Coffee. Just the name conjures up thoughts of used guinea pig and tangy ass. Despite sharing a common ingredient, caffeine, with something as great as Coke, coffee tastes like… well… liquified ass. It’s Coke’s dejected cousin. Second cousin, in fact. They’re kinda related. Coffee tells anyone who will listen that he’s Coke’s brother’s uncle’s daughter’s nephew’s son’s father. When Coffee acts like he knows Coke, Coke pretends to not notice him. He’s the shameful cousin that, when asked about, Coke pretends is dead.
Coffee. Just the name conjures up thoughts of used guinea pig and tangy ass. Despite sharing a common ingredient, caffeine, with something as great as Coke, coffee tastes like… well… liquified ass. It’s Coke’s dejected cousin. Second cousin, in fact. They’re kinda related. Coffee tells anyone who will listen that he’s Coke’s brother’s uncle’s daughter’s nephew’s son’s father. When Coffee acts like he knows Coke, Coke pretends to not notice him. He’s the shameful cousin that, when asked about, Coke pretends is dead.
The scary thing? Within a year, apparently I’ll be drinking liquified ass.
Sure, once on a school field trip, I had a cup of coffee and enjoyed it. But after adding sugar, cream, caramel and vanilla, the concentration of coffee in my coffee was about 0.0002%. In other words, I wasn’t drinking coffee. And even then I could taste it, tainting the vanilla and cinnamon with its crapiness.
Despite my apparently underdeveloped and unsophisticated taste buds, coffee is apparently a drink that’s supposed to “wake you up” in the morning. I guess I can’t argue this point. I’m sure that drinking a cup of camel-toe rinds is really a great wake-up call, too. Just like a good, solid punch to the spleen.
I’ve always wondered when the exact transition occurs. According to my parents, it’s university where people collectively start to feel the urge to drink ass.
With less than a year before I start university, there isn’t much time for a smooth transition. Without any warning signs, I guess I’ll suddenly wake up and say, “I feel like drinking something that tastes like belly-button pus and vomit. And xbox? How is blowing up aliens fun? I should start having long discussions about politics and rising gas prices. And for Christmas this year, I want my gifts to be practical.” Socks and sweaters. That’s all I want. And maybe a black wallet.
As hard as it is to believe that I wouldn’t feel ripped off if I got a sweater and a watch for Christmas, it’s even harder to believe how devoted the Disciples of Coffee can be. Here is someone who not only loves coffee, apparently she adores it enough to even roast it herself, in her garage, all winter. I’ll admit that her reflections on everything caffeine are just interesting enough that, even though I obviously don’t get the whole coffee obsession, I do like reading her blog. It’s sort of like driving by an accident and trying not to stare. As shameful as the behaviour feels, I just can’t help myself.
When I asked my mom how she started drinking coffee (not “why” but “how” because it seems physically impossible to swallow and gag at the same time), she told me that she, “Acquired,” a taste. Eh? If a taste has to be, “acquired,” maybe that’s telling you something. Some things just aren’t worth the effort. There are enough drinks out there that don’t need to be drunk multiple times before they stop tasting like crap that bothering with coffee seems kinda pointless.