Wednesday, March 4, 2009

The Pop Shoppe Lime Rickey

This weekend was my first time sampling the many tastes The Pop Shoppe had to offer. While this soda is available in most of Ontario, it’s just about unattainable in Montreal and I just happened to get really lucky when I found it in Quebec City. Needless to say I’m now exceptionally poor and as result will be living out of a cardboard box on the street, eating cocks for bus money.

After wasting all of my riches I was hopeful that I would not be disillusioned with what I had hyped up in my mind as being cock shattering.

I’m not an expert in lime sodas. In fact I know about as much about lime soda as women do about not talking about their periods: not very much. But in spite of that I figured that my delicate palette have been put through the ringer time and time again and as a result I know what tastes like a suitcase full of monkey dicks or not.

The first thing I noticed is that it’s not exceedingly carbonated. If you’re at all familiar with my unintelligible ravings you will know that this is a problem for me. I guess I’m making an allowance here because in spite of this being a soda flavoured like a Lime Rickey, a conventional Lime Rickey is not very effervescent. I’m also trying to rationalize and justify not having wasted my fucking hard earned dollars.

The next thing that was pretty obvious was that the lime flavour is not very prominent, unlike Stewarts' Lime Soda which will fuck your mouth with citrus deliciousness. But once again I’m ok with that because traditionally Lime Rickey’s aren’t devastatingly lime flavoured.

I’m like an abused wife. My husband keeps coming home drunk with lipstick on his collar stinking like pussy and pinot grigio and then the only time he wants to have sex is when he’s blacking out and dry heaving. And when we do make love he calls me the wrong name and refuses to look me in the eye.

Then there was that one time when I was on top and he kept inarticulately mumbling something over and over but I supposed that this would be like most cases where if I addressed him directly he would slap me in my mouth and spit in my hair. In hindsight I should’ve realized he was whispering “Stop that or I’m going to shit” but I just kept on riding his boner hoping that if he came hard enough he’d love me more. Instead he pooped the bed and it splashed up off our linens onto me and I got a rash between my thighs and for three weeks afterward I had to walk like I’d just been riding a horse so my legs didn’t rub together and make the chaffing worse. But I’ve built myself up around him to the point where if I remove him from the way I define myself I’ll crumble and have to admit that I am a complete failure as a human being.

This drink is not very good. I am a complete failure as a human being.

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