Everyone has their go-to drink. If you’re out being social somewhere (a bar, a club, a party, an Illuminati meeting) and you’re having a drink or two, everyone has their ol’ faithful. If you’re ordering shots, maybe you decide to always go with Jack Daniels, or his estranged brother Daniel Jackson. Well, for many a moon, that drink for me was Fireball. Yes, Fireball. Or as I always call it,”The devil’s candy.” Okay, that’s a lie, I’ve never called it that.
For years, I thought Fireball was a magical drink. It was unique. It was unlike damn near every other drink in the known universe. It was like drinking unicorn piss. Side note: if I ever become a rapper I’m DEFINITELY gonna use Unicorn Piss as my stage name.
It has a very distinct taste. It’s a bit harsh, but every shot is gross so you can’t avoid that. It had a kick to it, and it was spicy. But then again, I’m white so literally everything is spicy to me. Mayonnaise, 7/11 Slurpees, and sometimes even oxygen.
So since a shot of Fireball was slightly less disgusting than other shots, I would tend to overindulge. I would have far too many shots in way too little of a timespan. I would get absolutely hammered. But not “fun” hammered. Not “especially social and/or extra confident” hammered. I would get “life-ruining” hammered. It was like drinking an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Just tons of dark twists and turns. And much like M. Night Shyamalan’s filmography, it started to suck after a while.
My list of personal horror stories involving Fireball was pretty much endless. The constant puking in public, projectile vomiting all over people like I was the little girl in The Exorcist. And those godforsaken drunken texts. Some of the most cringe-worthy, embarrassing, and potentially life-altering drunk texts in the history of the Western Hemisphere. I would read them the next day in shock, wondering if some kind of a melodramatic, overly emotional demon had possessed me.
But the absolute worst part of Fireball? The Fireball hangovers. Hell hath no fury like the Fireball hangover. Hangovers are already a stroll through hell. Your head is pounding, your stomach is gurgling, there’s a tiger in the bathroom you lost your friend Doug (timely reference right there), they’re just the worst. Since fireball has such a distinct taste, you can taste the Fireball in your throat all day. It’s disgusting, and it’s the worst part of the whole experience. It’s like your tastebuds reminding you to get your life together.
So I finally ended my abusive relationship with Fireball. We had some good times, but nothing good can last forever (except a Peter Jackson movie). My go-to shot is Tito’s now. Disgusting, yet bland. You can’t taste it the next morning and that’s all I want at this point..
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