Terrible Analogies

Wandering the aisles of our local union staffed grocery store this past weekend, we noticed that the Mountain Dew 12 pack boxes looked a little strange.  Instead of the normal neon and muted green color scheme they were white with an odd strip of red on the edge.  Peering down at these stacked boxes like someone studying a bit of road kill or examining a newly discovered chip in his windshield, I read the word “Throwback” in tiny letters stamped on the end of the containers.

Wow…instead of high fructose corn syrup, this limited batch of Mountain Dew was made with real sugar.  Recalling how good the sugar-infused Coke tasted during our trip to Maui last year I quickly strong-manned several cases of our accidental discovery into our cart and made a dash for the checkout line.

Let me state again how amazingly good Coke tastes when infused with sugar.  Upon first drink you’re wondering why it tastes so different.  So staggeringly seductive.  It’s only when you read the ingredients printed on the side of the can do you realize that what you thought to be some kind of ancient arcane chemical alchemy was simply…sugar.

If Coke tastes so wonderful when made with sugar, then it goes to reason that Mountain Dew must taste equally, if not more fantastic.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

What I thought was going to be a technicolor explosion of dreamlike sensations turned out to be more like a blind date with a homely girl suffering with an inflamed goiter.

Tasting quite bland, balancing upon the sharp wavering precipice of distasteful, this nearly insipid liquid leaned precariously on just this side of foul.  I didn’t have to choke this liquid down my throat, but as I drank deeply of its blandness I couldn’t help but think of several other refreshing soft drinks that I could be ingesting in its stead.  

This is the sort of drink Santa gives to bad boys and girls.

To put it bluntly, the Throwback Mountain Dew left me quite disappointed.

To save yourself from a bit of a letdown, if you’re ever given a choice between Throwback and regular Mountain Dew, chose the latter.

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Imagine my shock and horror when, late one night, I happened upon an infomercial that featured one of the most unlikely of pitchmen.  But there we was, big as day and in full regalia, mohawk primped and perfect, gold chains around his neck, and sporting a “fresh out of the package” polo shirt.  Aghast, I sat with wide, unbelieving eyes at my television, unable to comprehend the full meaning of it all.  Mr. T, that beloved, illiterate icon of the 70’s and 80’s, had sold his soul to the infomercial gods, and was now hawking the latest in a long line of “as seen on TV” products that, according to the late Billy Mays, “no house and home can live without”.  

I don’t know what upset me more; the fact that Mr. T was wearing an uncharacteristic button-down Polo shirt, or that he’s apparently half Klingon.  

Mr. T, bought and paid for.  This is something that goes against the very nature that is B.A. Baracus.  Why, Mr. T…why?

Pitching the FlavorWave, which apparently can cook an entire turkey in 5 minutes, teach manners to your unruly children, and balance the national debt with the simple push of a button.

This miraculous product is brought to you by the good folks from the Cooking Club Of America, which is a scam of the highest order.  From what I’ve read, these grifters charge members outrageous fees for “life-time memberships”, taking hundreds of dollars from you without your consent.  Their aggressive, predatory practices are well recorded.  If I were you, I’d stay as far away from anything having to do with the Cooking Club Of America.  Unless, of course, you enjoy getting ripped off.

The traditional gold chains have been replaced with corporate marketing. Oh, Mr. T…look how far you’ve fallen.

And so, an icon falls.  Next time, I’d do a bit of research just to see who you’re getting into bed with.  Those shylocks from the Cooking Club Of America are nobody to mess with.  Mr. T., IANAL, but I highly suggest that you review your contact with these people to ensure that they’re not going to burn you in some way or fashion.  And get some better handlers…you know, somebody who has an ounce of sense and will steer you away from frauds like these.

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I was chowing down on a bag of Cracker Jacks this weekend, and in between glutenous, sticky handfuls of carmel-coated popcorn goodness I took a moment to admire the bold statement “Prize Inside” emblazoned on the packaging.  

Per Webster, a “prize” is defined as:

1 : something offered or striven for in competition or in contests of chance
2 : something exceptionally desirable
3 archaic : a contest for a reward : competition

Wow, prize inside, huh?  I find this to be an odd turn of phrase.  What did I do to earn this “prize”?  I mean, it wasn’t like I ran a sub-four minute mile, solved the Goldbach conjecture, or provided indisputable proof of life after death.  All I did was open a bag of junk food and bam, I came into possession of a prize.  Talk about the decline of expectations in a generation suffering from a severe case of entitlement-itis.

To satiate my unfulfilled need for instant gratification I think I’ll hit up the cereal boxes in my pantry next.  I’m sure there are more “prizes” to be had there that can stroke my ego and give me the feeling of accomplishment in my otherwise drab existence…

Note: Don’t believe for a moment that the “prizes” inside the modern day Cracker Jack are “exceptionally desirable”.  They are a pale imitation of what once was.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been informed by these “prizes” that George Washington was our first president.  Give me a good ol’ fashioned plastic kaleidoscope or even a few water soluble tattoos, and then we’ll talk…

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Ya know, I’ve often wondered why there’s a noticeable chemical smell days after cleaning the bathroom…

Grabbing a can of Scrubbing Bubbles and doing the most basic of searches on the active ingredients turns up the following results:

n-Alkyl: Suspected of cardiovasular or blood toxicants / Neurotoxicant
Benzyl Ammonium Chlorides: Suspected of Gastrointestinal or Liver Toxicant, Immunotoxicant, Neurotoxicant, Respiratory Toxicant, Skin of Sense Organ Toxicant
Hydrocarbon Propellant: Central nervous system depressants. It can also sensitize the heart to the arrhythmogenic effects of epinephrine.

Being the last one to spread FUD around, I have to mention that combined, n-Alkyl and BAC makes up a scant .22% of this product, which I’m guessing is harmless to humans when Scrubbing Bubbles is used as directed.  Unless you’re sitting in a dark corner of your closet huffing these chemicals through an oil-stained paper bag, I’m sure this cleaning agent is safe to use.

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While unpacking our halloween decorations last week, we were sad to discover that our animatronic singing skeleton wasn’t working. We placed fresh batteries up it’s backside, slapped it around, even going so far as to call it a few choice names. Nada. Zip. It appeared that the darn thing wasn’t going to be singing Putin’ On The Ritz ever again.

This afternoon I was fiddling once again with this holiday decoration trying to will it to work when I noticed the following tag attached to it:

I’d never heard of the “Upholstered and Stuffed Articles Act” before.  Curious, I called upon the wonderous powers of the internet and discovered some unusual protections that this (now repealed) act provides:

Unclean material
(2)No person shall use material that contains vermin or is unclean in the manufacture or renovation of any upholstered or stuffed article.

Unsanitary stuffing

18.(1)No person shall sell or offer for sale an upholstered or stuffed article that,
     (a) has been in contact with a person suffering from a communicable disease;
     (b) is so soiled or in such condition as is likely to affect adversely the health of any
          person; or
     (c) contains vermin, unless the article has been sterilized or disinfected in the
          prescribed manner.

Jeezuz…was there a huge scandal with chain store fluffy doggies and poorly-sewn carney prizes being stuffed with vermin laced rags, soiled linens, and cotton swabs soaked with communicable diseases that required this regulatory Upholstered and Stuffed Articles Act to be adopted?  These seem like commonsense rules that shouldn’t require a legal act to enforce.

I remember the Tylenol scare of the 80’s, but have never heard of the giant stuffed giraffe scare of the whatevers.  Was there ever such a thing?

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