The avocado latte is the latest worst thing in the world
We deserve everything we get, as long as it's bad
It’s an idea whose time has come: the end of the human race as we know it, incinerated in a purifying conflagration of nuclear hellfire unleashed as divine judgement for our many, many sins. Sadly, that’s not happened just yet (just you give it time, you pessimist, you), but we do have the next worst thing: the avocado latte.
First mentioned in the bible, at the apocalyptic height of the Book of Revelation, the coming of the avocado latte is one of the signs of the Beast, and its drinking is the seventh seal that beckons the choir angelic and sets in motion the end of the world. Since then, hidden references to avocado lattes have appeared in the margins of forbidden medieval spellbooks and masonic prayers of the goat-god Baphomet.
And now? Now they’re here. A cafe in Australia has gone, as internet parlance has it, “viral” with a short Instagram video of an unnamed barista servant of the dark gods artfully pouring a small jug of milky coffee into the hastily hollowed-out half-skin of a ripe, juicy avocado. That sound you hear in the background? It’s the seven trumpets ushering in the end times, as was prophesied.
Gaze upon your doom:
It seems innocent enough. Melbourne is a hip city, and the cool kids do indeed love to sip coffee as they eat their avocados, be they smashed, sliced or spoiled by the unnecessary inclusion of a poached egg. But as the coffee enters that blasted vessel, it sets in motion a chain of events thousands of years in the making.
Worse yet, though this looks like a one off joke, a quick Google spells humanity’s end clearer than any esoteric rune: avocadolattesarefuckingeverywhere.
There is a lot to unpack here. Earlier this week, an Australian millionaire with a lot of forehead told millennials that they’d never be able to afford a house if they kept drinking coffee and eating avocados on toast. We did the sums and worked out that it would take the average Brit just 342 years of abstaining from avocado toast to save up for a deposit on an average house in London.
It later turned out that Tim Gurner, a 35-year-old property speculator whose forehead truly is enormous (and which, interestingly enough, is also mentioned in the bible as one of the other preliminary seals that unleashes one or other of the horsemen of the apocalypse on the world), made one of his first investments with a five-figure loan from his grandad. He probably eats a tonne of avocados, too. His interjection, it is safe to say, did not go down well among the indigent millennials of this world, as we’re all on our smartphones the whole time, being catty on Twitter.
Tim Gurner is an idiot, but unlike foamy coffee served in the fresh, severed corpse of a ripe, buttery avocado, he’s not auguring the coming of the Beast and the end of existence as we know it.
(Image: Truman Cafe)
