Sunday, August 24, 2008

Some little maple hard candy.

Target: Some little maple hard candy.

Packaging: Hardly any. Individually wrapped.

Candy: 10 of 10 (For a little maple hard candy ) First of all, it smells like maple. That is a good thing. Has a strong, thick, hearty sweet smell to it.

Very nice taste, not as overpowering a the smell would lead you to believe, yet still stronger than a Canadian. The little maple hard candy holds up well in the mouth, it doesn’t get all sugary or slippery. Very nice, single flavor. Not like a cough drop at all, which for some reason I feared. Not like that nasty crap on maple donuts, this is nice and subtle. Not artificial tasting.

Tracker - Not Granola, Not Candy, Not Good. Asshole.

Target: Tracker – someone needs to start tracking down the truck that just rolled down the hill. I think it is trying to move in on that “candy bar” “granola health crap” hybrid that all the candy companies are making. Well, as a note to all you companies doing that hybrid shit, CUT IT THE FUCK OUT. If I want granola I’ll eat some fucking Gorp. Unless I actually set out for fucking Gorp, I want a good tasting, makes me hyper, chocolate slathered, peanut butter, chocolate piece of shit that makes me fat. Also, I don't know who makes this thing, and I don't like that. It seems as though Mars at least distributes it, so we will blame everything on them. Asshole.

Packaging: The trackers package is nothing special. The most prominent things on it is the candy name and some bullshit self-righteous narrative about how this is a one of a kind candy bar. Asshole.

My mom says I'm special.
Let’s get to business about this auto-feltaing commentary. As much hot air as this thing blows up its own ass, the only ingredient that is identified is the whole grain that does nothing to improve upon the taste of this candy. Hoo-fucking-rah; congratulations “whole grain”, you didn’t fuck anything up. Asshole.

Whole grain is about as smart as wheat.

The best description of anything else you get is “…Crunch, Goo, and Chew…”. Fantastic, I’m about to ingest a cum covered pig nut rolled in sand; my definition of pleasure. Asshole.

Even in the ingredients don’t give the straight up. The first thing is “cereal bar with CRISPIES”. What the fuck is a “crispy”, is it a mummified Smurf, is it the other fucking “Thing”, I don’t know; take a bite and find out. Asshole.

And what the hell is a “choc’ chip. It sounds like somebody through some truck choc blocks in a grinder and sprinkled them on the freaking candy. Asshole.

Candy: 5 of 10:
When I bite into this one it feels a little like dried crickets, you know the one you forgot in your tackle box last summer. The top and bottom section, which I assume are “Crunch” and “Chew” respectively, are very brittle the only reason it doesn’t snap off like a frozen …uh... water popsicle is because “Goo” is a stripe of caramel holding the two together. I guess “Crunch” is the assortment of peanut, choc chip, and other goodies we see on top, and “Chew” is the granola bar on the bottom. Asshole.

With the General.

The fist thing I taste is a peanut buttery flavor, it is quickly followed up with a raw peanut taste. I would rather just eat a Quaker Oat peanut butter granola bar. The chocolate taste comes in at the end and is nothing special. Asshole.

For my money they can keep this thing in London. I liked trying it, but I wouldn’t ask a ship captain to pilot a zillion of these things across the Bermuda Triangle just to have the pleasure of it touching my lips. Asshole.
Tracker cross section.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Le Tourment Vert: The Green Torment

Box and Bottle

Finally, absinthe is legal again, and starting to be more and more accessible. I found this bottle in a specialty foods store that had a fairly large booze selection. I am not going to go into the story of absinthe and how real absinthe has never mad people hallucinate any more than any other alcohol or any of that rubbish. For all that check out


Scent: The first thing you smell, with the tip of your nose is an artificially minty smell. It smells almost like a bunch of York peppermint patty’s swished around in Scope. The follow-up scent is a full, think licorice smell; which to me is great. Not until the end of the sniff do you get the 100 proof alcohol nose hair burns.

Color: The color looks like it was manufactured to hold a light-green hue. Sitting in the glass it looks like a nice, clean emerald. You could put this in a Scope bottle and no could tell the difference. Actually, I think the makers may have been in such a hurry to get this on the shelves once the ban was lifted they thinned out some Scope with some Everclear and called it good enough.

Le Tourment Vert profile
Le Tourment Vert above

Louche: The louche is green and dense. It looks like a foggy green cloud in a glass. It is not very smooth in its development. At one point it is clear emerald green, then all of a sudden it is cloudy aqua.

First drop of water and sugar
Oil, sugar, water, and alcohol
Louch profile
Louch above

Flavor with sugar: I drink my absinthe with two sugar cubes, and mix the tradition 1:4 ratio. This mouthwash tastes pretty nice, it has a strong mint overtone but with a very heavy, strong, full licorice flavor. Either the people who make this are masters of their craft at a level higher than anyone else in the world, or this has some artificial licorice in it. I really can’t taste anything else. It tastes like a boozed-up, liquefied Good & Plenty. Not bad.

Preparation profile
Preparation above
Cube remains on a spoon

Flavor without sugar: Tastes nothing like a Good & Plenty. Has the same minty taste upfront with the overpowering licorice flavor throughout. The hot alcohol sensation only arrives after you swallow the elixir. The oils in the drink are much more apparent without sugar. I can feel them roll around on top of my tongue, and slide to my throat before being swallowed. It is a bit more if a sensation than drinking it with sugar, but I like it sugar better, always.

Overall: 7.6 of 10 (I really like Good & Plenty’s)
Ready to drink.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Fuck Michael Phelps

Olympics = Gay

The only thing that is less gay about the Olympics now vs. 1 million years ago is that there aren’t dicks swinging around in olive oil.

Why the hell does NBC dictate to us what Olympic sports we can be proud of? Gymnastics (gay), water sports (gay and disgusting; in the Olympics when someone gets first in a water sport they get a golden shower), track (gay). Why couldn’t all of us proud Americans see the first gold medal won, because NBC sucks and won’t show fencing. Now Fencing might sound and look gay, but for god’s sake it’s a fucking sword fight (not the kind with dicks). These people are stabbing the shit out of each other; but no, we get to watch a bunch of dudes swinging around poles like high dollar strippers.

Let’s see some fucking shot put and javelin action. I want to see some big mother fucker throw a 15 pound lead ball 75 feet. That way I can imagine them hurling a fucking cannon ball at the enemy when all the gun powder on there battle ship gets wet.

Let’s see some spear chuckers out there (no not porch monkeys, spear chuckers). Let’s get the javelin throw live, just in case some jackass judge gets harpooned through the fucking neck.

What about archery, that is straight up the proof of skill that some dude can fucking kill you in the chest from a mile away.

Diving, fuck diving. That is essentially showing how fancy these piss ants can run away from a battle. “Oh look, I’ll dive into this lake and make as little surface disruption as possible so that my pursuers can’t find me.” FUCK YOU. pussy.

Swimming is just an exercise in seeing how far you can get from your sinking war ship before that shot putter can smash your fucking dome with a damn cannonball.

I’m not fucking with water polo, that shits intense.

The Olympics were meant to identify the greatest athletes, and in turn the person with the greatest warrior potential. Don’t give me synchronized swimming and BMX racing bullshit. (yeah, BMX is in the Olympics this year. That’s a fucking X-game, leave it there).

Let’s see some rowing where they ram each other in efforts to sink the other teams shit.
Let’s see some really up to date shit where the guys shoot guns at stuff.

Boxing is worthy of the Olympics. Wrestling is worthy of the Olympics. Horse riding is worthy of the Olympics (hey, Calvary is badass).

This shit NBC is feeding us is worthless. The next time I need some 12 year old Chinese bitch who is going to end up a Thai hooker in fucking Bangladesh to win a war by spinning a ribbon on a stick, I’ll let ya know. Until then she can suck the dicks of all the U.S. diplomats going to Croatia on “official business”.

Old bitch in line.

I was just in line at the Circle K down the street. Now, I don’t expect much when I go into a Circle K, but the least I ask for is to be able to do my business without feeling the need to beat the living shit out of some dumb ass.

So I am standing at the end of a line 7 people deep, with two more people behind me. Then this old catcher’s mitt of an old hag steps out of line. She looks back at me and say, “Can you save my spot for me?” and then runs off to the candy aisle without giving me time to say , “No bitch, get in the back of the fucking train.”

She comes back from the candy Aisle with a stack of candy bars for her husband, and I’m sure she meant her Labrador when she said husband; because I couldn’t imagine Quasimodo sticking with this fucking grease stain. Then I tell her, “Hey you got out of line, get behind me.” So, she starts up with the “But, I asked you to save my spot.” As I reply in my “fuck you, you filthy nasty mushroomed-up snatch” tone of voice “That doesn’t mean shit.” The clerk cut a “I-need-to get-slapped-with-a-cement-block” look. And since I really didn’t want to get kicked out of the Circle K where I get my daily supply of MGD I figured I’d let the old leather flap cut back in line.

After all that shit the walking melanoma start chatting me up like I’m her old friend Cathy. She goes on to blame him on her being fat, because he eats candy bars. Fuck that, your fat because god is trying to kill you.

So I am about to finally buy my nightly brew, after waiting for the hag to dig out correct change for her wine cooler and candy bars, and ALREADY GETS THE RECEIPT OF PURCHASE. She says, “Oh wait, I need to buy my GPC cigarettes.” So the register gal digs around a wall of cancer candy for nearly 3 minutes before she looks in the section that has ALL the GPC cigarettes. After all that the living cancer specimen hand her a$20 bill to pay for the smokes. Fuck.

After all that I felt that I should get another 6-pack and make the booze deal with this absurdity, but I didn’t want someone to have to hold my spot in line.

Fuck these people.