Plotters

Plotters steal all the coffee.

One morning,

America awakes to find it gone,

Then sits collectively staring at its empty mug,

As at a photo of a lover who has packed and departed.

Stunned, bewildered faces reflect in toasters and iphones across the land.



At Starbuck's, smiling baristas suggest tea,

And are left beaten and groaning in a pool of their own Darjeeling.



Industry collapses.

People simply stay in bed, listless, past caring.



The plotters' leader speaks:

"I fear that all we have done is to keep a sleeping giant asleep."

Her followers give her funny looks.

Some tilt their heads like dogs.

A list of demands arrives at the offices of People magazine.

* Remove all reality shows from the air, except for "Man Vs. Food"

* Equal pay for equal work for women

* 1 tub of Breyer's chocolate ice cream

* A date for the leader of the plotters with a certain famous female rock star



Fireblossom is arrested while blogging.

"How'd ya know it was me?"

Grim-faced FBI agents don't answer.

A judge is rousted out of bed (at 3 in the afternoon) and FB is arraigned.

The coffee is found in an E-Z Storage facility down the street,

Where she has rented every space.

The proprietor shrugs. "How could I have known?" he pleads, ankle-deep in grounds.



The rock star is interviewed.

"In-fuckin-credible," she says, shaking her trademark dark hair.

Another blogger visits FB in jail.

"You're such a dumbass," she says agreeably, and FB makes a wry face.

"I brought you some coffee."

Plots are plots, but friendship is forever.



Early morning gridlock returns.

America is saved.

That night,

As if God had ordained it,

A new reality show comes on.

"FB In Jail."

It bombs.
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