AnonymousCoworker

Jeezy Creezy!* Sometimes I think YOU people are more obsessed with the nog than I am. You people are all like, “Hey, why don’t you blog about eggnog?” or “Hey, maybe some nog-blogging would make you feel better.” or “You should have an eggnog enema and tell us about it while I try to type with one hand.” Seriously. You need to relax about the nog. What are you going to do when the nogbloggery ceases for the next 10 months? Worse still, what are you going to do when I shutter the site? I can see it now… I’ll log in to check the gmail account every few weeks and it’ll be full of messages like, “Hey, just thinking that you might want to come back to blog about this horrible eggnog I found that’s made with platypus eggs.” or “Hey, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to try to drink a gallon of eggnog without throwing up and then throw up and then post the whole thing on Youtube.” or “Hey, still waiting one-handed for that eggnog enema you cocktease.”

For reals, B, y’all need to relax. It can’t all be about nog all the time. You know how that one time somebody gave you that pointless thing, like the tea-cozy with the rooster on it? Or the Raggedy Anne doll? Or the towel with the watermelon slices on it? And you were like, “Oh, hey, yeah that’s cool, I guess,” and didn’t immediately shit on it/in it and then set it on fire? And then for every Christmas, birthday, anniversary, going away present, high-school graduation, and bar mitzvah you got another thing with a rooster on it, or Raggedy Anne, or watermelon slices? And then when people come over to your house they’re like, “Whoa you must really be into roosters/Raggedy Anne/watermelon.” And the situation is thusly compounded and becomes exponentially worse as everyone you know continues to give you this shit in which you were only mildly interested in the first place? And your house is just filling with this shit and you can’t throw any of it away because people keep giving it to you and it’s impolite to throw away gifts? And with each birthday you’re torn between making a wish on the candles that you could travel back in time and piss in the face of the first person who ever gave you that shit or wishing that a giant bear would burst through the door at that moment and maul the bejeezus out of you so you won’t have to open one more gift with roosters/Raggedy Anne/watermelon? Do you know what I’m talking about?

Well, just apply that to me and nog… and you’d be totally fucking wrong. I want to drink nog ALL year. That’s why I freeze a bottle of it so I can drink it in July, or for my birthday in September. Nothing quenches a hot, summer thirst like a thick, creamy beverage made from milk and eggs. Gatorade is for bitches. Eggnog is for Olympians.

As you can see here my freezer nog is comfortably nestled between the Italian Ice and the mystery container of spaghetti sauce that could potentially be from when I lived with Kmart.

In fact, as you can see in this picture:

the freezer nog has already reached it’s full, bloated, frozen potential, and is testing the limits of it’s quart-sized plastic prison.

So you psycho nog-loving wannabes, you’ll never be able to hang with me until you’ve reached my paramount of obsession, my apotheosis of nog-suckling greatness. At this point to even come CLOSE to loving nog as much as me, I’d pretty much have to catch you balls deep in a carton of nog, and though many of you are perverted beyond psychological help, I still don’t think you like nog THAT much. Suckers.

So yeah, I have one more nog post for you until I ingest the summernog, and then that’s it. For you people I will break my tradition of not blogging on the weekends and write something up so it’ll be there on Monday when I’m out of the office. I hope you’re happy.

*Skip to 4:30 if you don’t immediately get that.