Watching The Year Without A Santa Claus. Everyone’s so wrapped up in Heat Miser and Snow Miser, nobody mentions how the elves found themselves on a one-way street, getting ticketed for riding a Vixen the wrong way.
Before getting Iggy the Wonder Schnauzer from a nearby rescue, I considered going to a breeder. I know, I know — why would anyone do that when there are so many animals looking for homes?
Well, for starters, you have a good idea of what you’re getting before you let the animal in your house.
See, at a rescue, all you have to go on is how the dog acts right there and then. A reputable breeder, on the other hand, would have lived with the dog, and would have records going back several generations. We could have said, “Hello, Breeder! We would like a dog that will grow up to be calm, intelligent, not likely to morph into a pan-dimensional hellhound, and maybe not too barky, thank you,” and that’s what we’d get. Instead, we have Iggy — a dog that needs constant supervision, tons of mental stimulation, and a priest.
But you want to know the scariest part? Look at the picture again. My husband is petting this thing.
From the depths of my patriotic soul, I say this to you now:
Christ, is there ANYONE in this country who can sing the national anthem? I don’t mean “KISS MY ASS MARIAH CAREY” vocal pyrotechnics like Mariah Carey shot your dog and fuck her now because from here on your sole purpose in life is to show up that dog-shooting bitch everywhere you go. I mean is there anyone in this country who can just SING THE DAMNED SONG?! If you’re not already a professional singer, kicking off a goddamned Met game is not going to be your big break. You’re not gonna get to duet on the Grammys with Justin Beeberlake and D-Jism or whoever the fuck you consider an “icon” because of your “stirring rendition” of the national anthem in which you hit every note within the range of human hearing just on the word “brave,” okay?
JUST SING THE GODDAMN SONG AND SIT THE FUCK DOWN.
Impressions: Upon opening the lid, the top note of cheap beer wafts from the jar. I also can almost swear I pick up a faint hint of Aqua Net, instantly carrying me back to late adolescence.
I light the candle, and a few minutes’ burn reveals the scent’s heart notes: Jack Daniels, vomit, and tension. Soon the base notes take over, and my home is filled with aromas of unwashed groupie and smack.
Burn quality: The burn is pretty damned bright; however, it flames out fast.
Conclusion: While I don’t understand why they wanted to evoke a Guns ‘N Roses tour bus in the first place, I have to say Yankee Candle hit it out of the park with this one.
(Or: clearly the person who names Yankee Candle scents is under 40, and now I feel all old and shit.)