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From The Daily Beast:
Bottles of Fireball whiskey, the insanely-popular, cinnamon-flavored, frathouse favorite, are being recalled in Finland, Sweden and Norway—because it’s got too much antifreeze inside.
Late last week, the whiskey’s European bottler informed the makers of Fireball that they were out of compliance with European regulations.
Don’t worry, they aren’t recalling Fireball in America, but only because our standards for the amount of propylene glycol, an antifreeze chemical, that we allow in our booze is way, way lower than Europe’s. There is PLENTY of propylene glycol in our Fireball, believe you me. To be fair to American regulators, though, this is a country that will shamelessly put pretty much anything in their alcohol, whether it’s prison toilet wine made from cleaning chemicals, Appalachian moonshine distilled in an old septic tank, or pickle juice in a shot. Yeah, pickle shots are terrible. You like pickle shots? Well, fuck you. They taste like Wrigley Field bathroom trough runoff and post-marathon taint sweat. There is no amount of propylene glycol in the world that can sterilize the awfulness of a pickle shot. If you order pickle shots regularly then you are a garbage person with gutter taste. You might as well be licking the inside of a wet dumpster.
With the news that propylene glycol, not cinnamon, might be what creates that burning sensation when you knock back a Fireball shot, I…don’t care. Fuck it. I’m still going to order a round of this crap every time I go out. At this point in my life, as an American who consumes American food, a little antifreeze doesn’t scare me. My stomach is cast-fucking-iron by now. Three times a week, I’m eating beef from fast food restaurants that’s probably more strongly preserved than the creepy little Italian mummy girl in a jar. It’s October and I’m actually not sure I’ve eaten anything that’s died this calendar year.
So, what? Some booze has a car chemical in it? I inadvertently take in so many chemicals daily that I probably have all the ingredients to meth floating through my blood stream at this very moment. Not to mention every day there’s a cellphone receiving countless transmissions mere inches from my scrotum. I have breathed air in Los Angeles. My body has endured worse. Whatever, Fireball. Your antifreeze doesn’t scare me..
[via The Daily Beast]
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