Marco Spruce Beer

I am a sucker for packaging, I know it's lame and that I shouldn't judge anything based on the container it comes in (except women; Blondes:Dumb, Big Tits:Slutty Idiots). But when i saw this bottle I knew instantly I would fall in love and make babies and then run away and start a new life when I got bored/blew all my money on failed investments.

Here's the run down:

I get the bottle and it's fucking magical.

I love spruce beer (please note my affinity for gross snacks) and I'm looking at this thing thinking it's the most legit bottle of spruce beer I've ever seen. I'm thinking I'm a man. I'm thinking this is what a lumberjack or a ranch hand would fucking down to cool off. Oh yeah, look at that cap, it's awesome. Of course this is going to rule.

I start to fuck with the metal latch. It's difficult but I'm a man, I can manage. I work it some more and it starts to loosen. The cap moves a few millimeters and smoke shoots out. Smoke, steam, whatever. There is magical spruce mist funneling out the side.

Oh fuck I am a man. My insides are going to get the beating of a lifetime and I'm going to love every second of it. I'm going to grow three or four new cocks and then I will birth razorback wolves and they will suckle at my mighty wolf teets. We will howl at the moon and hang out in convenience store parking lots. We'll buy slurpees and smoke cigarettes. We'll howl at the moon and eat your babies. We'll floss our teeth with strips of your flesh and when one of us burps we'll all laugh and say we have "the humans" (gas from eating people). It will be great.

Then I get the top off and it smells like wine. And then I take a sip and it tastes like Seagram's and missing the buzzer beater for 3 in the the closing seconds of the finals and then having your whole team fucking beat you with bars of soap stuffed in their socks in the showers. I go blind. I never get a haircut again because I won't ever see my hair so I don't give a fuck. I hack my nose off so i don't have to smell anymore (and as a result have an excuse to not shower). I smash the bottle against my face. I am disappointed.

This drink sucks.

-It smells like pine trees and astroglide (used).
-It tastes like sangrina, getting mouth fucked my christmas, and gasoline.
-The bottle is so much better than the drink is.
-There was a 1$ deposit on the bottle.

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.

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 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.

Interview with John McCain (about snacks)

Snack Sabbath: Well first of all Senator let me say it's an honor to be interviewing you today. I truly appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to sit down with me and discuss snacking at a governmental level.

Sen. McCain: No problem Sean, it's my pleasure.

Snack Sabbath: Uh, it's Scott actually.

Sen. McCcain: Sorry Scott. You meet so many people when you’re running for leader of the free world that sometimes it's hard to keep names straight.

Snack Sabbath: I can only imagine. I ran for Dong Master of my College fraternity, so I can totally relate.

Sen. McCain: I'm not so sure I'm familiar with the position of "Dong Master".

Snack Sabbath: Don’t worry about it too much. Now moving on to snacking... Given the opportunity to travel back in time and eat any snack that has ever existed what would you eat?

Sen. McCain: Bringing out the big guns right off the bat I see... I know you'll probably think this is too "Vanilla" what with your blackberrys and your microwave popcorns but if I could have any snack ever I would have to say figs. You see Sean, the fig is pure, like America and when you add things like sugar (Mexicans) or bake it in with other fruits (integration) it ruins its natural and delicious God given flavors (white people).

Snack Sabbath: I understand your racist metaphor, but you'd really pick a fig over let's say a banana split or some homemade chocolate chip cookies?

Sen. McCain: Call me old fashioned but I would choose to eat figs over anything any day, they're America's fruit. So yes, figs... Well either that or abortions. Goddamn it abortions are delicious.

Snack Sabbath: Uh... I'm sorry, come again? Did you say you love to eat abortions and then lick your lips and then tuck your boner under your belt buckle so that I wouldn't see it?

Sen. McCain: No I did not. Absolutely not Sean. I'm a Maverick and a Maverick would not participate in these types of activities.

Snack Sabbath: Actually sir, it's Scott. My name... Scott...

Sen. McCain, I'm sure it is.

Snack Sabbath: What's that supposed to mean? Uh… Sir?... Can you please stop that?
(At this point in the interview a pregnant woman walks to the park bench we’re seated on while speaking on her cell phone to what I can only assume is the father of the child she's carrying and it's not going well. Sen. McCain is mumbling something in Latin and feverishly rubbing his testicles over his slacks)

Sen. McCain: Do you think she's going to keep it?

Snack Sabbath: Excuse me?

Sen. McCain: The baby, you maroon, do you think she's going to go the distance?

Snack Sabbath: Whose baby? I'm not sure I know what you're talking about. Do you mean the woman on the phone?

Sen. McCain: Oh never mind; you wouldn't understand.
(The pace of his genital rubbing has increased exponentially. He starts to mumble in Latin again. Beads of sweat form on his brow and run down into the deep crevices of his wrinkles and then down both sides of his face)

Snack Sabbath: Uh... What?

Sen. McCain: Listen Steve do you want to talk snacks or what?

Snack Sabbath: Not if you're going to keep slapping around your ding dong like that.

Sen McCain: You don't understand anything. You young people sucking at the teat of the liberal media with your "not letting me eat abortions" and your "making me wipe after I go number two".
(The pregnant woman's phone conversation is getting louder and increasingly aggressive)

Sen McCain: She's going to do it!!!! She's going to have an abortion! Cindy!... Cindy!!... Damn it Cindy bring me my big spoon and my elastic waist jeans! Daddy's eating heathen tonight!

Snack Sabbath: Senator, what are you... What are you doing?
(Senator McCain takes of his pants and smiles ear to ear. He makes eye contact with the woman on the phone and grins, beaming even wider at her. He mouths the word "whorecakes" to her and then spits in his palm. He reaches into his underwear but never breaks eye contact. The woman looks noticeably disturbed)

Sen. McCain (getting louder and louder): ABORTION! ABORTION! ABORTION! ABORTION! ABORTION! ABORTION!
(Sen. McCain keeps beating his dick off as he screams like a goddamned banshee. Surprisingly his staff doesn't seem the least bit concerned by this. He tries to cover his orgasm by coughing loudly but the hot wet mess in his shorts is evidence enough)

Sen. McCain (out of breath): Fuck I love snacks.

Snack Sabbath: Thanks for the interview I guess.

Sen. McCain (with his eyes closed pinching his nipples, still out of breath): Whoooooooooooweeeeeeeeeeeeee…

This interview took place on November 2nd 2008 between breakfast and lunch.

Tonic Water

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Jack Link's Kickin' Cajun Kippered Beef Stick

What is there to say about Beef Jerky that hasn't been written in the Bible? Not much. 

According to wikipedia: Ancient peoples—for example, the Inca—prepared jerky from the animals they hunted or husbanded. Well I don't know shit about hunting or fucking animals but I do know that man is the greatest animal of all and as a man I deserve to enjoy the world's greatest and oldest salt delivery system: Beef Jerky

With that in mind I sat down with some jerky that's commonly available in my neck of the woods: Jack Link's Kickin' Cajun Kippered Beef Steak.

Ingredients: Beef, Salt, Water, Brown Sugar, Spices, Flavourings (so sketchy), Monosodium Glutamate, Sodium Erythorbate, Sodium Nitrate

I'm going to level with you: Beef Jerky is awful but I think that's a huge part of the charm for me. It's the only time meat gets to be a snack and it's basically designed to be eaten while driving or fishing. 

Right off the bat this jerky stinks. Honestly it smells like Columbus' ship back from the Orient. I'm no jerky connoisseur but this was a lot more stank than the usual commercial jerkys. Also, this thing looks like a belt that my grandfather's had since he got his first boner. But it's par for the course when it comes to salted, spiced meats. 

First bite. My teeth are literally being shoved back up into my gums. Oh my god it fucking hurts. It's not sticking to my teeth so much as it's destroying my will to live. Maybe I'm a pussy who's used to pepperoni sticks (side note: Jack Link's Original X Stick is amazing) but honestly this hurts. It's too thick to be this tough all the way through. Beef Jerky is supposed to be thin enough to snap, not thick enough to bludgeon your mom with when she doesn't let you stay up late enough the watch The Commish.

Moving on to taste. Imagine that you took everything delicious about commercial jerkys and then ignored it, said fuck it and just did whatever the fuck you want. Well it appears someone over at Jack Link's had the foresight to apply such a concept. I don't know what the fuck is Cajun about this. People often get spicy confused with "leave a lump of hot molten lava in the back of your throat". This is no exception. It doesn't taste like anything expect for all-spice and flames. It fucking sucks.

To sum up this was a bummer on all fronts. I know that Jack Link's isn't the gold standard of cured meats but this was the David Hasselhoff of jerky: D-List.

I cannot in good conscience recommend this.

Skip it and find a Slim Jim.