Doc and I have started to get into our coffee lately, and I wanted to get out of the “straight out of the jar” rocket fuel habit that makes up part of my dreaded caffeine/nicotine wake-up cocktail. (The nicotine has to go, that’s by the by at the moment, but the King’s Custard vape juice is helping with that evil).
So we ended up in a swanky department store on one of our jaunts, browsing through the beans. There were so many that you could get a caffeine withdrawal headache just taking the time to look through them all.
Then Doc said, “Why this one so expensive? What so special about it?”
He’d picked up a bag of kopi luwak beans with a hefty price tag that almost needed a bodybuilder to pick it up.
“Oh, that’s the civet cat poop coffee,” I answered. “A lot of places don’t stock it because of the cruel battery farming methods a lot of growers took to using. So if civet poop coffee is your thing, wild civet poop coffee is as rare as well, rocking horse poop, but at least you know the little civet cat has been running around happily.”
Doc looked a bit bemused.
“OK, de Belfry,” he said, “let’s at least grab ourselves a cup of something before you keel over.”
“You know, you can do some pretty heavy magick with cat poop,” I said.
“Not sure I wanna hear this, but go on, enlighten me,” Doc replied.
“Well, I had a friend who was having all kinds of grief with a lodger,” I said. “He wasn’t paying rent, he was disrespecting her place, he was rolling in drunk as a skunk, that kind of thing. On top of that, he had some on/off woman who had dissed her too. So I gave her some conjure to sort out not one of them, but both of them. Two vultures with one stone really.
“I was at her house, and she was going through her fridge getting rid of what we call ‘kill you food’, you know, the stuff that’s practically walking out to the garbage by itself. Anyway, she found a tupperware box with some prehistoric looking chicken in it that the woman had given him. Yep, he’s that much of a scumbag that he goes scrounging food even though he doesn’t need to. My friend also has two beautiful cats, who produce not so beautiful poop, and I had an idea… So I said to her, ‘Get your poop scoop, we’re going to do some magick.”
I got her to add some prime specimens from the litter tray to the box of chicken, then spit on it with all the anger she could muster. Then I got her to replace the lid and give it a really good shake so it all mixed together well.
While she was doing that, I got her to say the following, directed at the guy and his low-rent woman:
“Just as you have caused so much sh*t in my Life, may both of your lives be turned to sh*t too. I call upon Eris [the Egyptian goddess of chaos, strife and discord] to bring turmoil into your lives, and I humbly thank you, mighty discordian goddess, for your help.”
When she felt she had poured all of her angst into the working, she tossed it into the trash, knowing that the garbage truck would give it thorough destruction.
Doc looked at me. “Well de Belfry, that was quite imaginative. I sometimes wonder about you and your natural magick. You know how much I like to have rational explanations for things.”
“Oh, I don’t care about ‘rational’ Doc,” I replied. “As long as it gets the job done. And do you know what? Within a few days, an eviction letter she’d given him that had been refused for about 6 months was suddenly magically accepted, so she’s finally going to get him out of her hair. Who knows, maybe he’ll even move in with the other on/off woman and they can give each other as much grief as they want, that would seem to be quite a just outcome to me”.
Doc mulled it over (I could see his brain cogs whirring around). “Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you, de Belfry,” he muttered.
We drank up, paid for our coffee, and wandered off in our continuing quest for THE coffee machine.
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