(no subject)
Calico Jack
Aquatic cologne...I'm not going to say Aqua Velva simply because I've never smelled that. But, uh...yeah.
Carnal
Sexy candy. Like one of those sugary, very hard taffee candies that melt while you roll them around in your mouth and are just generally delicious, while, perhaps, looking at this. Or, y'know, just watching *her* eat it.
Casanova
I know this is supposed to smell like man, library books and tea, but all I get is an innocuous sort of...almost non-smell, with a peppery undertone. Oh, and faint Axe cologne. Goddammit. Oh well, one less thing to love, I guess. *sulk*
Caterpillar
Interestingly, this is much like I would expect The Caterpillar to smell like, though I have never read Alice In Wonderland and never seen any of the movies and really have no desire to...though...oh, all right, I'll see the Johnny Depp one eventually, because Karl bought it and it's on blu-ray and IT'S JOHNNY DEPP FFS!!1! It smells like fresh grass and sweet incense. Take that, dirty pot-smoking hippies! Now leave my fucking hookah alone and go back to drawing your lame purple mushroom tattoos amongst your mange and toe-cheese. The Caterpillar is a classy motherfucker and he doesn't need you.
I love how my reviews just descend into random hostility every now and then.
Catherine
You're really going to have to forgive me on the lameness of this batch; the Forum is down, so I don't have access to other people's reviews. Now, I would like to think that the reviews tend to jog my memory or give vocabulary to what I'm smelling aside from 'meh' 'blank' or 'oh that's ass' or 'FUCK YOU DIRTY HIPPIES GNAAAAR'. Here, all I can really say that I smell is a bouquet, were that bouquet made of herbs that are either dried or on their way to being dried, along with, perhaps, some random grass stems that got into the mix whilst one was tearing them from their thrones of earth. *sigh*
The Music Of Erich Zahn
For bleak aeons, the world has gone without the haunting music of the Master of the Pan Pipes, Zamfir. His disciples scan the various channels of the cablenets, seeking his sign, cupping a searching hand to one ear to hone their hearing for his haunting hymns; and yet, their vigils are for naught. He has abandoned us, has Zamfir, he has left us without his Greatest Hits for the low price of two easy payments of $9.95 (plus S&H); no longer shall his pipes keen for endless love, for somewhere over the rainbow, for chariots of fire. We stand at the gates of QVC, awaiting their deal of the day, longing for them to draw aside the curtain long enough for us to behold his improvisations for pan flute and organ once more. But no -- they are false priests, they sing only of cubic zircona and infusion pitchers!
And they shall be cast down for their blasphemy.
BEHOLD. A NEW PRIEST OF THE MUZACK HAS COME.
Erich Zahn....
Erich Zahn...
Erich Zahn...
Shall you listen for his name on the wind? It shall come to you. It shall caress your cheeks and the nape of your neck. It shall soothe your fevered brow. You shall not cry for Argentina, you shall not agonize because you don't know how to love him, you shall not long for yesterday. You shall enter a new era, upon the harmonizing wings of Erich Zahn. Clutch at his feathers and let him spirit you toward the new dawn.
It smells like sticky plug tobacco and musk.
It does not smell like that. But that's okay.
I'm going to go back to drinking my beer now.
Aquatic cologne...I'm not going to say Aqua Velva simply because I've never smelled that. But, uh...yeah.
Carnal
Sexy candy. Like one of those sugary, very hard taffee candies that melt while you roll them around in your mouth and are just generally delicious, while, perhaps, looking at this. Or, y'know, just watching *her* eat it.
Casanova
I know this is supposed to smell like man, library books and tea, but all I get is an innocuous sort of...almost non-smell, with a peppery undertone. Oh, and faint Axe cologne. Goddammit. Oh well, one less thing to love, I guess. *sulk*
Caterpillar
Interestingly, this is much like I would expect The Caterpillar to smell like, though I have never read Alice In Wonderland and never seen any of the movies and really have no desire to...though...oh, all right, I'll see the Johnny Depp one eventually, because Karl bought it and it's on blu-ray and IT'S JOHNNY DEPP FFS!!1! It smells like fresh grass and sweet incense. Take that, dirty pot-smoking hippies! Now leave my fucking hookah alone and go back to drawing your lame purple mushroom tattoos amongst your mange and toe-cheese. The Caterpillar is a classy motherfucker and he doesn't need you.
I love how my reviews just descend into random hostility every now and then.
Catherine
You're really going to have to forgive me on the lameness of this batch; the Forum is down, so I don't have access to other people's reviews. Now, I would like to think that the reviews tend to jog my memory or give vocabulary to what I'm smelling aside from 'meh' 'blank' or 'oh that's ass' or 'FUCK YOU DIRTY HIPPIES GNAAAAR'. Here, all I can really say that I smell is a bouquet, were that bouquet made of herbs that are either dried or on their way to being dried, along with, perhaps, some random grass stems that got into the mix whilst one was tearing them from their thrones of earth. *sigh*
The Music Of Erich Zahn
For bleak aeons, the world has gone without the haunting music of the Master of the Pan Pipes, Zamfir. His disciples scan the various channels of the cablenets, seeking his sign, cupping a searching hand to one ear to hone their hearing for his haunting hymns; and yet, their vigils are for naught. He has abandoned us, has Zamfir, he has left us without his Greatest Hits for the low price of two easy payments of $9.95 (plus S&H); no longer shall his pipes keen for endless love, for somewhere over the rainbow, for chariots of fire. We stand at the gates of QVC, awaiting their deal of the day, longing for them to draw aside the curtain long enough for us to behold his improvisations for pan flute and organ once more. But no -- they are false priests, they sing only of cubic zircona and infusion pitchers!
And they shall be cast down for their blasphemy.
BEHOLD. A NEW PRIEST OF THE MUZACK HAS COME.
Erich Zahn....
Erich Zahn...
Erich Zahn...
Shall you listen for his name on the wind? It shall come to you. It shall caress your cheeks and the nape of your neck. It shall soothe your fevered brow. You shall not cry for Argentina, you shall not agonize because you don't know how to love him, you shall not long for yesterday. You shall enter a new era, upon the harmonizing wings of Erich Zahn. Clutch at his feathers and let him spirit you toward the new dawn.
It smells like sticky plug tobacco and musk.
It does not smell like that. But that's okay.
I'm going to go back to drinking my beer now.