A lone man, disheveled and outcast from society, shuffled up and down the aisles of a Decatur, IL Target. His hair hung in tangled threads covering a life of scars and practiced indifference. According to locals, Hubert Huberton has been haunting neighborhood grocery and liquor shops since returning back from WW 1… until one day when, talking loudly to invisible gnomes in his banana phone, he found some trash-shrimp, an uneaten burrito, a block of vulveeta cheese, and a fifth of vodka. Then, at that moment, when aligned the prophetic stars of his future, Hubert Huberton crashed head-long into fate and fame by creating an idea so beautiful, so angelically golden, that we are morally obligated, ethically mandated to package it, monetize it, and slide this beauty in your mouth.
It’s vodka, but prepackaged with the food you’ll already be vomiting later this evening.
“That guy’s a genius! Tell me more about the flavor and mouth feel…”
Where the renowned, microwavable hot-pocket forged new swaths of monetizable territory in direct-to-expulsion food stuffs, bravely pioneering culinary eatgineering to minimize the delay between ingesting and vacating the foodstuffs in a highly acidic, and volcanic form of biomass ejaculates, The VNR has an exciting announcement. Long has the nation been enthralled by diabolically explosive, foodlike substances balancing an abundance of grease with an equal dearth of redeeming flavor & a noxiously slick mouth-feel.
This form of foodstuff–known as “torpedo foods” for the sinking feeling diners get in anticipation of the coming explosion–was first invented by the French sensory researcher, Marquis de Sade (later retitled to, Marquis de Batshit Cuckoo-Pants). French govts since have worked to suppress any public knowledge of their culpability in creating the seed for a future pantheon of nightmare flavors. We, at The VNR, are proud to add to that pantheon of questionably edible nightmares with Hubert Huberton’s heavenly ordained invention:
VNR Brand, Large-Batch, Double Cheesy Shrimp Burrito Vodka
Our VNR vodka is indifferently mass produced in a former hide-tanning facility in East Virginia, set by a bucolic lake where the water is frosted from the slurry of chemistry that’s being expelled from the local high school’s acne-harvesting machinery.
“Oh wow! Way to keep the costs down. Tell me, how chunky is it?”
Oh, it’s grotesquely chunky. Imagine spoiled rat meat chunks, wrapped in gym socks. That’s how mushy the shrimps wrapped in moldy tortilla feel, with extra slime cheese!
“Amazing! But is it flammable?”
Do you bring celery to a mollusk after you fuck it? You betcha!!
Our vodka is so flammable we’re sending free fire extinguisher bidets to the first 5000 buyers. This bidet uses advanced AI to calculate the exit trajectory and velocity of escaping corn, and lava, from your butt and sends custom “poo alerts” and “wipe warnings” to your phone and your mother. In addition to these “poolerts”, the bidet also takes pictures of your anus for medical tracking and social media blackmail. After all, all your anus are belong to us.
“How much will my anus burn on the way out?”
Great question. On a scale of one, to “forest fire,” this rates as “we have lift off” both in terms of heat and exit velocity penetration.
Now your friends will have two reasons to call you “skid mark!!”
“Does it tickle on the way out?”
Absolutely not. It grapples on for dear life.
Coincidentally you won’t need to bleach or wax your anus anymore.
So that’s a win!
“How long will it take before I regret my life?”
Five minutes.
Our customer support team has plastic surgeons specializing in grafting pig anuses into human butts.
“Fuck! That’s world class efficiency.”
That’s the Vidalia News Recorder guarantee… and the cheesy toxic shrimp sludge, mostly the cheesy shrimp sludge.
“I’ll buy 500. How much?”
Each 500ml bottle costs $1.49. We’ve been able to outsource our labor to the mutated fish and highschool freshman that we catch every morning by the high school lake. It’s better this way, trust us. Without us, that lake would be a festering field for fifty fighting freshman from Fredericksburg’s floundering financial festival forever fucking frolicking fishes. Phew!
Vidalia News Recorder 