I went into the agency refrigerator to grab my lunch today and was greeted with this grisly sight:
That's right. A bottle of Mickey's big mouth beer. Holy cow, this stuff is bad. My friends and I used to drink this stuff all the time in high school, primarily because A.) It was cheap, B.) It was strong, and C.) We were fascinated by the grenade shape of the bottle.
I can pretty much pinpoint the last time I ever drank (or ever will drink) this swill: July 1987. Some friends and I made plans to go to a drive-in and not only drank a bunch prior, but naturally snuck some beer in, because that's what drive-ins are for (the fact that a movie is playing is purely incidental). Anyway, once there I furiously chugged a 40-ounce bottle of this crap (we had no weed, and therefore had to drink faster to grab a hold of that all-important "buzz"), threw up all my popcorn, then proceeded to make a crude pillow out of some gravel, curled up and slept through half of "Dragnet" and (mercifully) all of "Born in East L.A.", the Chong-less big screen version of Cheech Marin's Weird Al-esque song parody of Springsteen's "Born in the USA."
Thus endeth my tale of Mickey's-instigated woe.