We’ve all been there. We’ve all said it before. “I’m never touching that shit again.” I got to thinking about this the other day, and there are three such liquors for me, so I figured this would be the perfect time to revisit the ‘Story Time’ series here. Let’s get to it – these three liquors, I solemnly vow to never drink again.
#3: Fireball
The rise of Fireball here in Nashville was fascinating to watch. I don’t know if it’s still as big as it was 10 years ago, but at a certain time in my life, when my wife and I were still going downtown with our friends every weekend, you couldn’t take a sniff in this city without smelling that cinnamon whiskey in the air.
I remember running into some tourists, making new friends at bars, things of that sort – and on one encounter, I discovered that Fireball obviously wasn’t that big of a deal outside of Nashville. A bartender told me that Nashville’s Fireball sales eclipsed all other U.S. markets combined. I was blown away – obviously, I had no way to confirm that, but that’s one of those harmless factoids that doesn’t really matter either way. I could see it – people who weren’t from Nashville were discovering Fireball like they’d never seen it before, and they were falling in love with it. That might be a fun piece to hash out one day – let me jot that idea down real quick.
Okay, I’m back. Thanks. Nonetheless, I was a different breed back then. I consumed so much Fireball over time that my brain eventually associated it with vomit. So, it wasn’t one singular event that drove me away from it – my taste for it just eroded over time. To this day, I can smell it and get a little queasy thinking about nights at the Wild Beaver Saloon that ended in puking in a parking lot.
#2: Rumple Minze
So, this one is about a singular night. Every Black Friday, with the exception of two, since 2003, I’ve had friends over for a holiday gathering affectionately known as “the SKR/SoBros Sleepover.” I grew up on four acres in Gladeville that my parents titled the Stoney K. Ranch (SKR, for short). And, obviously, you know why it’s called the “SoBros Sleepover” today. There are some crazy stories from this event that I can probably never share in the public forum. But, of all the regular parties I threw, there’s a reason this one was always the most attended and most memorable.
We had a tendency to get a little wild, and 2014 was no different – I don’t particularly remember why we were so riled up that night, but there’s a whole sequence of events that I won’t go into because it would require a novel-length post (and there were definitely some hurt feelings so it’s kinda sensitive, I guess). I consumed half a bottle of Four Roses bourbon before the party even started, and then since it was the holidays, I was making holiday cocktails with Rumple Minze, which if you don’t know, is pretty much just peppermint schnapps.
I ended up drinking an entire bottle.
I think that hangover the next day was the worst I’ve ever had in my life. It was a Hall of Fame hangover. I didn’t get out of bed until 4PM the next day. One of my friends made a breakfast run, and when he delivered my chicken biscuit to my bed, he responded with “Stoney, your skin is GREEN.” That became an instant classic inside joke between us and sometimes to this day, we’ll randomly recite “Stoney, your skin is GREEN” to each other. Haven’t had so much as a taste of Rumple Minze since.
#1: Jägermeister
I always liked Jägermeister – my uncle drinks it with a Monster Energy, and while I’m concerned with what that will do to a human’s body, I get it. It’s a nice licorice-y beverage that goes down smooth. But, like my falling out with Rumple Minze, this one happened in one singular night as well.
And this story is a rather simple one – after one of those #NashvilleNights with a horde of 12 friends or so, we hailed a cab to get us back home safely (these were the days before Lyft/Uber – back then, you had to pool what cash you had left in your pocket to call a good old fashioned cab). After a night riddled with Coors Light, Jägerbombs, and Fireball, we were all a little soaked. I was in the backseat of the cab with the window down, enjoying a good warm summer breeze when suddenly my buddy in the passenger seat rolled down his window and started to grumble as if his stomach was successfully rejecting its contents.
It was at this moment the stars aligned perfectly – I didn’t fully realize what was happening in front of me, and I was struck with a yawn the moment my friend leaned his head out the window to puke. Unfortunately, puking into the wind is an ill-advised maneuver. It wasn’t that bad – I’m not going to pretend I was soaked in my buddy’s vomit as it exited the front window and blew right back in the back window. I dodged most of it. But, a few flecks of it made it onto my forehead, and *sigh* my open, yawning mouth.
I felt my homie’s Jäger vomit hit the back of my throat. And, folks – that’s all she wrote. That was it for me. I still gag when I smell Jägermeister.
