this blog has never met kyle larson. which sort of makes it hard to tell: is he a well-meaning tipster or conniving bio-terrorist? this blog reports, you decide.
the problem, see, is that this blog is NOT suffering a flare-up, as once supposed, of the previously contracted malaria. (what does the globetrotting peter g do about that, we wonder?) which puts us back at square one, medically speaking, with 12-hour nights of sleep bleeding into bleary marathon days in the cubicle space with only the sporadic SHot of spRO to put a jOLT in the ROutinE. and nary a diagnosis to hang our hats on. needless to say, we fell like a lead-plated sucker for kyle’s blog post singing the unqualified wonders of Kombucha the Wonder Beverage, which is not only some sort of methodone for recovering beer guzzlers but offers (and we’re quoting from the label here) boundless “synergy.” which, you know, sort of sounds like “energy!”
oh, wait, and: improved digestion. metabolism smoothiness. appetite control. liver functionality. alkalinity. cell integrity! er, healthy skin. hard, hard nails. and! a hearty tensile boost to that flap of skin between the top lip and the upper central cuspids! imagine, if you will, the glee with which we greeted this beverage of vim and detoxification — ‘twould give us a shot in the arm and cushion those coffee-induced roller coasters. who cares if this drink involves a fungus called “the mother,” weeks of aging in a dark closet and gooey morsels floating about that strongly resemble toddler backwash? it dates to the qin dynasty! needless to say, this blog already has two gallon jugs of homegrown “booch” mutating in the cabinet.
but, ah, the dark side. turns out the natural processes involved foment some serious carbonated pressure. as in, guard your limbs and small children. in the space of recent weeks, this blog can attest to: (a) a jar of the product which solis jake did place upon the tree-hugger-grocery check-out conveyor, and which subsequently, according to numerous media reports, went all geyser-like upon the items and persons in near proximity. (b) another jar which, upon being carried by the lid, did exude a deafening “blam” and erupt in frothing fungal anger all over this blog’s personage, automobile upholstery, carpets, and borrowed belongings. (c) a routine and, frankly, disturbing tendency to check this blog’s sideview mirrors to be extra sure that a wisp of kombucha algae isn’t dangling from its goatee.
the wafting, swamp-like stench in this blog’s car leads us to warn impressionable consumers to take mr. larson’s effusive endorsement with a rock or two of salt — no matter what trendsetting l.a. soccer moms might be swilling between whole foods and the manicurist. consider this another of this blog’s regular installments of watchdog public service debunkage.