This is the best thing I’ve seen on the intertubez all month. Thank you, Dan Braun.
Click for bigger nope.
That’s quite enough staring at Tropical Storm Erika, but before I go, one last thing:
Or should I say one last SCHWING?
I REGRET NOTHING.
Seriously, it’s the frank…. and beans.
The germs that tend to be carried into the workplace got to me and left me feeling pretty sick today. I needed some cough syrup and decongestant to stop an evil cough, so I rode a freshly decorated Metromover car down to Publix and picked up some supplies.
One of these is orange. One of these is a fresh and hard to describe hell.
First, the orange juice. It had a good flavor despite being deoxygenated and reflavored for bottling. It comes out very much like fresh squeezed, with some pulp (don’t forget to shake).
It’s from conventionally grown oranges but comes out fine, I’m pickier about produce being organic on things that don’t have a thick peel that keeps the chemical stew from noticeably absorbing in.
But speaking of chemical stew…
The cough syrup. Oh boy. Where to start.
Opening the bottle revealed a pleasant note of candy canes. So okay, it’s mentholated, but… Bright orange? I knew this wasn’t gonna be the best thing I’d ever tasted, but nothing could prepare me for the 30 milliliters of wack that awaited.
The first thing I noticed was the glaring fake orange flavor. I mean candy like fake orange, like the flavor package they add to Tropicana orange juice… Horribly, questionably, ridiculously bizarre. It’s like oranges in a bad fever dream. I figured, okay, if that’s the worst of it…..
… It wasn’t.
As I ascended the escalator to the Metromover platform, the menthol came back as a burning, infuriating aftertaste that combined with the fake orange, made me shudder. Sure I could feel a pleasant coolness in my irritated throat and sinuses but my taste buds were not happy.
It was like excessively orange Gatorade powder stirred into mint mouthwash and inadvertently chugged at 4 in the morning. It was awful. Upon seeing a fire extinguisher on the wall, I *fondly* remembered the unpleasant salty chalk flavor that you get on your palate after walking into a room where there’s monoammonium phosphate and talc powder hanging in the air from someone discharging a type ABC dry chemical extinguisher. That taste in my memory was preferable.
A train dribbled in there, abruptly hitting the end of its program stop a little too hot and thudding to a stop. I got aboard and inadvertently stepped into another passenger’s basket of tennis balls, each monogrammed with his initials. I tried to apologize but just gagged.
At the next station I all but fell out of the Bombardier CX-100 in a coughing fit and spit a ball of neon orange gunk into the trash can. I don’t know if this was the intent and design of this evil liquid but all the gunk had been purged from my nose, throat, and probably gray matter as well. It worked, in mere minutes. Took my mind right off the cold or whatever it is.
I’m not looking forward to another dose in four hours. 😉
It was a far different time. A time before people posting pictures of their food on Instagram, a time when America was running in the space race and everything had to look all cool and futuristic….. and all our recipes had to involve locking our food in Carbonite. But since Carbonite preservation wasn’t entirely ready for prime time yet, we settled instead for bricking it in gelatine.
Everything was sealed in gelatine.
Desserts, salads, meats, you could grab the edge of the table and shake it and make your whole dinner quiver.
At least, this is the mental picture I’m getting from things like the infamous old Betty Crocker recipe cards. Please prepare yourself, the page linked mentions something called “Prune Whip”. Just so you know what you’re getting yourself into.
This post was inspired by seeing a picture of a MODERN creation that’s been floating around on Pinterest and Facebook – a Spaghetti-O’s jello molded doughnut of sadness covered in Vienna sausages. Like the bright red and mottled appearance of the fly agaric Amanita muscaria, this is a warning that you may not be happy if you eat it.
Also, would this thing get you in trouble on Metrorail? If I saw someone bring one of these things proudly aboard the train I’d probably exit at the next station and run for dear life, in fear that the gelatine plague could spread to me next and cause me to start entombing Mediterranean salads in gelatine.
Excuse me while I go write my congressperson a letter in favor of gelatine abuse prevention programs.
We’ve got your crazy thrill ride right here.
It’s become a big game of chance lately as to whether the Metromover will make this ramp and turnout successfully. Failures are spectacular when they happen; the train either shorts out power with a big loud, bright arc, screeches to an abrupt halt, politely comes to a complete stop and sits there in front of the maintenance facility, or goes dark and free falls down the ramp for a few seconds before being slammed to a halt by the spring loaded parking brakes setting.
There is talk about charging passengers a fare to ride Metromover again, but personally I think all they need is this magical phrase heard on many thrill rides everywhere: “Exit through the gift shop“.
You never truly leave radio, nor does it ever leave you.
It sneaks up when you least expect it.
That XPR6550 may not work anymore and I hope to cheeeeze that I don’t have to strip down and repair an old Harris transmitter while wearing an inflexible leather corset again, but yeah… I seem to be getting offers to do little bits and pieces of radio stuff at times. I definitely do not want to make it by nine to five (more like eight to WTF, eleven?!) thing again but it’s fun once in a while.
For the record it only took a week before my shoulders stopped burning… Ooowwww.
Welcome to the Internet. Sorry, the throttle’s stuck in Run 8 and the font’s stuck on Comic Sans MS Bold.
This has been an entirely useful content-free post.