A Story of Caffeine and Other
Things, but Mostly Caffeine
There was a time, long, long ago.
It was a time of minotaurs. For those who are unfamiliar, minotaurs are the
insane half human half bull-monster breed of thing that terrorize bad children
in the labyrinth and riff on sweet guitar solos with David Bowie. It was a time
of peace, and war, but mostly war. I mean the world was ruled by minotaurs, and
if I’ve learned anything about them from the mythos of the ancient Greeks it is
that they have a penchant for violence, as well as goring things.
It was a simpler time. Minotaurs
could be minotaurs and men could be, well, minotaur food, or objects for
minotaur amusement. It was the fifth of February, a cold day, colder than a witch’s
teat as she stands bare-breasted into the wind atop the great mountain calling
forth the new day. The minotaurs had just finished a day of reveling and goring
the lesser human beings who inhabited the lowlands below them. Jack, a rather feisty
and ripped minotaur was pouring a large goblet of wine for his bros when out of
breath a rather thick minotaur burst into his party totally killing the mood.
“Dude, you’re totally killing the
mood!” Said Jack sloshing wine over the two minowhores (minotaur whores, not
known for being gentle, let’s just say that Elliot Grey would have liked them)
sitting at his feet. He had very clearly been about to score and this lesser
peasant was cock blocking in a most major way.
“I’m so sorry bro, but something
terrible is happening.” Jack set down his wine cup on the table that he had
made of human clavicle bones and then promptly punched it toward the peasant,
spraying him with wine and shame, but at the same time providing a small moment
of interest to an otherwise dull and meaningless life. Yes in that moment,
though wine covered his face for the first time he felt truly alive, as if
someone had noticed him, someone cared what he had to say, and someone would
finally know that his real name was Jennifer.
Jack of course cared for none of
that, and merely wanted to spray wine over something. “Speak nerd, or I shall
challenge you to a duel with my massive horns which I have just finished
sharpening with a stone made with the bones of the pointiest orphans in the
land!”
“Have you not noticed how cold it
is? Even the witch has covered up today. When I awoke for the morning call there were no sagging breasts ravaged by time
to be found, only a modestly dressed hag, heralding that yet another day was
going to begin.”
“You speak like a nerd, and thus
I find it hard to listen, but your sentence also spoke of boobs, and so I will
allow you one more chance to continue.” Jack sat back in his chair and called
to his servant for a snack. Listening to the problems of others always made him
hungry. A rather small minotaur rushed out of the room and returned quickly
with a fresh-faced ginger orphan in his paws. Jack scooped him up, holding him
as though he were his own child, and then promptly bit him in half. The orphan’s
screams were loud enough that the walls of the citadel threatened to crack with
their glory.
For a moment after there was only
the sound of blood dripping from Jack’s jaws onto the gold plated floor beneath
him. The minowhores licked it up greedily, wanting nothing more than to forever
feed on the purest of blood that only the profoundly emotionally crippled can
produce.
Now is my chance to speak. He is sated and will be in a good mood.
There is never a better time for him to receive my message. I will forever be
heralded as the savior of the minotaur race. They will know me. I AM JENNIFER!
“The climate we minotaurs have come to know as normal is shifting. Soon there
will be nothing left of the world we inhabit but a frozen wasteland. There will
be no more bare-breasted witches, only the bear breasts of great white polar
bears coming to usurp our throne and defile our women! It all stems from the
unsustainable harvesting of orphans. By killing herds of their parents we are
creating a cycle of fear and pain, which ordinarily would be a good thing, but
the issue is that fearful beasts produce a great deal of methane.”
“What is this methane?”
“Well, it’s farts.”
“Proceed.”
"If these humans continue to
produce such high levels of gas then I fear the climate will spiral out of
control within the next calendar year. We must find a more sustainable way to
harvest food or we will have no orphans next year. They do not survive the
winters well as it is, and if it continues to grow colder we will lose the
plumpest before month’s end. Imagine a world where the only orphans we have to
eat are scrawny and full of bone. I have prepared a detailed plan of action for
how we can reverse this effect, save our climate, and preserve our way of life
at the same time!”
“Nerd, you bore me. Destiny,
bring me my discussion stick.” One of the minowhores slunk off to a corner and
returned moments later with a large axe. Its four blades glinted in the cold
evening light and their thirst was evident, there was nothing that would stop
them from tasting sweet nerd flesh, they were demons from hell, long since
dead, nothing better to do than prey on the living and reap the misery that can
only be sown by the wail of thousands of widows crying out in unison: WHY GOD?!
WHY WOULD YOU TAKE HIM FROM US?! While their lovers lay dead in the sands of
time, bleeding into an every hungry universe in which nothing is fair and
everything is unbalanced, just like the galactic whores intended for us all to
bow down in servitude, weeping sweet tears of servitude like the true lap dogs
of a defiantly apathetic run only by their own avarice and drive to procreate.
“Wait!”
“Sorry nerd, I’m going to smash
your face.” Jack heaved the mighty axe and split the nerd in two. Blood flew in
all directions, exciting the minowhores and Jack. With that they had a cannibalistic
orgy which can only be described as gratuitous, but tasteful.
Night dawned on the minotaur town
and all was good, for that evening. Over the course of the coming months the
climate continued to change and just as the nerd had predicted there was soon
nothing left to eat. After three long winters there was only Jack and a handful
of minowhores left.
“Destiny, the end is near.” He said
cradling her face in his palms. “Bring me the ceremonial hand grenade.” They
did as he asked, and the final four minotaurs huddled together for the warm
fires of eternal sleep. “In the words of the immortal Mileytaur: And we can’t
stop, and we won’t stop, for we are the ones who rule the night.” He pulled the
pin, blowing them all to oblivion. The world froze, and about 300 years later
humans became the dominant species.
Fin
