The Re-Finale

Every great artist has a comeback album/tour/blog. Justin Timberlake came out of nowhere in 2006 with Future Sex/Love Sounds, Barry White came storming back in 99’ with Staying Power, and who can forget when Michael Jordan came out of retirement in 93’ to become one of the best advertising agents since Ronald McDonald. Of course, there was that one time when Ronald came to your elementary school assembly and Jimmy kind of lost it because he was fucking terrified of clowns.

No cursing please. Anywho, I realize I’ve taken a pretty long leave of absence from the blogging business, and the blogging business being the nasty business it is, it’s not all that easy to just get back into it. It’s not like I write a bunch of stuff, click submit post, and it’s magically ready for you guys to read. No friends, before my brilliant material can make it to the intergalactic web I must pull strings you didn’t even know existed and bribe very powerful business tycoons. Business. Some people say I’ve lost touch with the masses, others don’t think I have enough blog-juice left in the tank. To these people I say, just read the first entry again . . . that was gold, dude. Also, please turn your attention to the chief of the dark colas, Dr. Pepper.

Now, through allegiance, I should be a supporter of Mr. Pibb, Dr. Pepper’s arch nemesis. You see, two of my friends were once an absurdly successful powerhouse hip-hop duo, and one of their songs was essentially a ballad for Mr. Pibb. And there was this other fellow, a very Mr. Grinch-like character if you will, who loved Dr. Pepper and whose name we will say for anonymity purposes to be Meith Kiccio - which brings me to the most traumatic experience of my life.

Circa sophomore year of high school. I’m doing my usual lunch thang – waiting in a justifiably long line for Vinnie the sweet old Italian lunch lady to put all her warm love into my daily Turkey sandwich. Vinnie's line was always three times as long as the next deli line, and you could see in the other lunch ladies' faces that they were visibly upset and jealous. I wait for probably near 20 minutes for my sandwich to be made but what felt like an eternity. I come back to my table to sit with the BeakSquad (that’s what people liked to call me and my friends back then), and everything was going well until I noticed I had forgotten napkins. When I got up and returned once again, I was forced to witness no other than Keith Miccio, I mean Meith Kiccio, tossing my hard earned sandwich into the garbage. The explanation? IT WAS TACO DAY. Not only did Meith forever turn me off from tacos but I also developed a debilitating sleep disorder, mostly from staying up long nights searching for answers.

Still, Dr. Pepper has the edge. Why would I pay less for a knockoff of Dr. Pepper that tastes exactly the same? Logic evades me. You might be thinking, you didn’t try very hard to keep him anonymous. Actually, I tried really, really hard.

The Finale

Some of this . . . some of that. A novel idea. But you know what they say. All good things come to an end, sometimes. Firstly, I’d like to thank Nashman Davenport for inspiring this project. Without you, I’d probably be spending these extra 30 minutes of my life wondering about who was so completely frustrated with me that they had to break my car’s windshield. Or maybe they thought my car was Rob Jordan’s car, who knows. Who am I kidding, I spend hours coming up with this shit, pour my heart and soul into it. You sample a couple of beers, big fucking deal. You’re not fooling anyone - it all tastes like shit, I don’t care how hoppy it is. “Ohhh beak-daddy, why the finale so soon?” You try seriously writing about soft drinks asshole, and don’t call me beak-daddy. Alright, that’s enough cursing. Anyone can get some cheap laughs by dropping an f-bomb here and an a-fart there. Let’s get this ball rolling for reals. Am I going to poppycock for the first couple of paragraphs? Probably. Will rhetorical questions serve as the backbone of my blog yet again? Arrest my case. Yes, arrest it.

The soft drink of choice for this milestone blog will be Canada Dry.

This may be surprising, given I spent much of my last entry informing you, the masses, about the superiorities of American free market capitalism to the socialist, ludicrous tendencies of the socialist French regime run by the tyrant they call Sarkozy. It may now seem confusing that I introduce a drink whose roots are synonymous with the unspeakable sin that is universal healthcare. Now, I never meant my blog to be a discourse on the political leanings of the times, so let’s get back to reviewing soft drinks. What I adore about Canada Dry is its logo’s classic mark of feudal supremacy, the crown representing the total dominance the royalty enjoyed over its measly peasants. What about the taste you ask? Canada Dry tastes exactly like that time you shoved three horseshoes up your asshole just because you were feeling a little curious. I don’t make up the rules so don’t ask me how that has anything to do with taste.

Yeah, that about sums it up. Remember though, sometimes it’s just as funny to bomb as it is to entertain. If I wanted people to take anything away from all of this, it would be that I don’t give much of a shit about anything, even futile blogs. I hope you had as much fun reading these hollow thoughts as I did writing them. People have come to terms with the inane idea that because something has never occurred, it will never occur in the future. Rest in peace Karl Marx and Freddy Engels.

remember that one time?

Hey guys . . . I have been slacking hard with updates, but not with drinking. A wise man once wrote that. All week I’ve been thinking about this second post. With all the success and endorsements that came following the first blog – enterprise rent-a-car, toys r us, Nielsen company, just to name a few – I suddenly became overwhelmed with the pressure of writing a second installment that could hold a torch to the first one. People come up to me on the street and ask me. “Hey squeaks, how are you so funny?” “You wanna go to subway? We should go to the one in the student center, they don’t charge a sales tax.” “What should I do about my girlfriend? I really like her but sometimes I just wanna slit her throat." Stuff like that. All this publicity has really got me stressed out but I realized I just need to do what I do best – share my ideas with all of you on the latest soft drinks I’ve been testing out.

^TOOLBAG

First up, seltzer water. What I love about seltzer water is that it is pure carbonated water in your face. No flavor, no bullshit. Some people say they prefer seltzer water’s distant cousin mineral water and these people should go fuck themselves. Mineral water gives rise to such ludicrous companies like Perrier. The only thing we need to know about Perrier is that it is French.

Let’s take a look at some of the other things the French have given us. The Statute of Liberty.

Okay, not bad.

Remington Koch. Now here’s this French dude, who is from France and shit. He is a real person, you can look him up on facebook and he’ll probably have a gay ass picture. Also, I’ve heard he goes around at night and smears his feces on people’s cars. Now we can’t be sure of this because it is based completely on hearsay. What we do know for sure, however, is that he is definitely a homosexual. Now am I saying being gay is wrong or that gay people do not deserve the same liberties as his fellow man? No, not at all. Am I saying we should tar, feather, and burn Remy Koch alive because he is a homosexual? Precisely. Rise, my friends, and dispose of this parasite before he compromises your car’s windshield, and more importantly, the freedom of your country.

P.S. This is exclusively for the internet police. I’m not sure if you exist internet police, but I’ve been told you do. Remy is actually a friend of mine, and not the worst person in the world. I’m not even completely sure that he’s gay. Just wanted to let you know that, internet police.