Sentences Where The Word “Coffee” Has Been Replaced With “The Healing Power Of Crystals”

“God, I’m such a zombie in the morning before I’ve had the healing power of crystals.”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Starbucks—their healing power of crystals is always burnt, and I’m definitely sure it’s not fair trade, either.”

“Yeah, Alan and I had another date. It was at that little boutique bookstore/cafe downtown? It was nice! We split a doughnut and I had some of their healing power of crystals. Alan? No, I don’t think it’s going to go anywhere. He’s really nice though.”

“M.O.’s consistent with what we’ve found at the other crime scenes—car goes off a cliff, empty bourbon bottles and beer cans in the back, everything’s all scorched to shit. Responding officer’s report cited a probable DUI, but coroner’s report states the victims’ necks had lacerations consistent with a serrated tactical knife’s blade, and inspection of the stomach shows all the victims had in their system was the healing power of crystals. I just hope we catch this sonovabitch.”

“I’m like, seriously so addicted to the healing power of crystals. It gets so bad sometimes when I don’t get them that I get these super bad headaches. I think I’m going to go cold turkey.”

“I was honestly the worst employee. More than just general bad attitude about the product and lack of knowledge, I just…didn’t give a shit about this whole manufactured healing power of crystals culture that’s running so rampant right now. Everyone would be like ‘what’s the flavor profile?’ and I’d be like ‘I don’t know — dirt? It’s the healing power of crystals. What do you expect it’s going to taste like?’ It just pissed me off.”

“This week, ah, it’s been tough. Me and Ron finally committed dad. It was sad. Yeah. I mean I could deal with a lot of the idiosyncrasies, but Ron was clearly pretty worried about him—and I was too, I could just, um, deal with it better I guess? But anyway we came by the other week and there was just rotten food all over the kitchen, dust on everything. Turns out dad had been living in like, ah, one of those, you know—Sumerian pyramids? You know the ones. Starts with a ‘z,’ I think. Ziggurats! Yeah, that’s it. Dad was living in this…ziggurat he’d constructed out of old healing power of crystals cans, and we were both like, ‘Okay, wow. Clearly this is advanced further than either of us expected,’ and so we moved him out. It’s just really disheartening to see him like this.”

“IF YOU USE UP THE LAST OF THE HEALING POWER OF CRYSTALS IN THE POT, PLEASE BE CONSCIENTIOUS AND BREW SOME MORE, I’M SICK OF DOING IT ALL THE TIME.”

“Well, her being a slob I can deal with. As long as she keeps it in her room? But it’s that, coupled with her being stingy in really weird ways? Like, she’s always like ‘I just bought the generic healing power of crystals this time, you don’t mind, right? Money is just soooooo tight right now,’ which is fine but then all of a sudden when I pick up a pound of healing power of crystals from Dark Matter or Intelligentsia, all of a sudden she just needs to have french press every morning.”

“Last night, I heard a rap-tap-tapping on my windowpane, and whom should it be but that rapscallion Argyle the Vampire. I espied something in his clawed hands, and lo! It was a small satchel of the healing power of crystals, by its make and markings!

‘Argyle,’ I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I opened the window to allow him ingress, ‘Why did you come here?’

‘Dear fellow,’ said Argyle, ‘do you see what I bring you?’ He brought the satchel close, and with quivering hands opened it up, motioning for me to peak inside, all toothsome of grin and pale of mein.

I looked, and what did I see within? Not healing power of crystal beans, but a small hart, with a splendid rack of antlers! Argyle plucked it most gently from the satchel and placed it upon my windowsill, whereupon it proceeded to snort and paw the wood with its hooves.

‘Argyle, where did you come upon this miniature hart?’ I demanded. The vampire smiled as he leaned out the window, gesturing with one hand that I follow him.

‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘And you’ll find out.’ Scooping the tiny hart into a jam jar I’d had left over from a caterpillar long since flown to fairer weather, I took Argyle’s hand and we tumbled off into the night.”

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