Ok, I admit it. Tim Hortons, that caffeinited Mecca that I once adored, is now nothing more than another evil corporate machine. Still, it was born in Hamilton, so I do have a soft spot for the giant fucking wad of deep-fried dough.
But these mother-humping "Steeped" commercials have got to go. They redefine stupid in a medium that has consistantly hit knew depths of stupid. To begin: the real reason that Tim Hortons is selling steeped tea is not because it is in any way shape or form superior to bagged tea. They do so because it allows them to charge more for a large than they do with a medium (something they currently do not do with bagged teas).
Now, as far as thess "That's so steeped" commercials are concerned. Please, oh God, let the human race be smart enough to not actually start using this phrase (you know, describing something you think is cool as "steeped"). Its a fucking commercial, trying to put a positive spin on a negative thing.
If I ever hear anyone using the word "steeped" to mean anything other than " To soak in liquid in order to cleanse, soften, or extract a given property from", I will personally steep them in cow urine.
But you may think I'm worrying too much - after all, why would people allow a phrase from a commercial to creep into everyday language? Well, how about the slang term for McDonalds - Mickey D's. Who started that? McDonalds. Probably to try and detract from the popularity of other slang terms for McDonalds, such as McCrap, McPukes, and McRaunch.
Now, back to Tim Hortons. I have to admit that this is not the first time I have taken issue with one of their decisions. Take, for example, the bonehead who figured it would be a great idea if, instead of serving fresh baked donuts, it would be much better if they were all preprepared in a factory, and then shipped off to individual locations where they were nuked and served. Fucker.
I really, really, hated their English Toffee Cookies. As is evidence by this letter I once wrote to them:
874 Sinclair Road
Dear Tim Horton’s Person:
I recently had the misfortune of trying your new English Toffee Cookie. The experience was, to say the least, extremely disagreeable. I like your English toffee cappuccino. I like English toffee ice cream. It would therefore come as no surprise for you to learn that I like English toffee. It was, however, a surprise to me that I very much disliked your English toffee cookie.
The experience of eating one of your English Toffee Cookies can be referred to as unpleasant; in the same way that being buried alive under a pile of rotting dead toads can be referred to as unpleasant. It would be an understatement to say that your English Toffee Cookies are disgusting. It would be similar to referring to the bombing of Hiroshima as a “tad unpleasant”. If given the choice between suicide, and eating an English Toffee Cookie, I would, of course, eat the cookie. I’m not insane.
But I would seriously have considered the options.
If asked to explain the taste of your English Toffee Cookie to someone lucky enough to have never tried one, I would have to compare it to the taste of a dried sponge, soaked in perfume, and then baked to perfection in a compost heap. On the big list of Gross Things to Eat, it would fall squarely between “oil-soaked Styrofoam” and “your own anus”.
What, dear God, were you thinking?
I can only assume that someone was actually responsible for creating the English Toffee Cookie; most likely a mid-to-high level executive with more clout than working brain cells and/or taste buds. As all executives should be held responsible for their decisions, I suggest that this individual be dealt with in order with the magnitude of his crime. I believe a suitable punishment would be to confine him to a stalled elevator, alone with a flatulent Jehovah’s Witness, who happens to sell life insurance. For eighteen hours.
Then, please fire him.
On other matters:
1. Good coffee.
2. The donuts. Stop the factory bullshit, and go back to fresh baked. My God, have you heard the words “Krispy Kreme”?
3. Would it kill your servers to smile?
4. You couldn’t make a real bagel to save your own lives.
For some reason, they did not answer my letter.