Let’s see, it’s December 10th and I haven’t nog-blogged a single time yet this month. Sure, I have four posts about nog so far this fall, including one post in October about pumpkin nog. And sure, even when not blogging about nog I’m still pretty much the greatest blog on the internet, so you’ve got that going for you. But Supa reminded me that all of that doesn’t matter when nog is on the line.
In a comment on the last post that I’m sure wasn’t intended to crush my soul and completely take the wind out of my sails, but did anyway, she upbraided me thusly:
Anyway. Came for nog, was disappointed.
I kind of just looked at the screen and went, “But… but… oh. Okay.” and then resolved to post about nog today in some sort of conciliatory gesture to correct past nog-related wrongs. So here you go, Supa, a nog post. I hope it does not disappoint.
During one of our frequent and unnecessary trips to Target to cram every cranny and nook of our home with cheap, plastic, disposable crap, I wandered away from Mrs. ACW (who was jabbering incessantly about how I tune her out or something like that), into the dairy section, as one is wont to do when one wanders aimlessly.
I came upon a dairy case that housed abortion after vile abortion of the unholiest products. Things that should never be mixed with something that comes out of a teat. Cherry-flavored milk? Pardon me while I vomit on the small child standing next to me. I would rather eat the Devil’s underpants. But, as luck would have it, at the end of that row of edible death was exactly what I was looking for: eggnog.
I was a little excited to see that it was Archer Farms branded eggnog because I’m pretty much in love with Archer Farms snack foods. I’d willfully stab a man to death for some of their flavored potato chips, and if it were legal in any state besides Wyoming, I’d quickly divorce Mrs. ACW and marry a bag of chips instead. But there’s no way I’m moving way the hell out to Wyoming just for some potato chips. Are we clear? Murder- enthusiastic yes. Moving- lethargic no.
So we get home and before Mrs. ACW can open the door I push her down on the ground, take the eggnog, and go inside. I think she came inside after that. Or not. Whatever, I don’t care. I had eggnog to drink. I poured myself a glass of the stuff (and have you noticed that when you’re pouring eggnog it’s impossible to pour it any way but silently? Eggnog doesn’t make the vulgar sloshing sounds so typical of other beverages. Oh no. Eggnog is like an outfit made of pure velor while drinks such as soda are all corduroys-and-vinyl-windbreaker-obscene. Eggnog is the ninja of beverages, and it will stab your taste buds with it’s nutmeg katana and you will be lucky if the ONLY thing you do is have an orgasm and relax your bowels.) and took a sip.
“That’s odd,” I thought, “this tastes… like Target.”
Now, I’ve never “tasted” Target. I’ve never gotten down on my hands and knees and licked the red and white linoleum tile. I’ve never tongue-kissed the endless displays of movies that cost $5.50. I’ve never orally ingested… well, that’s probably enough. That smell, though. You know that smell? The smell of row upon row of cheap plastic crap, industrial cleaning solutions, heavily recycled air, 75-pound dog-food bags, and those distinct-but-subtle notes of vacuum cleaner bags? That’s what Target nog tasted like.
Don’t get me wrong, the primary and overwhelming taste was of nog, but there was a background which tasted like Target itself, and that didn’t make me happy. No, that did not make me happy one bit. I finished the glass (it was nog, after all) and put the carton in the back of the fridge. I hoped to go back to it after a few days to find that it had mellowed somewhat and the undeniable taste of big-box commerce had dissipated. Alas, it was not to be.
Drinking Target nog is like drinking capitalism, distilled. For the most part it’s okay, but every now and then you get hints that what you’re consuming is the lowest common denominator of what it could possibly be without it being something totally different altogether. Get it? No? Let me put it simply:
Target nog almost tastes like Communism.
