Thunder Volcano

Boundless enthusiasm for something stupid

Archive for the ‘People totally care about my opinion right?’ Category

A Life Lesson You Probably Already Knew

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Important Life Lesson #2: Just because you don’t have to be at work super early in the morning doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to go out drinking on a weeknight.


Written by Baron Volcano

09/06/2011 at 4:26 pm

A Game Review That Isn’t Very Helpful

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When I first played Fallout 3, I made a lot of comments about how it was the best video game ever made, because it was. Fallout: New Vegas is basically the same game, except a little bit better.

Written by Baron Volcano

06/20/2011 at 2:54 pm

An Album Review Nobody Cares About

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My first reaction to Sex Offender (the second album by Polkadot Cadaver) was to be disappointed that it wasn’t an exact replica of Purgatory Dance Party (their first album).  But after listening to the album a dozen more times (and thinking about it way too much, since my main accomplishment of the past three weeks can be summed up as “listening to music”), I realized that I wasn’t entirely right about that.  Purgatory Dance Party is a manic, schizophrenic, weird-for-the-sake-of-weird album with songs about torture and Jesus and werewolves and drug abuse (actually those four are all covered in a single song).  Sex Offender trades some of the I’m-trying-too-hard-to-be-weird weirdness for some actually-kind-of-trite political commentary, and it’s heavier at the expense of being a little less frenetic.  But the end result is still very much Polkadot Cadaver’s style, it just sounds a little more like a traditional metal band (or, considering the “less frenetic” aspect, it sounds like they got older, which tends to happen over the course of four years).  In short: Sex Offender may not be exactly Purgatory Dance Party, but it’s still good.  You should listen to it.

Written by Baron Volcano

06/17/2011 at 1:52 pm

Product Review: A Terrible Bastardization of Skittles

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Upon first seeing Skittles Fizzl’d Fruits, my first inclination was to ask (out loud, to nobody in particular) “is this just rebranded Skittles Sours?”.  A coworker happened to be standing nearby, but was polite enough to avoid pointing out how sad it was that I even said that.  It turns out that I was wrong anyway.

Fizzl’d Fruits, much like Skittles Sours, are awful.  Shortly after putting the entire bag into my mouth, I was struck by the fact that they taste terrible.  But this is a specific terrible taste, one I remember from my childhood.  They used to make these tablets* that you would put into water, causing them to foam up and, at least in theory, make a drink not unlike carbonated Kool Aid.  In practice, they made a drink that tasted much more like a combination of Alka Seltzer and garbage.  Nevertheless, my cousin Bjorn and I bought the hell out of them.  Why?  We discovered that we could put the tablets directly into our mouths and run around pretending like we had rabies, obviously.  They were also pretty handy in those situations where you need to pretend like you’re puking up foam (similarly for those situations where you need to actually puke up foam.  I’m not kidding about how terrible these things were).

Fizzl’d Fruits taste just as bad as Fizzies ever did, but they don’t produce enough foam to have any practical usage.  They’re doubly disappointing since they give you the false hope that you’ll be eating something that tastes as good as regular Skittles.  Save yourself the aggravation: vigorously shake up a bottle of Coke and open it while your mouth is over the cap.  I can almost guarantee that it will be a more satisfying experience.

*My first thought was that they were called Lotsa Fizz, but those are a candy that’s actually pretty good.  I think they were called Fizzies.

Written by Baron Volcano

11/21/2010 at 5:21 pm

Product Review: Samoa Methadone

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Me: I heard you can get Girl Scout cookies
Coworker: I can
Me: Can I get a case of Samoas?
Coworker: That’s a lot of cookies.  Do you know how many come in a case?
Me: I dunno.  Twenty boxes?
Coworker: …
Me: Thirty?
Coworker: …I think it’s twelve.
Me: Yeah OK that works too.

This is a rough transcript of what happened the last time* I bought Samoas (also known as Caramel De Lites in some states).  I have a pretty similar conversation to this every time I find somebody with a girl scout cookie hookup (with similar weird looks from the person I’m talking to).  I guess what I’m trying to say is: I really fucking like Samoas.**

So, as a die hard fan of this particular cookie, it was with an equal mix of excitement and trepidation that I opened my first box of Keebler Coconut Dreams.  Oh who am I kidding, I tore that sucker open before I even put away the rest of my groceries.  They managed to rip off the original pretty faithfully.  The chocolate was a little creamier and the shortbread not as crisp, but it was spot-on other than that, and an all-around satisfactory cookie experience. That being said, it was kind of bittersweet because it was different enough that it served as a constant reminder that I wasn’t eating Samoas.  I’d say that Coconut Dreams are to Samoas as methadone is to heroin, but I’m basing this comparison entirely on what I’ve learned from watching Trainspotting twice. Needless to say I ate the whole box in one sitting (maybe stuff like that is why people always think I’m a pothead.  I’m not.).  In other words, worth a try.  Even more so if you don’t have a sentimental attachment to the original (which is the world’s best cookie, by the way).

*That’s not entirely true, the last time I bought them I was half drunk and walking to a book signing when I saw a girl scout at a table selling cookies.  I bought four boxes and proceeded to try to share with everybody near me at the book signing.
**This is by no means limited to this one particular cookie.  At a work function that involved free food (and free beer, but that’s kind of implied) a (presumably intoxicated) coworker asked me several times if I’d had enough cookies.  After the second or third time I asked why she kept asking me that, to which she replied “I heard you like cookies more than you like real food”.  She then proceeded to give me a bar of Belgian chocolate (because I’d just been to Belgium?  I think?).  I’d been having a bad day up to that point and this completely made my night.

Written by Baron Volcano

10/12/2010 at 2:13 pm

Keg Registration

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I spend a nontrivial portion of my time filling kegs at work, so I get to spend a whole bunch of time dealing with kegs that we get back from bars and liquor stores and distributors and whathaveyou.  They often come back to us in some sort of… unpleasant condition, usually embodied by some ungodly shit covering the keg: lettuce (AKA keg salad), chicken bones, silverware, this weird brown crap that may have been gravy at one point, broken glass, mold (usually in the mouth, caused by somebody putting the keg cap back on), and – this is a distressingly common one – what appears to be an entire bottle’s worth of ketchup.
Gross and/or dangerous though it may be, that stuff doesn’t really bother me too much.  It’s annoying, but I can usually just hose it off.  What does bother me, however, are stickers.  Bars and liquor stores (and sometimes distributors) seem to like to put stickers on kegs, despite not actually owning said kegs.  Would you put bumper stickers on a rental car?  (If you mentally answered “yes” to that question, then not only are you probably an asshole, but you might want to do some learnin’ on the concept of “rhetorical questions”)  Maybe these places think that breweries have a machine that will remove stickers and such from the outside of kegs.  We don’t, unless your definition of “machine” somehow manages to include “some schmuck with a scraper” (i.e. me).
Even so, there is a greater evil in the land of keg-getting-back: keg registration.  If anything, keg registration stickers are more of a pain in the ass to remove than stickers from bars (they’re bigger, for one thing), but that’s not the problem.  The problem is that they tend to contain a lot of personal information about the purchaser – name, address, driver’s license #, signature, birthday, etc.  People tend to be really guarded about personal information being shared these days, and yet they unwittingly put their trust in some hairy guy who may or may not be too hungover to see and/or fully scrape off the sticker.  Sometimes people will cross out personal information with markers, but that actually doesn’t fix the problem – marker washes off pretty easily, pen is pretty resilient.  By far the worst offender on this (in my experience, anyway) is Connecticut.  Their stickers just can’t be removed.  I realize that if the adhesive is too weak then it will come off when the keg sweats, but there has got to be a better solution here.
I realize that this is a pretty trivial (and selfishly motivated) reason to rally against keg registration, but it really kind of sucks.  If we need to have keg registration (which is arguable, but not something I want to get into), can we at least have something that doesn’t become a permanent part of the keg?  What if there was a tag with a serial number (and maybe the name of the issuing store) ziptied to the keg?  That couldn’t be much more expensive to implement than those detailed forms with the insane mutant glue, and zipties can be cut relatively easily.  More importantly, it would allow/require the liquor store to keep the purchaser’s personal info in-store, instead of affixing it to the keg.

Written by Baron Volcano

09/18/2010 at 2:24 pm