So last week right here in this paper, where my column runs Every Other Week, was Top Ten, and so since No. 1 on my own personal Top Ten is Having My Fucking Column in the Paper Every Week, you can understand how twisted my knickers got at not being able to be in the actual Top Ten paper to get in on the Reindeer Game.

I love Top Ten, man. Even Top Ten itself is on my list of Top Tens, dig? You can tell if something is one of my Top Tens because it will be in Bold Type, which, eff-why-eye, is not simply put in bold type just to be an example, but also because bold type is in my Top Ten, comprende? Yeah! Top Ten is fun, man, c’mon lighten up. Also on my list is this Chorizo, or Chantizo, maybe, thing they got at Starbucks. Now Starbucks itself isn’t on my Top Ten, because of how in my malformed, uninformed Opinion (which I also enjoy to the Tenth Power, the opinions, my own, I mean) they (and you know who They are) have contributed to making Coffee so fucking expensive, I think, asterisk, nota bene, in my opinion, of course. Er, uh, I’m gettin’ a little weaselly about the Starbucks, because, for some reason, I put them in this category with Scientologists, because I hear things about how you Do Not Fuck With the Scientologists, and I saw on teevee how John Travolta has his own airstrip and flies his own fucking 747 around, so that’s pretty, like, science-fiction-esque almost, to just have your own gigantor airplane at your disposal, not to mention Having Enough Money in Your Pocket to Fill Up the Gas Tank, especially a goddamn aeroplane, you know?

So Scientologists are on my Top Ten because they scare me a little, but all the ones I see on Teevee—jeez, I almost forgot to put The Sacrament of Television on my Ten-Spot—but anyway, all the Scientologists I see on my teevee all seem to be successful, and I’m not scared of John Travolta, so maybe it’s just me having Preconceived Notions about Scientologists and John Travolta. Man, I love having preconceived notions, because it is a true time saver, you know? Don’t have to think or anything, and I really enjoy Not Having to Think, and you can tell how much if you are one of the Regular Readers of This Column (thank you), or even one of The Haters of This Column (What. Ever.).

And look, everybody’s talkin’ at that Tom Cruise guy all the time and saying bad things about him, but I saw on my blessed teevee how he handled that guy who squirted him in the face with a false microphone, and I was impressed he didn’t push that guy down and put the boots to him, see? I mean, we got that Famous Actor Russell Crowe dude throwing fucking telephones at people, and he gets off with a slap on the wrist? What the fuck is up with that? He shoulda been deported, I mean, aren’t we Securing Our Borders From Undesirables? Hah?

Anyway, I got my receipt, because it’s a good idea when you are Saving Your Receipts, and look how it’s helping out right now, huh? Yeah, so it’s called Chantico, the shit I got at Starbucks, and it’s this teeny-tiny little serving of what was described as “drinking chocolate” or something to that effect, and it’s served in this itsy-bitsy li’l cup with one of those plastic sippy-cup tops on it, and it fucking cost me $2.65 before tax for this thing. But man, was it some good “drinking chocolate,” wowee-zowee. And I’m not even a chocolate freak. I just wanted to have some hot cho-cho, and there it was at the Starbucks, and $2.65 is kinda cheap at Starbucks in case you have never been to one. But I don’t hate on the Starbucks, again, mostly because I am Afraid of It, the Starbucks, where they sell a six-ounce serving of “drinking chocolate” and get me to, like, go all Top Ten on its ass, even at like 44.16666 cents an ounce, according to the Calculator I Use to Figure Out How Much I Gets Paid, even though it’s Every Other Week. If I ran every week, I could drink two of those Chantico mofos at a time, urp.

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