Jorge Silver decodes the longest canned coffee name known to man this week.

This much I know about my can of coffee. It was purchased for 120 yen from a convenience store in a part of Tokyo called Ebisu. Or so I was told. It was covered in bubble wrap and placed in a white cardboard box that also contained crumpled pieces of newspaper, eight dried plum blossoms, a small watercolor by a five-year-old boy, a horrible necktie that smelled of incense, and plastic sushi that smelled of a factory. The inner flaps of the box were decorated with crude drawings of flying horses. When I was thirteen, I was bitten on the shoulder by a chubby old mare named Miss Piggy. I learned the hard way that it is not wise to throw pebbles into a horse’s gaping, wet nostril. Seeing these winged, grinning creatures, potbellied each and every one, reminded me of Miss Piggy, the biggest asshole of a horse there ever was.

Continue reading Jorge's review here.