the following corporate entites have been added to my shitlist.
victoria’s secret. i had a $10 gift certificate. i wandered around for a moment, gazing at the jacked-up prices, got really sick of staring at their ugly-ass “pink” line of bullshit, decided i didn’t need another goddamned pair of panties no matter how free they were, and instead bought some suckers and a tin of “pink” hot chocolate. the tin read “hot chocolate turns pink in your mug!” kind of a neat trick. i thought the kids might enjoy it. yeah. i should have known better. it was hot, it was in a mug, and it ws definitely pink. what it was not, however, was chocolate. it was some nasty sugar-flavored sugar mess with a sorry-ass hint of vanilla. it kind of reminds me of the time a friend’s wife who likes to pretend to enjoy cooking for lack of anything better to do made “eggnog fudge.” dammit, shitty cheap-ass fudge-textured mess you made out of white chocolate chips with a token amount of nutmeg IS NOT EGGNOG. eggnog tastes of egg, and rum, and nutmeg. and definitely not vanilla. by the same token, hot chocolate has to actually taste like chocolate, preferably by means of actual fucking cocoa somewhere in the ingredient list.
swiss colony. motherfuckers sent me then tin of chocolate pecan toffees i ordered. imagine if you will a 1-1/4 inch tin, filled to the top with tiny candies less than 1/2 an inch tall. underneath this layer of candies is a paper disc – yo know, the kind that separates the top layer of candies from the bottom layer of candies? yeah. so upon eating the last of the top layer, i removed the paper disc, fully expecting a second layer underneath. instead, the bottom layer was a 1/2 inch thick disc of styrofoam.
my favorite bar – the one with the awesomest wings in town, the awesomest microbrew in the midwest, and the awesomest public jam session i’ve ever been to, is closing their dining room. they still have beer. but no more jam sessions (there, anyay… they’ll find a new venue shortly.) no more meeting PRM and the degenerati for honey hot wings after work on fridays. what. the. fuck. it’s a gorgeous 150 year old brick building with 20 foot ceilings. i don’t WANT to eat my wings anywhere else! why can’t you people understand how fucking important that is? ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!!!!
now, after a trip to target and to the grocery store, i have come up empty-handed on my favorite energy drink, rockstar juiced passionfruit. i seem to remember looking for it last week and not finding it, either.
so i’m going to the drugstore tomorrow morning. and i swear to fuck-all that if i don’t find my passionfruit rockstar because it’s been discontinued, i’m going to start setting shit on fire.
don’t fuck with my noms.
