40’s. 40oz. One for me, one for my homie.
I’m assuming that the vast majority of people reading this are not aware of the actual taste of a 40 ounce bottle of malt liquor.
Let me tell you… it is a giant disappointment.
When I was growing up, I remember watching films; such as Boyz n the Hood, Menace II Society, New Jack City… other awesome films you should really watch at some point.
I remember watching them go to a liquor store (by the by, they are actually as cool as the films make out) and buy Colt 45. I had no idea what the hell that was.
When I was in Boston, I made a decision. I was going to get wasted on 40s. Like an OG.
My first night, I was on the whiskey. It was a long journey and I got an amazing bourbon for cheap (comparative to UK prices).
The second night (spoiler alert: If I haven’t finished the second part of the second day by the time you read this), I had already enjoyed a lot of drinks.
By the time it came down to it, I ended up at a 7-11 (which is open for a long while after 11pm. Guys, it’s your name?) talking to the delightful guy behind the counter about Manchester United (he heard my accent and assumed) and showing him my ID, simply because he wanted to see a British passport.
I was waiting for my pizza to cook. It was an entire escapade of boredom and ennui.
So, cut to me and my pizza, brown bag of 40s on my left side (if you’re in, you’re in) and I made my way up the epic hill back to my room.
Seriously, that hill was an endeavour.
I get into the room, put the pizza on the bed to warm my side up, and get ready to get crunk.
*That means I washed my face and put my PJs on. We all do it a little bit differently. Don’t judge me*
Picture it. Me, in my PJs (ladies and gentlemen who are that way inclined, I wear sweats and a Spider-man T-shirt, if you really need the mental image), pizza on one side and an open 40oz of Colt 45 to the other. I’ve got Netflix ready to go.
I start watching Breakout Kings (a massively underrated show, if you ask me) and I take a mouthful of, what is supposed to be, a sweet nectar.
It’s Fosters, Carling and Carlsberg rolled into one. It’s not liquor and there’s no malt. It’s not malty you lying son of a wench!
I was expecting something between beer and whisky. I was expecting to reject every mouthful with a vow to avenge my tastebuds.
I was not expecting to just shrug and carry on drinking.
So, to cut this unnecessarily long story short. Don’t drink 40s. They’re pointless and they’re not even that cheap.