The Four Lokos

I'm a coffee drinker. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before I experienced a Four Loko. [Four Loko, for you Spanish speakers out there, is spelled "Four Loko." Get past your spelling issues and follow along.] Four Loko is a 12% alcohol by volume energy drink served in a convenient 23.5 ounce can. That basically equates to 6 beers and 4 cups of coffee. I know! Rad, right?!

A few weeks ago, Sarah and I listened intently as our friends Jeff and Emily regaled us with the tale of Jeff's first and only Four Loko experience. His story included mystery, intrigue and made-up words like "drizzunk."
"I must try this stuff," I expressed.
"No you don't," Sarah answered.
"You totally should," Emily suggested.
"YUP!" Jeff recommended.

Last Sunday we got home and found a brown paper bag adorned with a hastily tied yellow ribbon resting on our front porch. I tore through the thoughtful wrapping to find a Lemonade Four Loko inside. "This is the universe repaying me for being awesome," I thought.  Knowing that Jeff might have been behind the mysterious gift, I elected to not drink the whole thing at 9 am on a Sunday and decided to save the fun until the upcoming party on Friday.

[Friday arrives]

Jeff and Emily came over to our house and I proudly announced with a flourish that my evening will start with a [da da da daaaa] Four Loko! Sarah rolled her eyes, Jeff fist pumped and Emily grinned maniacally. After my first sip, it was incredibly apparent that there actually are four lokos and Jeff was willing to help define them.

The first loko: The taste. Even straight out of the fridge, it burns. The Four Loko hits your palette like the cheap scotch that you found in your garage in August. Then the taste changes. It becomes foot. Perhaps I grew accustomed to the overwhelming sting of alcohol, or perhaps the flavor changes once the beverage has had a chance to breathe. Either way, it tastes like foot. Don't try to read into this and think, "Maybe it's a foot that has just been bathed in lemon water and lovingly toweled dry with Egyptian cotton." It's not that kind of foot. It just tastes like foot.

The second loko:  Loss of confidence. Thoughts of "I don't think I can finish this" and "I don't want to drink any more of this footy crap" will begin to overrun your mind. Don't give in, though. You have two more lokos to experience!

The third loko: Disappointment. It didn't taste that good. You've muscled your way through 23.5 ounces of intimidation and the end result was...meh. You're not that intoxicated and the caffeine isn't that strong. What a waste of time. Oh well, just move on to the beer.

The fourth loko: HEY! YOU GUYS WANNA PLAY A DRINKING GAME OR..I KNOW...LET'S GET ON TO THE ROOF!! Dude. It happens and it happens big. Four Loko is the instigator of instigators and the cause of awesome (read: horrible) ideas. My night ended with gambling at 4 am and mixing drinks with stolen oranges.

I plan to try the other flavors soon.

A Polarizing Issue

You and I are not going to agree on everything.

[What?]

You may feel very strongly about some random political issue that I, before you mentioned it, had always assumed was the name of a store in the mall. "Proposition 28? I think that's between the Urban Outfitters and the Nuts on Clark."

[A possible disagreement]

You and I will disagree on a favorite band. I probably won't ever tell you that your musical idols are tone deaf losers (PROBABLY) but, let's face it, if your favorite band isn't Tom Hanks and Robert Loggia playing the huge piano at the toy store in the movie "Big," you're totally fucking wrong.

[A respectful disagreement]

You and I might disagree on fashion. I think that this shirt matches these pants but I had three nice ladies approach me on separate occasions today to inform me that the pants, in fact, did not match the shirt. It's nice to know that I'm approachable though...hags.

[They were all wrong]

You might not realize it, but during my meetings, I tend to be the one who speaks. The "speaker," if you will. (I prefer "commander of tidings both awesome and informational"). Sometimes, I take people out to dinner. The dinner meetings are great. Loose schedules and a few drinks have proven to lead to extremely productive meetings. I have eaten at some nice restaurants and have had some very tasty beverages.

[But lunch meetings suck]

You and I will have a productive encounter whether it be at dinner, in a conference room, on an airplane, or during lunch at Applebee's. It's the lunch meeting that I do not enjoy as much as the others. Everyone has to get back to the office, right? Tighter schedules and no drinks make the meeting's effectiveness more challenging. The bill will come and I'll glance down to see my grilled chicken salad (with croutons and dressing on the side) mostly untouched. I haven't eaten my lunch for a few reasons: I've been talking most of the time, I didn't even want the stupid salad, and the dude sitting across from me lets fly a double dose of boneless buffalo wing spittle onto my plate each time he says the word "pharmacy." (It tends to come up in conversation).

[Potential disagreement]

You might think I'm being overly irrational and picky. You might think that the phrase "agree to disagree" is something acceptable to say...ever. You might think that this shirt clashes with these pants.

[Whatever. Stop being such a judgemental dork.]

Hunting is hard work

I made a trip down to Texas to go hunting this weekend. I'm not going to pretend to know how the mind of a deer operates, but I think that if a hunter is sitting behind a tree a few hundred yards away from a highway, the deer is not going to notice you. With muffler-less vehicles speeding by, a buffoon with a beer chest should have a chance to see some deer. Do I have proof? Well, on Saturday, four of us decided to go hunting together. I immediately became bored and decided it was time to step up the drinking. I drank a beer.

Not satisfied with just sipping a Miller Lite, I devised a plan. "Wanna shotgun a beer?" I whispered. "Fuck it." Charlie answered.

It should be noted that, less than 30 minutes after this lightning round of drinking, we saw a very large deer. A skilled hunter was in direct competition with a deer's ability to not be hit by a bullet. The majestic animal stood completely still as the practiced eye of The Hunter leveled his rifle's crosshairs well away from what could have been a successfully fired round. I drank a beer. The Hunter did not take the initial shot but instead deftly stumbled his way through a pile of empty beer cans and rested his field-tested rifle on a tree limb. The rest of his group snickered in amusement. The deer, being a deer and all, did not pay attention to the four morons giggling behind the tree. The rifled sounded. The Hunter celebrated. Yelling through a whisper he cried, "I got him!" The others watching congratulated The Hunter on once again verifying his manly ability to provide. I drank a beer.

The group remained poorly hidden behind the tree, reflecting on the size of the animal. We discussed which direction he went after being hit by the deadly bullet. The Hunter, hands shaking with adrenaline, stated, "We'll wait 20 more minutes and then track him down." I drank a beer.

With plenty of daylight left, we began what we anticipated would be a short search for a monstrous animal. The initial check of the area the buck originally stood did not show any obvious signs of a wounded animal. I drank a beer. We searched. "Hey, has anyone seen 'Inception' yet?" I asked. The Hunter did not respond. His superior tracking skills were driving his senses to superhuman levels. The Hunter's experience has taught him the skills necessary to find a camouflaged animal. I drank a beer.

After an arduous search, we found something for which we did not know we were looking. "Hey guys," a member of The Hunter's group called. "I think I found something." Winding our way through the brambles and thick brush, the group converged at the site of the discovery. We had certainly found something. I drank a beer.

The discovery proved that The Hunter's bullet had deceived him and not done what he had asked. Instead, the deadly projectile ripped right through a perfectly healthy tree. Someone stated the obvious: "You missed." The Hunter received the news with a heavy heart and admitted that he would take full responsibility for the failure. Then he cleverly blamed the wind, the tree, a jet that flew overhead, and Obama.

The Hunter's group returned to the lengthening shadow of the cooler and drank a beer.