I like my women like I like my coffee...

I like my women like I like my coffee…

• hot and black
• light and sweet
• Ethiopian
• in the morning, in bed
• simple and earthy, but with exciting, nutty undertones
• tall, non-fat
• hand-picked from among the finest in the world
• in the kitchen
• raised on the shady slopes of the South American countryside
• shared among several coworkers at the office
• artificially sweet, cold as ice
• intensely, but without ever admitting dependency
• from a small, independent and communally operated farm
• in my lap, as I scream out violently, clutching my genitals in agony
  
• bitter, possibly older than originally believed
• in the car, on the way to work, not like a lazy gold-digging bitch, Diane!
• full of vodka
• cheap, available on various street-corners in the wee hours of the morning
• covered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce... what?
  
• the product of hasty and distracted teenagers, brought into the world with little fanfare and abandoned without so much as a name
• …in the sense that I don’t actually find myself that interested in coffee these days, and that I think I might maybe like to start drinking tea…