Ahhhhh, nothing like a cuppa Joe that has a half-life associated with it. The EPA has condemned my coffee and I can’t even dispose of it in biohazard bags. It’s that good. This is drained reactor coolant from Chernobyl passed through the ashes of Rome after the pillaging and rapine of the Visigoths. Almost 16 centuries of death, horror, persecution, disease, plague, and famine distilled with modern quantum mechanics and pumped through a tokomak reactor squirting the black plasma of condensed hate into my thermos. The river Ganges is twice as pure, but only half as sacred. This is coffee battle tested in the trenches of WWI against the Hunnish Hordes. The Geneva Convention has outlawed its production and manufacturing and discussions of invading my apartment by UN forces have been supported by even the Chinese and North Korean delegations. Fie upon that sissy Starbucks “espresso,” and screw that Seattle’s Best “Dark Roast.” Folgers, ha! Don’t speak to me about such moistened pencil shavings. I have a singularity that rends the space-time continuum and sends it straight to dimensions only comprehended by Nobel Prize winners. Light bends around my mug in a futile gesture. And if science ain’t your thing and aren’t a geek, this coffee will consume your soul. Lucifer would spit this coffee out after his lunch time snack of Brutus and Judas and complain of it’s unpalatableness. Its beans are roasted by the whispered nightmares of a obscenity gibbering madman cursed by the Great Old Ones for trespassing into their realm. This is the abyss that Nietzsche stared too long into. Rabid, starved junk yard dogs recoil in revulsion when I burp this back. Small children cry when I pour it from the carafe. Women fall into a trance of love/repulsion with my blatant disregard for my own well being and men doubt their own manhood.
This is my coffee. This is my life, my blood, my caustic love.
