Caramel

I was standing outside a bar last night smoking and my buddy Andy drives by and says hello. He owns a pub downtown and was going flyering around the student halls so I jump into his big turbo Volvotron and of we grrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRR-PSSSSSSST!
Im thrilled! You know how sometimes you discover a completely new country full of young and attractive girls with rich daddies and sports cars and cut-glass accents and an addiction to mildly naughty boys? It was exactly like that. Ive been working the wrong end of town; all these snooty late-20s professionals can beat it, Ive [for your reading pleasure a shite joke about planting a flag in the New World has been deleted. Thank you for your patience] so that'll be alright then.
Youll laugh at me but last night I wanted to read my Collected Emily Dickinson book (because under my tough exterior Im actually made of caramel and cushions and angel's tears) and and drink a beer simultaneously but if I saw someone reading a poetry book in a pub Id slap them in the face so hard my hand would actually glow afterwards. I mean it would be reflex, Id feel bad and all but by then the damage would have been done, the beer mat flicked accross the room into the pretentious little prats eye. So I wrapped it in the dust jacket from the Da Vinci Code. I have never read that book, although another by the same guy rates as one of the funniest most lip-curlingly dumb wordshits Ive ever read. To say it was bad it like saying the Crab Nebula is a bit of a walk. It about cryptography and electronic espionage and the central characters were a beautiful, troubled codebreaker and her extranged, square-jawed hero husband and the kooky nerd who was in love with her and the angry chief of security who had a secret of his own and Im telling you I honestly thought it was a fucking joke and it wasnt. Clive Cussler wouldnt make bedding for his hamster with that shit. Without making gross generalisations, the millions of people who like Dan Brown are, every single drooling last one of them thick as shit. Im amazed theyve managed to escape from whatever space they were locked up in, wipe of the shit, put some clothes on and make it to the airport to buy a copy. Look how many tims I used the word shit then. Even thinking about it makes me stupiderer.
Do you like Dan Brown? Please say you dont. Cos if you do theres no escaping it. Much as I like you it would put a serious strain on our chance of ever starting a clone army together. Im sorry to break this to you but you really should have seen it coming. It was like the puzzle in the cryptography book, apparently so fiendishly riddlesome that only a mighty 'mainfraim computer' (whatever that is) could ever hope to decrypt it, but which was a simple recurring number sequence. Ie 1+2+3+5+8 = get lost.