cuz I like my coffee like I like my soul
How’s that?
black and unsweetened
I like my women like I like my coffee. Ground up and in the freezer.
Or, from a 3rd world country at a reasonable price.
I like my women like I like my freezer.
Ice cold with a nice spacious rack and a good warranty.
They expire after about 32 or 35 years. And they’re usually best by their mid to late 20s.
I like my coffee like I like my women. Tied up in a burlap sack and dragged across Colombia by a donkey.
That’s when they learn to appreciate simple things. I can go along with it.
I like my donkeys like I like my women.
Stubborn, able to carry some weight, but not so big I could ride on her.
My most recent purchase.
Now that one at least made more sense then did Mr. reasonable’s above.
I like my coffee like I like my men, passed through a very fine filter.
And placed under extreme pressure? Steamed? Pumped?
Grande.
Mocha?
Rich and bold.
Makes sense. Women love money and assholes.
I like my men (male friends) like I like my coffee filters.
Not very costly, easy to use and disposable.
I like my women like I like my coffee cups. With holes in them, leaking and making everything wet.
Stop putting us in the sardine cans, like sardines.
One size does not fit all, mr.
You’re just jealous, tis all. 