“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard

Sunday, November 28, 2004

So I just got back in from Marrietta.

I was in the supermarket buying alcohol for my little sister and her friends (hey, they’re 20 years old and in college) and I saw perhaps the dumbest thing I’ve seen in some time.

They had ‘virgin’ Long Island Iced Tea.

I know what you’re thinking, but I checked the label, it said: NOT A MIX, READY TO DRINK and CONTAINS NO ALCOHOL.

Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought the point was that a properly mixed Long Island Iced Tea was that it would taste just like regular iced tea only with a mess of liquor in it.

So a ‘virgin’, or non-alcoholic Long Island Iced Tea, would be designed to taste just like an alcoholic Long Island Iced Tea (which is designed to taste like a regular non-alcoholic iced tea) only without the alcohol.

I have seen the end of the universe.

It’s in the Food Lion alcohol section.

David Hannum was right.

I almost bought a bottle just so I could show it to people to prove that I really saw it. I would have if there was some way to buy it without people seeing me buy it. Or without talking to a cashier. Pretty much if I could have bought it with complete anonymity I’d be listing the actual ingredients right here.

Anyways, I have my sister’s alcohol and I’m checking out and the attractive, young cashier rings up the purchase without asking for my ID. I know, I’m getting old. I’m getting used to that. I take the stuff out to the car and I look at the reciept.

It said: DATE OF BIRTH 1960.


My apologies to anyone born on or before 1960 (though if you were I can’t fathom why you’d be reading this), but I was born on August 27, 1974, a full 14 years after 19-fucking-60. I’m 30 years old (and if I do say so myself, a young-looking 30) not 44, as the attractive young cashier (bitch) aparently thought I was.

I’m comforting myself by telling myself that they probably just type in a date that’s definitely legal when they don’t want to bother checking someone that’s obviously of legal drinking age.

Now I’m gonna go sit in the tub with the shower running, sob uncontrolably and eat a pint of Cherry Garcia.


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