Scene: The dimly lit coffee shop features minimalist décor—just a single table, one chair, and a chalkboard that reads, "Today's Special: Dread, served cold." The barista, a mysterious figure in a beret and sunglasses, leans on the counter, ready to judge both coffee orders and life philosophies.
Donald Trump enters, wearing an unnecessarily large red tie. He struts to the counter and smacks it dramatically.
Donald Trump: I’ll take the biggest coffee. The greatest coffee. No one has ever ordered a coffee like this before.
Barista: First, sir, what is your purpose in this fleeting, meaningless existence?
Donald Trump: My purpose? To win. To dominate. To build huge walls, even if they’re just walls of foam on my cappuccino.
Barista (sighing deeply): Your hubris intrigues me. I’ll give you an Americano, but it will taste of ashes and regret.
Meanwhile, Elon the Muskrat scurries in, holding a blueprint for an interplanetary espresso machine.
Barista: What is the essence of your being, rodent?
Elon the Muskrat (squeaking): To innovate! To disrupt! To ascend to a higher plane of caffeine consumption!
Barista (stoic): A flat white for you. But it will taste like the crushing weight of unmet expectations.
Elon (excited): Perfect. Can I drink it on Mars?
At a corner table, Stan/Loretta is nervously scribbling something on a napkin. Judith leans over their shoulder.
Judith: You’ve been writing that order for ten minutes. What’s the hold-up?
Stan/Loretta: I’m trying to order a latte without compromising my true self. Is it okay to ask for almond milk if it’s not organic? Does that make me complicit in consumerism?
Judith: Just get a tea.
Barista (appearing suddenly): Tea is a choice for cowards. Confront the latte, or remain thirsty forever.
Frank Costanza storms in, slamming the door behind him.
Frank: What the hell is this place?! I just want a black coffee!
Barista: And what is the purpose of your being, sir?
Frank: My purpose?! To shout, to complain, and to demand respect!
Barista (handing him a cup): Your black coffee. It is bitter, like your soul.
Frank: Damn right it is! (takes a sip) Not bad, though.
The camera pans out as the characters sip their philosophical brews, while the barista begins preparing the next day’s special: "Hope, lightly sweetened."
Scene: The coffee shop's vibe grows increasingly tense as the characters queue up, each grappling with the oppressive weight of being asked to explain themselves.
George Costanza walks in, looking flustered and mumbling to himself.
Barista: State your purpose, mortal.
George: My purpose? Uh, okay, okay. Let’s think about this. My purpose... is to get coffee. That’s it. Just coffee. Do you see how stressed I am?! I need it to exist!
Barista (nodding solemnly): Ah, caffeine as a crutch for an otherwise meaningless existence. Profound. What would you like?
George: Something simple. Something classic. A regular coffee. Nothing fancy. No weird milks or toppings—just regular!
Barista: Regularity is an illusion, my friend. All coffee is extraordinary. But I’ll get you a drip brew. It will taste like settling for less.
George (panicking): Wait—less than what?
Elon the Muskrat scurries back in, now wearing tiny aviator goggles.
Elon: I’ve innovated my order. I’d like an affogato—but instead of ice cream, use sustainable algae gelato, and instead of espresso, could you shoot it into the cup using a small rocket?
Barista (staring): Innovation without purpose is just noise. You’ll get a double shot and some melted ice cream.
The Influencer enters in a cloud of perfume and camera flashes, holding up her phone.
Influencer: Hey, guys, I’m here at The Existential Bean! Look at the aesthetic vibes! Anyway, my order is, like, a caramel oat milk latte with glitter sprinkles, extra hot but not too hot. Oh, and make it, like, soul-affirming.
Barista (deadpan): Your existence is curated for others’ validation. A decaf macchiato for you, as hollow as your Instagram captions.
Influencer (giggling nervously): Okay, rude, but that’s totally content!
The PFJ (Reg, Stan/Loretta, and Judith) barges in mid-argument.
Reg: We demand a coffee shop free from capitalist oppression!
Barista: What would you like to order, comrades?
Reg: We don’t want coffee. We want justice!
Judith: I’ll have a chai latte.
Stan/Loretta (hesitating): Um, can I get a soy flat white? It’s for my... authentic self.
Reg (outraged): You’ve betrayed the cause! We’re supposed to dismantle the system, not support it!
Barista (bored): Solidarity tastes like burnt espresso. You’ll all share a single americano.
Frank Costanza re-enters, now red-faced.
Frank: I’ve been thinking about that coffee you gave me. Bitter like my soul, huh? Well, you know what? I’ve decided my purpose is to yell at pretentious baristas who try to psychoanalyse me! You think you know me?! You don’t know me!
Barista (pouring another cup): Your rage is a brew that never cools. Here’s a refill. On the house.
Frank: Finally! Some respect around here.
The characters’ orders pile up, each one a reflection of their existential crises. The queue stretches out the door, with everyone in line frantically trying to define their purpose before it’s their turn.
The barista just smirks, knowing that no one ever truly gets the coffee they deserve.
Scene: The line outside the coffee shop winds around the block. Inside, the barista’s patience dwindles as new customers shuffle in, carrying their existential baggage like too many loyalty cards.
Estelle Costanza hobbles in, clutching her purse and muttering under her breath.
Barista: And you, ma’am? What is the purpose of your existence?
Estelle: My purpose? To survive my husband and son! Every day, they drive me closer to the grave. I’ll have a decaf! I don’t need any more stimulus!
Barista: Decaf it is. It will taste of quiet resignation.
Estelle: It already does.
The Justice Field manifests as a glowing, sentient orb that floats to the counter.
Barista: What could possibly be the purpose of an incorporeal force?
Justice Field (resonating): TO CORRECT INJUSTICE AND REFLECT MORAL CONSEQUENCES. AND ALSO TO TRY A DOUBLE ESPRESSO.
Barista: Very well. Your espresso will taste of retribution and karma, with a hint of citrus.
Justice Field (gleaming): ACCEPTABLE.
The parade of personalities continues, each bringing new absurdities to the increasingly surreal café. The line grows longer, and the barista wonders if their own purpose was to suffer through this endless procession.
Scene: The coffee shop, already teetering on the edge of sanity, is suddenly thrown into chaos as a series of Daleks roll in—each more bizarre than the last.
The Trigger-Happy Exterminator Dalek rolls in, its lights flashing ominously.
Dalek: EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!
Barista (unfazed): Ah, you seek destruction. What is it that you want to obliterate today?
Dalek (pauses, recalculates): I... I require... an espresso! Strong! Bold! In the name of absolute power!
Barista: Your espresso will taste of ruthless efficiency and the void of your own emotional isolation.
Dalek (swivelling around): EX-TER-MIN-ATE this wait time!
The Flower-Power Dalek rolls in next, its exterior adorned with vibrant flowers and peace signs.
Flower-Power Dalek (peacefully): Hey, man, just, like, seeking the vibe of the universe, you know? Can I get a... chill herbal tea? Maybe something lavender?
Barista (smiling): The universe is full of imbalance, my friend. Your tea will taste of calm, but with a faint aftertaste of existential dread.
Flower-Power Dalek (enthusiastically): Cool, cool. It's all good, man. Peace, love, and espresso, dude!
The Maynard G. Krebs Dalek shuffles in, looking out of place with its awkward gait, as if unsure how to engage.
Maynard G. Krebs Dalek (awkwardly): Uh... like, yeah, man. I’ll have something, but I don’t know what I’m doing here. Maybe a decaf? Is that, like, a thing?
Barista (blinking): You’re questioning your existence in a coffee shop. This is a place of pure being. You’ll get a decaf, but it will taste like an endless cycle of self-doubt.
Maynard G. Krebs Dalek (mumbling): Like, I can’t even...
The Surrealist Dalek (Salvador/Frigidor) glides in, with a paintbrush in one robotic claw and a palette of strange colours in the other.
Barista (intrigued): And what is your order, visionary one?
Salvador Dalek (intensely): I demand a coffee! But the coffee must be, how do you say... the form of the coffee must be a metaphor for the absurdity of existence! I wish to taste... chaos.
Barista (nodding knowingly): You shall have a coffee of abstract proportions—tasting like spilled ink, lost time, and existential confusion.
Salvador Dalek (grinning): Excellent! The real coffee is the one we will never drink!
The CAPTCHA-Protected Vending Machine Dalek rumbles in, its exterior covered with flashing red and green lights. A giant CAPTCHA display hovers above it.
Dalek (blaring): VERI-FY YOUR OR-DER! I CANNOT COM-PLETE THE TRAN-SAC-TION UNTIL YOU COR-RECT-LY AN-SWER THE CAPTCHA!
Barista (holding up a clipboard with questions): Ah, I see. To exist is to constantly prove you exist. What CAPTCHA shall we challenge you with?
Dalek: "SELECT ALL IM-AGES THAT CON-TAIN STREET SIGNS." I WILL NE-VER ESCAPE THE CYCLIC LOOP OF CAPTCHA!
Barista (smiling): Your coffee will taste like frustration, but with a faint undertone of profound surrender.
Dalek (grumbling): Please select the images correctly. Please select the images correctly...
The Trigger-Happy Exterminator Dalek (reappears, frustrated): WHY IS EVERYONE SO OBSESSED WITH TEA AND PHILOSOPHICAL COFFEE? EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!
Barista (without missing a beat): All of your orders are merely distractions from your deeper lack of purpose, Dalek. Here’s your espresso.
As each Dalek processes its order and their personalities clash, the line continues to grow longer. The coffee shop has become an absurdity of infinite possibilities, with each character vying for some semblance of meaning amidst the chaos of a coffee-fuelled world.
Scene: The Existential Bean coffee shop has reached a fever pitch, the Daleks have established their existential conundrums, and now, the final wave of absurdity descends. The door chimes, and in prances Zoot, followed by Dingo, Maidens 1, 2, and 3, all chattering excitedly, giggling uncontrollably.
Zoot (bounding in, looking overjoyed): Ooh! A coffee shop! I’ve never been to one before, but it looks like fun! I mean, what else is there in life but... fun? Giggles uncontrollably
Barista (raising an eyebrow): And what would you like, fun person?
Zoot (grinning): Ooh, I’ll have the biggest coffee you’ve got, with extra whipped cream, and maybe a little sprinkle of confusion—for fun! Giggles again, louder now
Barista (gently): The whipped cream will taste like misplaced hope, and the confusion, well, it will be sweet but short-lived.
Zoot (clapping her hands): Yes! Yes! That sounds perfect! More giggling, a tiny spin
Dingo saunters in next, looking as though she’s just discovered the coffee shop is part of some grand adventure. She surveys the menu and then turns to the barista with wide eyes.
Dingo (excitedly): Ooh! I’m feeling like, um, something complicated! You know, something that will make my life feel like it has meaning! What can you offer me, barista?
Barista (glancing at the menu, deadpan): You may select a double-shot macchiato with a dash of existential questioning. It will taste of bitter curiosity, with a hint of... purpose?
Dingo (nodding sagely): Ooh, that sounds, like, perfect. Purpose and coffee are so the same thing, aren’t they?
Barista (with a hint of sarcasm): Indeed. Purpose is the answer, but only until you ask another question.
Maidens 1, 2, and 3—who’ve been giggling in the background—take their places at a corner table, still chuckling, pointing at everything in sight. They eye the barista mischievously.
Maidens 1, 2, and 3 (in unison, in fits of laughter): We want everything! Everything on the menu! We’ll decide which one is our favourite, and then we’ll, like, keep changing our minds, just for fun!
Barista (with deep resignation): You shall have a tasting flight of every coffee, tea, and pastry on the menu. It will taste of fickle desires, fleeting whims, and the eternal search for meaning through consumption.
Maidens 1, 2, and 3 (giggling louder): Yes! And we’ll never decide! We’ll just keep ordering! Giggles erupt once more
Zoot (still twirling around): You know, we could start a whole coffee club! Like, a secret society—but everyone would know about it because it’s a coffee club.
Dingo (nodding seriously): I’m in! We’ll meet here every week and pretend we’re, like, solving the mysteries of the universe. But we’ll just be talking about the foam on our lattes!
Maidens 1, 2, and 3 (in unison, giggling): Yes! And every week, we’ll forget what we were talking about!
Barista (genuinely perplexed, handing over a tray of coffees): You are an enigma wrapped in giggles... wrapped in coffee cups. Enjoy your eternal search for purpose.
As the giggling maidens settle in with their coffees, the shop becomes a place of existential chaos—The Existential Bean—a café where no one really knows why they’re there, but everyone is certain it’s exactly where they need to be… for now.
