Penny's From Heave
Jacks been down on his luck lately. You could say that he feels the pressures of his empty
wallet and must cut back on his ever-so-luxurious life. Yes, he does have a couch, and yes he can sit on it all day,
but it lacks the charm of those little cafes.
Sure, it's easy to stop visiting those cafes, just avert your eyes when you pass by and never
look back. You don't need that tasty somewhat expensive cup of joe. You don't need that lushes slab of creamy chocolatey
cake. Besides, it goes straight to your hips, and who needs a bigger ass then Jacks? What Jack does need though is coffee,
and it's hard to cut corners there.
I am Jack's cheap bone. You may have read that the domain of the inexpensive belongs to our humble
Mr Pants Esq. and you would in most cases be correct, but this week Jack stumbled upon a coffee that could be considered
good. It's name is Cafecos and it sells for the piddle sum of $2CDN/pound. Can life get any better? Yes!
The grind is very fine, a little finer then it should be for a drip coffee maker, it won't work
at all in a coffee press, but it could do wonders in an espresso machine. The first thing you notice is the smell, which
is very coffee like. The smell continues into the brewing process, very much like a fresh ground bean. Point 1 for Cafecos.
I am Jack's taste buds. This coffee is not very bitter, tasting sweet. It has a medium body and
the flavour does not go very deep. Where Cafecos excels compared to other cheap of the shelf brands is in its ability to
never offend. Compared to Eight O'Clock 100% Columbian beans, Cafecos is pure heaven, then again Eight O'Clock Columbian
could be the worst beans I've ever ground.
Point 2 for Cafecos.
Even my faithful standby, canned Tim Horton's ground coffee, offends me from time to time
depending on my mood. Cafecos manages to be pretty good at most times, which puts it on my list if wacky-cheap coffee's
to have on hand in case your family is visiting. You can save the good beans for you're real friends.
I am Jack's satisfaction. This solves Jacks need for a fix quite nicely. Even though lately
I've been jonesin' for a proper coffee. I'll just have to scrimp and safe a penny at a time, so that I can keep this
fabulous coffee drinking like. Every boy needs a hobby, right?
‘Nuff said, till we meet again kiddies, have a cup for me.
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Random Musings Of Mild Misanthropy
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Pretty But Boring
And there they were, sitting all pretty-like in front of us.
Shiny, colorful little boys, lined up politely and waiting
to be picked up and taken home. Smooth and cylindrical
and fist-sized. Filled with yummy, creamy fluid.
Cheap and affordable.
The very same qualities that make your humble narrator
so appealing to the ladies. Everything pointed to a
promising evening. But alas, as my first wife used to
say to herself: what the hell was I thinking?
Hello again, dearest reader. Whilst visiting the local
grocer's in the company of the goodly Miss Jill, we
stumbled upon pretty little canned coffees from
Singapore in handy single-serving sizes for only
eighty-nine cents each. Ever the penny-wise larkers,
we bought one of each for ensuing consumption.
They're called Pokka and come in Crappuccino
and Milk Coffee varieties. The cans looked so nice
with their neat-o blue and green that
I thought about opening & drinking 'em right there,
which would have provided an instant review with the
bonus of not having to pay, but I thought I'd keep
the Karma Police at bay that day and pay for them
all proper.
All I can say is: this is the most jejune java juice
this boy's tasted in a long time. What a disappointment.
I was really hoping for a nifty little bargain.
Sure, sure, you get what you pay for, and I'm telling ya:
eighty-nine cents still isn't worth it. Even shoplifting
them isn't worth it, not even for the can.
It was this watery, sorta-coffee-tasting, browny,
backwashy, slippery, sapless, swashy, driveling, flat,
bland, banal, inane, namby-pamby, vapid, wishy-washy,
feebly flavored, pointless beverage. Don't buy it.
Even for the can.
Obituaries:
Braun 12-cup coffee decanter, after ten perilous,
butterfingery years. Survived by the Braun 12-cup
Flavor-Saver brewer and the ham-handed
Mr. Pants. You will be missed until I replace you.
My youthful idealism.
Farewell until next time, gentle reader. Do come back again and feel
free to send me your comments, suggestions, stories, whatever.
Gotta go, the coffee's on.
" Make my funk the P-FUNK! "
Edward Pants, Esq.
In life's coffee bag, be the bitter bean.
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Can You Smell It?
It's spring, and a young man's fancy turns to love. This is painfully evident in the
mushrooming number of angry young men journalling at cafés everywhere. Moody young women toss their deliberately
messy hair and down frothy caffeinated beverages, studiously avoiding eye contact with the equally messy haired men
at the tables across from them.
Ah, love. The café atmosphere thick with testosterone and estrogen, and the sweet strains
of Jill gagging. For the love of (insert chosen deity here)! Stop the charade! We know what you're writing in your
journals. We know why you spend all goddamn afternoon drinking cup after cup of the sweet black ambrosia. We know,
you know, they know. Give it up. Saunter on over to the table with the single, unkempt, pierced guy, and tell him to
come home with you.
Flash him your tits. Sit on his lap and wiggle. You know that's why you're there. To pick
someone up and fuck them.
The café is the swellest pick up joint. Better lit than the nightclub, for a clear look at prospective partners and
no nasty surprises in the morning. The chance to go through the ruse of oral intercourse before you get down to
the business of, well, intercourse. It's one big cruising zone, with the occasional cheesecake break. But do we
really need the pretense of introspection? The distant gaze out the window, the alternative papers, the deliberately
displayed cover of the latest angry young author. We all know that everyone just wants to get laid.
I say put down your pen. I say lay aside that Now magazine, that handmade diary. Dispense
with the pick up lines like "Been to any good protests lately?" and "I did set design for that play." Just have the
guts to come right out and tell that chick with the non-fat skim milk no foam latte that you want her to be your pony
girl. Don't be afraid to give that boy with the heavy mug of black Columbian a quick hand job under the table.
It's spring, the very air ripe with the urge to copulate like wild monkeys. Down that coffee
quick as can be and drop thy pants. Rut like the dirty beasts Jill knows you are! You'll thank me in morning.
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Can You Write?
We'd like to extend an invitation to anyone for coffee inspired writings. It don't have to be lots of
words, just take a look at how much we write.
If you are interested, and would like to contribute
some of your rantings and ravings, please send it in.
Send to:
jack@coffeeclubonline.com
Jill's Magazine Reviews
We've all been intellectually horrified and secretly thrilled at the
proliferation of magazine stands in our coffee houses.
This is why Jill has bravely volunteered to wade through the sea of rags to
select for you, her sweetest monkeys, those magazines worth wasting an eye flicker upon.
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