The Coffee Quest

Join the magical adventure of Sir Tuesday von Thursday De Bruyn as he journeys to find Costa Coffee and avenge his dead wife.

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1. Prologue - Birth

The Coffee Quest

The following is a work of fiction.

Or at least it was when it was written.

If you have tried to replicate any of the events in this story that’s entirely your parents fault.

 

Any relation to people, alive or dead, is completely coincidental.

Any offence taken from this book, is not the fault of the authors.

It is, however, the fault of the person reading the book (yourself)

So if you want to hate yourself, feel free.

 

[Prologue of the Prologue - Nigel’s adventure with Dave]

Nigel had the most murderous intent out of anybody he had ever met… Until he met Dave.

Nigel took all of his Murderous Intent and so did Dave.

They charged at each other.

Nigel's knife embedded itself inside Dave’s heart

Unfortunately for Nigel, Daves knife embedded itself inside Nigel's heart

Which was a shame

Over 305 years later, a random man who isn’t at all related to Nigel and Dave decided to write a story, recalling a rather interesting period in his life as if he recalled the boring period before it, it wouldn’t have been as exciting as a story, so it was saved for the prequel. Meanwhile, please enjoy the first book: The Coffee Quest

 

[Prologue - Birth]

I was born on a particularly chilly Tuesday at roughly the time of day where you start to hate your existence,  somewhere within the vast and glorious nation of Phukayu. I was immediately shot in the head upon my expulsion of the vaginal catacombs of my father’s womb into the alleyway of Phukayu’s capital (Yurawanka) where I was born. In Phukayu it is traditional to shoot a baby in the head upon birth. If they died they were weak. Hence the incredibly high rates of infant mortality rates in Phukayu. I mean this still happens to this very day! The average number of children per family in Phukayu is 0.01! I mean have the UN not done a human rights investigation into this shit?

My father was a professional time traveller. He was also my favourite grandchild, until his untimely death in 1922, approximately three years before he even existed, at the ripe old age of -3.

I was born in the glorious year of 1936, and so was my mother….

My mother died in childbirth. Not because she was ill, but because I had a shotgun, that I wasn’t terribly careful with.

 

Anyways here is the story of my life, after my 35th birthday...

 

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