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Posts Tagged ‘Street Fight’

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Pinkberry is being sued by an idiot. Idiot alleges the product is not actual “yogurt,” but rather, “a powder-based product mixed with water or milk that is ‘sold in this adulterated state without notice to consumers of its ingredients.'” Oh, really? Because I thought if you simply freeze some Dannon yogurt, it turns into soft serve. Not. Obviously Pinkberry is not real “real” yogurt, since everyone knows yogurt, when placed in sub-zero degree temperature, turns into an ice cube-like product. Don’t act as though you’ve never experimented with placing sweet treats in the freezer.

Also, um, I don’t know if this man has ever tasted/or heard of a product that’s often referred to as “The Country’s Best Yogurt,” but I’m pretty sure that TCBY’s “Y”-ogurt is not actual yogurt either. Despite its presumptuous title. (It takes some pretty big balls [testicles] to claim to be #1 within a category you don’t even belong to. But I suppose that’s the only way to build a successful empire these days. Lies and big balls. Sorry.) At least Pinkberry’s taste resembles real yogurt.

Anyway, hater’s suit states that “Pinkberry is marketed as frozen yogurt ‘to deceive the public and to profit from that deception.'” Yeah. Boo. I feel so deceived by this mass marketing ploy. I can’t believe how deceived I felt after discovering that all this time I wasn’t eating soft-serve yogurt, but was in fact, eating soft-serve “yogurt.” Those deceitfully delightful fresh fruit and cereal toppings that I once felt so much joy towards, are now nothing but accomplices to a deceit that will definitely interfere with my chemically influenced diet. Pinkberry’s deceitful “powder based product mixed with water or milk” will surely affect my daily intake of saccharine based drinks and partially hydrogenated oiled snacks. I am so angry at you, Pinkberry. Angry for being so deliciously fat-free and refreshing. The fact that you make claims to be frozen yogurt, even though no frozen yogurt chain provides its customers with 100% yogurt, is so deceitful, I can’t even look at your adorably modern glass walls, and tiny Asian fixtures without feeling hurt. And deceived.

But all (deceit) jokes aside, this is ridiculous. Pinkberry tastes great, is light, and goes great with Capt ‘n Crunch cereal. It’s not as though it’s laced with some weird ingredient that causes cancer, it just isn’t associated with Yoplait. I say, if it isn’t heavy in calories, has more flavor than (Not)-Tasti D-Lite, and was developed by a Korean, it’s A-OK in my book. (Real) Yogurt enzymes or not.

Delish.

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I thought that probably the best chance of getting my face smacked would be in an argument with a greasy Bay Ridger at some dank-ass bar, deep in Red Hook. Turns out I only had to venture a couple blocks into a quaint residential neighborhood for the bum ticker to get it on.

I should inform you, blogite, that my usual meandering about the streets of Carroll Gardens with roommate Kelley has us fitting in quite well with the surroundings. My darker, seemingly Italian looks and Kelley’s red Irish cocks-comb both harmonize with the culturally intertwined local spirit you can find on display at PJ Hanley’s Bar (that’s for another review). Anyhow, that night circa 2 am, any fear or respect our looks should have inspired didn’t apply to the bored, low-life, hood youngster scum that is so abundant in this town.

We were well into Henry street, a quiet, brownstone-lined, well-to-do area with a corner pizzeria with a front stoop harboring maybe ten teenagers having themselves a New York moment. I’m sure was a deep philosophical discussion they were having, but as we pass by them one of the larger set members suddenly broke loose from the pack. Hollering “Hey, how are you?” as I spun around distracted, this young hoodlum pops a sucker punch right to my left cheek. I was more stunned by the randomness of it all rather than any pain. Kelley, usually the effusive poet, was also rendered quite speechless.

So this pizza-loving douchebag bolts down Henry while his pathetic cronies are yelling in the street, pointing to which way he went. We snap out of shock and by instinct give chase, my vendetta fueled rage kicking in while Kelley spewed between breaths the most vile of ancient Gaelic curses in his repertoire. A couple blocks down Henry, probably at about Second Place, we realize there are still about five of the trolls trailing us. Kelley turns to me and in an Alec Baldwin voiced hush informs me of the potential for an urban ambush.

So we decided right then and there that our best course of action was to avoid an outnumbered street confrontation and so we turned down another street towards Court. The wanking blackhearts declined to follow.

What I should have done was whip out my cell phone and started barking orders in Russian. Then those kids would have been pissing their pants.

Shite happens, I guess…But doesn’t it suck how you always think of those things way after?

By guest blogger, JJP.

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