The Holidays Strike Back: Part VI, VII, and VIII (a.k.a. Dork Squad Rock Part One)

When the waiter at El Cholo Mexican restaurant set down on the table before me a stack of enchiladas with a fried fucking egg on top, I knew December 27th was going to be one hell of a day.



Well, I should back up a bit. Earlier that day, I picked up one dear friend Miss Leslie a block away from my house, in order to man the mighty shotgun seat of Brunhilde Cherry Bomb. From there we sped up from freeway to freeway, through Lake Elsinore, all up in San Dimas, past the Miller Draft packaging plant and finally into Pasadena to pick up Señor Sean. After milling around his house a while and scaring his dog, we went to El Cholo to consume nachos and margaritas and argue over the merits of sour cream. Miss Julie called as we were splitting the check, so I took down her address and we careened on down the 101 into Hollywood, and after getting all turned around and a couple of harrowing left turns across traffic, I pseudo-parallel-swung into a space on the street and parked with satisfaction. At last, our intrepid team was assembled.



I believe it's time to get down to business: the business of getting down. Beyonce, can you handle this? 'Cause I don't know if you can handle this. Whoo!

STAGE SIX: SWEET POTATOES

I won't lie: we stalled a little. By stalling, I mean we went to the gelato shop for double scoops of strawberry-chocolate deliciousness, and the comic book store to gawk at the newest offering from the Hernandez Brothers. Then we cracked open our beer and compared Skelator to Dethklok. Sooner or later, however, there was no getting around it, so we began.



Julie was the first to open the bottle. She smelled it so innocently, and immediately recoiled in horror. It was on, and with a vengeance.



When one says that a drink tastes like "summer ass," what one means in this case is that it leaves an aftertaste like dripping sticky sweat. It's almost-sweet like lazy melted sugar candy on the couch, and thick like mashed potatoes with the sickly disgust that sluggishness preceeds. On a scale of one to ten, I give this one a seven. Just because something is sweet, we learned, doesn't mean it's good.

DESPAIR:

Every time you drink a sweet potato soda, a Julie cries.



Please, won't somebody think of the Julies? :(

One down, too many to go. We decided to take her advice and space the horrors out a bit with something that might stand a chance of good.

STAGE SEVEN: KEY LIME PIE

I love pie. Everyone who knows me knows that I consider pie one of the pinnacles of sweetie dessert foods. Chocolate satin, French apple, cherry sour cream: all are delicious and delectable and smooth. Key lime, on the other hand -- a step below lemon meringue (which I like only for the meringue), I hardly consider it a pie at all.

Naturally, in the bizarro food world Sean lives in, key lime is the one pie he actually doesn't abhor. With that in mind, he was welcome to jump in first.



The general consensus seemed to be that of "Meh." Not terrible. but not our favorite Haribo gummy snack either. I guess it could have been worse, as far as pie sodas were concerned, but it certainly could have been better. It's pretty much neutral. I position it as squarely as possible between despair and delight as I can for a pie. I guess it has to tip in one or the other's favor, if even slightly.

DELIGHT:

What does Sean have to say about key lime pie soda?



Absolutely nothing whatsoever.

However, for some reason we found him suddenly emboldened, and in a glorious moment of bravado he went where no one has gone before. Oh man, I can't even describe it to you. It's just too wonderful. Watch.



The amazing Sean, ladies and gentlemen!!! Give 'im a hand!

...and if that magnificent parlor trick isn't an excellent segue into our next battle, I don't know what is.

STAGE EIGHT: ANTACID

Weeks ago, when Julie first asked if I'd come visit with the sodas, she said she was willing to try anything but the antacid flavor. ANYTHING but the antacid. Yet, here we were, all of us, faced with it nonetheless. It was agreed, however, that no one needed antacid more than Sean. Poor boy, I think he ended up trying almost everything first.



A most unexpected turn of events, to be sure! I still think it tasted horrible, though admittedly not as bad as... well, practically anything else on the Jones dinner menu. That said, I wouldn't drink the whole bottle. Not even close. I'm not down with the taste of chalk, and that goes for everything from Pepto-Bismol to Tums to Necco Wafer Conversation Hearts.

DESPAIR:

Julie, on the other hand, practically wants to marry the stuff.



So be it! She can have it. They seem to be very happy together; I'll let you know when she sets a date. <3

Is there more? Of course there's more. But for that, you will have to wait until tomorrow night. There's just too much rock, and anyway, it's December Thirty-first. You should be out getting drunk or making out or something instead of reading this tonight! (At least that's what my co-worker Mary Ellen told me anyway, when I said I'd be spending tonight writing in my web log and watching Chronicles of Narnia.) So have a splendid New Year's Eve, and I'll join you all tomorrow for this edition's THRILLING CONCLUSION.

Good night!