Don’t talk to me about Buckley’s. As a matter of fact . . . don’t even look in my general direction when the concept of Buckley’s floats through your mind . . . it is all just too terrible – seriously.
Buckley’s is a joke of a cough syrup from our hilarious neighbors to the north (Canada) . . . and taking it is like licking a dollop of Vick’s mentholated rub off of a strip of fly paper that has been steeping in a cup of gasoline(ated) turpentine. It is bad bad bad in ways that I can’t even figure out – so heed my experience as a warning.
I had been sick for a few days and the normal ways of kicking the sickness to the curb weren’t quite working out (you know that I am talking all about you Dayquil/Nyquil knock out combo) . . . and so I took the advice of a fellow coworker and went on a mission to find some of what he called “Some really terrible stuff.â€
At first – I couldn’t find it anywhere – but I became more focused when a worker at a store said “Oh – people are buying up all of the Buckley’s . . .†when I asked here where I could find it. What was this magic medicine – that I had never heard of – that people were in such a rush to buy?! I absolutely had to have some of this nasty stuff so that it could make me all kinds of better.
When I finally got my hands on some, I laughed at the slogan on the bottle “It tastes awful. And it works.†I mean come on – it was just some in the aisle medicine – how bad could it be?! Then I took it out of it’s box and marveled at the translucent brown bottle with the pearlecent white liquid with a blue-ish tinge that I was holding in my hand. I then took a one and one-half teaspoon swig from the bottle.
Everything went blank for me at that point as the ferocious swill ate it’s way down my throat – causing me into a fit of jerks and gaggles as it went. All that I can figure is that I was completely destroyed and rebuilt from the ground up when I took a taste . . . lacking only the cold that had been sticking with me . . . I was a whole and better person – albeit with a really bad taste in my mouth that I can still conjure up a week later . . .
And then 4 (four) hours later – when the dosage wore off – the coughing came right back . . . and it was time to take another sip.
So please . . . don’t even talk to me about Buckley’s – whatever you do. . . because it is more than – more than kind of – kind of yucky – blea-uuuuugh – blug – blug – blug – amo-cabo-uch-uch-uch.
What in the beans?! What kind of a place is this anyway? Today when I got into the shower – expecting to fall into the world of cleansing ribbons that I had been enjoying up to this point – there it was – staring at me from it’s divot in the wall . . . from it’s little soap kingdom – [which I had never paid a lick of interest to before it became occupied (probably with much bloodshed and force) by (one of) the current scourge(s) of my (shower)] – was . . . a pink bar of soap full of such malice and mischief that I felt forced to reach (slowly) out of the curtain and proceed to get fully dressed for the remainder of my shower.
