Alcohol, the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. I have compiled a list of the worst drinks to ever pass these young lips. Needless to say, the drinks on this list will change as time progresses, but there's nothing more adventurous than a broke high schooler looking for a drink. I hereby present the first five of the bullets I have taken for you all, so that you might not have to suffer.

No. 10... Scotch and Root Beer (dubbed The Beatle) House party, 1995

I know it doesn't sound that bad, in fact legend has it that this was the favorite draught of John, Paul, George and Ringo during their time in Hamburg. I, however, was not on the verge of super-mega-stardom and my standards were certainly much lower. I found myself at one of those house parties where I didn't know anyone, and no one wanted to know me. A sly escape upstairs brought myself and a troupe of fellow rejects to the host's father's study. Perhaps, one would assume that a man that drives a brand new BMW M3, and owns a 3200 sq. foot house would have better taste, but all there was to greet us was Passport brand scotch. If you're not familiar with the brand, go to you local liquor store, find the scotch section, and look around your feet. Perhaps even pony up the $2.99 for the bottle, have a swig, and give the rest to Mr. Smiley that lives next to the dumpster and pees in his hands. You'll get a thumbs up!

No. 9 Margarita Schnapps (brand name Cactus Juice) Mardi Gras party, 1996

This is in fact not a cocktail, but deserves an entry in it's own right. Sure, everyone's got an "oh-my-god-never-ever-again" tequila story justifying why they can't imbibe the stuff. And I'm sure there are lots of you out there that have a few "schnapps" stories to delight, but how many have "tequila schnapps" stories? The substance itself tastes like alum, with an aftertaste of rotten citrus fruit and ass. It comes in strawberry too.

No. 8 Vodka and Metamucil (dubbed Russian Drain-o) Rice festival, 1997

What can I say, pickins were slim. Rice festival is the harvest celebration in my hometown. It was three o'clock in the morning and there was nothing left to drink. This left my pal Mule and myself in somewhat dire straits. After some preliminary searching, we came up with a metal canteen filled with rubbing alcohol that was hiding behind a pound of bacon. This later turned out to be vodka. Unfortunately, the refrigerator gave us no means to tame the demon called Dobra, so we turned to the pantry. The only option I could see was a can of Metamucil. Mule, however, voted to pulverize the bottle of Flintstone vitamins. Which would you have chosen?


No. 7 Plain Old Vodka and Milk. (dubbed the I'm a Friggin' Idiot) Christmas party, 1997

This one would have garnered a higher ranking, but it was not I who drank it. Her name was Erin and she was hosting the party. There was beer and wine abound, but Erin, being the malcontent that she was, wanted a cocktail. She proclaimed to the uninterested room, "I'm going to make a White Russian." In went the vodka, in went the milk, but the Kalhua was nowhere to be found. She puzzled for a moment, "It can't be that bad..." you could almost see the bubbles above her head say.

The suspense was killing me.

One deep gulp was all it took, as all 95 lbs of her were already "nicely irrigated with horizontal lubricant," as they say in the west of Scotland. To this day I am amazed at the retching sound that came from so small a person. She turned red and made a break for the sink, and did one of those things where her legs kicked like she was being eaten by a crocodile.

No. 6 Blackberry Schnapps with a Natural Ice "back." New Year's Eve, 1998.

Once again, this is less a cocktail than it was a wholly unpleasant experience. Those of you not familiar with the concept of "back," it is the phenomenon wherein you have a beer in one hand and a spirit in the other. The idea is to sip the spirit and beer interchangedly, thus saving money by not drinking straight spirits, and saving your liver for better days to come. Essentially, it's "double-fisting" with a unique purpose. At this annual celebration, I found myself in a beggarly state, so was reduced to panhandling for my new year's booze. We were able to wreck ourselves effectively with a 12-pack of "Old Natty" and a bottle of "Black Haus" my pal Thomas produced from the trunk of his car. Having never tasted this substance, the foul stench and sickly-sweet mouthfeel seemed appropriate for what some call "The Schnappster" (ding!) It wasn't until much later, and most of the bottle, that he admitted that he'd found the schnapps on the bottom of a slimy, bubbling green swimming pool in which he had been dared to dive. My favorite euphamism for vomiting is still one that I heard that night from the other side of the bathroom door, technicolor yawn.


No. 5 Tequila Rose (brand name Tequila Rose) There is no date, because this substance deserves no place in history or memory.

I record this fetid concoction only as a warning. The primary ingredients of Tequila Rose are tequila (distilled in the bowels of hell), sweet condensed milk (squeezed from the udders of Pestilence itself) and artificial strawberry flavoring, manufactured, no doubt, somewhere in New Jersey. The initial flavor of this tincture is not unlike the sensation of licking a nine-volt battery, surprising, but not entirely unpleasant. But then, when it's tricked you into swallowing it, it starts to work on your insides like a pork taco purchased on a Mexican boardwalk. When you read the ingredients, the first question you might ask is, "How come the milk doesn't curdle?" The answer is, it does, only it waits until it reaches your digestive system, and then trashes the place like a Dartmouth boy on Rush Week.

Thus concludes my reliving the worst memories of my impressionable youth. Tune in next week, maybe by then I can unlock the secret doors and plumb the information about numbers six to one. The names are there, but the details are fuzzy...

Ask anyone in the know, and they'll tell you I can form my own opinions about things. Normally, I would never do anything like this, but a gentleman here in Portland has nailed modern, angst-ridden, west coast Constitutionalism like he's was getting paid for it (which he's not). I don't agree with everything he says, but no one should ever agreee with everything another person says, right? His name is Link Hoggthrob and he deserves a few minutes of your attention. Let the truth set you free.