"The Dr. Pepper's On Us"

As mentioned earlier, a Guns 'N Roses album is on the horizon. 

Why should we care?

Oh yeah. The 2008 completion of it entitles us all to a free can (or bottle? canteen?) of Dr. Pepper. 

Here's some instructions on how to obtain your very own coupon (which will take a while to arrive). 

Supposedly it can be used anywhere. I'm trying to imagine the expression I'll get from the cashier ladies at Western.

Refrescos Country Club Frambuesa Raspberry Soda | See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Drink Me

More like Monthly Fizz.
I blame the delays on my wall clock, which is getting a little old (my middle daughter made it with construction paper and glitter, and I've never had the heart to tell her it has no method of actually keeping time.)

I've been seeing a lot of sad eyes lately, so I was thinking, what the hell, I guess we are due for another post about now, aren't we?

So gather 'round children, and put on those party hats. It's time for the evening news. That means you too, Phil.

Let's talk about things that've happened in the past 24 hours:

1) Some interesting developments have occurred regarding that OJ Simpson case we've all been following oh-so-closely.

2) Another debate's going on at the very moment I'm writing this. Politics is crazy. But then again, so is sodas.

3) The stock market crashed again (at least I heard; I was shampooing my cat around that hour).

4) Reginald came in yelling and screaming and hollering and whistling, "Chief," he said—he calls me that occasionally—"Listen up! I think I might've found something!"

"Really?"

"Well.. yeah."

"What is it?" I asked. His nose was twitching at this point. Also, he was still wearing his pajama pants, the ones with little sailboats. "Make it snappy," I said. "And speak up, I got a bad headache."

"The missus and I have found a terrific light caffeine-free Raspberry soda."
He wiped his sweaty face on his sweatshirt, leaving a large greasy stain over Daffy Duck. I asked him to say again what he just said, and then myself said, "You don't say!" I put down my Sudoku puzzle—I'd given up on it and instead had begun crafting an origami swan out of the page. I raised my monocle to see his tiny face grinning. He hardly ever does that anymore, due to insecurity, mainly for losing every tooth in his Razor scooter collision last spring.

He handed me the bottle, and accidentally cracked the glass of my monocle in the process. Several shards made their way into my cornea, but rather than getting angry, I wiped the blood with my kerchief and asked him to slowly read the label.

"It appears to say Refrescos Country Club Frambuesa Raspberry Soda, sir."

"What's that, Español or something?" I asked.

"Think so."

And then I had a sip. I had seventeen of them, actually, completely finishing off the bottle. I did this before getting him to order twelve additional cases for the West cellar. It was damn good. Damn good.

If you don't trust my senses, trust your own and order a 2 liter (also in Orange) from amigofoods. And then throw a party.