In a blind taste test, nine out of ten Helen Kellers preferred Blue Ribbon Coffee to Starbucks. The tenth Helen Keller, well, she claimed she didn’t hear the question.
I told the joke, but someone else got the high five. That’s like me drinking a cup of coffee and a guy in a coma waking up. Go back to bed, buddy.
If my legs get blown off in war, I’d like to have them replaced with a coffee table. Half man/half furniture, I’ll be in the living room if you need me.
We made love, we drank coffee, and then we went our separate ways. I went west, and she went to hell. Or at least I hope she did.
We drank coffee like two lovers, despite the fact that we were strangers separated by a window and about two hundred feet. Thank God for binoculars.
I drink coffee like a civilized man—alone in a cave, wearing a loincloth, and grunting in frustration because my club is too thick to fit in my cup to stir in the sugar.
I drink coffee like goats walk on tightropes. It’s fun to watch, but it sure would be easier if this monkey dressed like a cowboy would get off my back.
She’s the kind of woman where if you give her an inch, she’ll take the whole penis. She took all I had, and she didn’t even take me out to coffee.
I just got circumcised, and to help the homeless, I’m going to make a tent out of my foreskin. But right now I’m offering free coffee if you haven’t got a place to sleep.
Word of mouth is often louder than word of hand, although applause can be deafening. I clap like Helen Keller drank coffee—with two spoonfuls of silence.
Her clothes were half off—a sale, not a strip tease. Watching her shop was as hot as a fresh cup of coffee, and that’s why I had a wad of dollar bills.
Karate, I get a real kick out of it. I would get a kick out of coffee, but I’ve got better ways of stirring, like renting Michael Phelps’ 400 IM time.
The only woman I’d want to go on a blind date with is Helen Keller. Maybe we could meet for coffee and I could listen while she doesn’t all the talking.
I’m currently drinking a coffee cup full of yesterday and thinking about tomorrow. My past is so dark it makes me think my future could use some cream.
i don't know. i don't care. all i know is when you pay for something that's supposed to give you a cup of coffee, you deserve to get your fucking cup of coffee.
We walked along the beach like two coffee lovers. But we weren’t. He was a fish, and I was astonished—not that a fish was walking, but that he didn’t love coffee.
I love coffee, and coffee loves me. You know what else loves me? Hookers in hot paper cups.
Colombians might live in one of best places in the world to grow coffee beans, yet their cups of coffee come from dehydrated granules in tiny plastic packages. This is the definition of tragedy.
...and my coffee is Blue Mountain and I drink it black, which is unusual for a teenage girl, but it's definitely the way good coffee should be drunk if you have any respect for the bitter beans.
We always get up about 5:30, and George gets up and goes in and gets the coffee and brings it to me, and that's been our ritual since we got married. And we read the newspapers in bed and drink coffee for about an hour probably, read our briefing pap...
Coffee is far more than a beverage. It is an invitation to life, disguised as a cup of warm liquid. It's a trumpet wakeup call or a gentle rousing hand on your shoulder ... Coffee is an experience, an offer, a rite of passage, a good excuse to get to...
