Milk Reviews

[Andrew Fenton]

Do you want to read over 900 Amazon.com reviews of Tuscan Whole Milk? Well of course you do. THIS IS WHAT THE INTERNETS IS FOR, PEOPLE.

Ahem. A couple of sample reviews:

Only three times in my life have I had better milk than this, and twice I'm fairly certain it was laced with flavor enhancing enzymes. The third was a milk so pure, it was actually hand delivered by the dairy farmer, who pumped it from the milk well right there in the middle of his ranch and drove it out to you in his old model T Ford pickup. Regardless, that was some expensive service, but the milk was like unto gold in a bronze world.

Anyway, I digress. Tuscan Whole Milk is clearly a great value for its quality. You get roughly a gallon of this white wonder packaged in an easy to manage container. The handle on the side of the jug has no uncomfortable burs or ridges to impede your grasping and pouring action. The lid has been developed using space age technology to avoid getting the little dry crusty milk flakes around the top that always fall into your cereal like dandruff. Thank god for the astrophysicists at the Tuscan Farms Science Center.

Anyway, as you can see, word has gotten out about how good this product is, and at only 3.99 for a gallon (give or take a few ounces), the stuff is selling fast. In fact, I hear the cows enjoy their milk so much, they have to wear a special harness to keep from drinking it all themselves. Do the right thing, save a kitten from the pound. And when you feed that, feed it Tuscan Whole Milk, in the crustless cap bottle.

And a milk so good, it brought Yeats back for another round:

The Second Milking

Squeezing and squeezing in the wide container

The moo cow cannot hear the farmer;

Machines fall apart, the suction cups cannot hold;

Mere husbandry is loosed upon the cold,

The milk-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The creamery of innocence is mowed;

The best lack all mastication, while the worst

Are full of pregnant immensity.

Surely some expulsion is at hand;

Surely the second milking is at hand.

The Second Milking! Hardly were those curds out

When the vast image of Elsius Mundi

Bubbles my sight: somewhere is the meadows of Wisconsin

A shape with a trademark body, and the head of a cow,

A gaze proud and commercial as television,

Is moving its slow cud, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant end-customer.

The darkness drops again; but now I moo

That twenty hours of pasture sleep

Were vexed to lowing by that swelling udder,

And what rough beast, its hour come at last,

Slouches towards Tuscany to be milked again?

[Carrot Top]

Now that's the sort of thing I like to read.

The author should submit to The Daily Gullet perhaps.