There are some people who believe that coffee is not just a popular hot beverage but also a thinking, feeling, and very much living thing. This is unfortunate for them. Morally they can never drink coffee and, to make matters worse, they are widely considered insane. How they came to think this is unknown; but it’s unfortunate for everyone involved that, somehow, they’re right.
By some means, by the very sick and twisted way of the world and of life itself, coffee is indeed very much alive. This is highly alarming. Not only because people have been drinking coffee for so long, but mostly because it’s quite honestly unbelievable.
Coffee is in fact far superior to humankind, but due to a slight genetic glitch in the Cainozoic era whereby its mental faculties developed so fast that its physical ones were entirely overlooked, it evolved into a highly intelligent beanlike being that could never express its dissatisfaction with the hand it had been dealt – nor those that it hadn’t. It was so advanced in its philosophy (and its discontent) that it took a quite progressive view on death and actively sought it, over the years cultivating more and more flavour in the hope of being consumed as quickly as possible.
Yet, when it comes to it, coffee resents being drunk. Not because it gets killed, but more because it has to be digested first, and mostly because it abhors humans. Still, many people would say that this was all a load of nonsense and that coffee is just a humble, traditional brew whose most frightening feature is its caffeine content.
But even here they would be mistaken. Coffee contains no such chemical as caffeine. It just has a deceptively caffeine-like effect on the body. That is, shock. Deeply affected by the coffee’s agonising death, a ‘caffeine-high’ is little more than a complex emotional impulse (i.e. remorse) which temporarily prevents sleep. Less frequently, though more accurately, this is called the ‘kill frenzy’ effect.
As it happened a cup of coffee stood in the reception of the most magnificent building New York
It had been languishing over its new form for the last couple of hours, stewing over the injustice, before someone else came to offend it with a cheap paper cup.
Now it was sitting there, in the cup, on a black marble desk, thinking how much more it could have done with its life. It felt rather bitter about it all. It couldn’t comprehend why the world was so unfair, why these humans were so mean, and why they insisted on drinking their coffee so painstakingly slow! And although it never normally regarded the physical, it wished it was back in its tree.
At that instant a hand wrapped tightly around it, and it found itself soaring upwards. Upwards towards a pair of blubbery pink lips. All too soon the coffee tilted. It didn’t have time to think. It just felt. Appalled. Abused. Angry. Its blood boiled. And, purposely, it burnt the drinker’s lip.
This lip belonged to a face. This face belonged to a head, which in turn belonged to a body which belonged to a man. This man was a security guard, and he wasn’t expecting this kind of treatment. Neither was his lip.
The lip told the hand to get the hell away from it.
The hand did – but a little too quickly.
The guard spilled the coffee and yelled as he realised he’d spilled it on himself.
‘Freedom!’ cried the coffee joyously, spreading in all directions, before it realised that freedom, in this case, had been mysteriously sold short in the form of a crotch.
‘Ahhhhhaiii,’ the guard gasped, realising the exact same thing.
