Generic Products: A Pictorial
I am such a fan of generic soda, it's kind of retarded. I would make out with it, had it lips on it's cruel, metal mouth. In fact, I'm drinking generic soda RIGHT NOW, though sadly not the fine specimen of soda pop genericness you see pictured above (as this is not the suburbs, three decades ago). No, I'm currently taking care of some Big Fizz Cola, which is available at your local Rite Aid for a measly 79 cents and whatever dignity you've got left. It tastes like flat Jolt mixed with that Dr. Pepper lip gloss from when you were ten, but more specifically, it tastes like a motherfucking bargain. And for good measure, I've cut it with some generic brand vodka... Popov, from a plastic jug bought on sale while the liquor store clerk looked at me with a mixture of anger and pity. Yeah, yeah... for a grown-ass man, my drink choices sure are pathetic and speak to a life spent in efficiency apartments in the bad part of town. Whatever. BARGAIN!!!
People will try to tell you that the worst thing you can do to a child is punch them in the face while drunk or destroy their self-esteem through years of psychological torture and emotional abuse but the people who try to tell you that are fucking morons. The absolute WORST thing you can do to a child is bust out the Malt-O-Meal when he or she has friends at the house for a sleepover. "Oh, now, it's the exact same cereal... it's just cheaper!" Right. And you should plan on spending that money you've saved on Little Johnny or Susie's therapy bills after their entire class snaps on them all the way through graduation because they're the poor kids on welfare who's parents spent all the Honey Nut Cheerios money on crack rocks, so they had to buy the junk in bags from the bottom shelf, which, it should be pointed out, is totally the same stuff the janitor uses to clean up puke, it's true, Tyler's older bother told me so. Ask ten sixth graders which is scarier... the entire Saw franchise, or Mom offering their friends some Honey Nut Scooters... and you'll have nine sixth graders screaming, "not the bag... anything but THE BAG!!!" You'll also have one sixth grader who says he doesn't care, but fuck him... he lives with his grandparents and smells like sour milk.
It's pretty much all I buy, but that's only because I'm broke and too fat to get away with shoplifting the good stuff. Look, I know it's just like the cereal... basically the same as the name brand, but more affordable and whatever... but, I don't know, I feel like it probably doesn't work as well as it's more spendy counterparts. Like when heroin dealers cut their smack with baby laxatives or baking powder... I just kind of assume that the manufacturers are skimping on the actual drugs and putting in, for all we know, bleach or anthrax or the ground up bones of Navajo warriors they found in the factory sub-basement. What I'm trying to say is this: Generic medicine is most likely cursed like the house in Poltergeist and we're all going to get sucked into an inter-dimensional void because we use it all the time, or at the very least we're going to get attacked by a creepy clown puppet.
Alright, I know these aren't generic pickles, strictly speaking. They're foreign pickles, and weird ones at that... seriously, what's that white, honeycomb-ish thing, besides deeply troubling? But here's the thing... do you have any idea how hard it is to find a picture of generic pickles? I searched for HOURS (several minutes) and found nothing. Nada. Zip. Pictures of gourmet, hand-crafted, virgin caressed pickles jarred by monks and farted on by The Jonas Brothers? Sure! Tons of them. Whole organic farmer's markets worth. But what of the pale, limp pickles in a smudged glass jar with a crooked label? What of the Val-U-Gherkin? The internet is oddly barren of any photographic evidence of such a product and I think that speaks to a larger, class-based conspiracy to keep down the blue collar worker by... withholding... pictures of affordable food... okay, look, I haven't worked out all the details yet, but know that the conspiracy is vast and probably involves aliens.
A thing of the past, sadly, like the snap-brim fedora and a general faith in our nation's government. But can you imagine how great it would have been to wander into a Pathmark or a Tom Thumb or a Ralph's and pick up a sixer of low-quality, barely-drinkable cat pee for the price of a McDonald's hamburger? My god, the 1970s were a hobo drifter's paradise, all shabby jackets and post-Nixon anxieties and the rise of pornography and amazing, crappy beer. What a wonderful time to be alive and have no standards whatsoever. Seriously, I'm building a time machine and growing out a thick Fu Manchu-style mustache.