Monday, May 12, 2003

And now, a moment with Burning the Crap Out of Your Tongue Theatre:

Coffeeperson: Here you are good sir, the coffee is prepared. Notice how I have left 2 inches of room for cream in the cup, as you specified.
Kafkaesque: Thank you, Coffeeperson. Here is my change as recompense for your "going the extra mile". Also, this change is future insurance that you will not intentionally do anything icky to something I wish to ingest.
Coffeeperson: Thank you! It truly makes my job worthwhile when someone like you, kind sweet Kafkaesque, takes the trouble to recognize my effort.
Kafkaesque: Think nothing of it, Coffeeperson.
Coffeeperson: *sigh*

*proud of his successful coffee transaction, Kafkaesque turns and strides towards the 1/2&1/2 kiosk*

Kafkaesque [aside]: Ah, I remember the halcyon days of my youth, when once I was able to drink my coffee black, instead of sadly neutered by the soft apology of dairy products. How fresh and alive with possibility the world seemed then! The birds all sang to me, and the song was good, not some terrible top 40 thing like Nelly. When the birds sing Nelly, it's a sign of trouble.

takes off glasses, gazes balefully out of window, towards twitchy café denizens

And now, I find myself with this brimming cup of fine black coffee, dare I try to recapture this wild beast? To foist its full fury upon my stomach lining? If I can no longer taste the full import of this sweet nectar, can I truly call myself alive?!

But no! I dare not. I fear the magnitude of jumpiness and heart palpitations would be too much for me, and I would be left a shaking husk, my insides eaten away, a shell of a man suitable only to provide shelter for Nelly-singing birds.

But I must! I cannot give in to the death of youth.

puts cup to lips and fills mouth with pure black coffee

Kafkaesque's Tongue: Aiiiiiiiieee! Hot! Hot! I die! I am slain! I die!

Kafkaesque: Oops.



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