Dear Allen's Coffee Brandy

You have a mostly informative website.  You explain to everyone how you are the most popular liquor in Maine.  This explains how I so easily found a bottle in Unity, Maine.  You boast about how your brandy has the most authentic coffee taste.  It was rather striking, I will agree.  You even have a recipe portion, but one recipe seems to be missing.  What you forget to mention is that if you drink a gallon of beer and then polish off a bottle of your fine coffee brandy, you pass into a fugue state where your mere existence mocks the laws of physics and common decency.  Had that been on the sticker, the following may not have happened.

Along with several of my friends, I was vacationing.  Our days were spent on a floating raft city, dubbed the S.S. Chamberlain, in the middle of Unity Pond.  We had beer and cigarettes, and after Kurt was banished to the mainland for insurrection, we were living in a time of relative peace and prosperity.  At night, we adjourned to the screened in porch for further libations and cigars.  Having found the wondrous ambrosia known as Sweetwater Stout, a gallon glass jug of stout that would make Guinness jealous, I was in good spirits.  Over the afternoon, I emptied the jug, leaving myself contented, even jubilant.  Not only did the beer put me in fine spirits, but I had a fine musical instrument for the evening session on the porch. My only problem was that I had nothing to sip in between puffs on my cigar.  Suddenly, I was reminded that I had purchased your brandy.

You had been a concession I made on our trip to town.  My preference at the time was for a bottle of apricot or blackberry brandy, but your product was everywhere I looked.  The first sip was good.  The next was even better.  Somewhere between sips fifteen to twenty, I am told I went from gregarious to contemplative.  Somewhere between sips thirty seven and the end of the bottle, I started talking, and I didn't stop.

Things began innocently enough.  I began calling for "Billy" to chew my food, because my "teefs" were no good.  There was no one named Billy, William, Bill, Will, or Billiam in the group.  Finding no chewing relief through Billy, I began to narrate the scene around me.  This quickly devolved into stories involving anything within my line of sight.  I alleged that Kurt was a homeless Batman who had constructed a Batcave of cardboard, and a utility belt of turnips.  I alleged that the Pope was a squirrel, and we were being duped by his large hat and theater tricks involving mirrors and lasers.  I intimated that Travis had beaten men to death using only his manhood, and that he would do it again given the chance.  All told, I did this for over an hour, while slowly rocking in my chair, staring off into the distance.

I have had many different kinds of brandy and alcohol over the years.  I have had similar amounts, and even had more than this.  I have never done anything remotely similar to these things on any other occasion.  Please reevaluate whatever psychotropic nerve gas you have distilled to give your brandy its authentic coffee flavor.  At least warn people that they will become calmer versions of Gary Busey if they drink your product.  Any forewarning would be sufficient.