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Jacquin’s 100 Proof Nirvana Banana Liqueur

19 Feb

Aw hell no, son. Check this out. My girlfriend done tell me to do things I done runnin’. But I digress. She told me to get her some booze at the liquor store. As close to verbatim as my boozed-out mind can remember is:

Her: You’re going to the liquor store after work, right? Can you get me something?
Me: Yeah.
Her: Okay but you’re going to that shitty one on Carolina Beach Rd. right? I’ve had, like, everythiiiiiing, from there.
Me: Heh heh heh heh heh. Heh.

And then I bought some weird pint of liqueur for her that I knew she wouldn’t like. She hates bananas, along with everything else, besides ramen and expensive dinners. But I digress. I brought this back and after being fully satisfied with my attempted troll, I realized that my girlfriend who had been jonesing for a bonesing was now sans the inordinate amounts of booze required to get frisky with me. It was as if I’d suddenly found myself in an infinite expanse of some terrible dreamland desert equipped with only a water balloon. Happening upon a random yet beautiful, buxom female, I incomprehensibly decide to be funny and throw the water balloon at her without thinking. Definitely coulda worked a beejer out of that one. Or a drink of water.

Well fuck me this shit was good anyway, in spite of all of that.

As a straight shot it was fairly harsh, as is to be expected from a 100 proof banana-flavored liqueur. Mixed with Diet Doctor Pepper, this shit was the fucking bees knees. Look at that picture up there. The banana shit just dove right to the bottom sayin’ “What’s up, gon’ do somethin’ ’bout it?” Besides expend copious apostrophes thinking up liqueur dialogue, yes, I am going to do something. I’m going to mix your dumb ass up and drink you. Great drink. Even the girlfriend liked it. I probably got laid but how the fuck would I know for sure?


9 Feb

Rating: 9001: A Gut Odyssey

Man, everyone calls this place Firebellies and it really grinds my gear. Now that I have that out of the way, I’m writing this guest review because the real schmuck is in the parking lot sucking dicks or something. I mean how tough is it to write a review every now and then? It’s not very tough, trust me! I just drank 3 PBR and I’m writing a fucking review right now, so I should know.

I hate downtown Wilmington. Okay, maybe you love it, fine, fuck you. Oh there’s like art and music and shit and its pretty and stuff. Blah blah blah, fuck all that noise. As far as I’m concerned, the only good thing about downtown is getting shitlorded and pissing in public.

Recently I had some excess books I wanted to get rid of, so I forced myself to go to that land of abject loathing: downtown. I was gonna try to swap a couple boxes of old books at Old Books on Front Street for some store credit or a quick bathroom blow-jay. No-go on either count: the woman hiding underneath a pile of dusty books told me she had 3,000 books sitting around waiting to be sorted. Half of them were atop her very person at the time, or so it seemed.

I was thinking about going to Subway afterwards, but Firebelly blocked my way and the booze-vortex sucked me in. Thursday’s $2 PBR pint and $5 quesadilla specials were too much – I could not avoid this wonderful fate. Also I used to go to Firebelly constantly so there was the chance of a hookup on what already promised to be a cheap yet boozy lunch.

I don’t know why I got the beef version of this otherwise-excellent quesadilla. I don’t like Firebelly’s beef. It’s dry and it tastes stupid and it’s just kind of fucky all around. Their chicken’s often fucky too, and it costs extra. The steak is usually okay but it also costs extra. I really should’ve went with the veggie quesadilla, which itself is a bit shammy since it’s just sauteed onions and green peppers.

Even with the shoddy beef this quesadilla was pretty good. Everything else in it was good and the price is pretty compelling (on Thursdays). The PBR was your standard 16oz ‘pounder’ can – though I think sometimes it’s a 16oz draft. A fine deal at two bucks, so I had three. The mass of pseudo-Tex-Mexican barfood plus three pints was too much for my insides. Soon after returning to work I rapelorded the bathroom, in a glorious symphony of flatulence and shitulence. There was a line of people waiting outside the bathroom waiting to give me high fives. Or at least that’s what I assumed as I slapped them with my unwashed armfeet, or whatever they’re called.

This was not my favorite Firebelly lunch of all time, but it was still excellent in its own Firebelly sort of way. I love this place and always will. It’s tough to hate the bar where Steve Buscemi and Vince Vaughn got into a fight which resulted in Buscemi getting his neck fucking stabbed. That way outshines all the Kenny Powers scenes shot at Sh’boom Sh’booms, big time.
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Bourbon Bourbon Bourbon Bourbon

20 Jan

My name is Pete. I run ye olde Wilmington Pizza blog. I’m a bit of a character. I carry a shiv on my person at all times. Sometimes little kids come up to me and kick me! I think it’s my foul odor, or it might be that some rappscallion has again put a ‘Kick Me’ sign on my poor back. This happens regularly.

Sometime in the past I was asked to guest review for some other blog. Some lady wanted me to review her sister’s caveman-style pizza. Well, it sounded god-awful. It made me wonder if she had read any of my reviews of real pizza. I’m a notorious douche-nozzle, when it comes right down to it. I’m a jerk! I didn’t really decline that offer, but I made it clear that I would likely end up finding the pizza to be utter shit and I’d review it as such. She didn’t contact me after that. Part of me also thought she might be some kind of murderer or something. That’s hot.

My good friends at liquorlunch found themselves completely lacking in the bourbon-appreciation department, and called on me for this review. Caveman pizza can fuck right the hell off, but I will surely not look a bourbony gift horse in the mouth. You never know what you might find in there. Maybe your grandma’s dentures, except they’re moving around like maggots and calling your name in a sort of obscene and gross way that ol’ Gram would never do. And then they leap out and attach themselves to your face like Half-Life headcrabs. That’s terrible! Just don’t look, I say.

I’m nothing if not a prolific drinker. I got this fucking mountain of booze, and, you see, I drank it. For example, this morning I drank a bunch of bourbon. And cranberry juice, for balance. But mostly bourbon. Specifically I was drinking Buffalo Trace and Bulleit. Bulleit is an old staple of mine. I like it. It’s not too terribly expensive and it’s hella good and the bottle looks cool as well. Buffalo Trace is a new one for me. I’m told its a couple dollars more than Elijah Craig, which is a personal mid-range favorite. It turns out that I really like Buffalo Trace. Compared to Bulleit I think it trumps that bitch f’sho. It has a much deeper flavor. It’s god damn delicious. Bulleit is kind of one-note after drinking it side-by-side with Buffalo Trace.

I had this Tullamore Dew, too. Heh. Well it’s not a bourbon so whatever but man it beats the shit out of Jameson in terms of Irish Whiskey. I mean it really creams it. It’s like this Tullamore cat Dew’d all over cabin boy Jameson, bukkake style, and declared him a big ol’ bitch. Tullamore is pretty good, for an Irish. Basically I’m just saying that I don’t like Jameson. No one really does, though. They just pretend. Oh I’m drinking Jameson, look at me, woooobiddybooooo I’m a little princess BUT I’M TOUGH TOO, LIKE NAILS and stuff. That’s that those people are like.

Who is the winner, you ask? Well, I’m pretty fucking god damn glad that you did. That you asked. I’m glad of it. The winner is my new personal favorite, Jim Porter.

God do I love this shit. It’s $15 per half gallon. That’s practically free, man. It also far outclasses ~$14 half gallon non-bourbon whiskeys, too. It’s great to mix drinks with. If you hate yourself as much as I do, drink this shit warm and straight, ain’t no one gonna give you shit because you are a fucking genuine badass, and you are scary and you probably smell awful because this shit goes straight from your liver to your pores and it makes you smell like hobos taste: delicious.