A guy walks into a Starbucks...

This is "A guy walks into a bar" 2.0. Because we love our coffee. This caffeinated blog is best enjoyed over a brewed, steeped, pressed, steamed, or percolated beverage. It's a different joke paradigm featuring Starbucks jokes and coffee humor.

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4/17/14

Barack Obama

Barack Obama walks into a Starbucks and orders a drink; everyone following him gets stuck with the tab.

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Tags: barak obama, jokes

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This blog is a sign of our hyper-caffeinated times. We've all gone "organic" and "fair trade." Fortunes are being made by "local" coffee roasters and large coffee conglomerates alike. Coffee experts take highfaluting junkets to meet their farmers, establish relationships, and sample the goods: "Wow, brilliant! This peaberry is nutty! Acidic! Mild! It has a hint of citrus! Civet sweat, even!"

Entrepreneurs hoping to make a quick buck open coffee houses. They buy espresso machines, rent a bit of commercial office space in a high-traffic area, and proceed to rant constantly about how they source their coffee beans from a "sustainable," micro-financed coffee plantation in Guatemala, Sumatra, Tanzania, Kenya, Costa Rica, Ethiopia, Nicaragua, blah, blah, blah, blah. In order to come across as local as possible, they hang terrible paintings and photos created by their patrons. Look out for the piles of local business cards by the register and stacked oh-so-slyly at the end of the counter. Oh, and by the sugar station. Sweeten your coffee, grab a business card. Sweeten your coffee, get an auto insurance quote. Sweeten your coffee, connect with some multi-level marketing (MLM) huckster who has been watching you since you walked in the door.

Oh, here's joyous news!: The wifi is locally-sourced and sustainable by means of a 100% recyclable AC adapter!

Don't forget: You must return your sleeve! Be green! Save the world by saving the environment! This business is powered by wind, after all. And they have double-paned windows! Their baristas will compost your placenta for you! And they're hiring! (As long as you have poetry tattooed on your forearms, plugs in your ears, and will thoroughly despise everyone who comes in for a cup of coffee and a scone)

Say, you want to join me for a brandy? Whiskey? A fine cigar? No? Of course not. Let's order some coffee and peruse these racks of artsy magazines positioned near the front of the coffeehouse. The mags advertising asinine postmodern attractions at the university student center, museum, quad, local bar, et cetera. The attractions with no discernible takeaways.

A new joke genre was birthed from this milieu of french presses, vacuum pots, Keurigs, and hipsters engaged in meaningless, pseudo-intellectual coffeehouse chatter about Foucault, the "patriarchy," and social justice. Read 'em and steep. Bar jokes are fading fast.