The Malort Report.

As this week heralded in temperatures of above eight degrees to the greater Chicago land area, the thick layer of frost that has kept the Ruckus Maximus production center frozen to the core has been melted, and bloggatry can once again commence for your viewing pleasure. In other words, I've ceased my recent lazy streak and have decided to assault the keyboard with a volatile barrage of alcohol, ruckus, and five syllable words. But, seriously... It's been so cold, that no good bands have came to Chicago, nor has anything interesting occurred outside of me hiding indoors with five jackets on, heating up whiskey in the microwave in a vain attempt to stay warm--certainly nothing that you want to read about! As hermitesque as that may sound, and as boring as it actually is, I do have one story for you all. Wait, let me scratch that... It's not so much a story as it is a preface to a ridiculous story that will spawn from this New Years. That's right my Las Vegian friends, this December 31st I will be introducing you all to my new alcoholic friend, Malort.

Malort is an alcohol whose corporate slogan boasts, "For Two Fisted Drinkers." I thought, "Yes... finally a liquor that understands me!" So, I decided to do some research and found out that Malort is an oppressive juggernaut that has been feared across all of Chicago for the past seven generations. I'd heard it described as, "Nail polish remover mixed with Robotussin, because nail polish remover isn't thick enough." Needless to say, I was intrigued... And once I found out that The Motel Bar, in downtown Chicago, offers shots of Malort for twenty-five cents, I decided that it was time to try out this sinister beverage for myself. By the way, Miller High Life bottles are two dollars at the Motel Bar, so, five dollars gets you two beers and four shots... Or, umm, one beer and twelve shots. Which one do I recommend? Both.

Sitting at the bar, a lone shot glass resting in front of me,I knew it was time for me to meet my destiny, and with that thought, I did my generic courage building ritual, said goodbye to my loved ones, and consumed the mythically evil shot. To be honest, when Malort first hit my tongue, I was both shocked and surprised. I mean, I went in expecting the worst; this shit is not only legendary, but only costs a quarter--not exactly a recipe for a quality beverage... But when all was said and done, I actually kind of liked it. The obvious question aroused by my findings is whether or not Malort is, in fact, "good" or if I just, in fact, have a "drinking problem."

We'll leave that answer up to you... But, as a testimonial towards how evil this breed of booze actually is, this is the only picture of it Google could find.



So, in colclusion, I look forward to this New Years' Eve, where you will all be introduced to my latest creation: The Malort and PBR Bomb. A hoppish concoction that could quite possibily leave you paralyzed with bitter-beer face for the next fifteen years of your life.

Salute!

Also, go buy the Swan Lake album, Beast Moans, and listen to nothing but it for an entire week. I did, and I feel I'm a better man because of it.

Also, also, I heart you all!