Okay Merl, that was one of the strangest agglomerations of insanity that I've seen on this blog in some time (and that includes Bazzukajoe's unique brand of stream-of-consciousness).

Bread soda?

If you had put a gun to my head and commanded me to think up unlikely flavors for disgusting soft drinks, I never would have come up with that. I've had coffee soda. And chocolate soda. And the bodega on 15th Avenue and Dahill Road used to sell that El Sol malta crap. But bread soda? Why not broccoli soda? Or pizzaiola margarita mix (speaking of salty beverages).

And what of salty beverages?

While I tend to agree with Merl's general proposition on salty beverages, I can't help but have evil thoughts. Like "Clamato." Which I have never tried. And never will. And may or not be salty. But is definitely wrong.

And "Pleasure Island"?

That name is too image-rich for me. It puts me in the mind of the Pink Pussycat Boutique on West 4th Street in the Village (which I will not link to -- this is a family show!). While a high school student at Xavier, I would occasionally trek over to West 4th to browse the intriguing wares. Or journey uptown to the Erotic Bakery. Got some neat-o his/hers lollipops there once. Andre got a cake there too for a much-desired friend of ours: a giant chocolate phallus. Creme-filled (of course). Inscribed: "Maria's Cure." Beset with flu, wearing a Santa suit, Andre personally delivered it to her birthday party. She reportedly screamed and tossed the offending torte into the bathroom (only to allegedly stick her finger into it and lick the creme later that evening).

Merl, you've done it to me again.

And I thank you.