Special Guest review by Harry Foster Tovah
Why does everything have to be so comfortable and nice? Blankets are supposed to be cool and fluffy in the summer and dense and warm in the winter. Buildings, these magnificent creations, the marvel of mankind, must now control the temperatures held within. Endless amounts of energy wasted so that “Carol” in office doesn’t have to drape her shoulders in with last year’s Layne Bryant outlet mall sweater.
Is there no end to mankind’s demands for comfort? Coffee can no longer be the harsh bitter, beautiful, blackness that I love so dearly. Why must I be forced to exist on the same planet as full grown adults who Insist on having their “coffee” taste as though it is nothing more than a child’s birthday cake boiled in sprite?
I didn’t like coffee as a child. I was given it by my grandmother to soothe the Asthma attacks. It took years from that point on to learn to drink and enjoy a black cup of coffee. Now, I cannot live without it. I’m drinking a cup as I write this. And every time I reach for the pristine white porcelain cup and bring it my lips, I take a second. I listen to the sound of the New York City’s human engines gently purring in the background. I notice a pizzeria in the distance. I take note of the smoggy air and how it mixes with the earthy aroma of the coffee in front of me. Then I sip.
Remembering the many trials and tribulations I’ve overcome in this “thing” we “call” a “life”, and what it took to bring me here to enjoy this cup of coffee. The hundreds of hours spent decreasing the amount of cream and sugar. The thousands and thousands of half full paper coffee cups I’ve left scattered around the world, still warm to the touch, but never to be finished because they were too bitter, not sweet and creamy enough. But soon coffee, as life, becomes bitter, you realize the cream you added was nothing more than Youth. Smoothing out and hiding the harsh realities of adulthood.
The sugar? Why the sugar was nothing more than a distraction. A simple, easy, and ultimately cheap way to forget, that you , yes, YOU will one day die. As youth fades, so will the cream, one day the sugar will be unnecessary, as you learn to enjoy life as it is. The heat, of your unfulfilled dreams, the smell of your accomplishments, and ultimately the blackness of your own death. You either look deep into the unforgiving fathoms and take control consuming it fully, or you fill it with distractions (More sugar pwease), and ultimately leave it on some forgotten counter, in a forgotten city, cold and half consumed.
This Gumball tastes like Orange. Not the flavor, but the color. It is rock hard, cold and incredibly brittle. Just like my goddamn, stupid bitch of an ex-wife. Fuck you Carol. I hope your eyes fall out when you read this. You thought, I’d never be a writer? Well look at me now, you boss screwing, half and half using, whore!
“Remember this moment” it speaks to me, “for I am a thing of beauty. I am to be earned”. (This is the gum that is talking, here)
I’m told It comes with a “free” shirt.
Gum score: 2.4
