"I call it," Mort said, pausing to spread his arms out as if the words were emblazoned on a marquee, "kopi luwak!"
Buford recoiled in disgust. "Hell, sounds like some kinda drippy penis syndrome, Mort. Son of a bitch! That's gotta be the worst goddamn name for anything that's ever beset my ears! What the hell is it anyway? Is it gonna give me DPS, Mort? Is it?!"
Mort's sickening enthusiasm never faltered. "Those are interesting questions! As to the first: why, it's coffee, my friend and part-time lifemate! The best coffee the world has ever seen! Or tasted! And as to your second query, I can assure you that I myself have imbibed several mule-stomach's worth of this fantastic beverage and I am delightedly elated to report that neither I nor myself have suffered any ill effects as a result. I'm fit as a fiddle, I tell you! Fit as a fiddle!"
Buford recalled the young girl they'd met earlier that day and how Mort had stolen her fiddle and then thrown it into a nearby lake. "For the otters to have sex with, you see?!" he'd screeched at the girl, as if it were a vital lesson.
It was then that Buford had had his first suspicions, although he didn't necessarily know what the word 'suspicion' meant at the time. But he suspected he would find out.
Mort clapped and rubbed his hands together. From his shoulder tote he produced two earthen mugs and placed them on the tree stump before him. He then unholstered his mule-stomach and poured into the mugs a sumptuous golden liquid that sparkled with a brilliance that seemed as though it was fated to be destined to end up being foretold by the prediction of a prophecy of an omen. Buford glommed a gaze at the glaze of its glaring gleam and was soon glued to its glamorous glow.
"Ah, I see you're admiring the glamorous glow. Tis a hallmark of the brew," Mort explained. He handed Buford one of the mugs and beckoned him to sip of it. Buford obliged.
O' what wond'rous tastery! Buford thought. It was as if there were a party in his mouth and everyone had RSVP'd.
Mort stared at Buford intently. "So, you like it?"
"Yes, I'd say it's mighty fine!"
"You really like it?"
"Yes, Mort, I'm willing to go on record as saying it's the mightiest, finey-est cup of joe I ever did slurp!"
Mort's smile widened impossibly, horribly. His bloodshot eyes bulged in their sockets. Urine began pouring from his nipples.
Hmm... that's odd, Buford's dumptruck of a mind sluggishly sussed. I think something is wrong with Mort, Buford thought about Mort.
Mort could no longer contain himself. "That coffee? The one you declared to be the mighty-ity-est of finey-iney-est of joes? I made it from poop, Buford! Do you hear me? Poop!"
Buford fell to his blowjob-calloused knees. "Noooooo!" he screamed with the throat strength of a man who has given enough blowjobs to form callouses on his knees.
THE END, SUDDENLY
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