There are eight miniature cans of Coke Zero in my refrigerator. Eight tiny cans. Seven ounces in each can. Eight of them.
I don’t even like Coke Zero. It’s alright. I usually drink diet root beer if I drink any soft drink at all. Coke Zero tastes like its big brother enough, but it also tastes like what got me 50 pounds overweight and in trouble with my health. Enough. Although something about cold bubbles on a hot day.
But I didn’t even want Coke Zero. How I ended up with eight cans of it in my fridge is a lesson in how you can end up need something you didn’t even know you wanted. And also: apparently I will buy it if you make it smaller and cuter. I bet it wasn’t even my brain they were trying to reach, but reach they did: eight miniature cans of diet soda in my refrigerator.
(Apropos of nothing: I woke up in the middle of the night last night straight out of a nightmare and one very clear thought issued from my brain meats: “Fractal Vampire!” Whence upon immediately fell back to sleep.)
Insert rant about “ad wizards” here-like. EXCEPT IT DIDN’T EVEN REQUIRE AN AD TO OBTAIN ME AS A CUSTOMER.
Tiny cans, man: tiny fucking cans.
Please tell me more, Amazon.com…
(PS: the “fresh whole rabbit”? It comes to you packed in a tin can.
“Rabbit meat is lightly flavored and has a nutty aftertaste that is unique to this animal. It is a low fat meat, low in cholesterol, and a nutritious source of proteins. Excellent with a mustard sauce or stewed slowly with onions.”
It is currently only the 44th most popular exotic meat product sold through Amazon, however.)
There are at least a couple of ways a clever reader can always suss that Yahoo! News is experiencing a slow news day. Firstly, there will be a picture of a pirate on the Yahoo! front page.
Second, and more telling, there will be a story about maple syrup fifth from the top of the headlines list and completely outside of the putative and dread “feature hole.”
And not just about maple syrup, but an entire maple syrup controversy.
‘A new Log Cabin syrup touted as “all natural” looks a lot like the pure, 100 percent maple product that’s the pride of Vermont, right down to its packaging in a plastic beige jug,’ fumed the AP writer credited with bringing this outrage before the American syrup-buying public (I can only assume she was fuming: it’s a very long story and contains words like “misleading,” disturbing” and “fool”)
‘But Vermont officials, seeking to protect the state’s signature commodity, contend that Log Cabin All Natural Syrup is not what it seems, enticing consumers into dousing their pancakes with ingredients that include caramel color, xanthan gum — a natural thickener — and a paltry 4 percent maple.’
ONLY FOUR PERCENT MAPLE?!? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?????!!!!!!!111
The rest of the article — the link is up there next to some words that sound like “maple” and “syrup” — goes on to describe the various property damages and death tolls from around the world when people discovered that Log Fucking Cabin had been lying to them, and also includes a lot of quotes from Maple Syrup Enthusiasts and also random people from Vermont, along with a few statistics. Canada becomes involved at one point, briefly, and then apologizes.
I got stuck on this line, though: ‘The FDA said it does not have a definition for “natural.”‘
(cue Montgomery Burns Moment.)
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go invent All Natural Flubber.
Long weekend. Good weekend. Great weekend. Tired and sort of cracked out at the moment, but it feels like an eternity since I’ve talked to you, Secret Diary and/or Imaginary Internet Friends, and I wanted to fill in the blanks.
But I sort of can’t get past this article in the Yahoo! news conglomerator thingamjig.
So I can’t tell you about my weekend, or trapeze swings, or human-sized bunnies, or Ferrari Vans, or the cheerleader outfit that got worn by at least six different people. Because:
“They pushed each other really hard,” Cerza said. “Joey is so strong. He’s got great jaw strength. But Sonya’s so fast with the hand.”
“I’m Chicken John and this is my dog Darnit.”
Oh 1999, the secrets you hid sometimes come back to haunt you. I can’t say enough about that bowtie, either. I believe Chicken bought it off a special “worn once by Harry Anderson” Night Court prop auction.
I used to live near that former Planet Hollywood location in San Francisco, by the way. It was like a monument to sadness, somewhere you threatened to take your kids when they were behaving like assholes. There was no Apple Store across the street yet, so the only street traffic tended to be bums on their way to piss on the doormen at FAO Schwartz down the street. The food was terrible and the place smelled like Arnold Schwarznegger.
The only restaurant locations of that snakebit company still open are in places like Las Vegas and the Deep South, where the scent of second-hand fame produces Pavlovian yelps in the walk-by crowd, and Guam, where cooked food is otherwise prohibited by law. Their Vegas casino unit continues to operate continuously, losing money at a near-record clip. Even old Strip veterans who have seen everything under the sun at least once (and spit on it the first time around) shake their heads in wonder and shame when they walk past Planet Hollywood. Or drive. Only fools and crazy people walk around in Vegas in the summertime.
The old San Francisco branch is now something called “Ferrari Store,” which is an even stupider concept and will lose even more money. Chicken, get on the phone…
Full ridiculous clip after the jump.
I’m not quite sure which is weirder: receiving ill-gotten attention and hullabaloo for displaying somebody else’s photo of a cat in a miniature tent, or having somebody compliment your writing style for it’s “manly delivery.” Maybe both!
But I’m going to talk to WordPress now. Hello WordPress! I am waving at you. Hello? Do you have a cat quota? Is there a big button marked “CAT” that won’t stop flashing until you post a cat link on the front page? Because I think you do. And I think you are very, very smart people for having that button installed, because cat photos are the lingua franca of the Internet, and 73.7% of all humans are powerless to not. click. cat. face.
And that’s ok for me, WP. I’m your boy! I’m not afraid to ride this Cat Train as far as it will take me. I’ve ridden it before. It’s not a proud highway, but it takes you places. The last time this happened I got free meals and hats and stuff. That was awesome. Then came the Great Cat Drought of ’06. But it ended up we all were just fine and had a big potluck picnic and played beach volleyball and then we all watched nature documentaries while eating ice cream, so that was alright, too. But no cats. Not that there’s anything wrong with cats, and now I will prove it.
But the point is that if Andrew Sullivan can continue to devote every fifth word to Sarah Palin, I am allowed to postulate cats in tents. I just am. I am allowed to do lots of stuff, come to think of it. We also reserve the right to talk about butts.
This post was originally going to be about marzipan.
Sore throat, packing, sore throat, packing, cough drops (the mediciney kind, makes your throat numb for a whole hour), packing, driving, random ear/sinus pain, sore throat, driving, getting lost, earhurt, tent building activities, food, beer, talk, beer, talk, SORE THROAT, go to sleep.
Wake on two hours sleep, sniffle, cough, coffee, eat cereal, blow nose, walk around, drain sinuses, eat lunch, beer, wash dishes, stuff kleenex up nose, nap, more stuff up nose, try to breathe, nap, wake up not breathing, nap, drain, replace kleenex, find iPod, DJ for naked people, dinner, whisky, change clothes, blow nose, sniffle, cough, take Ambien, sleep. But not before Ambien Walrus visits and makes a few suggestions, like “you should get in your car and drive around!” Ignore Ambien Walrus, sleep.
Sleep fitfully for 12 hours, wake up way past noon, miss breakfast, forget to drink coffee, try to get up, curse the sunlight, lay on table, groan, move to lawn, groan, go back to tent, sleep, groan, cough, shiver, fever, take ibuprofen, cough, shiver, blanket, sleep, get up before darktime, stare at food, groan, find out you’ve had another shift added to DJ list: “11PM – ???”; consider career as jedi and/or Ambien Walrus, complain to no one in particular, beer, chocolate, improbable comeback, mood improving, fever gone, (there may or may not have been dancing at this point), spin superhits of the Super 70s, “naked guy from hot tub thanks you for the Golden Earring,” thank them for their support by playing Mark E. Smith shouting over German techno, beer, talk, chocolate, klowns, talk, whisky, sleep.
Drive home. Sleep. Think about how much fun it is camping with friends.