yes to the Hooker.”

How girly are you?

Evil got Teamster:

Yes, you are girly in the sense that, technically, that girl you saw working the loading dock is physiologically a girl. You know, the one who flipped the fork lift over cause the idiot driver ran over her toes?

Which True Blood character are you?

Evil got “500 Server Error”:

There isn’t a character on that show nearly bad enough to match you. You make Russell seem likeable even when he’s holding someone’s spine. Sorry.

E.W.

I thought about using Buck Henry’s famous quote from Saturday Night Live about puppies for my secret passion, but there are too many dog lovers with big ass killer dogs around here for that and I don’t want to end up like Micheal Vick…