Soda or Pop?
- Thread starter Schnookumnookum
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ronnir5501
the clown mask want your soul
SODA SODA SODDDDDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Psychonaut
Senior Member
back in my day we used to call soda pop bees-water, cuz it would cost a nickel, and back then, nickels had pictures of bumble bees on them. gimme five bees for a quarter, you'd say.
well, on that particular day, I was headed to old man vasquez' onion patch, on account a my mammy telling me to fetch her a bushel of roots, which is what they called five onions at the time. the problem with this was that my right shoe had a hole in the toe, and the morning dew had started to mold the inside, so that my foot made squishy-squashy-squishy-squashy noises as I moved along to the farm. the problem with this was that all of the local bullies knew that anyone moving north-northeast towards farmer vasquez farm had at least a quarter on'em to buy a bushel of onions, as a bushel of onions was needed in most day-to-day tasks, like cooking, and washing, and scrubbing, as soap had not yet caught on in this part of the country. so, being younger than most, I was an easy target for a quick drink, as a group of five could ambush anyone, and get a coke down at the local convenience mart. on this particular day, it was bright and sunny, and the birds were chirping in the trees, as I walked myself down the road to farmer vasquez' onion patch, and lo and behold, I'm ambushed! from all directions, I'm suddenly threatened with click-metal, which is what the slang term for knives was, and I knew my goose was cooked. but, my lightning-fast reflexes were sharp enough to take them all down, with some fancy footwork on my own part. and from that day on, no one in journey county ever messed with ol' rickshaw jones and his bushel a roots.
and so I call the drink, soda.
well, on that particular day, I was headed to old man vasquez' onion patch, on account a my mammy telling me to fetch her a bushel of roots, which is what they called five onions at the time. the problem with this was that my right shoe had a hole in the toe, and the morning dew had started to mold the inside, so that my foot made squishy-squashy-squishy-squashy noises as I moved along to the farm. the problem with this was that all of the local bullies knew that anyone moving north-northeast towards farmer vasquez farm had at least a quarter on'em to buy a bushel of onions, as a bushel of onions was needed in most day-to-day tasks, like cooking, and washing, and scrubbing, as soap had not yet caught on in this part of the country. so, being younger than most, I was an easy target for a quick drink, as a group of five could ambush anyone, and get a coke down at the local convenience mart. on this particular day, it was bright and sunny, and the birds were chirping in the trees, as I walked myself down the road to farmer vasquez' onion patch, and lo and behold, I'm ambushed! from all directions, I'm suddenly threatened with click-metal, which is what the slang term for knives was, and I knew my goose was cooked. but, my lightning-fast reflexes were sharp enough to take them all down, with some fancy footwork on my own part. and from that day on, no one in journey county ever messed with ol' rickshaw jones and his bushel a roots.
and so I call the drink, soda.
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