Dear coffee,
Oh, how I love you so; your ability to give me the energy to face the day; your strong, wonderous flavour, unspoiled by semi-skimmed milk and/or sugar; and your seemingly endless supply, instant or otherwise. But I have one question to ask, coffee:
Why, dear God why, do you always insist on giving me the raging shits every time I feel like a hot cup of brown? Honestly, it's really annoying. I still can't figure out if instant is worse than ground, or vice versa. Even if I consume the rich, brown, almost immorally delicious nectar that you are on an empty stomach, you can turn nothing into a metric tonne of shit. How in the name of Jesus H. Tapdancing Fucking Christ do you do that? Even weapons grade laxatives have a hard time doing that.
What I'm trying to say, coffee, is that you are everything I could want in a hot beverage: hot (always a good place to start), strong, brewed, rich, dark, invigorating, and fucking God damn delicious. Except you punish me (and everyone else's sinuses) for no reason. It's a shame we can't take our relationship further, it really is. Unfortunately, there's no chance of us ever having a sexual relationship because
A) You're a drink
and
B) The human personification of the kind of coffee I like is Mr T and quite frankly I'd rather have a sexual relationship with the leftover bits of Anne Robinson.
Sorry.
Your's sensually,
Sam x
