Thursday, February 26, 2009

Sanpellegrino Aranciata

So I haven't had the best experiences with Sanpellegrino brand beverages. In fact I would like to point out that their Chinotto is in the top 2 worst drinks I have ever consumed and the top 5 worst things I've ever put in my mouth. I was apprehensive about drinking this but I have to admit that I love the thrill of knowing I'm going to be drinking something disgusting. It's hilarious and torturous at the same time. It's my equivalent of sky diving. I live a sad pathetic life.

Strike One. It's not a twist top. Let's make this clear. There is no way that this is worth the trouble of having to find a bottle opener for regardless of it's contents.

The first sniff still doesn't stink as bad as the other one did. Also, I think it's important to note, that the bottle is the colour of citrus fruits so I'm not going to be surprised when it tastes like citrus.

As I suspected this thing is tangy. To the point of being wildly repugnant. This drink doesn't taste like anything except stomach acid. But because I had expected to go blind from drinking it I am not shocked by it's offensiveness. The taste is probably comparable to taking a can of Sprite and then chugging it down and then ripping it in half and then using the sharp aluminum edges to carve racial slurs all over your body and then dousing yourself in rubbing alcohol and then setting yourself on fire. All while not blinking and eating grapefruit.

I don't understand why people would ever want to drink this. My threshold for sour is non existent. Sour is a stupid taste.

Sour does not:
Give you the runs
Make you better at sports
Get you Xbox Achievements
Make your foreskin flower and blossom around your testies
Do anything to make it worth your while

Sour is like the ugly girl at the dance. Sour, you should just go home and kill yourself because no one wants to show you their dick or rub against them titties.

Sour is like going out on a date and then buying dinner and then going to the fucking movies and buying popcorn and then when you go in for the kiss at the end of the night and she kisses back and then you ask if you can come up for coffee and she says no and then you fucking lose it and smash her head against her door knocker and then kick her in the stomach and bush and then the neighbors poke their heads out and then you throw rocks from the garden at them and because your throws are guided by horniness and rage, your rock flies straight and catches an old man in his nose and blood sprays down on you and then you're covered and then you take your shirt off and then you climb the ivy on the house and then you grab that fucking guy by the hair and then you throw him down a few stories and he's crying and he has bone fragments poking out of his shitty old flesh and then the cops come and you resist arrest and then you get maced and clubbed and then you go to jail and then you regret flipping out and a wave of panic comes across you and then it subsides and then all you're left with is hollow, empty depression and then you hang yourself and your cellmate fucks your corpse more than once.

I hate this drink.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Feeling Pear-Violet-Gentian Juice

I am always on the lookout for new drinks like Attila the Hun is on the lookout for ways to ass fuck you with a fried chicken. So if I find something that looks fucking offensive and that it will be review worthy I'll scope it out. I saw this drink and immediately anticipated that it would fucking taste like watching Titanic without seeing Kate Winslet's funbags.

This drink is made up of three ingredients I could not possibly give less of a fuck about. I have the same interest in these three "key" ingredients as I do in dry shaving the base of my shaft: not a lot.

This beverage is flowers and pears. It's like what effeminate royalty would drink before eating regal bullshit like pig cocks and sheep tits. Fuck royalty is awesome.

This drink is like all foreplay and no bang-bang (that's what I call fucking, like: "it's a good thing that you're asleep, I'm going to make bang-bang on a fistful of your long blond hair. I'm going to hair bang-bang you."). This drink has no pay-off like suddenly getting X-ray vision or seizures. This drink tastes like a botanists wettest dreams. This is like valentine's day without the chance of seeing some fucking titties.

Oh man this drink is a giant piece of shit.

Flowers can eat a big fat sack of my ass. I originally had a joke here about beating women but after sound council it was decided that the joke may not go over as well as I had hoped it would. So in it's place here is a drawing I made at work:

Purple Cow

Occasionally a combination comes along that will fucking unravel the space/time continuum and fucking take a poop on the begining of time so that when evolution does its thing every fiber of every being is comprised of little bits of caca. A combination like Hall and Oates or Butts and Fucking.

The combination I am referring to of course is Grape Soda and Vanilla Ice Cream.

I had one Boylan Bottleworks Grape Soda left in my fridge at home and I'd been reluctant to make a Purple Cow because I didn't know if I'd enjoy it and incidentally waste the greatest grape soda known to man. Man am I glad I gambled. Even though my wife and kids didn't leave me, gambling still paid off.

Also please note that my float skills are improving. My love making skills are still very much on par though, although I did learn a move called the sizzler. It's where I secretly set your hair on fire and continue to pummel you with my pipi so that when you realize you're burning I hold and ride you until I bust juice. I'm a scientist of making sleazy fuck.

This drink is fucking wizardry. It's like if you were a warlock and you turned your dog into a big titted stripper and then made her do your homework and then do the dishes. This drink is like setting sail on the fucking ocean and then running into a leviathan and then fucking pulling out some ninja stars and taking that motherfucker down. It's like flying a rocket into outer space and then yanking your dick around and then watching your man goo float through the air. It's like watching your mom poop and then getting a boner.

This drink tastes like medicine and clouds.

Recommended.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Candy Cane Hershey's Kisses

I've had these things sitting in my fridge since Christmas and for some reason kept putting off eating them until now. I like Kisses well enough I guess but I wasn't expecting to have my taste buds put in some sort of cross-face leg lock and get the pubic hair of deliciousness rubbed all up against my cheeks and tongue.

First off, this is white chocolate and white chocolate unlike white lovers is the greatest chocolate a man can have. The reason that joke works is because typically black dudes have giant hogs. This one time back at my old place, Hans (who's black) thought it wise to show me and Vinny the base of his shaft. It was like a baby's arm. His pecker will wreck your box. You will beg him for mercy. He'll stick his wiener where your lunch goes (all in your guts).

Secondly, and I know the picture doesn't do it justice, there are little fragments of candy cane peppered throughout the chocolate to cool your mouth and melt your face simultaneously.

This is a genius combination. As a staunch believer in not mixing chocolate with anything ever (with exception of hot peppers, no joke) this was a surprising delight. It's like the first time you get pooped on. You're like oh there's no way this is going to end well, but if this is only way I can lay on my back and stare up into the chasm of your vagina then fuck it, I'm in. Release your waste as need be. I need to see your cooter, even if it means taking a load on the neck and chest. And the poop poop splashes down on you and it's warm and squishy. And you're in love and you cum right away. And it's great.

This candy is like having someone make poop on you while chewing gum and then cuming on your stomach hairs. FYI, ejaculate, like hot peppers, is not water soluble. You just need to get some steel wool and an emery board and just file it down and scrub until you're fucking bleeding like Mick Foley.

I like to eat candies.

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Stewart's Key Lime Soda

I went to Rockaberry the other day and in spite of the fact that they have both Key Lime pie and Lemon Meringue on the menu they in actuality sell neither. I was furious. I ended up running through 5 other items on the menu before I ended up stumbling upon something they actually had. Fuck you Rockaberry. All hype.

Anyway in an effort to alleviate my violent urge for Key Lime, I picked up a Key Lime soda (I obviously understand that soda is not pie, but whatever).

I love Stewart's. I'll just get that out of the way. I don't really like Black Cherry soda but I actually don't mind theirs (which is saying something). So my review may be biased.

This thing smells like limes which is fucking awesome. I hate "fruity" sodas that don't smell like the fruit they're supposed to. That's like going down on a pretty young woman and having her lady business smell like hibiscus and arabian mocha java; you need to know what the fuck you're getting yourself into and flowers/coffee is not it.

Smells, like boob size, should accurately reflect taste, or in the case of boobs, intelligence and willingness to sleep with you after being lied to repeatedly about driving an expensive car.

The taste reminds me of a Lime Rickey I got when I was 14 at Newberrys on Main Street in Newport Vermont. Right after I was finished I went across the street and stole my first Playboy. I got a shoplifting boner and then later got a seeing some titties boner. It was a great day for drinks and boners.

It's tangy and incredibly sweet without making you feel like you've just downed your body weight in corn syrup. It has delicate balance like sleeping with a really hot 17 year old. On one hand you want to brag about getting your peter pickled by some hot young thing, but on the other hand you want to keep out of going to jail where you will get ass and mouth fucked repeatedly by white supremacists or shived in the cock if you refuse. That's why no one will ever find out about me and Dakota Fanning (waaaaayyy younger than 17). It's called science. Read a book about it.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Airheads Xtremes Sour Belts



My ex-boyfriend would get stoned and take my credit card. He would then go to the nearest 7-11 on the corner of Wrightwood & Clark and come back with bags of snacks. He would say, "I think I did a great job of covering every type of snack, don't mind that I have yet again spent over $25 dollars on Reese's Cups, Ben & Jerry's, Doritos, and, Airheads Xtremes." I would partially blame myself for being too lazy to go myself/for dating the dude in general, but I really appreciated the fact that he introduced me to Airheads Xtremes.

They look and taste delightful. I can name very few things in life that make me happy, and they are all designer and snack brands, XXXstremess included. I like these WAY more than regular Airheads, I have even contemplated wrapping sour patch kids in them. They taste sweet and sour, not sour to the point that your taste buds are ripping off, which really adds to the delightfulness and cuteness of this snack. The only problem with them is that the sugar gets everywhere and it can be a sticky mess. Man-up and eat the whole thing at once- thats what I do, I wouldn't want sugar pouring all over my Gucci bag, right? They are also chewy which is dope, with flavors such as strawberry, banana, orange and if I am not mistaken green apple. Speaking of Airheads in general, what was the mystery flavour taste? Cocaine? I am only assuming that because it was a white brick... Who knows/cares, Airheads Xtreme sour belts are the real shit.

Boston Cooler

I'm sure it's pretty obvious, but I'm a bit of a beverage hound. I love beverages. I like tasty drinks more than any other snack. There's something magical and comforting about a really good drink.

I recently decided I was going to step up my ice-cream float game basically because it was non-existent and being a fucking cultured young gentleman I need to prove to everyone that I am as worldy as I claim.

First stop on this little tour: Boston.

Typically a Boston Cooler is made with Vernor's Ginger Ale and Vanilla Ice Cream, but seeing as I didn't have any Vernor's (if you have it available in your area and see fit to ship it to me please get in touch) so I swapped it out for some Canada Dry Diet Ginger Ale.

Right off the bat I want to make it clear that I am not skilled at making floats. Unlike making love I'm incredibly inept and sloppy when combining soda and iced creams. What's implied here is that I am a face melting lover. FYI ladies, I'm down for the pooper even if you've just finished eating a black bean burrito. Poop is the new astro-glide. Evidence of my ice cream ineptitude is visible in the photo above. I can't seem to keep the shit from mixing and then overflowing all over my fingers. FYI ladies, these finger are great for giving backrubs and orgasms.

The combination of Ginger Ale and Vanilla Ice Cream did not tickle my sack right out of the gate, but I have to admit it smelled pretty fucking awesome.

I don't care for either of these ingredients too too much on their own but together I came to realize that the sum of their parts was so much greater than they were individually. It's like doing it with one 16 year old is fucking criminal but doing it with two 16 year olds at the same time is ok because collectively you're showing your pickled dick to a 32 year old. A really stupid and impressionable 32 year old who can be bribed into making hump with promises of backstage passes and occasionaly, candy.

This drink was surprisingly refreshing and delicious. It had a hint of spice (although next time I'll use some Ginger Beer to really fuck with my life) but the mildness of the Vanilla complimented it instead of robbing me of that little zip. It's like humming a tune is cool and growling at the beaver (munching on some box!) is cool but combining the two is completely natural and complimentary. In addition to humming into a girl's vagina I also recommend spreading it (the vagina) as wide as you can and screaming your own name into it (i.e. "SCOTT'S THE MAN"). If someone yells back or you hear an echo you need to head for the hills.

Another great move is putting on a romantic tape next time you're getting busy like some Rod Stewart or Tom Jones or whatever and then when you're well into it and you each have a few fingers in a few holes the song fades out and you singing it fades in. So you're finger banging each other than BAM!, blasting through speakers it's you crooning the fuck out of "Rhythms of My Heart". If you don't void your cock sack immediately if not sooner then you are a pussy and you shouldn't be drinking Boston Coolers.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Salta Katten

My buddy Greg has been talking up this disgusting licorice candy from Sweden for quite some time. The way he described it to me (accurately) is that it was black licorice covered in salt. I was sold. Black Licorice=awesome. Salt=awesome. I was sold. So when he told me that his girlfriend's friends from Sweden brought some down I lost my shit. I pooed a little.

I was so desperately looking forward to it. I was confident that in spite of sounding gross as fuck I would fall madly in love with them and when they got pregnant from my mighty seed I would see the birth to term. I would be a stern but proud father. I would shed a tear at his graduation and then get in a car wreck and die. They would all say nice things about me and I would be watching from Heaven and I would cry and then my tears would fall to earth and water an apple seed and it would grow into a mighty tree and then it would get struck by lightning and then fall over and fuck your car up. Eating these candies will make me fuck with your insurance.

So today was the big day. He brought them to work and I chowed down.

At first I was in love. It was romantic magic. It was potent in its licoriceness with a bold salt finish. But when the licorice taste wore itself out against the might of my tongue the salt could not be bested. It continued on its quest without his friend. And consequently ruined my life. It's 10 parts salt for 3 parts licorice. It's completely fucking unevenly balanced. What a ruse!

This was like bumping into the most gorgeous, glorious, perfect woman you have ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on while you're at the grocery store. You fumble nervously for words, anything to keep her from noticing how terrified you are of her beauty. You make awkward jokes to cover up the fact that your heart is beating like a jackhammer. She notices and because she is humble and completely unaware of her effect on men, she blushes and stares at her feet. Your heart swells even more. So many perfect moments needed have lined themselves up for this to come to pass. With sweaty palms and a mouth arid and dry like the desert heat you ask her if you can see her again, on purpose this time. Without missing a beat, she says she'd like that. You take her out to a lavish restaurant in spite of your hours at the shop being cut almost in half. She's worth it, you rationalize to yourself. At the end of your date you work up the nerve to kiss her, she kisses right back, pressing her body hard against yours and the earth stops spinning. The stars shine even brighter than usual as walk home humming love songs to yourself. You see her as often as you can with your conflicting schedules. She calls you every day during her lunch break at the salon. You cherish every moment together, every stolen kiss, every whispered promise, every longing gaze. She spends the night at your place. She smells like Lavender and roses. You take her home to meet your parents and they hit it off right away. Your dad gives you the knowing nod of approval from across the table. You hear your mom whisper surprised niceties about her to your sister as they get the pie and ice cream ready for dessert.

Even though you've only been dating for 5 short weeks you know it's real. You feel a hope that invades your life and makes you feel an unquenchable thirst for her undying love. You can't believe that you were ever able to function without her. Your days are filled with more joy than words can give description to. Your heart is busting at its seams. You see colors more vibrantly than before. You hear hidden notes of glorious music in everything.

Then one day after a romantic dinner the two of you head back to her place where she sits you down and confesses that she has something important she needs to communicate. Apprehensive but trusting you sit down nervously and await her revelation.

She explains that when her mother got pregnant the doctor had informed her that she was having twins. Her mother was elated! Twins! What precious gifts from God. Her mother continued beaming with radiant pride until her next check up. The doctor's mood darkened noticeably during the ultrasound. Her mother knew something was amiss immediately. The doctor, with gentle speech, had the unenviable task of explaining that what had transpired was due to a rare condition known as Dizygotic Osmosis, wherein one twin begins to absorb the other. Her mother was devastated. Understandably, she was wrecked emotionally but she knew it wasn't the child's fault.

At this moment your beautiful girlfriend breaks down in tears informs you that there's more to this story before you have a chance to offer any words of comfort. She turns her head away from you. You think it's out of shame and you feel so sorry she's had to wrestle with a burden she never deserved to bear. You quickly realize it's not shame or grief when she parts the back of her hair, revealing a mangled, half-formed, child's face and marred claw like hand protruding from her skull. You vomit on her sofa and punch her in the "little twin brother". It/he explodes and you get the fuck out of there like your shoes are on fire.

You are heartbroken.

Jones Peachy Keen Soda


As mentioned in the post below this one, I bought some Jones soda on Saturday night. While "Fun" was a complete disaster and an utter disappointment, Peachy Keen was the exact opposite.

There was this episode of Sex and the City that I saw where Charlotte is dating this dude who's a lvl. 99 Wizard at eating pussy. This dude is a fucking notorious muff diver. Women love his shit. Anyway he's like in some restaurant or whatever and he's maybe eating a mango or some other fruit and he's tonguing the fuck out of it. I mean the dude is going off. Just losing his pussy loving mind. And all this juice and shit is running down his face and onto his shirt or whatever. That's what this drink is like: being fucking stoked on eating some vaj.

This drink is so fucking tasty. It's like getting a fucking boner and then covering it in cherry sauce you use for eggrolls and then showing it off to your fucking neighbors and then beating off in the middle of the street. It's like sticking your dick in a watermelon. It's like getting on a rocket ship and then going to the moon and putting your dick in a crater. It's like drawing kittens on your dick and then taking a hot bath and then eating a really good sandwich.

This drink makes me want to do fucking dirty things to myself in front of an all boys choir or a private catholic school's headmistress. I don't even understand how fucking tasty this drink is. My brain cannot "crunch those numbers". This drink is carousel of yummy. But the carousel is filled with nothing but hot topless bitches who want to fuck and play volleyball.

Honestly, this drink is like everything a fruit flavored soda should be. Imagine that fuzzy peach candies were some hot broad who shaved dirty words in her pubes and let you watch cartoons while you took her any which way you wanted. THAT'S THIS DRINK!

This drink is the perfect and unattainable woman.

This drink is like sleeping with a hot hotel maid on your honeymoon.

I am so totally in love.

Happy fucking Valentine's day to my mouth.

Jones Fun Soda


On Saturday I went to a show across the street from a candy store. At this candy store they had Jones soda. I do not like Jones soda very much, but I feel compelled to try every flavor at least once so I can proudly look myself in the eye when I walk by reflective surfaces/mirrors. As luck would have it they had two discontinued flavors; Fun and Peachy Keen. As the title of this post suggests I will be reviewing Fun.

I was stoked to find this because it isn't on my list of shit to drink. I figured it would be too hard to find and not worth my while at all. Then I became even more stoked because at no point in purchasing this did I ever consider what it might taste like. I only bothered to make sure there wasn't any pineapple in it (I'm allergic to pineapple and girls with huge nipples).

I cracked the top and it stank like fish guts and Mr. Clean. I know the picture doesn't do it justice but it's day-glo yellow. This looks like a pair of "Hammer pants". This drink was not good. At all. But the thing was, I really wanted to see where it went. I kept thinking I was getting close to figuring out what it tasted like but it never happened. It's like getting a painful HJ while blindfolded. You have no idea if it's a guy or girl but either way it hurts. They're pulling the foreskin back a little too far and you start to bleed. Instead of tapping out you hold on in the hopes of having an orgasm but you never cum. You limp away bleeding and confused and scream like a banshee every time you take a piss for the next 3 and a half weeks. You're left sore and disappointed.

That accurately defines the experience I had both in a Lebanese bathhouse and while drinking this.

This whole fucking thing was some crazy mystery. This drink is bullshit. The only reason they called it "Fun" is because the name "We Don't Know What the Fuck this Is" wouldn't sell shit.

This is so bogus.

*Yes that is Stewart's Ginger Beer wallpaper on my laptop. I really like their Ginger Beer.

Extreme Sour Warheads


I am a man.
I am strong and able to resist above average amounts of pain. I can carry hammers and bricks and I can juggle cattle. I can drive fast in my car and curse at women. I can show you my dick and poop in a hat. I can punch a hole in drywall and show you my dick. I can you show you my dick. You will see my dick.

I can accomplish all these fucking impressive tasks but I can't eat Warheads without making a face like a fucking anus. These things are brutal. They taste like getting caught beating off and then instead of being awkward and surprised and leaving the room immediately, your mom continues to watch you rub one right out. It's like stuffing a lemon with battery acid and then funneling it into your urethra.

The candy itself is delicious once you can get past the mouth ravaging hellfire that is its sourness. The tangyness protects the sweet nectar inside. It's like a sour chastity belt keeping me from tonguing the sweet vagina within.

This candy sucks. I don't understand why anyone would ever want to eat anything that makes your eyes water and makes your soul leave your body and piss on a garbage bag full of dead kittens.

I hate this candy. It just fucking hurts. The sweetness of the candy is not reward enough to suffer through boils on your cheeks and tongue.

This candy is fucking amateur. We're fucking done professionally.

This candy is fucking stupid and if you eat this you probably fucking hate yourself to the point where you can only achieve orgasm if someone's punching you in the back of the head or choking the fucking life out of you. Fuck your stupid life.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Urban Dictionary


http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=snack+sabbath

Jones Green Apple Soda

As I've mentioned before, I am becoming more and more of a soda snob. I am basically becoming a soda elitist which is bullshit because soda is a fucking stupid thing to be a dick about. At any rate I have an aversion to Jones soda because I feel it's incredibly cheesy. While occasionally delicious, it's still pretty lame. I would put it on par with buying a Misfits shirt at Hot Topic. Sure the Misfits are fucking awesome (Danzig era ONLY) but you still got it at Hot Topic. I'm letting my snobbery get in the way of enjoing some soda. Luckily for me Jones Green Apple Soda isn't very good so I don't have to feel bad about being all shitty about it.

I'll be honest, I only bought this because of the novelty. I wanted to be able to add this to my list of beverages consumed. Now that I have, I won't be revisiting it any time soon.

There are a lot of things I don't like about Jones soda, and this drink had all of those in spades.

1. It smells terrible. All Jones sodas smell bad (with the exception of their Root Beer that doesn't smell Root Beery enough), but as far as pure stank goes, this takes the cake. It smells like you fed someone raw dog meat for weeks then ripped their stomach open and harvested their stomach bile. It smells like the inside of a prostitute's mouth. It smells like someone got ass banged with a fistful of lollipops. Nothing about the smell made me want to drink it.

2. Barely carbonated. I crack the lid and I hear that fizziness but that's it. It's done in one shot. There's no fizz left to be enjoyed. This is like the first time every Dungeon Master everywhere has ever had sex, put it in once and it's already over. The old one pump hump. This drink is a premature ejaculator. I got fizz all over my hands but none in my mouth. Lame.

3. The drink itself has no flavor. Maybe the faintest hint of candies but it's not like when you're drinking a Coke: you know what the fuck it is you're drinking. The only way I would have been able to identify this blindfolded was because of the aftertaste. This is like getting raped by the Flash (in this scenario; Barry Allen). You only know what happened after it's over and your ass is bleeding and you have 3rd degree burns all up and down your crack. And then the burns and cuts start to heal but they scab over so every time you fart it pops the scabs and then you bleed and it ruins your underpants. And then your mom is pissed that you keep ruining your gear so to punish you she won't let you watch the Cosby show so you pack up your comics and then fucking run away from home. And then you meet a nice guy at the bus depot who says he wants you to model for him and then you feel good about yourself. You feel gorgeous and glamorous. You're going to be a model. And then you get to his studio/1 bedroom apt. and he makes you take your top off and then he shows you his dick. Nothing is working out in your favor. All that to say you can tell it's green apple only after you've swallowed a mouthful.

This drink is pretty lame. Everything about it is sub par. I had no delusions that any Jones soda would be delicious and I wasn't disappointed with this as a result. I would only recommend drinking this if you're somehow obsessed with green apple soda or you're going to get your glow sticks, take some mdma, and fucking rave all night.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Domingo Peach and Berry Bullshit Wine Coolers


Have you ever walked by a mall food court and wondered what the 50 year old in the skin tight mini skirt drinks after workouts or while tanning by her above-ground pool? Answer: Wine Coolers.


They sit on their pleather couches watching LOST reruns just so they can slow-motion scenes where Sawyer's not wearing a shirt. Then it's off to the dry cleaners to pick up their best leopard print dress. They get dressed, paint their lips the darkest crimson, and drink Fuzzy Navels/Sex on the Beachs until they lose the ability to use vowels. They're out at their Cougar bar degrading the fuck out of themselves because they're desperate to feel some young hot johnson between their spray on tanned boobies. To them Young Cock=Self-Worth. (See below).

Both these wine coolers suck. They don't taste like the fruit they are supposed to. Instead they taste like desperation and playing spin the bottle with 13 year olds. This drink is for females desperate to be women, either too young to grow pubes (or to get preggers. Wink wink) or alternately too old to get wet vaginas without the aid of oils and balms.

Both these drinks taste like Calgon body spray. They taste more like fruit perfume than fruit. Also the fact that these come in cans is certainly not helping the taste any.

These drinks suck. They would be better if they came with their own MILFs: looking to relieve the pain of their kids moving out and going to college by having someone fuck it out of them.

But that's not the case. Sadly.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Cott Black Cherry Soda



















Most black cherry soda makes me want cherry coke so fucking hard that the meat of my dick explodes out of of cock skin. Or maybe something that makes sense. Whatever. I have a pretty smug attitude when it comes to black cherry soda.

So I hooked up some Cott Black Cherry expecting to have my cock explode in vulgar disappointment. But I was pleasantly surprised. Ill admit that I'm still not sold on black cherry soda but this is certainly a step in the right direction.

The first thing that sets this apart from other black cherry sodas is that you can very easily make out the cherry flavor. Its not hidden behind any cola taste. The cherry is right up front. It's clear as day like Bowie's dick in Labyrinth. The cherry is all over this drink like Chris Brown on women. The drawback to it being so very cherry is that most most mouthfuls taste faintly like cough syrup.

When I was 17 I got fucking wrecked on Dimetapp DM; just fucking completely plowed. I stopped at the corner store on my way home from a night out and I was fucking hallucinating my ass off. I thought there were these fucking demons commanding me to buy a carton of 2% milk and slam it down at counter as fast as I could (without engaging in conversation while I did it) or I would fall into and endless vortex of despair. So there I am at 3am, ruined beyond reason, hallucinating, slamming down a carton of milk, spilling shit all down my winter jacket, ignoring the cashier's questions and obvious frustrations. I finished up. Bought a cigar. Went outside. Peed. Dropped the cigar in pee. Went back inside and tried to reason with the cashier that while I was still on their property he was responsible for replacing cigars that were covered in urine. I don't remember what happened after except for waking up on my front steps while my dad looked on disapprovingly.

I'm sure you have deduced that I love cough syrup so that's a definite plus for this beverage.

Alas that was not enough to make it worth my while.

There was barely any carbonation which is a huge bummer for me. I never want my soft drink to be too "soft". I would prefer over-carbonation to under-carbonation. Bubbles are what make soda "not juice". I do not have a need for juice because:
1. I am a man.
2. I don't have a vagina.

End of discussion.

This drink isn't great but so far is the most cherry flavored black cherry drink I've ever had. If you're super into cherry shit then get at this, otherwise, pass. There are too many negatives to this drink to make it a sound beverage investment.

1. It comes in a can
2. It's made with corn syrup
3. It tastes like cough medicine (all kidding aside, cough syrup sucks)
4. It's flat
5. The flavor isn't rich or thick enough

I'll admit I'm becoming a bit of soda snob but this is below almost anyone's standards. I appreciated it for what it was but It's not winning any awards.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Boylan Grape Soda



















I don't care for grape soda. It typically tastes bad and makes me feel incredibly sick. Being a masochist, I decided to sip on some Boylan Grape Soda. It was fucking awesome.

I didn't set out to purchase this drink outright, I initially went on a hunt for some pineapple soda that may or may not have been made by Inca. They sold it at this dollar store in the subway near my old apartment but alas they didn't have any. Determined to not go back to work empty handed I scoped out what else they had. As luck would have it they had fridges stocked with Boylans. I have to admit that in spite of what I consider to be above average snack knowledge this tasty shit managed to evade me. I'll review the other ones I picked up as I go along, but for today it's all about the Grape.

I'm a sucker for soda sweetened with cane sugar so this was already off to a good start. The first thing I noticed was that this fucking concoction smells like medicine. I fucking love medicine so that's another point. Already this drink is above that fucking vile Sangria garbage (FUCK YOU SANGRIA). Without even taking the first sip I knew I was on some fucking magical adventure. I was fucking slaying dragons and wearing my ring of constant erection. My dick was hard as fuck.

So I take a sip. Fuck this is awesome. It tastes like medicine and popsicles and getting a boner while watching girls pee; amazing and amazing.

My whole life I've loathed grape soda. Just out and out wanted to punch myself right in the dick just to avoid drinking it but this fucking blew my mind right back. Just fucking destroyed my preconceptions. It was like the first time I found that Asians can make good lovers.

Pros:
-The bottle is gorgeous. No fucking around. Just straight to the point. It also tells you it's vintage soda so you know what you're getting yourself into: a big bag of fuck awesome.

-The taste is amazing. It's nothing like real grapes but real grapes suck. I'm not some fucking pussy Ceaser. I don't need the unwashed masses fanning my cock and feeding me grapes. This is some advanced grape shit. It would rip Caligula's mind in fucking half. It would make his horse shit babies and eat his own crazy horse ass. Fuck this is better than grapes.

-It's potent as fuck without being overpowering and making you sick, like all other fucking grape sodas.

-It's classy and I don't feel like some 14 year old girl with racne (aka zits on the tits) when I drink this shit. I am still a man.

Cons:
-It's still grape soda (but I knew that going in to this arrangement).

In conclusion: WOW. I finally like grape soda. I will continue to drink this. But not too often only when I want to celebrate, like when I'm finally released on parole or getting a new pony.

Monday, February 9, 2009

Speculoos by Lotus (Euro Snacks Pt. I)


Jesus fuck, I honestly don't even have the words to describe the genius of this snack, or the patience to go over all the details and backstory for you ignorant non-Euros. Just believe me that this is a historic moment in the history of snacks while I try and explain this to you.

Alright, I grew up in Belgium. In my homeland, and a few other neighbouring countries, we have this dude called Sinterklaas, who is like a skinny, scary and vaguely racist version of Santa. Read more about him here. He comes and gives you treats, and one of them is called Speculoos. They're a very sugary kind of cookies with a light cinnamon flavor, that are awesome to dip in milk or coffee as a kid. If your mom doesn't make you coffee-dipped speculoos sandwiches, you are basically set to turn into a coke dealer or a smack addicted prostitute, because speculoos sandwiches are the only true way of showing affection to your children. They look like this:


So, I grew up with these delicious things, and then I moved to Canada in 2005 and went cold turkey. No more speculoos. It was like being told your mother doesn't love you anymore, while getting touched by your uncle, who is a police officer and thus has a moustache, while his wife savagely swings a bunch of kittens into a brick wall by their tails.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when my lovely roommate Tracey got home from a trip to Belgium, and said she had a gift for me. She opened her bag, and took out a jar that said "Speculoos". Upon seeing this word, I instantly said "AWESOME", but it took a few seconds to realize what I was looking at. It was speculoos cookies, in the form of a spread. I had no idea this existed. It was like being told your mother loves you again, your uncle died a terrible death, and you have a little brother you didn't know about, who loves you very much. Well, I popped the lid off that motherfucker and ate the shit out of it. For the next few days I would come home from work and go straight for the jar and just eat it. No bread, no spoon, no nothing. Just me and the fucking speculoos. I'm sure I could have put it in anything, I'm sure it would have gone well with anything, but I didn't give a fuck. I wanted my speculoos untouched by the stench of your foul north american foods.

I am reviewing this for many reasons. First off, it was the best snacking week of my life. Second, because I want to make you jealous. Third, because Euro snacking is some next level shit. Fourth, because holy fuck this is some tasty ass shit. Well, good luck ever getting to taste it. Unless you're planning to travel to Belgium or maybe Holland, or you have a good friend there that will cough up the ridiculous shipping costs, you are fucked. There's a tiny little bit of residue in my jar that I left for nostalgia, but if you even so much as look at it from the corner of your eye I will fucking murder you with the shards of the jar after I smashed it over the head of your firstborn child, which you will have after I violate you or your female partner and wait nine months, just hanging out in my room in the dark eating pizza and drinking cream soda and watching Seinfeld while you are tied up in my closet, buried under a pile of smelly socks (and my feet fucking stink) and cassette tapes I don't listen to anymore. There's bound to be some good ones, but you can't listen to them, because you're tied up and I am watching Seinfeld and if you make noise (cassettes or crying) I will fucking kill you. After nine months of you enduring this, plus me yelling at you for hours a day about how you are a disgusting whore of a human being for letting this happen to you, you will be forced to feel yourself being stabbed to death with said shards of glass containing traces of two things: the blood of your child you never knew, and the speculoos you never tasted. It will be up to you to decide which one stings more. If this does not sound pleasant, which it shouldn't unless you need help you sick psychopath, you know what you must do: talk a northern american company into buying the rights to Speculoos, and making it available to both you and I. Do it, and do it soon, because once the cravings set in, I will be carrying my empty jar around in the streets, hoping I catch someone glancing at it, and it could be you. It could be you. Give me the Speculoos.

Sanpellegrino Chinotto



















Up until that Sangria shit a few posts down this was the worst drink I had ever had. I guess that's about the only nice thing I can say about that Sangria mess. Anyway as I'm sure you can tell this drink eats dicks.

I like Brio and that's some Chinotto bullshit so I figured why the fuck wouldn't I like this. The answer is: because Coca-Cola shouldn't taste like getting mouth fucked with cleaning solvants.

And that's no joke. It tastes like someone mixed Pledge with Coca-Cola and then told you it was fucking cool to drink while you played petonk with a bunch of cranky old Italian dudes. This drink made me furious. The can was fucking sweet and I wanted to walk around looking all refined and shit, like a fucking gentleman sipping on some weirdo citrus drink. But fuck that. This drink is bullshit.

Here are some rules about delicious sodas:
1. It should never be sour. Please note that Coke with Lime is delicious and not sour, so the combination of citrus and cola is feasible.

2. A brown can should more often than not represent something coffee flavoured, especially with the shade of this motherfucker. And I'm ignorant to most fruits so if it turns out Chinotto is brown well then fuck them for not making that more obvious. And fuck this drink for being shittier than the can it comes in.

3. Fuck this drink.

And there you have it in a nutshell: this drink is bogus and you should skip it unless you're some sort of mutant who wants cola to taste like someone's whiskey dick wrapped in dish soap.

Pucca Choco Pretzel



















Imagine a giant vagina begging for a thin little wiener to flail around against its meaty chasm. That's what these fucking things are like. The amount of chocolate (much like the teeny weeny in my previous scenario) is not enough to fill the vast expanse of the hollowed out pretzel (like the enormous vag).

I had not anticipated the amount of air involved in these snacks. It's a fucking bum out. I had hoped that these seafood (squid and fish) shaped treats would be so full of delicious brown mana that one bite would send an ooey gooey river of milk chocolate down my chin and onto my shirt. Like Germans do with pipi and poo poo. But no. The cheap fucks at Pucca have seen fit to rob me of chocolate delight.

In addition to that disappointment these so called pretzels are more like cheap ass crackers. And if there's one thing I know, it's being a cracker. You see I used to hang out exclusively with pimps and the one thing that's true about pimps is they like to tell you what race you are in the best way possible: relating it to food that has little to nothing to do with any physical or social characteristics (i.e. a white dude is a cracker).

The packaging also sucks. It's a carboard box that you open to reveal a tin foil bag. So not only do you not get enough chocolate in the crackers (note* the pimps I used to bro-down with loved putting their chocolate in crackers) but they also fail to put enough crackers in the box (note* what I do to my girlfriend. HAZZAH!)

These snacks were worth the 99 cents but just barely. I would equate it to going on a blind date with an ugly broad but getting a handjob at the end. Busting a nut=breaking even.
I don't know what busting a nut would be in this scenario, I just really like comparing snacking to making fuck to someone's hand.

At any rate I would say this is a pass. If you get it for free don't throw it in the garbage or whatever but don't get all fucking hard over this fucking gibberish either.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Sangria Senoral


















I love soda. I love soda more than most people love getting their dongs rubbed up against. And it was with that in mind that I’ve been on a recent quest to acquire and consume as many different beverages as possible. Today was day one of my quest. It is not off to a great start. While I did pick up some RC Cola (guaranteed awesome) I also picked up some Sangria Senoral.

I can say with absolute confidence that this is the worst drink I have ever consumed. Admittedly I like some vile shit. Black licorice. Coke Blak. Sardines. But this is above and beyond my horribly low standards.

According to the various sources of information on the internet, this thing has a cult following which I guess makes sense when you think about dudes that live in a compound and drink suicide Kool-Aid. People are known to group together and do stupid shit. Exception: LARPers. So I can see people loving this with their entire souls. But those people are witches and need to be burned at the stake.

Sangria Senoral is marketed as a delicious alternative to alcoholic sangria. I don’t drink but I know what sangria is supposed to taste like and this isn’t it. This is poison. POISON.

It tastes like someone took an old garbage bag and then dumped grape juice in it, then pissed in it, then went and filled it up with whatever they found in the dumpster behind the abortion clinic and then blended it and poured into some sketchy bottle and then labeled it with tribal tattoos. This fucking drink sucks ass. I do not suggest you ever drink this.

I haven’t ever been more displeased with a beverage related purchase in my entire life. Imagine every bad thing I’ve ever said in every single review and then multiply it by the number of pubes I have and then ram it in your ass and then set yourself on fire. You would just be scratching the surface of how much this fucking sucks.

I hate this drink with all my heart. It’s the worst.

Fuck.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Real Brew Draft Root Beer

Last night I was sitting in class when Universally Good Dude Vinny Slick texts me. Here is a transcript of our conversation:

Vinny:
















Scotty: Where and how much?

Vinny: At the bio place i go to for 1.15 each.
Vinny: HOLY FUCK. This stuff is delicious. Makes Fanta tastes like piss. Tell that to your blog.

And so I am.

I was at the grocery store tonight buying some tofu dogs for a dinner thing I was heading to (where I had crème brule for the millionth time, more in a later post) when I came upon a bottle of this glorious fucking root beer.

For the record I LOVE root beer. It reminds me of a childhood without sexual abuse from a drunk step father after my sister’s confirmation. I like fucking cheap watered down root beer, caffeine free root beer, traditional root beer. Whatever, if you have root beer I will drink the fuck out of it. It’s awesome.

But this root beer is like I fucking unlocked this part of my tongue that can enjoy it like I never have before. It transcends space and time. It’s like my world shattered and then was replaced with “a complex flavour of licorice root, sarsaparilla, and anise”. Actually I take that back, I wouldn’t say it’s complex so much as it is a jackhammer of Fucking Amazing.

I had no idea root beer could taste like pure vengeance. This drink is like catching your girlfriend in bed with another guy after she said she was visiting a sick aunt in the hospital and then you calmly walk out of the room and come back in with a jerry can and a book of matches from the restaurant you took her to on your first date and then you tie her and her lover to the bed and then you douse them in gasoline and then you set them on fire and then you beat your dick off in furious (and justifiable) anger. You don’t wipe up. You let it crackle and burn with their sins and flesh.

Fuck this drink makes me want to murder people. I don’t even understand what it tastes like except for black licorice and smashing a bag full of puppies in with a sledgehammer. If pirates could somehow fuck (and then make babies with) I Spit on Your Grave this drink is what the outcome would be like.

It’s invading my life! Fuck this, I’m going out to murder everyone I see.

AAAAHHHH!!!! Fuck this drink is awesome!

Thursday, February 5, 2009

President's Choice Piri Piri Chips



















I'll admit I bought these chips because my girlfriend called them Pri Pri and I though it she said Pipi and I was stoked to review Pipi Chips. But alas, they aren't Pipi or even Pri Pri, they're Piri Piri which, FYI, is the pepper so nice they named it twice.

I didn't have high hopes for these chips mostly because President's Choice chips aren't great quality. I like cheap food. I am a broke deadbeat. But, I like to eat quality snacks so my life is basically like Sophie's Choice. Either way Pipi chips won out because my need for culinary adventure trumped all other urges.

First of all the bag sucks. It looks like a space suit which would be cool if it had some sort of hidden dick flap so I could pee easier. But this fucking thing doesn't so I'm floating around in space and I just finished like two or three big gulps and I really gotta go. I fumble nervously for where the zipper should be. My fingers frantically searching the suit's nether regions but to no avail. Panic sets in. I break out in a cold sweat. And then it happens, I wet myself. My spacesuit is soaked. I get a bad rash and when the cute martian cheerleader asks me to dance at space prom I can't because every time my thighs rub together it burns like the 4th ring of hell. Damn you urine rash! DAMN YOU! I get depressed. Take up heroin. Die a lonely junkie. I get cremated. Keith Richards snorts my ashes.
So, fuck this bag.

Also these chips don't really have a smell which is not a good sign. Smell is my face's way of knowing just what the fuck my mouth is getting my guts into. You know what has no smell? The poison my girlfriend has been slipping into my coffee every morning for the last 4 years. It's a slow process but I'll die in 50-60 years. So you can imagine that my first thought (that these chips are POISON) left me a little unsettled.

Fuck it. I'm a man. I need to challenge myself with the food I eat otherwise I'm a fucking wiener with a soggy cock. So I ate it. And it was AWESOME.

Imagine someone lit a tire fire under a bag of All Dressed Dhips and you would then have yourself a handsome feast of this fucking Piri Piri masterpiece. This shit is just spicy All Dressed and it rules. It's not too inventive at all but whatever I can still achieve climax from a handjay. You don't need to be creative to get your dick off. I am relaying facts to you.

I am a doctor of chips and getting my wiener stroked by various bus-depot skanks.

These chips were relatively cheap and delicious AND adventurous. I fucking win on all fronts.

Eat this shit or I will find you when you're sleeping and expose your dick so that when your Mom wakes you up for school she'll think you were beating off and fell asleep before you came. Pussy.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Black Licorice
















I don't know many people who don't have an opinion on black licorice one way or another. Black licorice is EXACTLY like abortions in that regard. They're also both really syrupy and leave your hands coated with a delicious film.

I am a proud lover of black licorice. It tastes like spices and someone farting in the bathwater. I know I tend to review snacks that I love but then provide the absolute worst descriptions but really, I'm into some pretty gross snacks. I wholeheartedly recognize that black licorice is one of those snacks.

There's really nothing redeeming about it. Unlike red licorice, it's slimy to the touch. It smells bad. It tastes like medicine and diarrhea cramps. It's always stale. It stains your tongue. No woman will want your mouth near her chesticles (aka sweater beef) afterward. This is basically vagina repellent. But I still love it. I'm a classic self-loather. I only eat shit that punishes me. Fuck I hate my life. I'm a complete mess. This snack is 100% proof of that.

Everything about this treat screams "This is Grandma's medicine, do not put it in your mouth!" but if herpes has taught me anything it's that sometimes the consequence for putting shit in your mouth isn't so bad. A little itching. A little puss. Nothing an icepack can't fix.

Hey! I have mouth herpes. Don't let me near your smelly cooter!

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Cadbury Cream Egg
















The people at Cadbury have a giant metaphysical flame-thrower. Here's the scenario. Three dudes clad in fucking bad ass metal chains and leather boots go hiking through the Valley of Dreams. Their mission: to hunt down dream magic and set it on fire and then stuff the inside of their Cream Eggs with the bounty.

-Handjob dreams.
-Winning the lottery dreams.
-Owning a pony dreams.
-Coming first place in a hotdog eating contest dreams.
All that shit is magic that can be harvested for their selfish ends.

They don't even care that the Dreams are screaming; they'll burn those mothers down for your benefit. They're like "Fuck you dreams. Look at our boots: leather. We obvi don't give a fuck about you. We're fucking bad ass dream melters." or something like that. I think maybe they talk about their chains more but I'm not there to document it. I'm not some fucking stenographer.

Anyway, so they fucking melt that shit down in a dirty spoon with a butane torch and then inject these chocolate eggs and then you eat that shit and then you get diabetes but you don't give a fuck. You also don't care that it looks like some unhealthy junkie finished up his business in your snack (i.e. slapped his cock around until ejaculation). Whatever. This fucking snack rules. It could look like two Germans finger banging each others' dickholes and I would love the shit out of this. For the record I don't think all German dudes finger bang each others' dickholes. I just had a mental image of these brawny Euro dudes enjoying some cockplay and in my mind they were German.

So look, this snack is fucking cream and sugar and chocolate and it doesn't sound like much but unless you've been living in some fucking Mennonite community your whole life then you have no excuse for not eating and loving the fuck out of this. It's like eating syrup made up of fairies and kittens whiskers. Nom Nom Nom.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Old Grandad's Mexican Chips



















On Saturday I was informed about the goodness of Old Grandad's chips. I had never heard of them because I'm an ignorant fuck. Embarrassed that I had not sampled this supposedly delectable treat I decided I would scope it out sometime during the week. Well as luck would have it the store in my building had a dickload. Honestly, they have everything. I'm not kidding, it's a fucking snack mecca.

So anyway I see these chips and then decide I'm in the mood to cry when I shit later so I got "Mexican" flavour.

Side Note: I would like to say that the makers of these chips are ridiculous. I know it's commonplace to paint flavours with broad and obtuse generalizations but Mexican isn't a taste. Sure there are common components in Mexican food but it's not like everything about (true) Mexican cuisine can be summed up by making shit spicy and taste mildly like limes. That's as fucking stupid as having a bag of "Canadian" chips taste like Maple Syrup, Beer, and Scorn for America. This is fucking ignorant snacking.

These chips are identical to Miss Vickies. Exactly alike. Honestly if there was some sort of fucking chip line up where I was blind and then had to eat chips in order to determine who fucking stole some doubloons or whatever, I would most likely send the wrong chip to prison. Miss Vicky would be crying: "Please no it wasn't me, I was at home with my kids watching Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader. I don't even know what a doubloon is. What about my kids? WHAT ABOUT MY KIDS?!?!?!?! DON'T LOCK ME UP!!!!!!!!". And then the young hot-shot cop, fresh out of the academy would say something like "Lady, where you're going other women are going to lock up your vagina with their fists and mouths". And then the other cops would high-five him even though that didn't make a lot of sense.

Either way these chips are a blatant rip-off of Jalapeno Miss Vickies.

Seeing as I couldn't find anything about the company listed online (I gave up after 23 seconds) I will assume that the "Grandad" of Old Grandad is actually an acronym for:

Gold-plated
Robotic
Android
Nano
Destruction
Android
Destroyers

If you fucking eat these chips they will infect you with their nano-virus and turn you into a fucking cyborg that will be under control. They'll make you late for work and get you arrested for jerking your dick off on the bus and then the judge doesn't believe you because the nanites make it seem like you're lying. No one understands the fucking plight of a horny cyborg.