REVIEW: Pepsi Ice Cucumber

Apparently, Japan has really huge balls.

It has produced some of the most innovative products available, like fuel-efficient hybrid cars; the Nintendo Wii; robotic dogs; vending machines that dispense beer, fried foods, or used schoolgirl panties; and Japanese ads starring American actors who need a quick buck due to their decline in popularity.

But, and this is where Japan earns its huge cojones, it has also developed some of the most fucked up products that no other country has the audacity to create, like tentacle anime porn, numerous products for comforting lonely sukebe men, Pokemon, and now the Japan-only Pepsi Ice Cucumber.

Along with Japan’s huge balls, which I think helps keep its islands afloat with the over 127 million people living on its back, I also think these crazy products Japan comes up with are the result of sucking the sake a little too much, if you know what I’m saying. But I can relate to that, because whenever I pound a few ochoko (small sake cup), I also want to do some crazy shit, like reenact the music video for Prince’s “When Doves Cry.”

How can u just leave me standing?/Alone in a world so cold? (World so cold)/Maybe I’m just 2 demanding/Maybe I’m just like my father 2 bold/Maybe you’re just like my mother/She’s never satisfied (She’s never satisfied)/Why do we scream at each other/This is what it sounds like/When doves cry

To come up with the idea for Pepsi Ice Cucumber, I’m guessing it took quite a lot of sake, just like it did for all the other crazy ideas for beverages in Japan and this commercial starring Nicholas Cage.

Much like how apple juice can look like beer and urine can look like pineapple soda, Pepsi Ice Cucumber’s green color makes it looks like Cepacol Mouthwash. Its flavor is light, just like actual cucumbers. There’s a slight fruitiness to it, but there definitely is a cucumber flavor to it, albeit artificial, like Paris Hilton holding the Bible.

To be honest, the Pepsi Ice Cucumber was not as bad as I thought it would be. Still it’s slightly gross and weird, but there’s something about it that drew me back to it. It’s like the relationship that Lindsay Lohan and rehab have.

Drinking a bottle was a vicious masochistic cycle. I’d take a sip, say to myself, “Damn, this is kind of nasty,” and put it back in the refrigerator. A few hours later I’d open my fridge, take a sip, say to myself, “Damn, this is kind of nasty,” and put it back in the refrigerator. It took me three days to finish a bottle.

Pepsi Ice Cucumber was available only in Japan, but quickly sold out. Right now, the only way for Westerners to get their hands on a bottle is through the virtual garage sale clusterfuck known as eBay, where prices can get semi-expensive thanks to overzealous capitalism and shipping. Is it worth spending a decent amount of money on this novelty soda?

It really depends on how big your balls are.

Item: Pepsi Ice Cucumber
Price: $24.99 (Three 500 ml bottles)
Purchased at: eBay
Rating: 4 out of 10
Pros: Not as bad as I thought it would be. Slightly fruity. Something about it makes me come back for more. Japan has huge balls. The Nintendo Wii. Japanese commercials with American actors. Hybrid cars.
Cons: Light artificial cucumber taste was slightly gross and weird. Looks like mouthwash. Only available in Japan. The things I do when I drink too much sake. Anything with Nicholas Cage in it.

Rico’s Salsa De Queso Nacho Cheese Sauce

I’ll admit that my eating habits are less than stellar. Deplorable, if you will. But I am a man who enjoys blaming all of his shortcomings on everyone but myself, so I will proceed to do so. I have had a distorted view of food since I was a small child. My parents taught me that all-you-can-eat buffets were a competition where the only way to win was to eat until you struggled to breathe. That’s how you get the edge over society and get your slice of American pie…or something along those lines, I can’t really remember the logistics of the situation.

This desensitization to crappy fried foods and imitation cheeses led to my current state of junk food codependence. I say “co-” because I feel like I have a lasting relationship with it, though I’m not sure if it’s based on eHarmony’s 29 dimensions of compatibility. High school further dragged me along this path, as the lunches provided were insufficient for rabid dogs, let alone burgeoning minds. I was left with two choices: the salad bar or nachos.

The salad bar might as well have been renamed “Hidden Valley” because everything was just a vessel for ranch dressing. Small amounts of wilted lettuce were laid out like bed sheets for macaroni and potato salads. Jugs of ranch were handed out so kids could mask any nutrients left inside. Of course, bread sticks were handed out for dipping. Ranch was fucking everywhere. Kids became addicted to it. I am convinced that I would’ve been laid if I had the foresight to pour ranch on myself.

I traveled the much healthier road and ended up falling in love with nacho cheese instead. Cheese has calcium in it, right? After rationalizing my addiction, I embraced the smooth, velvety texture of the cheese. It was laced with a hint of spiciness and the glow of neon orange. All of it came together to make a splendid sauce for the stale nachos that went down my gullet at $1.50 a tray. Throw in some pickled jalapeno slices and you’re set for any fiesta, or in my case, a night alone with the Gilmore Girls.

I had missed it in the couple of years since then, but found something appealing as I strolled through the aisles of the cursed entity known as Wal-Mart. It was Rico’s Salsa De Queso Nacho Cheese Sauce. The redundant and convoluted name didn’t strike my fancy, but the promise of molten hot nacho cheese piqued my interest.

I wasn’t expecting much, but I was pleasantly surprised that it indeed came out hot and smooth from the microwave. It was good, too! It still maintained a decent amount of texture and adhered perfectly to the chips. The nacho cheese is actually made with real jalapenos, which is noticeable as you feel a tingle of heat on your tongue upon consumption. It helped me put away a giant bag of organic tortilla chips over a one week period.

The best thing about this product is that I no longer need to rationalize the nutrition value of nacho cheese. Rico’s has done already done that for me, as their stamp boasts “0% cholesterol” and “Good source of calcium.” I’ve already begun adding it to my orange juice and breakfast cereal.

But not everything is muy bueno with Rico’s Salsa De Queso Nacho Cheese Sauce. I really wish I could say something positive about Rico’s lazily-made mascot. Seriously, a fucking drop of nacho cheese? That’s the best they could come up with? At least put a sombrero on him or some maracas.

Everyone knows racial stereotypes make the best mascots.

Item: Rico’s Salsa De Queso Nacho Cheese Sauce
Price: $1.99
Purchased at: Wal-Mart
Rating: 4 out of 5
Pros: Comes out hot and creamy in microwave. Tasty and cheap as all good junk food should be. Nacho cheese may or may not get me sexually aroused.
Cons: Not all that spicy. Lacks real cheese. Lazily designed mascot without fun Mexican stereotypes. Stretching the truth about nutritional information. All-you-can-eat buffets and their damage to the psyche.

REVIEW: Glaceau XXX Vitamin Water

I thought my addiction to clown porn was pretty bad, but my dependency on Glacéau XXX Vitamin Water is worse.

It started out innocently when I saw it at the store and wanted to try it out, because I’ll try anything just once. I thought I’d have some fun and then move on. I didn’t think anything would become of it, because who gets addicted off of something after trying it just one time? But after finishing a bottle, the demons in my head crawled out of my subconsciousness and told me they wanted more. I went back and bought the five bottles left on the shelf and went through those in the next two days.

Then I went to another convenience store and bought them out. Then another. Then another. Quickly, the sweet XXX gold dried up and I haven’t found any since, which has caused me to have withdrawals. Not only have I been shaking and paranoid, there also have been nights when I looked through my recycle bin and pulled out all the XXX bottles to see if any of them had just a drop of that sweet, slightly-watery tasting liquid, that at this point, I would totally suck a dick for, much like other addicts would in my situation.

Maybe now that Coke has bought Glacéau, I have to suck on Coke’s cock to get more of it. I just hope it’s not as thick as a can of Coke or as long as a 20-ounce bottle.

I went multiple times to see my dealer that hangs out at 7-Eleven and asked how I can get more of it, but my dealer, who likes to be called “7-Eleven Manager,” told me that she wished she could get her hands on the stuff too since it sells out pretty fast. She then told me she’s got other Glacéau Vitamin Water flavors that she can sell me that are just as good the XXX, but I told her, “Naw man, I want the real deal. None any of that pussy shit.”

But I may just have to settle for the pussy shit for now, because I’m getting desperate.

O-h-h-h-h, how I miss the feeling I get when those antioxidants are in my bloodstream. It makes me feel so good. The combination of XXX’s sweet taste and molecules that slow or prevent the oxidation of other molecules makes me feel invincible against free radicals. I don’t get that shit with the bitter-tasting broccoli or green tea.

The Glacéau XXX Vitamin Water gets its name from the three antioxidant-containing fruits in it — acai, blueberry, and pomegranate. With a flavor name like XXX, I expected it to taste like ball sack sweat and KY Jelly, but those three fruits form a delicious, sweet fruit punch flavor that I want so badly I would gladly kill for it.

Each bottle has 200 milligrams of sweet, sweet antioxidants, but unfortunately, 150 milligrams of it is Vitamin C, which I can easily get my hands on from any dealer who sells oranges or Sunny Delight. It’s the other 50 milligrams of antioxidants that I want flowing through my bloodstream. Sure, it’s got 13 grams of sugar per serving, but that’s way less than one of my other former addictions, Mountain Dew.

O-h-h-h-h man, I totally need a fix.

(Nutritional Facts Per Serving (2.5 servings per container): 50 calories, zero fat, zero cholesterol, zero sodium, 13 grams of carbs, 13 grams of sugar, zero protein, 100% Vitamin C, 10% Vitamin B3, 10% Vitamin B6, 10% Vitamin B12, and 10% Vitamin B5.)

Item: Glacéau XXX Vitamin Water
Price: $1.39 (20 ounces)
Purchased at: 7-Eleven
Rating: 4 out of 5
Pros: Good fruit punch flavor. Lots of Vitamin C. Seems sweeter than other Vitamin Water flavors. 50 milligrams of antioxidants other than Vitamin C. Some amounts of B Vitamins. Velvet Revolver. Kosher. Electrolytes. Healthier than soda.
Cons: Vitamin C is the most plentiful antioxidant in the bottle, which is plentiful among dealers. Hard to find. My addiction to antioxidants. The demons in my head. Contains less than 1% juice. I would suck Coke’s cock for some. My former addiction to clown porn.

Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters

Eating the new Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters cereal makes me feel a little more mature, since it doesn’t have either chocolate, marshmallows, or commercials on Nickolodeon. When I eat it in the morning, I close my eyes and imagine myself enjoying it at the dining table while reading the editorial page of my local newspaper, rolling my eyes at the crazy people who take the time to jump on their soapbox and write a Letter to the Editor to voice their opinion about how a pothole in front of their driveway proves that the local government is ineffective. Then I respond by asking why the writer of the letter doesn’t call the fucking pothole hotline, which was set up by the local government.

Then I imagine apologizing to my two imaginary elementary-aged children for saying the word “fucking” out loud in front of them, tell them that they shouldn’t use that word in school, and then plead with them to not tell their mommy I said the word “fucking.” Since my children are as cunning as me and my imaginary wife are, they will probably ask for certain toys in return for being silent about the profanity. I tell them that they were both accidents, but I agree to their demands if they also let me cut them out of my will.

I ask them if either of them knows what a will is and they both shake their heads, but they agree to the deal.

The Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters is only part of my imaginary complete balanced mature breakfast. I’m also enjoying half a grapefruit with a little Splenda sprinkled on top, two pieces of whole wheat toast with Smart Balance spread, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. My children are each enjoying half a papaya and slightly burnt waffles with sloppily-poured syrup that I prepared in my “Mr. Mom” apron. They fight over the syrup and then complain to me about it. I explain to them that sharing is important and that mommy and daddy share things all the time, like shampoo, soap, and the leather strap swing in our bedroom. I also tell them if they don’t share, they’re going to have to eat dry waffles next time and I’m going to force them to watch CBS sitcoms.

They scream “NO” and decide to share.

Despite being in milk for a few minutes, the dense, lightly sweetened wheat and bran flakes in the Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters are decently still crunchy. The clusters add a lot more crunch to the cereal and the plump raisins add extra sweetness. It smells like Golden Grahams, but it’s not an overly sweet tasting cereal. It’s also not CBS-sitcom dry and boring. I’m surprised about how good it tastes, since usually most things that have a lot of fiber in them taste very “earthy,” or in other words, like dirt, twigs, and tie-dye-wearing hippies who live in a forest.

A serving of Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters cereal provides me with over 40 percent of the 25 grams of fiber I should consume each day, which is good because when I’m fifty years old and a camera gets shoved up my ass during my colonoscopy, all the fiber I consumed will hopefully make everything up there okay. I’m also hoping that if I eat enough fiber, I can make paper out of my poop, like they do with elephant and panda droppings.

My wife enters the kitchen and she’s looking hot in her business suit. She grabs a piece of toast from my plate, takes a bite out of it, puts it back on the plate, kisses me on the cheek, leaving crumbs stuck to it, and then thanks me for letting her sit in the leather strap swing last night. Then she grabs my glass of orange juice, takes a swig, leaves a lipstick mark on the lip of the glass, and then out loud wishes that she didn’t brush her teeth before drinking orange juice. The children laugh, but I want to jump her bones so badly because there’s something about her in a suit that really makes me horny.

When one of my children asks me, “Daddy, what does ‘horny’ mean? Are you a unicorn?” I wish I had an internal monologue in my daydreams. I tell my children that “Horny” is a unicorn and it’s the reason why they’re both here today. I also promise to give them more toys if they don’t mention that to mommy and I don’t have to pay for their college educations.

They agree because my daughter says she’s going to be the next Paris Hilton and not have to do any work or have any skills, while my son says he’s going to be Anakin Skywalker, turn goth, and wear black everywhere he goes.

Sure, the Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters cereal totally looks like a clusterfuck of Raisin Bran, Honey Bunches of Oats, and All-Bran cereals, but it’s a sweet, delicious clusterfuck.

“Daddy, what’s a clusterfuck?”

(Nutritional Facts Per Serving: 170 calories, 10 calories from fat, 1 gram of fat, no cholesterol, 260 milligrams of sodium, 330 milligrams of potassium, 45 grams of carbs, 11 grams of fiber, 13 grams of sugar, 4 grams of protein, 21 grams of other carbohydrates, and a variety of vitamins and minerals.)

Item: Fiber One Raisin Bran Clusters
Price: FREE
Purchased at: Received from PR firm
Rating: 4 out of 5
Pros: Really good. Smells like Golden Grahams. Over 40% daily value of fiber. Sweet, but not too sweet. Crunchy. Paper made out of poop. How hot my imaginary wife looks in a business suit. Having a leather strap swing in the bedroom.
Cons: Accidently broadening my imaginary children’s vocabulary. Not having internal dialogue in my daydreams. Clusters can sometimes get stuck in between teeth. Sitcoms on CBS. It’s all a daydream. Crazy people who write Letters to the Editor because they have nothing better to do. Dry waffles. My Mr. Mom apron.

IKEA Plastic Bag


Please do not smite me for not buying any of your Swedish-designed furnishings during my last visit by dropping one of your yellow and blue football field-sized stores on top of me!

I’m sorry that I didn’t purchase any of your cheap furnishings with names that sound like they were created using random Scrabble letters puked out by a five-year-old who didn’t know better. But believe me I wanted to walk out with enough furniture to put my modest two-bedroom apartment through an extreme makeover, but it would be difficult to ship all of it from California to this rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, unless you IKEA, made a cheap boat that could be put together with single sheet of simple instructions.

To appease you IKEA, I did not leave totally empty-handed. I purchased one of your IKEA plastic shopping bag for five cents at the checkout counter. Sure, other stores don’t charge me for plastic bags, but I was more than happy to buy one from you so that I don’t get a VIREN or a LILLHOLMEN reamed up any of my orifices by you.

Actually, my friend purchased it and I have yet to pay her back for it. To make up my debt to her, I plan to stand at the corner and flash a little skin at those who pass by and hopefully someone will throw a nickel my way to make me cover myself up. I actually wanted your big blue 59-cent reusable IKEA bag, but I would have to go down on too many people to make that kind of money.

Although, I can reuse your five-cent IKEA shopping bag if I wanted to. I can use it as a trash bag, water bucket, interrogation tool, for a kindergarden sack race, the worst deep sea diver’s helmet EVER, or storage for all the other plastic shopping bags I have. I can also use it for making cheesy rain sound effects in the background whenever I sing the Guns N’ Roses song “November Rain” at karaoke or for making really good plastic shopping bag crumpling sound effects whenever someone is bagging my groceries at the grocery store.

While the bag’s transparency makes it hard to hide from others unwrapped gifts, chopped up body parts, or a collection of Lance Bass clippings from Teen Beat and Tiger Beat magazines, its size is significantly larger than the plastic shopping bags from most grocery stores.

These two attributes make your IKEA Plastic Bag the ideal bag for carrying a baby or toddler…if the bag didn’t say “Esta bolsa no es un juguete, puedo causar sofocacion, mantenga bolsa plastica fuera del alcance de los ninos o bebes.” The transparency of the bag would’ve made it easy to see what a kid is up to, while its size would’ve been able to hold not only a child, but also a few toys, some snacks, and a snorkel to help them breathe.

Well IKEA, hopefully the purchase of your five-cent plastic bag won’t cause you to punish me for not purchasing any of your inexpensive furniture, because I don’t think I could handle the punishment of eating a billion of your delicious Swedish meatballs in a row.

(Editor’s Note: IKEA in the US is now charging five cents per plastic bag to discourage shoppers from using them, which in turn will slightly help reduce the waste caused by plastic bags every year. You can read more about it here.)

Item: IKEA Plastic Bag
Price: 5 cents
Purchased at: IKEA
Rating: 3 out of 5
Pros: Big plastic bag. Big IKEA logo on both sides. Comes with built-in handles. Would make a good kiddie transport, if not for the warnings on the bag. Inexpensive Swedish-designed furnishings.
Cons: Most expensive plastic shopping bag ever. Being punished by IKEA for leaving a store empty-handed. Bad for the environment. Bag’s transparency makes it hard to hide your clippings of Lance Bass. Having clippings of Chris Kirkpatrick. The number of people I’d have to go down on to make 59 cents.