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Archive for the 'nog' Category
The other day Mrs. ACW and I were at the grocery store, and because I have OCD Mrs. ACW is kind enough to organize the list based on what section of the store we need to get stuff from: produce, cans and dried goods, meat, dairy, you get the picture. We usually pick up the meat and then head for the dairy, and because it’s October and I recently saw a full-on balls-to-the-wall Christmas display up at Lowes, I figured there was a slim chance that they’d have some nog in stock.
We went over to the dairy section, and there was nary a hint of nog to be found. So we picked up some milk and yogurt and turned around to head to the registers, when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a special dairy case, having nothing to do with reindeer. I had forgotten about this little dairy case! This is the dairy case that sells seasonally relevant dairy food-products. For example, a few weeks before Thanksgiving they’ll start selling butter in the shape of turkeys. Mrs. ACW will never let me buy one, even when I throw myself to the floor of the store and hold my breath and stamp my feet. There were no butter-turkeys there yet, but the smaller dairy case was filled up with all manner of coffee creamers, one of which was eggnog, which I would never purchase again anyway.
I was almost about to wander away when I noticed that below the shelf of creamers was a full shelf of pumpkin nog, pictured above. I knew I needed to buy some, even if it looked like it might kill me.
I took it home and poured myself a glass.
If there’s a color and consistency that screams “Drink me!” I assure you, this is not it.
At first it tasted pretty good. I compared it to someone who had filled a blender with eggnog and then dropped in a slice of pumpkin pie and blended the bejesus out of it. But after a few more sips it tasted mostly like Pumpkin Spice Coffeemate coffee creamer mixed with eggnog. There was a definite chemical flavoring taste going on there that was not very pleasant. I’m not even sure what the chemically taste was coming from because the ingredients look pretty standard, and the stuff even contains dehydrated pumpkins.
All in all I was glad I tried it, but I don’t think I’ll be having it again. It just tastes too fake. If I wanted fake tasting nog with pumpkin flavoring I’d just dump some eggnog creamer in a cup with pumpkin creamer and drink that.
Finally: what the fuck? Nog season has started already, and I don’t think my body is ready for it yet. I guess the lesson here is, “be careful of what you wish for”.
I think we can all agree that Omega pretty much won every category fair and square. Except for maybe “Longest”. Regardless, he pretty much pwn0rz3d the whole damned contest. So, in the interest of being able to get more crap out of my house, I awarded Omega the prize in one category, and then awarded prizes to the other winners.
Jamie- Longest: “Clowns with big sausages trying to have anonymous sex with zombies because they heard that necrophilia is fun”. Jamie actually won the longest category fair and square, snatching a complete and total upset from the soul-rending claws of that pervert Omega.
Bliss- Most related to necrophilia: “I want to hump zombies because I love necrophilia”. I would have to say that nothing quite captures the true spirit of necrophilia than this statement by Bliss (well, aside from Omega’s entries, and his family reunions).
Omega- Most surreal: “the undead thundercats are in my pants”. I was actually really happy with this entry. Every time I would look at it I would laugh, and then wonder why the hell I was laughing so hard, read it again, and start laughing again. For all his entries, this one by Omega was the one that broke my brain.
Lori- Strangest instance of the word “coworker”: “Anonymous zombies eating necrophiliac coworkers”. I saw this search term and thought, “Why would it be important that the coworkers that the zombies were eating would be necrophiliacs? Is there an office somewhere housing a bunch of coworkers who are all necrophiliacs?” And it was then that I realized that the cunning use of the word “coworker” is what helped make it so bizarre.
the watergirl- Potentially Criminal: “how to have anonymous necrophiliac sex with my coworkers brother”. More than anyone, twg knows that necrophilia is illegal. I honestly am not sure if she was participating in the contest or actually looking for this information. Either way, she wins a prize.
S. Reed- Most related to zombies: “Zombie semen tastes like cannog”. You could make the argument that there were many entries that were more related to zombies than this one. And you’d be right, but they were all entered by Omega, that sick, sadistic fuck. Actually, for some reason this entry really stood out for me. It might be that cannog is that disgusting. It might be because I’d never really thought about zombie semen. It might be that it’s plagued my dreams all weekend. Regardless, S. Reed takes this one.
Your Neighborhood Librarian- Most offensive: “jesus fucking a corpse on a roof” AND “drinking eggnog from Jesus’s zombie anus”. I don’t know what more can be said about these entries except that they probably would have been even more offensive had they been combined. Kudos, YNL. I hope you enjoy the special place that has now been reserved for you in Hell.
DaMonkeyCode- Make your own category: “I put a wookie in a zombie’s butt and got a pregnant teenage roofer”. This entry was so brilliant in its strangeness that I couldn’t let it go by unnoticed. I envisioned someone stuffing Chewbacca into a zombie’s ass like it was the coin-slot on a vending machine, and moments later a pregnant white-trash teen explodes out of the zombie, nail-gun in hand, shingles over her shoulder. Genius.
So, all the winners should email me their mailing address at my gmail.com address: anonymouscoworker. They’ll get a specially selected piece of junk from my house, and something they might actually enjoy.
Before this contest closes, I think it’s important to recognize the work that Omega went through, so here are all his entries reproduced for your viewing enjoyment. Better not let your boss or significant other see this list or you’ll get kicked to the curb so fast you won’t really know what happened.
child corpse tit fucking (Wow. Talk about hitting the ground running.)
masturbating to animal corpse
jerk my dead dick
hump my mother the zombie stripper
taking a shit on the pope (This one made me laugh out loud.)
I loves me some zombie anus (The folksy tone of this one really sells it.)
I picked up a hooker at the mortuary
Random car fart eats the glazed soup bucket
the undead thundercats are in my pants
I ate my shitty coworker and then molested his bones (Talk about adding insult to injury.)
An orgy of undead loving
Freak me with your rotting booty (I think he was channeling Sir Mix-a-lot on this one.)
I’m going to shoot you in the face when I rob you
Glen Burnie is the goddamn devil (Oh c’mon, it’s not that bad.)
Eat the maggots from my zombie ass, you ignorant necro
I pleasure myself when kittens are killed (I guess that’s sort of the inverse of this.)
And that he ended his last entry with, “That’ll do, pig, that’ll do.” damn near killed me.
It’s Me… Maven:
“Hypothetically speaking… If one were to shave their taint and then get a tattoo of buddha, Jesus and Mohammed in flagrante with Mother Theresa, would that be a sin? What if they were caricatures instead?”
I’m not sure what a shaved taint has to do with it (did Tina Turner write that song?) unless of course the tattoo was being applied to the aforementioned area of hairlessness. In any case, it would be a sin if you were Jewish, I guess, because I know they’ve got some rules about tattoos and piercings, but really I don’t think an atheist is the best person to ask about what does and does not constitute sin.
Alan:
“Ok, since you insisted, here’s my necro question:
Could you please list all the permutations of necrophilia? I feel I’ve forgotten some.”
You are an idiot. Also, the many permutations of necrophilia include necro-bestiality, necro-incestuality, necro-erotica, and pretty much any and all sexual contact with real or pretend dead people or animals.
johnny dollar
“i have a ‘90 subaru legacy w/ +200k miles on it. once the car has warmed up after an hour’s drive, when i come to an intersection to stop, the car will shut off. it starts up right away and keeps running until the next time i stop, and then it dies again…any ideas about what might be the problem?
thanks!
oh wait… is this not car talk?”
As far as your first question, I’d advise you to lubricate the reverse reticulator valve while disengaging the Johnson coupler on the flange capacitor. This might be a euphamism.
As for your second question, yes, this is Car Talk. See the answer to your first question for proof.
Poppy
“Are you gonna eat my brains in July or what?! Cuz I’m not coming to MD if my brains won’t be ett.
My real question: If you had to choose between eggnog and all other alcoholic beverages which would you choose and why?”
No, I will not eat your brains. Brains are gross. I will eat your kidneys.
This is a good question, but after a few seconds of thought I realized that there is a beverage that I love more than eggnog: beer. There’s no way I could blog about beer though, because I’d never get anything else done, I love it that much. I’d much rather never have eggnog again than never have beer again.
miss kendra
“i have gone over it 892573459 times, and yet my checkbook is still off by $10. why?
will my ankle/foot ever function properly again? because i have lots of pretty heels i’d like to wear.
what is the reason for the season?”
1) Either your bank is sloppy, or they reserve $10 as a minimum amount to have in your account. Stop using banks, start burying your money in the sand at low tide.
2) Yes, because no one should be forced to live without being able to wear a pair of leopard print kitten heels.
3) Beer. See Poppy’s question.
That other Lori
“Why do you hate America, ACW?”
The reasons are almost to numerous to count:
The foreigners
The citizens
The old
The young
Minorities
The majority
Republicans
Democrats
Walmart
Jesus
Et ceteraBut really, the number one thing that makes me hate America are all the freedoms. I particularly hate the first amendment. What? Blog?
That’s all for now. Tune in next time as the questions devolve into cartoons I was watching as a kid.
I’m sort of almost down to the last three nogs in my fridge, kinda. I have some powdered nog that I’ve yet to try, and my brother bought me some cannog so I could revisit THAT quasi-dairy nightmare, and I’ve still got that soy nog because it doesn’t expire for some time. I believe the soy nog actually says something like “EXP 03-05-2245 or RAPTURE” so I don’t think it’s going bad any time soon.
But back to the three “regular” nogs.
The first one I’d like to review is Moovers Eggnog, henceforth referred to as santanog.
Santanog tastes nothing like it sounds. I imagine a real nog made from the REAL Santa, or at least a hodge-podge of his sweat and other liquid excretions, would probably taste pretty foul. Hope would say that a a magical elf such as that jolly fat man would probably taste like fresh-baked cookies, whimsy, and 100% uncut Colombian cocaine. Well, hope would be wrong. Common sense tells us that a fat man wrapped in animal hides who eats nigh but room-temperature milk and stale cookies will ooze a veritable river of coagulating goo. I do not want to drink Santa’s nog-goo.
Lucky for me, santanog tastes nothing like that. In fact, it’s pretty benign. It tastes like just about every other run-of-the mill nog I’ve had this season. Not quite as tasty as Turkey Hill, but not so bad that it makes me want to vomit uncontrollably for hours. In fact, no nog has made me do that this year. Kudos to you nog farmers!
The second nog up for review is Promised Land nog, henceforth referred to as jesusnog.
I’m not calling it jesusnog because it’s like licking Jesus (c’mon, he’s the Alpha and the Omega, you KNOW he’s got to taste delicious), but because the nog makers have an agenda:
In case you can’t read that it says: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given… and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6
Just so you know, in the King James version of the Bible (and most other versions), the part represented by the ellipses is, “and the government shall be upon his shoulder”. That’s right. The government. Talk about separation of church and state. This nog advocates for Jesus to run the government. That’s a powerful nog… and yet, it didn’t really taste that great. It was okay, the same as all the others, but I was expecting a little bit more out of it. For one, it’s the only nog made from cows that didn’t have hormones. For two, it was the only nog I’ve ever had that came in a glass bottle, so when you’re done drinking it, you can break it over someone’s head, or use it as a weapon in an old-fashioned Christmas hobo knife-fight. So, like santanog, jesusnog doesn’t live up to its own eponymous hype.
The final nog that I tried was Lactaid Nog, henceforth referred to as, um, lactaidnog.
Lactaid nog was bland, boring, and left a filmy white coating on my tongue that hardened over time and began to flake off after a few hours. Pieces of the paper-like nog coating were being sucked into my lungs each time I inhaled, and it made my breath stink like a department store Santa for days.
Or at least that’s what I would have said if lactaidnog hadn’t blown all the other nogs out of the fucking water. Aside from the rednog, the Colonial Custard, and Turkey Hill, this is the best nog I’ve ever had. I will go out of my way in the future to find lactaidnog, and I will drink the bottom out of the carton, tear the carton apart and lick the insides, and then stab whatever stockboy gets in the way of me and my newfound addiction. It’ll never replace traditional nog, but it sure as hell gives it a run for its money. And because it’s lactose free I probably could sit down a drink a whole carton while slovenly reveling in my own nutmeg flavored filth. If there’s any of this stuff left on shelves in stores anywhere near you, buy it, and drink it, and clear your schedule, because you’re going to want to bathe in this shit.
A long-ass time ago, I said that I would take a bite of the soap that Serra made for me, and even after I got the soap, I never ate any.
I smelled it, though. It smelled good. Like eggnog.
Apparently this soap was made from REAL eggnog. I’m not sure which brand, but I do know it was purchased from the store. Maybe it was regular Turkey Hill eggnog. Maybe it was Farmer Dr. Timothy Leary’s Astral-Transmeditational Holiday nog. I’ll probably never know (but I might be able to guess since the hippopotamus-riding spiders stopped trying to eat the eggplants that were growing out of my face a few days ago).
Sherlock and Wookie liked it too. It had only been sitting on the counter for a few hours before I noticed tiny scratch marks in the surface of the soap. I guess I could have gotten upset, but I was actually happy that those fur-covered poop factories were taking an interest in cleaning themselves. Seriously, these cats are the dirtiest cats I’ve ever seen. I think they sometimes hold in their tiny little lumberjack-sized stink-torpedoes until we’re just in the middle of dinner, sending us racing for the upstairs bathroom in a fight to see who gets to vomit in the sink, and who gets to vomit in the toilet. (By the way, hon, it’s your turn to clean the litterbox.)
I’m off on a tangent. Look, over there! It’s a TRANSITIONAL SENTENCE!
So every day I see this soap, and I think, “It’s going to start a fight club in my crap factory, but I promised to eat it.” And then I would go about my day, not really at all consumed with the tiniest semblance of guilt. Sociopathic tendencies? Maybe? I don’t really care. I mean, look at how much you’ve had to read through so far just to get to THIS point and I STILL haven’t talked about eating the soap or the after effects. In fact this very sentence (not to mention the prior sentence) are completely unnecessary, and serve only to delay you further. You wish you could skip ahead, but instead you read on, enthralled by the power of my words! Bwa ha ha ha … wait come back! Okay, seriously. I’ll get on with it now. I promise.
One day I’m looking at the soap and I think, “Well, it smells pretty good.” And I lick it and think, “Actually, it tastes pretty good too.” So I grab my camera and go at it.
I took a reasonable sized bite, just in case it was so terrible I wouldn’t accidentally inhale it and have it get lodged in my airway. Magical tap-dancing Jesus was it horrid. It’s like eggnog went to jail, was repeatedly sodomized by a canister of Ajax for six years, and then got paroled into my mouth. The texture was almost as bad as the taste.
As you can see from the picture, there seems to be two layers to the soap. The outer layer was firm with a texture like chocolate. But don’t let that fool you for a moment into thinking that it was tasty, because it wasn’t. It was like licking Mr. Clean’s grundle. Yeah. How’s THAT for a mental image?
The inside was kind of soft, but had a distinctly stronger eggnog taste. Not a good taste, mind you. Imagine you left a carton of congealed eggnog out in the the summer sun for six or seven hours and then mixed it with shampoo and you’ll have some idea as to the taste and consistency. It was like the candy Satan puts in your stocking after Santa leaves. Horrid. Simply, unfathomably horrid. If you glean any information at all from this blog, know that you should never eat soap.
I spent about 10 minutes at the kitchen sink rinsing my mouth out, but even after a few hours I could still taste the horrible almost-eggnog-but-mostly-soap taste. It just wouldn’t go away! Finally while washing my hands in the bathroom (with the eggnog soap, naturally) I noticed a little brown chunk of soap embedded between my teeth. I’ve tried to capture it here, but it’s too small, and the camera is too close. If you go to the flickr page, I’ve tried to show the offending soap with photo notes.
Further rinsing was no good because most of the surface area was covered by my teeth. Flossing didn’t help either. It just mashed the soap against my teeth and gums. I wasn’t about to risk brushing and have soap stuck on my toothbrush, so with a Macgyver-like spear made of toilet paper and a toothpick I was finally able to remove the last offending bits. And thus, my adventure with eating soap was over.
I wish I could report that a geyser of frothy pain erupted from my bowels, but I guess I didn’t eat enough soap for it to have any ill-effects on my digestive system. Lucky you. Can you imagine how I’d go about describing THAT in intricate detail after the Mr. Clean analogy above? And you KNOW I would have taken pictures.
I think we were all spared.
Be honest. Who brought a salad into work today?
And who did some push-ups or jumping-jacks for the first time in 364 days?
And who left their hip-flask of liquor at home?
And who decided not to bring in the canteen full of nog? (This one is probably just me.)
I hope you got lots of eggnog and zombie related paraphernalia. I know it’s what you wanted, because you keep coming back here to read about it.
In fact, I can tell from here that you’re a little depressed because there’s no zombies or eggnog in this post. Well, get over it.
Go have some PBRs, eat some Christmas Crab Dip, and use some mistletoe for a belt. You’ll have the best Christmas ever.
Merry Christmas!
Last night I went nogserk. I was completely overcome with a noggling feeling, and no amount of non-nog was going to de-nog the nogging that my internal nogometer was nogalating. … Um, nog.
I lit the nog candle
and put on the nog shirt.
Then I made some nog tea*
and drank my tea with nog in it**.
I also dunked some nog cake (that had been made with nog instead of milk) into the tea/nog combo.
Then I ate a piece of nog taffy*.
Why would I inundate myself with so much nog? What could possibly cause me to nogulate my internal nog-processing plant with so much nogginess?
I drank spoiled nog.
In all my years of drinking nog I’ve never consumed a single droplet of spoiled nog, but last night that all changed. I noticed that the expiration date on the Colonial Custard was about a week past the spoilage threshold. I sniffed it and it smelled fine. I had some a few days before, and hadn’t noticed a single noglet of nutweg awry, and I figured it couldn’t go from fine to filthy in a few days, so I poured myself a tiny bit to taste it.
It tasted fine.
I put my glass back down on the counter and tipped the carton to liberally suckle at the noggy teat. The nog flowed freely, filling half the glass before slowing; the ribbon of flowing nog slowing and thinning to a tiny thread of nog until the nog stopped completely. I was confused. My glass wasn’t nearly full, but the nog had stopped pouring, and there was a substantial bit of weight left in the carton so I knew there was nog in there.
I jiggled the carton a bit and gave it a little squeeze and out sploshed what can only be described as the fetal stages of nog developing bone structure. It was the consistency of runny pudding, and the squeeze was just enough to propel it, like a gelatinous missile, towards my glass. Half of the substance landed in the glass while the other half was sliced off by the edge of the glass where it continued into the sink, still a solid mass, though half its original size.
As it impacted with the sink basin whatever semi-solid/mostly viscous properties it had once retained were immediately broken, and the globnog exploded like a water-ballon filled with cream-colored paint, splattering the bottom and sides of the sink, coating everything with a thin layer of noggy slime. What was most distressing was that the nog on the sides of the sink did not run towards the drain. It was as if the nog had no need to comply with the effects of gravity, so it hung there, suspended by unadulterated vileness and spite.
This whole time I had been standing at the counter still holding the carton, witnessing these events unfold, frozen in place lest I actually come in contact with this filthy mutant that I had a few seconds ago consumed. The last remnants of what even slightly resembled nog slid slowly out of the spout and splattered onto the counter a few inches below. I knew then that drastic measures needed to be taken, or I would never have a drop of tasty nog again.
I quickly rinsed the sink and cleaned the counter. I threw away the carton and started boiling the water for the eggnog tea. I gathered my wits, surrounded myself with every last noggy item in my house, and consciously focused on all the good nog, while pushing out the bad nog from my mind, and began the ritual that I described above. It was only by doing this that I was able to retain my love of nog, and not continuously vomit from last night until well past the New Year.
I have a feeling that I’m going to have to do this all again when I eat the nog soap.
*Review forthcoming
**Wawa nog review: Wawa nog is wholly unremarkable from any other nog except that it’s the only food-mart nog that is made by said food-mart. There is no 7-11 nog. There is no Royal Farms nog. They only carry nogs from local farms. Oh, and by the way, if you don’t know about Wawa, you’re missing out. It’s the greatest food-mart in the world. Yeah, that’s right. In the world. Tim Hortons can suck it.
You may also notice that there is some cannog next to the Wawa nog. Apparently my brother bought me the cannog before he read the cannog post. I don’t know. Maybe this time it will taste better.
