“Mr. Pot drank ten pots of coffee, even though I only made eight. That’s a savings of 20%!
”

“Her love was like cigarette smoke stirred into coffee. I drank it so fast it made me cough, but she’s not offering a refill at any price.”

“I’m 32 years old and I’m tired. It’s because I haven’t drank enough coffee. If I had, I’d probably only be 29.”

“I hate the phrase “Shit or get off the pot,” because I rarely cook with feces.”

“Love is tender, like the pot roast I’m keeping warm in my shoes.”

“I found a pristine lake, undisturbed by man. So, of course I had to clang a few pots and piss in the lake, to really disturb it.”

“Her name was Rebecca. Or at least that’s what her nametag said. She was making my coffee at Starbucks as I admired how her green Starbucks apron matched her bright green eyes. She had hair the color of coffee with a hint of cream in it. I was trying to act casual and not make it seem like I came in here only to see her. The truth is, I hate coffee. That’s not entirely true. I do like a hint of coffee in my cup of sugar.”