I get embarrassed at cash registers frequently, mostly because I harbor intense love for an array of low-class foods. The other day I went to the store to get the fixings for Spam and Velveeta Shells and Cheese, and I stood in front of the canned meat display for like 10 minutes trying to decide whether picking up the Spam with Bacon would be worth the risk of running into somebody I knew while carrying it to the register. I finally shamed myself into going with Spam Lite, which was probably the more embarrassing choice because while Spam with Bacon says, “I’m confident enough to buy something so obviously shitty for me,” Spam Lite says, “I like canned meat AND I think I’m fat.” Chuck Norris would buy Spam with Bacon. Who would buy Spam Lite?
I swear this has a point. Kind of. Mostly I just needed you to know that I have a habit of buying and eating embarrassing stuff, which has probably dulled my sense of shame. It is most likely why I found myself drinking vodka flavored like a cattle pasture Saturday night. Excuse me, a bison pasture.
That long green strip you see in there? That’s a piece of grass. And you know what? This stuff is actually really good. It has a slight cinnamon-y aftertaste (just like real bison grass?), and was really great mixed with orange juice. The guy at the store told us it was banned in the U.S. for a while because some ingredient in it has been known to have psychotropic effects. He also kept creepily saying it was an aphrodisiac and insisted on carrying our ONE BOTTLE of alcohol out to the car for us, a task clearly beyond two able-bodied people in their 20s with nothing else in their hands. After about the tenth time he said “aphrodisiac” I wanted to be like dude, ALL ALCOHOL is an aphrodisiac, which is why you always hear about people waking up in bed with a stranger after they have been DRINKING, not after a bitchin’ dinner of liquid cheese and Spam Lite. It’s a good thing I didn’t, since now he knows what my car looks like. Excellent.