The following is a Public Service Announcement from Daddy Scratches:
Beware of Wachusett Brewing Company’s Green Monsta Ale!
Why? Whaddya mean ‘why’? Because I said so, that’s why. Who are you, my kids? Jesus.
Oh, wait, the “I said so” thing never works with them either. OK, here’s the explanation:
Last Saturday night, a most rare occurrence took place: Wonder Woman and I went out. And not only did we go out, but we went out to dinner and a party.
So let’s start the tally: I had two—count ’em, two—drinks with dinner. This is nothing unusual. (Well, actually, being out for dinner and drinks with my wife is sorrowfully unusual, but the drinking-two-drinks-on-those-all-too-rare-occasions-when-we-do-go-out-for-dinner part, that’s not news.)
But the plot thickens.
After dinner, we popped into a liquor store, where I purchased a six-pack of Wachusett Brewing Company’s aforementioned Green Monsta Ale, because I felt it would be bad form to show up at a party and assume that the hosts would be providing all the booze. I’m nothing if not incredibly considerate (where “incredibly considerate” means “can’t stomach shitty beer and didn’t want to take a chance on getting stuck with nothing to choose from except some gag-reflex-inducing Anheuser Busch product”).
Now, let’s pause for a moment and talk about the efficacy of Wachusett Brewing Company’s marketing department. Had they dubbed their beer “Green Ale” or “Monsta Ale” or “Hey, Won’t You Buy Our Ale? Ale,” chances are I’d have left the store holding a six pack of something plucked from the Sam Adams family tree. Instead, however, the Massachusetts-based W.B.C. named their ale after the Green Monster (pronounced “Monsta” if you’re a Bostonian, of course), the infamous wall at Boston’s Fenway Park (home of the Boston Red Sox, and vantage point from which this photo was taken), and because I am a fan of both microbrew ales and the Sox, I took the bait like a good little consumer should.
Which, for the most part, really isn’t a bad thing, because the beer is very tasty, and I’m quite sure I’ll purchase it again—soon, in fact—except that next time, I’ll know what I didn’t know last Saturday. But let’s not jump ahead.
So a few hours and about three or four beers into the party, I had an epiphany, which I shared with Wonder Woman.
Not sloppy drunk. Not “I’m gonna make an ass out of myself at this party” drunk. Not even “I hope you’re not expecting me to form complete sentences during this conversation” drunk. Just drunk … happily so, in fact. Problem was, I was drinking at about the same rate I normally do when at a social function, and at that pace, I should not have been “happily drunk”; I should have been “pleasantly buzzed.”
Fortunately, we were literally a half-mile away from our house, if not less, so at least I picked the right party to fuck up at.
Now, the thing about being “pleasantly buzzed” during a party is that it allows me to be “mostly sober” by the time I go to bed, and “feeling like a champion” when I wake the following morning. “Happily drunk” throws that equation off, and I was perplexed as to why a few beers seemed to have hit me so much harder than normal, but I also was drunk and tired, so I shelved that mystery and went to bed.
And when I awoke, my head was pounding like a cartoon thumb that’s been smashed by a cartoon hammer, and my stomach was all “Dude, WTF?” and my equilibrium thingamajigs thought we were at sea.
Fortunately, I was able to curl up under the covers and spend the day sleeping it off in the peace and quiet of the spa-like setting that is my home. BWAHAHAHAHAAAHAA!
Actually, as fate would have it, Sunday is my morning to get up with the kids, who rise at 6 a.m. every single day without fail, if not earlier, and because Wonder Woman, god bless her soul, is the one who gets up with them pretty much every other day, I wasn’t really in a position to beg off. Thankfully, the Wonder Twins were kind enough to let me lay in the fetal position on the floor of our playroom while they entertained themselves, and I really should bake them a cake or something for being so good about letting their hungover Daddy lie there like a deadbeat on top of their oversized teddy bear, drifting in and out of consciousness.
By midday, and following a heaven-sent nap (thank you, honey), I still felt like 10 pounds of ass in a five-pound bag, which just didn’t add up, so I launched an investigation. Here’s how that went:
“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m this friggin’ hungover. In fact, I can’t believe I’m hungover at all. Something is amiss here … and when something is amiss, there’s only one thing to do: Google it.”On a hunch, I Googled “Green Monsta Ale” and “alcohol by volume.” And, being the digital Sherlock Holmes that I am, I soon discovered that the average beer contains about 4.5% alcohol by volume. Green Monsta Ale, it turns out, is not an average beer. No, not at all. Nothing average about it. In fact, this overachieving beverage contains 7.5% alcohol by volume. A little quick math will tell you that, based on this information, four Green Monsta Ales contain roughly as much alcohol as about 317 average beers. OK, so math was never my strong suit, but you get the point.
So the Mystery of the Killer Hangover has been solved, and you have been warned … and the next time Wonder Woman and I go to a party … well, I’ll probably be too old to drink anything other than Ensure by then, so I guess it won’t matter.