Hot pot of coffee on FML Friday

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Nothing beats a strong, black, unaltered cup of coffee in the morning to shake those cobwebs out of your brains. None of this sugar nonsense; none of this cream bullshit. Just pure, unadulterated coffee-bean essence suspended in life-giving water, heated to an obscene and dangerous temperature, pouring down the soft tissue of your throat to be absorbed into the walls of your stomach thereby massively affecting your body chemistry.


Oh, also, feel bad for these poor fucks who didn’t get to enjoy their morning coffee.

Mo’ coffee, mo’ problems

Today, I announced to my coworkers that I’d “fixed the massive problem” they’d all been complaining about. Eleven different people made guesses at what the problem had been, ranging from how bad I smell to if I had learned to brush my teeth. I just meant that I’d fixed the coffee machine. FML

“Massive Problem” is one of my favourite kinds of coffee. Its beans are grown on the Kazakh, or Kirgihz, Steppe, and taste like pure unadulterated communism, with just a hint of mockery. Particularly when its drinker is a brown-nosing douche who requires validation for every single apparent wrong that he makes right. Seriously, calm the fuck down and have a coffee already.

Mo’ coffee, mo’ retching

Today, the office coffee machine was relocated next to my desk. My co-worker insists on making several cups of the stuff per day, but instead of drinking it, he stands next to me, audibly swishes it through his teeth, gargles, and drools it back into the cup. I retch every single time. FML

The brothers “Swish, Gargle n’ Retch” are among my favourite coffee makers in North America. They learned their trade in their travels through Italy and France, sampling some of the finest coffees continental Europe had to offer. Although their weak-stomached whining often makes their customers want to retch, I presume they can’t help but complain. Because they’re fucking useless windbags.

Mo’ coffee, mo’ sadness

Today, I went on a coffee date with the man I’ve been in love with for a while. Before I knew what was going on, he’d started chatting up a pretty girl sitting nearby. I had to drink my coffee alone while he got her number. FML

“Pretty Girl” coffee is one of my favourite kinds of coffee. It’s a pleasant distraction from the crushing anxiety of everyday, and it’s a self-esteem booster. Unless you’re on a date with some dude who literally becomes obsessed with this coffee. Then he gets lost in its flavour, and you just sit there like some sad wang wishing to hell you’d ordered a beer instead of a coffee. Which doesn’t really make sense, when you go back and read what I just wrote. But don’t worry. This isn’t about that. It’s about coffee.

Image by epSos .de on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons License.

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