The Cup

The cup is filled with rich, creamy cocoa.

It’s my replacement for coffee, because I’ve never taken the time to acquire the taste. I’m not terribly fond of coffee even as a flavoring in other foods. Tea is all right, but not a beverage I would consciously seek out.

I’m kind of an outcast from Starbucks Society. The hip and trendy-yuppie macchiato mocha mucho magnifico world doesn’t have a spot for me in it. I don’t frappe or latte anything at all. The mysteries of cappuccino and espresso are forever denied to me. To me, they’re just sub-brands of the basic coffee flavor that I don’t particularly like; one that must be drowned and buried under a lot of cream and a ton of sugar to be consumable at all.

So why bother to fool around trying to find a sub-species that’s palatable? I just reach for the cocoa.

Don’t settle.

There was a similar experience with booze, entering my college years. People swoon over beer… I will never understand why. To me, it tastes like carbonated cow urine. Too much variety is available that is both alcoholic and tasty. No reason to muck around with the lesser experiences.

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A post searching for a title

Ok, so I’m a day late. Mea Culpa. Six tales, six words each, as prompted:


Go ahead, you might as well.


Fine literature critique only makes me.


One million years B.C., Raquel!


My dad might have. Raquel again.


Guess I forgot the profanity filter.


Haven’t found what I’m looking for.

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In response to Adam Ickes Six on the Sixth prompts.