8 cups of coffee, 4 sentences

So, being that my wife was out this morning on an errand, that being picking up her mother from the airport in Portland—slightly over 100 miles away—and being that the single and solitary driving force behind my leaving the warm folds of my blankets in the morning is the cheerful percolation of rapidly heated water through grounds of coffee within our electric chrome carafe, and being that I was alone (as my wife was out as I have previously mentioned) and my faberware plug-in coffee brewer makes 8 cups of coffee (although the nature of their measurement is dubious at best, seeing as no mug is that small) so being all these things, a very large amount of coffee was ingested by myself this morning, alone and in rapid succession downed diluted with vanilla soy creamer as I attempted to comply with my spouse's wish that I clean the sinks and counter tops and vacuum during her absence in an attempt to make our humble home slightly less unsightly to her mother whom she was off in Portland retrieving from the airport causing the lonely caffeine bender during which I was now in the midst of and having trouble focusing on the task at hand.

So, after writing part of an e-mail and replacing the toilet-paper roll and filling the dish washing tub and watching the dog urinate, I answered the phone to a robotic voice reminding me to pick up a reserved book and return an over-due DVD which I hadn't yet watched, causing me to panic and abandon my growing number of half-completed tasks and rush off down the sidewalk in one sock and my PJ top which happens to be a sweatshirt with Homer Simpson reading "Springfield Unathletic Department", slopping now cooling coffee out of a Scooby Doo mug as I huffed past the St. Mary's Catholic church and the rather large lurking man who muttered something very strange as I passed.

"I am a very dangerous man," he said with a low and menacing tone which would normally compel me to quicken my pace and makes it even more bizarre that after 8 cups of coffee my reaction would be to slow and stop and turn to say, "We are all dangerous, given the right circumstances or tools," as I glanced around to point out a man who scurried along across the street carrying a sign of indecipherable deduction and said, "That man's sign might be a dangerous statement, sending some deranged psychopath into a spiral of degraded behavior like the Beatles did to Charlie Manson," even though I had no idea how the sign read, although I believed that I had seen the word 'Corinthians' along the bottom.

So the menacer loomed and the sign-holder caught interest and approached and I came up with numerous other examples of how everyone is dangerous, such as drunk drivers and people digging holes without calling the natural gas company, and as the sign came closer it became clear that it was nothing but jumbles of letters and gibberish scrawled in big messy capital letters on the flattened inside of a produce box, and the strikingly twisted facial features of the sign-wielder became more pronounced and vivid and I pointed at him and shouted at the menacer, "THAT is a dangerous man, sir!" unable to control my own vim, but the menacer only shrugged, and the sign-holder continued right past us as if we were invisible, and I swapped items at the library to hurry home and use the bathroom, being that I had many cups of coffee this morning.