-Patron (rhymes with “matron”)
-Bailey’s Irish Stuff
-Dishonorably Discharged Civilian Morgan
-Johnnie Walker Beige
–I Can’t Believe It’s Not Crown Royal
Ghoul Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male zombie who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “ghoul-y drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you or eat your brains. Enjoy.
When I was a kid, my list of Top 5 Favorite Holidays looked like this:
1) Christmas – Obviously. TOYS. As an only child with typically indulgent grandparents, Christmases at my house made the gift suite at an Oscars after-party look like a miserly old maid begrudgingly sharing her Tic-Tacs. I was spoiled rotten (and am somewhat of a broken person now because of it, but THAT’S not what we’re here to talk about) and I loved every minute of it.
2) Thanksgiving – Feeling like a grown-ass adult, watching football with my uncles, furtively stealing sips of their Coors Light when they went to empty their dip cups. AND THE FOOD. Holy shit. For a fatty-in-training, Thanksgiving was like the Food Olympics. “Well, Bob Costas, I’ve trained all year for this and, yes, I think I’ll probably be able to eat so much green bean casserole that my mother has to take me aside and explain to me the concept of sharing AGAIN, and also remind me that this how rumors about thyroid problems get started. USA USA USA!!!”
3) 4th of July – The sky is exploding! THE SKY IS EXPLODING!!!! Why yes, I WILL have another hot dog.
4) Valentine’s Day – Everyone I know wants to give me a card that quantifies the love they feel for me, and ALSO there are chocolates for me to jam into my maw? Everything about this day is tinted with magic in various shades of red and pink.
5) Halloween – GIVE ME CANDY, I’M DRESSED LIKE A GO-BOT.
Back in August, I turned 34 years old. This makes me adult as fuck. And, as someone who is adult as fuck, I have finally figured out a few things that I believe to be absolutely true. Things such as:
-Eating a fiber-rich diet will greatly improve your day-to-day existence for various poop-related reasons.
-It is satisfying to pay bills in a timely manner, and parenthetically, it is also pretty cool to not have the electric company shut your power off all the time.
-Holidays, as an adult, thoroughly blow.
Now.. granted… my wife and I do not have children. As I understand it, getting to experience the holidays through your own child’s eyes is a magical thing, like seeing a Leprechaun make out with a Sasquatch. Wouldn’t know. Don’t care to find out, actually, as kids are little punks that suck out your life force and replace it with crippling debt, things they’ve shit on, and also sometimes they become serial killers. That’s just a fact.
At any rate, holidays now are terrible. They’re expensive, they require being places at certain times… usually looking nice, which is in and of itself a whole thing (“which one of these Big Johnson t-shirts would you say is the CLEANEST?)… and they tend to highlight everything that’s not going right in your life at that very moment. Also, does anyone still celebrate the 4th of July anymore? I literally cannot remember the last time I did anything for that holiday. I think I’m usually at work, assuming all the ruckus outside is the citizenry of Dallas exercising their right to bear arms.
ANYWAY, all of this is roundabout way of saying that, while MOST holidays suck gravy, there is one exception… one holiday still holding steady on my list… and that exception is, emphatically, HALLOWEEN. Halloween just fucking rules so hard, it’s spooOOooOOooky.
There are horror movies on all the time, people go fucking nuts with giving out candy, if you’re lucky you’ll hear “Thriller” on the radio… the WHOLE song, with the awesome Vincent Price rap and everything… and, just generally, it’s the one time of year where the entire country embraces the creepy, the weird, and the scary. I fucking love it… I do. Which is mostly fine. There is ONE kind of iffy side effect, and that is the fact that I cannot be in a Target or a Wal-Mart unsupervised. If that happens, I end up buying totally unnecessary, though, yes, TOTALLY BAD ASS, garbage like this:
The Ghoul Drink:
Hahaha, motherfucking Ghoul-Aid??? SCARY BLACKBERRY??? If that isn’t a fucking graveyard smash, I don’t know what is. GOD DAMN, do I love this holiday! And since I’ve got like an entire box of this stuff in my fridge now, I figured it would probably be in everyone’s best interest for me to mix it with alcohol and then write about it on the internet. Everybody on board? Yes? Wolfman? Dracula and his son? Good! Let’s get to it.
Oh, so first though… I drank one of these by itself, so I could fully understand it as an ingredient and, thus, better incorporate it into my mixology. Also, it’s fun to drink things out of Mylar pouches. Feels like right after tee-ball practice. Anyway, the Scary Blackberry Ghoul-Aid (fuck, that’s just so wonderful) was pretty damn good! Tart, like an actual blackberry, yet still retaining that fake-juice flavor that Kool-Aid long ago locked down tight. Gotta say, kids drinks have definitely improved since my day. They taste richer now. More fruity, and less “frooty.” Just superior in every way.
Obligatory Nostalgic Counterpoint: YEAH, BUT THEY’RE SURE NO ECTO-COOLER. Those sumbitches had Slimer on them.
The Official Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry Cocktail Guide
As you probably gathered from the picture above, I mixed the Ghoul-Aids with three different liquors: Some Deep Eddy Vodka, which I let get all frosty cold in the freezer, some Sauza Tequila, because the evening might as well end with me calling a bouncer a pantywaist (…aren’t you drinking these at home…), and Loopy Vodka, which you may remember from a previous post. Believe it or not, we’ve still got some of that left over.
OH, and I feel like it’s important I mention that all the cocktails were mixed with the aid of this incredibly spooktacular shot glass:
BECAUSE HALLOWEEN, BITCHES. Hard in the paint.
To the drinks!
Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry with Vodka
Yes, it’s a pretty unappealing color… kind of like a deep bruise with hints of toxic waste… but that’s just what beverages are going to look like when you’re dealing with BOO JUICE. Also, please note that this cocktail is being hand-modeled by my wife, who is sporting a seasonally appropriate blood-splatter manicure. You are correct: my wife is awesome.
The cocktail tasted… you know… fine. Mostly it just tasted really cold. The vodka kind of thinned out the tartness of the blackberry, which left behind a bland sweetness that wasn’t by any means undrinkable… it just wasn’t terribly exciting. There is the possibility that I muffed up the vodka-to-Ghoul-Aid ratio; I went closer to half-and-half, where I think the whole thing would have benefited from a one part vodka, four parts Ghoul Aid recipe. Still though, what seemed like a really bold, vibrant flavor when sucked from a pouch via an adorable, yellow straw, really weakened and buckled when paired with a spirit. I USED THE WORD SPIRIT THERE BECAUSE SPIRIT MEANS GHOSTS.
Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry and Tequila
So… all the cocktails looked the same. Remember the picture from a few paragraphs ago? This one was exactly that, visually-speaking. Scroll up if you need a refresher.
Whereas the vodka in the previous cocktail neutralized the Scary Blackberry flavor, the tequila in THIS cocktail simply overwhelmed it. Using the same (admittedly kind of stout) ratio as before, all I could taste was the Sauza, with maybe a faint note of sugar on the back end. Essentially it was like drinking purple tequila, which I’m surprised is a thing that doesn’t already exist. The kids these days… they like the bright colors. For their… raves…? Is that still a thing…? Probably. Probably still is. HAHA, I ain’t old!
Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry and Loopy Vodka
I assume you’ve heard the phrase “unholy matrimony” before? The dude that thought that up was thinking about this cocktail when he had his “a-ha!” moment. While the Ghoul-Aid is tasty on its own, and the Loopy Vodka by itself is… well, not tasty exactly, but a fair representation of the weird-flavored vodka trend… when they’re mixed together, they are like the sugar sludge pouring forth from whatever freshly-killed monster up until very recently stalked Candyland’s Candy Cane Forest.
So SWEET. So sticky on the lips. And god, the Ghoul-Aid really brings out the Lemon Pledge notes that were previously examined in the Loopy Vodka. The whole thing was a car crash in a glass, and if you ever end up drinking Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry and Loopy Vodka mixed together, it’s because you are being tricked, not treated.
Drink the other two cocktails. They’re fine. Don’t drink this one. DON’T. That way madness lies.
While most holidays are busy dry-humping your wallet and messing with your schedule, Halloween exists only to facilitate your having of fun times. PROOF: products like Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry exist, and are awesome. And you can mix them with booze! It’s not the most successful venture in the world, but it WILL get you drunk.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN, YOU DEMONS!!!
Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.
Here are two things that happened to me this week:
-I bought, then (mostly) consumed two bottles of wine from Arbor Mist’s “Desserts” collection, not because I enjoy such beverages, but because I have made it my business to write about sugar-blasted pseudo-booze on the internet. I assume you’re aware of this by now, unless you are a first time visitor to ZFS; if that IS the case, welcome, please remove your shoes (new carpet), and note that we prosecute shoplifters to the fullest extent of the law.
-I listened to Taylor Swift’s new song “Shake It Off” for the first time. Then I listened to it again. Then several more times. Then an additional thousand times after that, because it is the catchiest song that has ever been written. It makes “The Name Game” look like Side A of Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music.
Now, I want to talk about the second item first, because I guarantee you that… at the very invocation of Taylor Swift’s name, at LEAST half of you made a who-farted face and said, “this guy’s got worse taste in music than MY MOM.” And then you chuckled smugly to yourself as you fired up an e-cig and an old Guided By Voices album. My response to all of that is this: Take a step back from the front lines of the Pop Culture Snark War, and calm down. I get that Swift isn’t everybody’s thing, and I also get that it is fun to throw enormous amounts of shade at people that are very rich and very famous (and even more so when they happen to also be very earnest, as Swift tends to be). That being said… I don’t know… I feel like the internet-curated ill-will towards Swift is a little misguided. There are better targets out there, and more deserving ones, at that.
Which is not to say that I am Taylor Swift super fan, either. I am 34 years old, and also a dude. At this stage of the game, being WAY into young pop starlets is a little… unseemly. It happens, I guess, but it’s really not a good look on my people (early-30’s big, fat party guys). That being said, I am not immune to the charms of a well-crafted, radio-friendly song, which are things that Swift cranks out fairly efficiently. If nothing else, Swift and her musical overlords know how to capture and manipulate that intangible force known as “catchy-ness,” and said necromancy leads to otherwise reasonable people (such as myself) listening to individual Taylor Swift jams over and over again until Spotify sends us an email to inform us that our accounts have CLEARLY been hacked by a group of 7th graders.
The other reason that people dislike Taylor Swift is that she is a bit of a serial monogamist, and that, post-breakup, she writes songs about her exes. This is a stupid reason to hate a 24 year old person. You know what you’re SUPPOSED to do when you’re in your early 20’s? Try on a bunch of guys (or girls) and figure out just what the hell you like in a significant other. You’re SUPPOSED to take chances. You’re SUPPOSED to not settle too early. That is what being in your early 20’s is all about. And the fact that she writes songs about the guys that she dates… well, hell, she has to write about something, and dating and whatnot is a whole lot more relatable than, say, the hidden inconveniences of private plane ownership, or how one can spend $10,000 on hats and not feel even a little guilty inside. Writing about her exes is nothing more than a solid business strategy. But… some people feel that dating a bunch of guys and then singing about it is, somehow, Swift being a bad role model. Putting aside the fact that we, as a culture, should really, really, REALLY stop turning to our nation’s celebrities for moral authority and life-lessons we can point to when we try to parent our children (because, I mean, C’MON), Swift, by and large, is a FINE role model. She is basically just living the life of a normal, early-20’s person… albeit on a grander scale… and, if I had a child (which I don’t), I would be fine with hypothetical him or her hypothetically following her lead. It beats hypothetical him or her taking after Miley Cyrus and rolling on Molly while dry-humping an older gentleman at the VMAs. Which, AGAIN, I don’t care what Cyrus does. She can attempt to popularize the mythical Tijuana Donkey Show here in America, if that’s her heartsong. I’m just saying I’d rather my fake daughter have a few boyfriends, as opposed to smoking so much Salvia that her life turns into a round-the-clock Burning Man.
ANYWAY, I bring all of this up about Taylor Swift because, if you’ll remember several hundred words back, I mentioned that I had bought and consumed some Arbor Mist “Desserts” wine. While, at the time, I thought I was merely drinking some extremely sweet starter hooch, it was only after listening to the aforementioned “Shake It Off” on repeat that I realized I was actually drinking Taylor Swift herself. Or at least it is like drinking one of her songs. Let me explain…
The Girl Drink(s):
If you’re not familiar with Arbor Mist wine, it is basically liquified Skittles that will get you moderately buzzed. You can usually buy it in gas stations, which should fill in any unanswered questions you have about Arbor Mist. The “Desserts” branch of the Arbor Mist family tree make its predecessors look like strong, black coffee. Tying themselves to specific dessert items… Strawberry Shortcake and Caramel Apples, respectively… have opened the door for the makers of said wine to just go absolutely fucking nuts with the sugar. IT’S A DESSERT! You’re basically drinking a pie! DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!!! How much sugar, exactly, is in Arbor Mist “Desserts” wine? So much that I immediately forgot the amount after looking it up, as it scared the shit out of my kidneys. That’s how much.
So, like I said, the flavors are Strawberry Shortcake and Caramel Apple, but that doesn’t really matter. You could call them Formula x17-A and Formula X17-B and the people that drink this kind of stuff are going to drink them, regardless. Yes, there are some differences… the Strawberry Shortcake one kind of tastes fruity, and weirdly also a little like a cream-based frosting smeared on a sponge cake. It’s unsettling, and not just because drinking it makes you feel like you’re going blind. Drinks shouldn’t taste like carbs. I’ve always said that, and literally no one in the girl drink industry agrees with me. The Caramel Apple variety is a little better; it basically tastes like candy corn, with the faintest touch of cider on the back end. It is slightly less sweet than the Strawberry Shortcake one, which is a lot like saying that a Mako shark will devour you slight slower than a Great White.
At the end of the day, the Arbor Mist family, in general, and the Arbor Mist “Desserts” wines, specifically, are just kind of whatever, at least as far as the actual product itself goes. Where they ARE interesting is within the concept of Taylor Swift, and how drinking a bottle of Arbor Mist “Desserts” is basically like drinking one of her songs. Here’s what I mean… Taylor Swift came into the spotlight as a teenager who sang sweetly pleasant country songs about Tim McGraw and teardrops on her guitar. That Taylor Swift is dead, or at least it is almost in the grave. The current Taylor Swift is a woman, who is living her womanly life out loud, but who still has to keep up a little bit of that sweetness in order to maintain a fan base that didn’t necessarily grow up with her. She has to appeal to BOTH sides of her fans… those that were there at the beginning of her career and are now, like her, grown ups, and those that are the same age as she was when she started, because she unquestionably still makes music that appeals to teenagers. In essence, she has to put out wine for the adults, and sweets for the kids. And since she only has a three minute song to in which to do that, she has to combine the two into one sugary product that will make you tipsy.
Arbor Mist “Desserts” are Taylor Swift, and Taylor Swift is Arbor Mist “Desserts.” One foot in the bar, one foot in the candy shop. Or, to put it another way, Taylor Swift is a specific kind of 24 year old lady, and if that specific kind of 24 year old American lady were a beverage, that beverage would be Arbor Mist “Desserts” wine. Sure, the haters are going to hate, hate, hate, but shake it off. It’s okay to like Taylor Swift, because Taylor Swift is an okay person and an okay beverage. In whatever form she chooses, Taylor Swift is okay.
Today is a very whatever Monday in September, and I was expecting literally nothing from it at all, save for work, and beer drinking after work, and, should it come to pass, the small bit of smirky joy that would come from seeing the Philadelphia Eagles get their doors blown off on Monday Night Football. However, this whatever Monday in September took a turn this morning. Things are different now.
Actually, things are like they used to be. Order has been restored. Surge soda is coming back.
If this news means nothing to you, then you were clearly not a teenage boy in the mid-90’s. Which… you should probably be grateful for that fact. It was a greasy time, filled with ska music and 90210 haircuts and very, very bland fashion. Cargo pants… a sea of cargo pants, hiding out-of-control boners.
And then there was Surge. Some will say that Surge was just a crappy knockoff of Mountain Dew. These people are bastards, and also lack vision. Surge was its own animal, and that animal was fucking delicious. Now… granted… Surge has not passed my kissable lips in over a decade, so my memory might be a little patchy and stained by nostalgia. But if I remember correctly, Surge tasted like a citrus tornado ripping across a prairie, destroying homes and businesses and leaving no survivors. It was also fatally sweet, like getting mauled to death by a pack of starving gummi bears. And it looked like carbonated antifreeze, but that doesn’t matter. It was FUEL. It was LIFE. It was GOOD TIME JUICE, guzzled in mass quantities while driving around Arlington, TX listening to Reel Big Fish CDs and trying to appear attractive to the ladies despite having sticky, green mouths and a hard curfew.
In no particular order, here are…
Three Specific Memories I Have Involving Surge
-My best friend and I seeing Speed 2 in the theater, and sharing a massive concession stand Surge (which was totally “no homo” because we left an empty seat between us). This ended when, while attempting a mid-movie hand-off, the mop bucket-sized soda slipped from my fingers and landed directly in his lap. Things were never the same between us.
-Mixing Surge with stolen vodka during an inexplicably parent-approved high school party in a cabin by a lake on property that my grandparents owned. The Surge-tini did not catch on. SOCIETY’S LOSS.
-Splitting a six pack of Surge with my very first roommate in the dorms at the University of Texas. It was around Surge #2 for both of us that we realized we had nothing in common (save for a love of processed, liquid sugar) and that it was going to be a miserably long year of cohabitation. I did us a favor, though, by getting kicked out of school LONG before the awkwardness truly set in and started to fester.
And now Surge is back! I can have it again, and drink it again, and taste it again, and… well… that’s kind of worrisome. In no particular order, here are…
Eight Specific Fears That I Have Now That Surge is Coming Back
-I’ll hate it.
-It won’t taste anywhere NEAR as good as I remember it tasting.
-It will bring back horrible, Surge-related memories that I have repressed through years and years of heavy drinking. What if I was drinking Surge in Math class and sharted really bad and the prettiest girl in school laughed so hard that she DIED? I don’t REMEMBER that being a thing that happened, but it MIGHT BE? What if a sip of Surge unlocks that door?
-I am worried that drinking a lot of Surge will angry up my acid reflux. See, I’m an adult now. I have adult medical problems, and saccharine acid water stands a real solid chance of not playing well within their confines. Then again, I did just eat a heaping bowl of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni (with extra hot sauce) (and fancy, shredded Parmesan on top, because I’m 34 and a bit of a foodie), and I am not currently trying to plug up the smoking crater that was once my esophagus with old clothes and/or discarded copies of Esquire, so maybe it will be fine.
-People will think I’m the kind of person that wallows in nostalgia like some sort of backwards-looking man-child that refuses to embrace the present or, heaven forbid, the future, because the unknowable is terrifying and it’s much easier to remember stuff that’s already happened in a glowing, soft light and point to it and say, “that right there… that’s the best it ever was.” HAHAHA that’s ridiculous, that’s not me!!! Please don’t make eye contact with me right now!!!
-It will just taste like Mountain Dew, and all my years of chest-puffed bluster about how Surge was the superior green, citrus beverage will look foolish.
-I’ll somehow drown in a spilled pool of Surge, or I will have unknowingly developed a serious allergy to Surge and my throat will close up after the first hearty chug and it’ll be curtains for ol’ C-dog (this isn’t terribly realistic, but I always have to include at least one death scenario in everything that I think about because I’m sort of a broken person).
-It somehow won’t make me carefree and happy as 16 year old me. Fuck THAT if that happens. I’ve got a lot riding on you, Surge.
So anyway, I guess you could classify my feelings about the return of Surge as “mixed.” Nonetheless, and in conclusion, I think it’s safe to say that Surge is a thing I used to drink a lot of, then it went it away for a long time, and now it’s coming back, and very soon I will spend money on it so I can drink it in the apartment that I share with my wife. I will update you all on my experiences with Surge when the time is right, because if there’s one thing the internet is hungry for, it’s personal essays from a guy about a soda.
3/3/3 is a new series on Zombie Fights Shark where we take a look at the top 3, bottom 3, and most overrated 3 entries in a given category. The categories will cover the entire spectrum of pop culture, plus food & beverages, and even simply life itself. Let’s have some highly subjective fun, shall we?
Top 3 Condiments
3) Salt and Pepper – I mean, sure… salt and pepper are great. They are the load-bearing support beams of every delicious meal we’ve ever collectively jammed into our gaping maws, and for that, they deserve at minimum a Nobel Prize in Tasty-Making. HOWEVER… salt and pepper are boring. Unsexy. Distinctly lacking in pizazz. Look, they DESERVE to be on this list… I’m not saying they don’t… but they’re also kind of like the grand, sweeping epics that used to get nominated for Best Picture at the Oscars back in the 80’s and 90’s (before Hollywood got slightly more hip). YES, Remains of the Day is technically a motion picture of exceptional quality, but GAAHHH… I’d rather watch roadkill rot in the sun.
2) Mustard – Have you ever had mustard on a corn dog? Holy shit.
1) A1 Sauce – The day that A1 first met my tongue was the day I learned the true meaning of the word “savory.” SO ZESTY. A1 is the condiment equivalent of a bicep flexing as it lifts a bale of hay. In every stereotypical sense of the word, it is a MANLY condiment. And so damn delicious, it makes me want to weep tears laced with pure testosterone. MEN DON’T CRY, THOUGH [does one-armed push-ups; rips phone book in half; bellows like a goddamn majestic bull moose]
Seriously, there was a period of time in my life when A1 was a more frequent addition to my meals than, say, vegetables, or things that weren’t bought through a two-way speaker/drive-up window arrangement. I have very specific memories of being 25 years old and drunk, sitting on a dirty kitchen floor at 4am, eating blobs of A1 on Saltines, and feeling like motherfucking Alain Ducasse. “This is living,” I thought-screamed, as I washed down God’s Appetizer with some very cheap malt liquor. “I HAVE BEATEN THE SYSTEM!” And then I’d black out for 12 hours, and wake up covered in…
Well, it doesn’t matter. A1 is amazing, is all I’m saying. If you wash your face with A1, it will clear up your acne. In a pinch, the Vatican has used A1 in place of Holy Water during certain religious ceremonies. Buzz Aldrin chugged a whole bottle of A1 right before he took a metaphorical dump on the Moon. All of this is 100% true.
A1, you are my everything.
3 Most Overrated Condiments
3) Ketchup – Good to dip your fries into? Sure. Splash a little ketchup on your hash browns? Why not. A nice smear on your burger and/or hot dog…? NO. Absolutely not, you son of a bitch. Put down the ketchup. PUT IT DOWN. You don’t get to have ketchup until you realize that it is for POTATOES ONLY. Hold on… you… YES, YOU… you bastard, are you trying to put ketchup on a fucking STEAK? I swear to Christ, I will hunt you ’til the ends of the earth if you don’t drop the squeeze bottle of Heinz and kick it away.
Good… good… okay, now hand over the steak. You don’t get that either. IS THIS STEAK WELL-DONE?
Start running. I’ll give you a half hour to make it sporting. May whatever God you pray to have mercy on your wretched soul because my crossbow won’t.
2) Grey Poupon – Do you realize that people still do the “pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon” bit? Like, you can’t even ask for it on a sandwich without someone giving you a faux-snob accent and pretending to roll down a fucking car window. It’s been DECADES, yet that joke lives on. Also bullshit? Grey Poupon itself. It’s FANCY mustard, oooh so luxurious. We poured WINE in it, so it’s basically SPREADABLE DREAMS. What that really means, is this: If you see Grey Poupon in a menu description, it means you’re paying $2 more for your ham and swiss. That’s it. It’s an up-charge in condiment form.
1) Sriracha – Before you try to beat me to death with the internet, hear me out. Sriracha is FINE. There is nothing wrong with it. It is pleasantly spicy, has a nice garlic kick, and it’s a jazzy shade of red that really pops in photographs on your Instagram account. Sriracha itself is not the problem with Sriracha. The problem with Sriracha is every Buzzfeed article ever written about it… every hipster that gets a Sriracha bottle tattooed on their arm… every Oatmeal cartoon that treats Sriracha like it’s the stuff Jesus himself used to kick things up a notch at The Last Supper. The problem with Sriracha is HYPE. Big, smelly, impenetrable clouds of over-effusive praise that make a good thing mediocre with needlessly high expectations. Hell, the hype has made me actively dislike Sriracha; well, the IDEA of Sriracha, anyway. The gunk itself, as I said, is fine. But seeing it mentioned on a menu, or reading about how you should put it on everything, haha BRUSH YOUR TEETH WITH IT lol j/k BUT DOOO IIIT makes me want to roll my eyes until my retinas pop.
Look, I recognize that food is good, in general, and that some specific foodstuffs are individually excellent. But we, as a group, have to realize that if we keep pounding the excellent stuff into the ground, everyone is going to get sick of it and start eating dry saltines and lukewarm tea totally out of spite. Bacon, Nutella, cupcakes, anything served out of a food truck… they ALL know what I’m talking about. Everybody just calm the fuck down about everything. Sriracha would really appreciate it, I’m sure.
Bottom 3 Condiments
3) Sweet Relish – You know what this hot dog needs? Some goo that looks like a fungus you’d find growing on a boat. And if that goo could also taste like it had several packets of Splenda mixed into it, well then this hot dog will be totally good to go! DID I MENTION THAT I’M A MONSTER??? (dill relish is okay, but I also would be fine if it totally disappeared off the planet; it is the Bill Pullman of condiments)
2) Mostarda – This isn’t a real common condiment, I’ll admit, but I really like the symmetry of having a mustard thing in all three categories. SO VERSATILE. Also, mostarda is disgusting and people need to be warned about it. Now… brace yourself, because I’m about to tell you what mostarda is, exactly. Ready? Made peace with your existence? Texted the family, told them to avenge your death? Good. Mostarda is candied fruit suspended in a mustard-flavored syrup. It looks like this. Try to hold that description in your mind. Run it over your mental tastebuds. If your first thought isn’t, “Dammit, Grandpa’s trying to cook again; time to up his medication,” then I think your brain might need a good thwack to realign its mechanisms. Naturally, your next thought should be… who the fuck is eating this garbage? THE ITALIANS, that’s who. They love mostarda. They put it on bread and meat and, presumably, their naked bodies while engaging in small-batch, locally grown, artisanal sexy times. Gosh, the Italians are just SO much better than us. They do things the RIGHT way.
Except for NOT putting candied fruit in a mustard-flavored syrup, then eating it. They suck at that.
1) Mayonnaise – I am going to admit up front that mayo is a favorite, and much used, condiment of mine. It tastes good when it’s used as an ingredient for casseroles and dips, it’s even better when mixed with flaked tuna and pickles and onion and hard boiled egg, and it’s at its absolute best when it’s spread on a simple sandwich, letting its flavor accentuate and embolden everything it touches.
But here’s the thing: Mayonnaise is disgusting. Like, damn bone-chilling in its horror. Doubt me? Here’s what I want you to do: Make your way into a restaurant kitchen around 11pm on a Friday night. Watch as a tired waiter, tasked with restocking the expo line, takes an industrial sized, plastic jar of mayo and plorps… there’s no other word for it… a huge glob of mayo into an empty hotel pan. Try to maintain eye contact as it heaves out of the jar in gasping, farting slumps. Take in the SMELL of all that whipped fat. Your mouth will water at the tang it kicks off into the air, and you’ll hate yourself for it. Your stomach will tie itself into a reef knot. Oh god, the waiter got some on his hand and he just LICKED IT OFF.
LITTLE DROPLETS OF MAYO ARE SUSPENDED IN HIS MUSTACHE HAIRS.
I don’t feel out of line in saying that the scene I’ve just described is worse than anything that has ever appeared in a Faces of Death video.
And thus, the dichotomy of mayonnaise. Good. Evil. Necessary for deviled eggs. May we one day be forgiven for our sins.
Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.
Marketing to people in their early 20’s has got to be just the worst job. I mean… no, it’s not cleaning up a parking lot after a country music concert (SO MANY EXPLODED DIP CUPS) or working 50 hours a week in a telephone call center (you can only get hung up on so many times before all the rejection makes your soul implode like a decommissioned sports stadium), but still. Having to design advertisements that specifically attract men and women in their early 20’s is awful, because you’re trying to market to a group of people who don’t even know who the hell they ARE. Think back to your early 20’s… what kind of person were you? What were you into? What did you stand for and/or believe in?
If you were anything like me, the answers to those questions are, respectively, “an awful person,” “whatever, man,” and, “my right to party.” HOW DO YOU MARKET TO THAT??? Early 20’s men and women are emotionally malformed, half-humans who are still trying to figure out how you do adulthood. Everything is exciting! Everything is terrifying! Everything is the best it can possibly be, and the worst it has ever been, all at the same time. Trying to figure out what those people want, and how to make them buy it, is akin to killing the Rancor in Return of the Jedi; sure it CAN be done, but you basically have to be a Jedi to do it.
(For the non-nerds reading this, the above translates to: “Doing something impossible, but only because you’re a person who is literally magic”)
So when you market to people in their early 20’s, you basically have to take the scatter-shot approach. Spray the bullets in a wide enough pattern, and surely you’ll hit SOMETHING that draws blood. And so what you end up with is stuff like… say, an AXE body spray commercial that star an anthropomorphic armpit. Or endless ads that feature a DJ as a lazy shorthand for THIS IS WHAT’ COOL LOOKS LIKE. Or, if you’re Kinky Liqueur… the subject of today’s Girl Drink Drunk… you cram a whole bunch of Sex and the City-style sexual innuendo into a bazooka, then fire that fucker at a laptop fully loaded with Photoshop capabilities. What you get is this:
Flirty, lingerie lady with bottles of booze in her hair? SURE LET’S GO WITH THAT. This will make the young ladies want to drink our cartoon beverages, surely! This girl is what ALL girls aspire to be!!! Look at her! She’s having SO MUCH FUN!!! Just livin’ life, putting liquor bottles in her hair, for some reason. Probably SUPER FUN reasons! CAN I MIX YOU UP A KINKY-TINI???
Anyway, what Alcoholic Medusa up there is trying to sell you is this:
The Girl Drink(s)
Kinky Liqueur and Kinky Blue… booze that looks like liquified Snorks, shown here with a quarter for scale. I really don’t want anyone to think I actually bought whole bottles of this stuff. This is what they purport to be:
Kinky Liqueur (the pink one): It’s a little bit of vodka… distilled 5 times, the copy says, because THAT fucking matters after you dump an entire sand dune of sugar into it… as well as a lot of flavoring, dye, chips from a hunk of radioactive uranium, ground-up members of the Tinkerbell family, and, of course, pure, uncut, CLASSINESS. This one supposedly tastes like, again… deferring to the copy… “succulent mango” (as opposed to shitty mango), “blood orange liqueur,” and “passion fruit.”
Kinky Blue (the blue one): Same thing with the vodka… they are VERY proud of their distillation process, which is a bit rich, seeing as how their product tastes about as filtered and distilled as a piece of Laffy Taffy, but WHATEVER. This one is going for a “tropical and wild berry flavor,” because… I don’t know… that’s what blue flavored stuff tastes like now? Back in my day, blue meant razzberry (not raspberry; spelling is key) and that’s how we liked it!
Taste Test – Straight Up
It became pretty clear, after doing shots of Kinky Liqueur and Kinky Blue that I was really not supposed to do that. These are mixers… drinking these straight is like throwing your french fries in the trash and just squirting ketchup in your mouth. However, doing shots of Kinkys Liqueur and Blue DID give my tongue an up-close, TMI look at what, exactly, they taste like. Surprisingly, I only hated one of them! Kinky Liqueur (the pink one) is sweet… god, so sweet… a Capri-Sun times a million… and it packs a wallop of synthetic fruitiness that is unmatched by even the most engorged Gusher… but it kind of didn’t taste all that bad. Maybe it’s the subtle tartness from the blood orange liqueur that makes it a little more palatable… maybe it’s the fact that the predominant flavor is passion fruit, which I happen to tenderly love (TASTES LIKE HAWAII, BABY). Whatever the case, Kinky Liqueur wasn’t the worst.
Kinky blue, however, WAS the worst. They had a good thing going with the Kinky Liqueur, and they got greedy. “LET’S MAKE ANOTHER ONE! The kids like blue… I’ve seen ’em wearing jeans!!! OUR NEW PRODUCT IS KINKY BLUE!!! PASS ME THAT STILETTO FULL OF COCAINE.” Despite what the copy would have you believe, this junk tastes nothing like anything remotely tropical, or any sort of berry that grows in the wild. It tastes EXACTLY like grape Bubblelicious. To the point where I feel like there’s some kind of weird, corporate synergy going on here. Bubblelicious is the shadow hand behind Kinky Blue! YOU HAVE TO READ BETWEEN THE LINES, YOU SHEEP. YouTube conspiracy theory video forthcoming!
Oh, and acid reflux. Kinky Blue also has subtle notes of acid reflux on the back end. I get why they don’t mention that, though. The word “vurp” rarely appears in packaging copy.
Taste Test – Mixed
I also thought it would be fun (using the loosest, most free-form definition of the word) to try the two Kinkys mixed together, but otherwise straight-up. I was wrong, of course… as I always am about these kind of things… but learning from your mistakes is for DORKS.
First off, it came out the same color as the bruise you get after taking a softball to the thigh:
I’ve put a lot of unpleasant-looking liquids in my mouth (which probably explains why MY early-20’s remain kind of a messy swirl of colors and lights), but this has got to be a Top Ten finalist. Anyway, the Kinky Mix tasted like total sensory overload. Imagine watching a Japanese anime on Adderall that you washed down with a tumbler of 5hr Energy Shots. That’s as close as I can get to pinning down the flavor.
Mostly, it just tasted like bad choices.
Taste Test – W/ Soda Water
I was too strung-out on the Kinky Mix to remember that I was supposed to be photographing everything, so you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. Imagine slightly less pink and slightly less blue liquids in larger glasses with some ice. You’ve got the idea.
These were a little better. Not so much a head-on collision of flavor; more like minor fender-benders. The fizziness helped cut through the sugar, and the neutral mixer made them not taste like you’re drinking cotton candy barf. They did, however, taste pretty watered down (SHOCKING)… kind of like how Vitamin Water ALMOST tastes like something fruity, but not quite.
Pretty uninspiring, frankly.
Taste Test – W/ Clique Vodka
Clique Vodka is thing I bought for a future installment of Girl Drink Drunk, mainly because it looks like this:
I feel like if you replaced the word “vodka” with the word “eyeliner,” you could use the exact same packaging for make-up. Smaller bottle, of course. Anyway, I bought it because it looked SO CHICK-LIKE, but then I tried it and… well, it just tastes like vodka. Not very exciting.
However… seeing as how one of the (many) suggested uses for the Kinky brand is the aforementioned “Kinky-tini,” which is a word (?) that makes may teeth itch when I say it out loud… I figured we could just fold the Clique vodka into the mix here.
The Clique vodka… or ANY vodka, I’m sure… is the code-breaker. THIS is how the Kinky line of beverages is meant to be consumed. The vodka mellows out the harsh acidity of the Kinky beverages; it makes them smoother, and more drinkable. Despite looking like a set dresser’s idea of a “futuristic cocktail” from the kind of cheap-o, sci-fi schlock you used to see on USA’s Up All Night, the Kinky-tinis (ugh, I’m dizzy now) aren’t total garbage. The pink one, anyway. The blue one still tastes like grape Bubblelicious, but without that swallowing-lit-matches reflux taste. Honestly, the Blue Kinky-tini (ouch, my pancreas!) tastes like what a 10 year old would drink after a hard day of playing Freeze Tag and kicking ass on the monkey bars. The pink [brand name martini]… sorry, can’t say it again, I’m starting to go numb below the waist… with the inclusion of the vodka, just tastes kind of mildly fruity and, well, girly. A good starting point, adult beverage-wise, if that’s the kind of life you want to lead.
And if you DO want to lead that kind of life… that VERY SPECIFIC kind of mid-20’s lady life… I guess you could do a lot worse than the Kinky line of products. They’re better than, say, Smirnoff Ices, because at least they’ve got a little punch to them, and they’re not as of yet directly linked to the assorted frat parties and bro-downs that happen at that stage of the game. But… and this is just a little free advice, from someone who’s already walked down that weird, scary road… don’t let the branding of products define who you are. Don’t aspire to be a lady with liquor bottles in her hair, or an anthropomorphic armpit (or whatever those images represent in the real world). Your early-20’s are ridiculous enough on their own.
Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.
Ladies and gentlemen, to start off this edition of Girl Drink Drunk, I have enlisted a couple of actors from the local repertory theater to put on a little playlet regarding the beverage we are spotlighting. Enjoy…
THE GIRL DRINK DRUNK PLAYERS PRESENT
Summer of Thirst
Bob: Greetings, Bill! Thanks for inviting me to this outdoor barbecue! My, what a glorious summer day!
Bill: Bob, you old rascal… welcome to my humble home. You’ll see that it is MUCH nicer than yours. You should feel bad about that. Hey can I get you something to drink?
Bob: Sure! Something that reflects the summer-y atmosphere would be a joy. I’m sure you have something high-class and fancy in YOUR refrigerator, seeing as how you’re my boss and I am basically the juice that collects at the bottom of a garbage can.
Bill: I don’t understand the reference. The help takes out the garbage at my house. I am sorry that you’re poor. Say, how about that beverage!
Bob: Thank you, sir, for thinking of my thirst on this hot day when I’m SURE your brain has millions of actually important things with which to concern itself. I am further humbled. I am nothing.
[BILL exits. BOB does some light pantomime, perhaps some juggling]
Bill: Here we are! A tasty beverage for this fine summer afternoon!!!
Bob: Sweet salvation! Surely you have brought me manna from Heaven; a libation unlike anything that have passed between these working-man’s lips! HOSANNA, HOSANNA!!!
Bill: It’s Coors Light with some fruit in it.
Bob: I’m… sorry…?
Bill: You know… Coors Light? The beer of choice for deadbeat dads and people who long ago lost their sense of taste to a war injury or what have you? It’s that, but there’s some chunks of fruit in it. Oranges, lemons, limes… it’s fine.
[BOB hesitantly takes a sip. His face becomes a mask of confusion and rage. BILL begins to flop-sweat profusely]
Bob: I’m sorry, I… must be going… you see… I thought you were a man of refinement and style. I guess I thought this because you are my boss. But now I see that you are just some dirtbag that owns a sawmill. Not even a GOOD sawmill. We have to cut logs with repurposed sporks. SPORKS. Sporks are plastic, you bastard!!! But I guess I should expect as much from someone who would serve Coors Light with fruit in it to his guests on a hot summer day! I’M THE SAWMILL BOSS NOW!!! I HAVE TAKEN THAT FROM YOU!!!
Bill: All is lost. I am now the one who is nothing. OH, THE TWISTS OF FATE!!! Coors Light with fruit in it… you have taken everything away from me. Curse you. I CURSE YOU!!!!
Wow. Well… that was… sort of on-topic. Also, not sure exactly what artistic purpose was served by performing the play nude. So much penis flailing…
The Girl Drink
Today, we’re looking at Coors Light with fruit in it, basically. Well, fruit juice. Sorry… “fruit juice.” I feel like the relationship between this beverage and actual fruit is, at best, a passing one. The fruit juices in Coors Light: Summer Brew are basically the taste equivalents of the fruit smells you find in scratch-n-sniff stickers. But that’s okay! We don’t NEED fresh-squeezed juices in our beers! Or, if we do, we can squeeze them ourselves and mix them into beers like the goddamned industrious Americans that we are. So… no fault to the Coors brand for wizard-ing up some chemical compounds that taste like citrus run-off. They’re just doing their job.
That job being, of course, to create something that is pleasant-tasting and summery enough to steal the casual drinker away from the booming craft beer business that is currently acting as a thorn in the side of BIG BREWERY. I mean… the Anheuser-Buschs of the world are making their money, don’t get me wrong. But they’re not making ALL the money, as a certain subset of the population has realized that beer can be amazing when it’s made with care and an eye towards quality (as opposed to quantity). This pisses off Big Brewery to no end. JUST DRINK YOUR CHEAP HOBO SPIT AND LIKE IT, CONSUMERS. But that mantra isn’t working quite so well any more. So they have to get creative. Not to put too punny a point on it, but, they have to get crafty.
And so we get stuff like Coors Light: Summer Brew. And you know what… it doesn’t suck. It’s not GREAT, mind you. It’s not going to replace your favorite summer ale from your most-beloved local brewery by a long shot. But it does, in fact, taste a whole lot better than it should. Breweries, it seems, have finally gotten a handle on the whole “putting citrus into beer” game. Gone are the days of Tequiza (which tasted like a book of matches splattered with lime jello) and Miller Chill (which tasted like a lime took on human form, got hammered, then pooped on your tongue). Coors Light: Summer Brew is a reflection of just how far the industry has come with regards to citrus beers. It kind of tastes like, well, cheap beer… no getting around that… that’s been fortified with a few spritzes from a box of Five Alive. Honestly, there are plenty worse things to shotgun on a hot day than Coors Light: Summer Brew.
So if you’re looking for something to drink on the beach, or to quaff with your wife in the backyard while the kids cannonball into the above-ground pool as Jackson Browne’s “Lawyers in Love” drifts in from the living room stereo system… GET SOMETHING FROM A LOCAL BREWERY, DAMMIT. That should be like “nip-slip on the red carpet” obvious. But if that’s somehow not an option, then… sure… why not.. get some Coors Light with fruit in it. It won’t change your life, but hey… not all plays make it to Broadway. If you know what I mean. I’m looking at YOU, cast of “Summer of Thirst.” Don’t quit your day jobs.
On May 7th, 2014, the author of America’s favorite liquor-soaked humor website, Zombie Fights Shark, announced the imminent arrival of a “50th Post Spectacular,” meant to coincide with the publishing of the 50th post on the aforementioned blog. Anticipation was, to say the least, frenzied. It made Beatlemania look like a bunch of kids huffing spray paint behind an Arby’s. However, there was no “50th Post Spectacular” the next day. Or the next. Almost a week went by with nothing. Then, on March 13th, with little fanfare or explanation, a YouTube clip of the semi-popular Genesis music video “I Can’t Dance” was uploaded to Zombie Fights Shark, bearing the post title “Zombie Fights Shark’s 50th Post Spectacular.” It was considered by many ZFS fans to be a slap in the face… a direct affront to the weeks and months (mostly weeks) of loyalty that they had invested in this enterprise. “This is our 50th post celebration? THIS? Phil fucking Collins,” questioned noted ZFS super-fan Todd Schultz. He went on to state that, “We’ve put up with a lot of C-dog’s horseshit and also he stole my wallet one time, but THIS… this takes the fucking taco.”
What had happened? Where had Zombie Fight’s Shark gone so horribly wrong? Today, we uncover the truth. Here now, unedited and uncensored, we present…
I Can’t Dance: The “Zombie Fights Shark 50th Post Spectacular” Disaster – An Oral History
Meryl Sloops – Creative Director, ZFS Co. – Honestly, we were kicking around the idea of having some kind of celebration to mark the 50th post of Zombie Fights Shark as far back as February. We knew it was going to happen, and we knew that by that time post number 50 rolled around… well… we knew ZFS was going to be a big deal.
Clive Baxter – CEO, ZFS Co. – It had to be HUGE. And we were prepared to spare no expense. Dancing girls… blimp fights over a major metropolitan area… we even got word that David Bowie was willing to sing “Happy Birthday” to the website while dressed as Elton John. Point is, we were going to make this “50th Post Spectacular” so off the hook, we wouldn’t be able to even FIND the hook until like years later, when we weren’t even looking for the hook anymore. We’d probably find the hook in a junk drawer or a little-used cupboard. Something like that. SO OFF THE HOOK!
Zooey King – Marketing Intern – They made me follow C-dog around for days and days, taking notes on all his ideas for the “50th Post Spectacular.” It was… well, it nearly broke my spirit. I’m just gonna put that out there. The way he rambled… the far-off look in his eye that spoke to a deep, swirling inner-madness… the constant spray of Cheez-Its crumbs bouncing off my glasses. It was too much. Also, his ideas were TERRIBLE. “Everyone gets free gravy” was one. Another was, “I’ll finally show that son of a bitch Anderson Cooper who’s the REAL hot shot!” He also was pretty insistent on “fistfighting a drunk-ass rodeo clown.” His words. He brought that one up A LOT. I think one time a rodeo clown must have broken his heart… that’s the only reason I can figure that they make him SO angry.
Meryl Sloops – Creative Director, ZFS Co. – We were prepared to move on any idea that C-dog nailed down. The problem was… well… getting him to settle on ANYTHING is a bit of a chore. Board meetings where there’s lunch involved are a nightmare with C-dog. He’ll demand stuff like buffalo wings from Subway, or bacon cheeseburgers with all the trimmings from Panda Express. I mean… how do you deal with a mind that thinks like that? And that’s just for a lunch order! With the “50th Post Spectacular,” it was a hundred times worse. Oh, one time, he wanted a lobster roll from Chuck E. Cheese! He held up a quarterly review for HOURS with that one. I swear, if this job didn’t have such excellent Dental insurance…
Lil’ Poot – C-dog’s Chief of Security – Boss wants what he wants. That’s all there is to say. Hey man… would you be interested in buying some high-quality crystal meth? Because I’ve got a whole bunch of it in this briefcase… wait a minute… naw, never mind… these is Pop Rocks…
Clive Baxter – CEO, ZFS Co. – By the end of April, the 50th post was rapidly approaching and we were nowhere close to being ready. C-dog was vacillating wildly between a simple look back at some of his favorite posts, and something he kept calling a “Dracula disco” that was to feature several, filmed chainsaw fights and a staged reading of transcripts from The Pat Sajak Show. Presumably there would also be some sort of dancing vampires…? Possibly doing The Hustle…? It was unclear then, and it remains so today.
Zooey King – Marketing Intern – I tried to explain to him that this was going to be on a website, on the internet, and there would be no live component to the “50th Post Spectacular.” He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “what the fuck is ‘the internet?'” Then he ate a Big Mac using his stomach as a plate and as a napkin. I should have quit right then, but… C-dog weirdly has a lot of pull with Ivy League schools. I promised my family I’d get into Brown, and without C-dog’s letter of recommendation, it’s never going to happen. Brown University doesn’t usually accept known felons. (I used to steal cars a bunch; it’s a whole thing)
Lil’ Poot – C-dog’s Chief of Security – You SURE you don’t want these Pop Rocks? They mad fizzy, yo.
Clive Baxter – CEO, ZFS Co. – Suddenly, the bomb was dropped. He announced that the “50th Post Spectacular” was posting THE NEXT DAY. I could have killed him. If only I had bought that sword I saw online! Look, I’m not ashamed to admit that I wept that day. I openly wept, right there in the lobby of ZFS Co.’s main building. At one point, I even gnashed my teeth at the heavens, and lightly soiled my undergarments in a fit of rage. And then I picked myself up… I dusted myself off… I threw my underwear into a recycling bin full of old magazines (it was the only thing handy)… and I got back to work. That’s just how you have to operate in the business world. No pussies here!
Meryl Sloops – Creative Director, ZFS Co. – The next few days were a whirlwind. I barely had time for sleep! We knew we weren’t going to hit the impossible deadline that C-dog laid down for us, so we focused on making the “50th Post Spectacular” really and truly… well… SPECTACULAR. We gathered up magicians, yodelers, really trashy strippers, the insisted-upon rodeo clowns “who could take a punch,” the Budweiser frogs, a guy who invented a new way to eat soup (elaborate funnel system), former NFL quarterback Ryan Leaf… everything and everyone that was on Ms. King’s notes regarding C-dog’s wants and desires for the big event. We had them all at the ready… all C-dog had to do was make up his mind about what he wanted, and then we could knock the “50th Post Spectacular” out of the park.
Zooey King – Marketing Intern – And then C-dog disappeared. No one knew where he was… not Clive, not the board of directors, not even Lil’ Poot.
Lil’ Poot – C-dog’s Chief of Security – He gave me the slip in a Waffle House parking lot. One minute he was there, trying to jimmy a license plate off an old Chevy Nova, the next minute… gone. Without a doubt the darkest day of my professional career. Can you understand what I’m saying with all these Pop Rocks in my mouth?
Clive Baxter – CEO, ZFS Co. – We were at our wits end. Monday night, the decision was made to just film a little bit of everything and post it to Zombie Fights Shark, along with a note of hearty thanks to all the readers and subscribers ghostwritten by Ms. Sloops. It was an utter failure on our part, but it was our only option. And then Tuesday morning came, bringing with it Phil fucking Collins…
Meryl Sloops – Creative Director, ZFS Co. – The press was on us immediately. The tabloids, the gossip shows, even that little son of a bitch Anderson Cooper… everyone wanted a piece of us. Why, after all the build up… after all the press junkets and promises and grand statements of wonders yet to come… was the “50th Post Spectacular” only a YouTube clip of the music video “I Can’t Dance” by Genesis. I didn’t have the answers. Only C-dog knew.
Zooey King – Marketing Intern – After tracking his credit cards, we found him at a Holiday Inn near the Interstate. C-dog could never resist a free continental breakfast. I had tried explaining to him that it wasn’t FREE, per se, that it was included in the price of the room, but then he’d fly into a rage… look, it doesn’t matter. We had found him. Sure, he was drunk on Seagram’s Jamaican Me Happy wine coolers and eating what appeared to be vegetarian chili out of an old rain boot with his hands, but still…
Lil’ Poot – C-dog’s Chief of Security – I sobered him up and Ms. Sloops, Mr. Baxter, and that sweet Ms. King got all up in his grill. They were so mad. They wanted answers, and they DID not want to buy any of my crystal meth. Which is good because, as I previously mentioned, it turned out to be Pop Rocks.
Meryl Sloops – Creative Director, ZFS Co. – C-dog said, and I quote, “Oh… yeah… I put that up there because, like, “Sussudio” is a great fucking song and everyone should hear it more.” Yep. Didn’t even know what song it was. When I told him that that had been the “50th Post Spectacular,” he screamed, “WE DID IT,” then promptly fell asleep on a pile of old hotel towels. And that was that. Here we are, a day later… our company in ruins… our jobs in jeopardy… and does he care? Does C-dog even CARE??? I’m sorry… I can’t do this anymore…
Clive Baxter – CEO, ZFS Co. – Who knows what happens next. All I know is… I just bought that sword, and I’m going to learn how to use it. So I’ll be ready for NEXT TIME this happens. If that next time even ever comes…
Zooey King – Marketing Intern – Hey, did Lil’ Poot mention to you guys if he was single?
Lil’ Poot – C-dog’s Chief of Security – She asked what? Oh, it’s ON. Tell Ms. King we all going to be at Golden Corral later, if she wants to split a few turns at the Chocolate Wonderfall. What’s that? Oh… C-dog? He’s still out there, man… just blogging and eating stuff out of inappropriate vessels and whatnot. That’s just how he lives. That’s the only way he knows how.
This afternoon, while doing the dishes and shaking my butt to Deee-Lite’s seminal 90’s dance hit, “Groove is in the Heart” (like ya do), I received a notification from WordPress. It looked like this:
Zombie Fights Shark has 500 fucking followers! How about that! And… actually… it’s even more than that, because I’ve received additional notices since the aforementioned BIG DEAL notification stating that the number is rising and rising and RISING. Basically, I will be challenging The Huffington Post and Perez Hilton for blogger supremacy by mid-June.
Or… possibly not.
Because… well… I have a sneaking suspicion that some of these 500+ followers are not actually living, breathing, computer-wielding humans. I have, over the last few weeks, seen a few “followers” sign on to this cuckoo train ride sporting names like NewShoes4Cheap and MiLeYcYrUsEarnFastMoneyNOW and SpamBot3000, which makes me think that some of you handsome visitors may not actually be on the up and up.
Fortunately, however… I do not care! Robots are welcome (so shiny)! Actual people are welcome (provided you’re not dicks)! Zombie Fights Shark is celebrating a motherfucking milestone and… in fact… is about to celebrate ANOTHER motherfucking milestone tomorrow.
That’s right, this 500+ announcement just so happens to be coming the day before Zombie Fights Shark’s 50th post, because sometimes life just lines up like that. Round-number symmetry, bitches!
So, as a prelude to tomorrow, let me just say… to the subset of the 500+ followers that are sentient beings and have been enjoying my general goofery on ZFS… thanks. Seriously… big, heaping handfuls of thanks. I appreciate your eyes on my words more than is probably legal, depending on the county in which you reside. And to all the spammers and robots out there… hey, what the hell… thanks to y’all too. Fluffing the stats is an American tradition, and I appreciate all that you do to make me look more impressive than reality would otherwise dictate.
And to all of you, robot and human alike, be sure to tune in tomorrow… late-ish in the day, because your C-dog has to work in the morning… for Zombie Fight Shark’s 50th Post Spectactular!!!
Because, make no mistake… It’s all for you! It’s all for you, Damian!!!