alcoholic beverage reviews

Alcoholic Beverage Reviews

[emily rice]

WHITE TRUCK WINE

Born and bred in Arkansas, this fine white wine has the tint of old white paint, which may also be described as the light beige of a toilet rim stain. If you let it breathe a little, this wine tastes of gasoline and white car paint. The nuanced taste indicates the grapes traveled 55.6 miles per hour in a white Ford pick-up truck with furry green floor mats and a Hawaiian ukulele-playing dashboard ornament before reaching the distillery. The slight bite after swallowing clearly attests to its passage down none other than Route 59, turning left at Harverford, and continuing 3.6 miles until meeting Huntley Road. Drinking this wine is just like sitting in the back of a pick-up truck, barreling down the highway in a wife beater and cut-off jeans, while aiming a two-gauge shot gun at any birds that pass above me and the missus. It was so good, in fact, that after swishing it around in my mouth, appreciating its gritty flavor, I decided to swallow. Not proper procedure, but hey, livin’ it large. < br/>

HORSE PISS BEER (KENTUCKY’S FINEST)

After a little wine, I decided it was time for a beer. Or twelve beers (same thing). I decided to review Horse Piss Beer, one of the rarer beers. Well, it tasted like horse piss. (Although to be fair, all beer tastes like piss to me. That’s why I’m a wine critic.) I think they actually put the bottle under a horse’s penis, waited until it had to go, and capped it. Nice and fresh and genuine. “Horse Piss Beer is dedicated to helping others,” says its website. Yes, helping them get drunk, which I proceeded to become as I downed bottle after bottle. (Lacy, I love you. Some day you will have all the Horse Piss Beer you want.)

Drinks later and a little tipsy, my mind fluttered back to my broken marriage, my heart rent in two. Why did you have to leave me?! You effing b*tch, Lacy. You left me high and dry. Just like b*tches always do. I have nothing but contempt for you. There is nothing left but a wretched hole in my heart now, Lacy. You effing little b*tch.

BEEFEATER DRY GIN

So I hopped into my car and as I ran over a pedestrian or two, I said to myself, “Do you know what would really hit the spot? Something with 47% alcohol per volume. That’s what.” I stopped at White Hen Pantry and said to hell with my reviews. I’ll just review this, Lacy. I’ll just review this--this lonely, lonely bottle of Beefeater’s Dry Gin. My career is gone, just like you, Lacy. Just like you.

Lacy, I’m nut drunk rigte now. I luv you. I luv you more than gin itself. Yur lik a beauuuuuteeful leetle flower. I luv u so god dammn munch…let me just dink the pain out…let me drink the pain oot…onee more sipp…

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