As Newsweek reported when this month began:
U.S. ALCOHOL SALES INCREASE 55 PERCENT IN ONE WEEK AMID CORONAVIRUS PANDEMIC
Yes. I get that. I’ve had a few pints. But it’s not the pints I’m jonesing for.
What I want is Coke. A frosty Coke and then a refill of frosty Coke immediately afterward.
Both of their bottles.
Don’t I deserve to be “really refreshed?”
Coke is everywhere. It taunts me in the pages of my magazines and from the walls of the antique stores. Is that Jane Wyman? I don’t know. All I want is her Coke.
I don’t need two liters of Coke. That’s too big, and it loses carbonation the second you open it up.
Then again, it can’t be too small.
Now this one is just right.
Not until artist Haddon Sundblom illustrated Santa Claus for Coca-Cola advertisements in 1931, did Americans associate a large snowbearded man in a red suit with the image of Kris Kringle. Below is Sundblom, enjoying a frosty bottle of his labors.
Most of us grew up with the image he created and cannot fathom a slender Santa, much less one with dark hair or no facial hair at all. In 2015, this model tried to offer a trimmer version at Yorkdale Shopping Center in Toronto.
What do you think? Should Santa be svelte and hipster, rocking a Beat It jacket? Possibly even vegan?? I don’t think so. I like my Santa jolly and obese, and borderline diabetic from all that Coke and plates of cookies we leave out. I’d tell skinny Santa to beat it.
Unless you like a frothy mouthful of head, do not pour your bottle into your glass this way. I watched a patron at a pizza parlor pour his pitcher (that’s a lot of p’s!) into his pint sans tilt, and he wound up with a pint o’ foam. Nasty. And he was well into his middle years, so he should have known better.
And the award for best illustration of ale with squirrels, accordions, and ascots goes to…
Schlitz! Y’all, this ad did its job. It actually makes me wants Schlitz, despite the fact that I would never order a 4.6% ABV beer because that’s just wasting my time. My mouth tells me to rebuke the “Schlitzness” but my eyes say “Carry on, my wayward daughter.”
Seriously, tell me, doesn’t this look like more fun than a barrel of monkeys?
Well, they WERE minors back in 1987 when I took this shot. Now their pyramids are probably cheap domestic beers or craft bottle trees.