Coffee, Coffee, Coffee

It all started with Mike asking me if I'd drink a cup if he went and bought some. No prob.

Then he bought one of those giant can's that need to be opened with a can opener. Problem. No can opener behind the desk.

So I came to the rescue by bashing a hole in the lid with a hammer and a paint scraper deal.

Now everything should be just peachy right? Or at least woken up with Folgers in my cup?

However, Mike apparently doesn't know how to make coffee. So I doctored what had to be one of the worst cups ever with a few teaspoons of hot chocolate mix.

It was better, but had a horrid after taste.

Like I'd imagine licking an ashtray would taste.

Blech.