Beer:
Overall grade of 0-20
00-causes cancer
02-vomit inducing
04-indistinguishable from urine
06-noticeably bad
08-1 or 2 more cons than pros
10-average, nondescript
12-above average, no flaws
14-solid, 1 or 2 points in favor
16-good
18-great
20-perfect
Wine:
Copied from the Wine Enthusiast Scale
Not well known in America, but what’s surprising about that considering it’s a product of Belgium which, based only on the beers that they make, must be the greatest place in the world. DT is one fantastic beer and has perhaps the most complex makeup of flavors that I have yet to taste. It’s pricey for a typical beer, but it is certainly worth its price and only having it on occasion helps to make it all the more special.
Cost: 7.99/25.4 fl oz (750ml) bottle
Rating: 19
UPDATE:
So it’s been brought to my attention that the official script used to write out Delirium Tremens closely resembles Thai. Coupled with the large elephant, an animal of extreme importance to Thais, as a mascot, and I am left wondering what the connection is, or if this is just some bizarre coincidence. Kudos to S for spotting it.
I hope this is just a case of immaturity in the wine and not an indication of the wine’s true level. The flavors just felt raw, untamed, lacking any true nuance or distinguishing quality except its bitterness.
Cost: 7.99/bottle
Rating: 77 now, possibly higher in future
I must confess that the first time I tried Hoegaarden I was underwhelmed. All of my friends had built it up to be some amazingly tasty beer. After my first pint I had decided that it was OK, but definitely not worth the import price.
I recently, however, started frequenting a great hooka(h) bar in downtown Philly. The beer selection at this place is small, so I opted to give Hoegaarden another try rather than push my luck on the swill that is Coors Light. To my surprise the Hoegaarden was amazing. I quickly downed one bottle and had about four more. The next day I even began craving the unique taste.
It was at this point that I began to wonder why my experience with the beer had changed so dramatically over a relatively short period of time. I came up with two possible explanations. It could have been either the combination of the beer and hooka(h) or the fact that it was in a bottle.
Originally I was sceptical about the bottle scenario. In my experience beers on tap are always better than the same beer in a bottle. One of the best examples of this has got to be Bass. Bass on tap is a really nice beer. Bass in a bottle, on the other hand, is bitter and hard to force down.
Perplexed, I decided that there was only one way to find out – buy a bottle and drink it sober and without a hooka(h). So the next day I went and picked up a six pack (I was desperately hoping it was the bottle scenario) and brought it home. That night I popped one open for my first drink of the evening.
It only took one sip for the realization to hit me – it was, after all, the bottle scenario. While it seemingly defies all logic, Hoegaarden in a bottle is an amazing beer. Hoegaarden on tap is another story.
Nice. Designed to be served cold (37 deg. F) it’s got a nice clean start and a late developing taste that finishes nicely. Able to polish off 4+ without growing tired of the taste.
Cost: 13.99/12 pack bottle
Rating: 16
I got visited for the second time by the Hangover of Death© on New Year’s Day. For those unaware, the Hangover of Death basically consists of non-stop vomiting for a period exceeding four hours.
For me, I have no idea what triggers it. I am normally completely fine the day after. I have had blackout nights and awoken the next morning at an ungodly hour, fresh as new snow. The only pattern I can pin down that helps contribute to The Death is a complete lack of ingesting water at any point in the night. Must remember to always drink water before passing out.
Anyways, the first time this came was my first night back to college after a summer of non-drunkenness. I did drink pretty much daily, but never more than a beer, maybe two. I hypothesize that this constant drinking of low amounts did some sort of reset on my tolerance. Thus, when I returned to school and promptly resumed my collegiate level of drinking, my system rebelled. Or maybe I just shouldn’t do shots at the end of the night. That’s another thing these two had in common.
I awoke at 9am New Year’s Day and began fearing the worst, because, well, I felt like shit. Now, that in an of itself does not mean much, but I had a feeling that vomit was impending, and the only other time I had ever thrown up the day after, was the aforementioned first visit of The Death, which lasted somewhere just over five hours.
I lied on the couch where I found myself (whose house was I in? Couldn’t remember.) and prayed for the feeling to go away. 30 minutes later, I knew it was not to be. So I ever so slowly steeled my nerves, knowing that the second I initiated movement, the gag reflex was going to come hard and fast (I learn from my previous experiences. Not enough to prevent future occurrences, but enough to know when history is repeating itself).
I stumbled into an upright position and maneuvered my way to the bathroom where I promptly hurled what was left of my stomach (not much) into the toilet. Now, knowing that I was going to have to throw up again in about 15-20 minutes, here is where I did learn some semblance of a lesson.
Last time I just crawled back into bed, only to crawl back out again 20 minutes later and throw up again. Rinse and repeat, every 15-25 minutes for five hours. The problem there was that I was too sick and too just-moved-in (I hadn’t unpacked yet) to do anything about replacing those fluids lost to the almighty porcelain lord. So for the remainder of the my throwing up hours, I basically sat there and alternated between dry heaving (always a blast!) and spiting up phlegm-like globs of what I eventually figured out was raw stomach acid. Boy, that felt great.
This time, I knew the road I was about to undertake, so I at least was smart enough to load up on water, hoping to dilute the pain. It worked for the most part though I was still in agony for the next four-plus hours until I managed, finally, about 2pm to go an entire hour between pukings, and then stop, 3 gallons of water and 2 poweraids later.
Now, I rehashed that whole story to bring this up. During this last epic ordeal I was routinely chugging water, only to vomit it back up again ten minutes later. Have you ever thrown up something and had it still be cold? I literally had not enough time for my internal body temperature to warm the water I had drank before I threw it back up. That is one fucking weird feeling.
Back in Roman times, women had little authority, wealthy enough people could just buy slaves to satisfy their labor and/or pleasure needs, and life was great for the non-slave. Then things changed, and now women have rights, and some things are better, but other things are worse. Women have abused these new found rights and have flexed their power over men to criminal levels. See, women have a natural hold over men. Men want sex. All the time. Women do too, but they’re far far better at controlling it, and thus always have the upper hand with men. The future looked bleak for the decent men out there, tired of being put through the ringer by these women who now felt a sense of entitlement to jerk guys’ chains. Then, out of the darkness, rode two justice doers, sworn to uphold the creed of decency and. No more, they decreed, shall women be allowed to just fiddle around with men, sending signals so mixed that even Navajo tribesmen shake their heads, throw up their arms and say “Grutnik.” (That’s Navajo for, ‘I have no fucking idea what they’re saying. Crazy Bitches.’). No more shall women be allowed to construct elaborate mazes of camouflaged pits, fake walls, dead ends, traps, and endless hoops for men to navigate through. We are not your gerbils any more.
We begin the epic about our two heroes with a story about one night in a tavern wherein one of our fearless lads, we’ll call him R, was going about a nominally favorite pastime, quenching his thirst in a local pubrewery with another, less heroic, more cowardly cohort, T. R and T were minding their own business, feasting on their ales, when lo and behold, T spotted a waxen haired beauty near them. Naturally, it was T’s biological instinct to strike up a conversation with said lassie in the hopes of winning her favor. T sauntered over to the lady and began conversing. R was quite impressed by this act of boldness, for T was not always known for such decisive action, and furthermore had just been spurned by another crazy succubus disguised in a woman costume.
As a means to aid the flow of conversation and demonstrate a willingness to provide future endowments, T generously purchased the lady her own personal bottle of yellow amber. Like any rational being, T expected that this gesture would signal to the lady his interest in spending future time with her, during which she would be obliged to repay his act of kindness in a old-fashioned non-missionary style manner. Imagine T’s shock then when, after gaining possession of the purchased container of magic ale, the girl in question immediately turned and began soliciting another, less worthy, gentlemen next to her.
Now, T is shocked into inaction, but R, having been through five tours of duty in the war of women, is surprised at this women’s cold-heartedness, but is not caught off guard. Thinking quickly, R confronts the damsel:
R: Hey, what the fuck are you doing? He just bought you a beer.
T was shocked at the fierceness of R’s outburst, for he was not fully aware of R’s tragic battles in the past with such vixen. Growing anxious, T took R aside, and admonished him to forget the matter, that is was not worth it. R could not stand such thinking. It was exactly this attitude that has led us into this terrible state of being we all now reside in. What kind of world is it when a woman can be bought a beer and not even have to acknowledge the man who bought it for her? Folly! R would have none of it. Turning back to the girl, who had since resumed her conversation with the loser next to her, R spoke:
R: No, seriously, drink the beer with my friend or give it back.
To R’s amazement, the whore then turned to T and, in a not very hushed tone, remarked that R was being an asshole, and then, incredibly! right after this statement, turned back to the jackass next to her and started flirting again. R had never before encountered such a level of bitchiness in all his prior interactions and was thus stunned. But, relax faithless readers, never doubt good ol’ R. He recovered soon enough and when the cumguzzler foolishly took her diseased hand off the bottle, R acted, snatching the bottle from her vicinity and re-claiming it as T’s own. Syphilis-rag, upon noticing the missing beer, shot a menacing glare at R and T, but the evil stares of women were no match for the righteousness with which R found engulfed his soul. For truly, this was a victory for all mankind.
