Here, have a little cup of Joe.
Doesn’t that evoke all sorts of nonsense in your head? Like, maybe you really have this guy Joe in a mug. Maybe way back in the beginning of time, he screwed up big time right? And ended up being doomed to become the preferred breakfast beverage by some cantankerous God who found this Joe character really offensive.
Kind of like that vain dandy, Narcissus, the one who got turned into a corsage.
So like, now Joe is languishing his millennia over in a multitude of amateur pottery projects, and in those little Styrofoam cups where his Joey droplets are going to dry out and cling to something that will quietly fail to decompose over the next couple hundred thousand years. Ouch.
And you? You just drink that lame ol’ fella down, because he gets you jumpstarted, he gets you revved up. You know it.
I can only imagine what nameless offense Joe committed, but it must have been really bad because otherwise he wouldn’t be getting sucked past fuzzy morning teeth; reeking, slug like tongues.
If you really didn’t care about the Joe thing, you could drink the stuff, I guess.
But me? I have these compassionate bones, you know? These empathetic heart strings. I just can’t bring myself to do it.
So I drink Herbal Tea in the mornings.
(Whoever that weirdo ‘Herb’ was, he probly deserved it.)