Santa Jizz

Now that the holiday season is upon us (kidding, it has been since September 1st thanks Target), pumpkin spice has gone the way of the seasonally exhausted dodo and we’re being inundated with eggnog flavor. Drowned, if you will. Except when I imagine drowning in eggnog, I start retching and I can’t stop because eggnog is disgusting.

Eggnog isn’t a drink. It’s an ingredient. Eggnog is what you have when you’re in the beginning stages of French toast, or a very rich French pastry. Without the flavoring, eggnog is a really wet omelet. Eggnog isn’t something you should willingly put into your body, because if you do that, you might as well buy some liquefied bacon grease (which would be delicious) and start chugging every time you remember that TBS doesn’t care how boring they’ve made “A Christmas Story,” they’re still playing it every goddamn day this month.

Who even likes eggnog? It’s like the Christmas version of candy corn. Okay, fine, my grandfather liked eggnog, but he’s perhaps the only exception to the No Eggnog rule. Mind you, I never had his eggnog because I hate eggnog no matter what, but apparently he made a lethally alcoholic version from scratch every year for Christmas and, for a guy who never drank and lived through the Depression, it means an awful lot that he bought the booze himself and shaved whole nutmeg over it to give it just the right touch.

But outside of my grandfather? My father likes eggnog. But let’s not forget that my father’s tastes aren’t exactly cosmopolitan, and the man wouldn’t know homemade organically-sourced eggnog from the gluey sludge he buys in bulk every year from the grocery store when he has a double coupon. He might be able to grill meat like no one else on earth, but when it comes to beverages, he prefers PBR, whatever Folgers is cheapest that week, and store brand eggnog.

Also, my sister likes eggnog. And my nephew. And my friend Heidi. That’s just according to the Facebook status I posted asking everyone to please stop posting Pinterested recipes for eggnog-flavored things (pancakes, sticky buns, every other fucking thing in the world it seems) topped with eggnog glaze. You guys, I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but I never think “mmmm, glaze” when I look at your photos. I think “ewww, jizz.” Glaze is jizz, okay, and I don’t even need Louis C.K. and his airport Cinnabon to back me up on this.

So putting eggnog inside of a baked good is bad enough because you’re baking your dessert-disguised-as-breakfast with thick, sticky jizz. Then you’re using a thinner, still sticky version of jizz as a topping. You’re just eating a whole crapload of jizz, and the only excuse you have is that it’s Christmas.

Just stop. Stop it right now. Turn off the Pinterest and make something else, and for the rest of your life, keep that Santa Jizz out of your mouth.

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
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3 Responses to Santa Jizz

  1. Becky says:

    TBS totally ruined A Christmas Story.

  2. JP says:

    My bookstore cafe serves eggnog lattes and people love ’em. Imagine 18 ounces of espresso-spiked steaming hot Santa jizz. Worse are the extra-hot orders: 180 degree plus eggnog is a health hazard. The sugars burn and the proteins start to precipitate out of solution, leaving a viscous, clumpy, cheese-like slurry on the bottom of the pail. Plus it’s hot enough to give your soft palate 2nd degree burns. Mmm…

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