Nygårda Julmust | Happy Whatever You Celebrate

This morning, as I was marking another x on my smutty Mrs. Clause calendar, I realized it was time for:

THE WEEKLY FIZZ SPECIAL YEAR END HOLIDAY SALE.. err.. INSTALLMENT

Yuletide fizzlings to be had by you, and all your kinship and grandfizzles! The Ghost of Christmas Mental Affliction and I will be guiding you as we traverse underprivileged neighborhoods, making our list and checking it for factual and grammatical errors. Don't forget to pack your flask. We'll be filling it to the brim with the rare exotic mistle-tinged taste of Nygårda Julmust (careful.. it's from Sweden).

Now you know I hate dwelling on bad holiday memories. But after sitting through the bulk of last year's VHS tape slide show footage, I just can't help it. As you may or may not remember, someone drank too much cider and proceeded to crash their sleighbells into grandma's giant pile of dead snowmen. This gave us no choice but to call the authorities. And then the New Year's incident at the McDonald's playground with the binoculars? Needless to say, it's been a rough year.

Which is why we've enlisted help from Mr. Clause. Not the phony Santa we all know from the mall and the movies and stuff, but Blanta himself. Take a seat on his chunky lap, while he scratches your back and listens to your naughty Christmas desires.

Oh right, about the soda. Julmust is a beverage consumed around Christmas in Sweden. In fact, during this time the country's Coca-Cola sales drop by roughly 50% due to its popularity. It tastes a little like beer, but with a lot of spice and no alcohol. Sort of bitter and strange, truthfully. My advice is not to drink it from your stocking, like you might with wassail, hot cocoa, or the like. Body shots are okay, but only after the children are fast asleep. And when Uncle Freddie (you know, the guy who kissed your girlfriend under the mistletoe the year before) punches you in the chestnuts, don't cry. Just string him up with lights and let those frisky elves take care of him. I'll show you where to stash the body.

Get some at IKEA, after you purchase that coffee table you'll never be able to assemble. Get in the spirit! And then decorate your mass spam emails with cool holiday-themed ASCII art.

Barq's Red Creme Soda | Cream Can Be Spelled "Creme" But Only In Certain Circles Which've Earned The Right To Do So

My colleague and I shared a plastic bottle of this drink today, on a much-needed break from doing less important things. I picked it out of the fridge in the same manner someone picks a new member for his team in kickball. I don't remember what it was like in kickball, doing the picking, but rather how it felt to be picked close to last. (It's true! This blogger had an unfortunate bowl cut and braces!) With past horrors in mind, I thoughtfully chose Barq's Red Creme Soda amid the other bottles that'd been gathering dust for far too long.

As pointed out to me earlier, this marks Weekly Fizz's first major label review. I know. In the past we have stood on the forefront as the elite pioneering-bastards of the indie drink evaluation. But this time around we couldn't resist.

Flash back to middle school, back to being an awkward fourteen year old (thank God I've endured the hardships, and can now say I've achieved awkward twenty-six year old status): I'd often walk around the school "brown bagging it." What doth this statement mean? Well, in the designated "lunch area," one could find me "hidin' from teach"—after tearing through my Swiss Cake Rolls—holding a bottle of Barq's Root Beer wrapped in a brown paper lunch bag. (Maybe it was IBC, actually, I don't remember.) I wouldn't have known about the other Barq's products at the time, probably because I lived in Tampa and not New Orleans. It's probably for the best, since chances are I would've dropped out and become a junkie, soon grappling harder vices like Minute Maid Tropical Citrus.

So, before getting any more sidetracked, let's talk about New Orleaners. Did you know they've claimed red cream soda their unofficial beverage? And here

I was imagining it was malt liquor. Also, to answer this week's mailbag, James William Black—a.k.a. "Big Daddy Black"—single-handedly patented the cream soda in Nova Scotia, 1886. And, let it be known, Barq's were the first to include caffeine as an ingredient in a non-coffee beverage. As for the taste, it resembles cream soda, but with added red. What the red allegedly represents is still a mystery. Are we supposed to taste cherries? Strawberries? Hybrid Perennials? Does color have a taste?

Click this link, order a 12-pack, and decide. Enjoy the little animated Spot characters on the page. They will dance for you.

"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.