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Seeing Andy ride into work on a camel this morning got me thinking that maybe we’ve gotten a little caught up in all of the fame and fortune we’ve achieved with the Whynatte. I mean, doesn’t everybody feed their bald eagles live prey, or am I jaded? Whenever I start feeling like this, I have my intern bring me some freshly grilled abalone, and I take it back to the days when a Whynatte was just a Whynatte.
Whynatte used to be all about sharing a serene moment with a good friend or lover, not seeing who can swing a katana blade clean through a watermelon:

Drinking a Whynatte used to involve taking a moment of quiet introspection:

We can’t let the latte go to our head. We owe it to ourselves, we owe it to our children, and we owe it to our ancestors that sacrificed more than just premium dairy for us to have this opportunity:









