Often, I hear the expression, “it’ll run on the smell of an oily rag”. According to Grandpa Google, this expression refers to: A very small amount, or the absolute minimum. I’ve always thought of this as how long a car can run on the pesky empty light. For example, you can put $40 of fuel in your trusty Morris Minor, and it’ll get you from Cape Reinga to Bluff. Well crap on a spatula, wouldn’t we all love a wagon with such efficiency.
I was having a good chinwag with my fellow ponders on this topic, and we concluded that this oily rag scenario is analogous to many people’s alcohol tolerance, ourselves included. I’ve often been criticised of my inability to consume more than three bottles of fermented moose drool before walking wonky and yelling about medical marmalade (and other galactic snacks). Personally, I think this is great. Most people take quite a few bottles of drink to get snot-flying drunk, but for me, it’s as easy as four bottles of four per cent grog. I’m a self-proclaimed lightweight.
I will admit that some brews are slightly easier to consume than others. My average trip to the bottle shop consists of browsing the cheapest beer and yakking to the cashier about terrible nights on various liquids. One defining memory pops up. I remember attempting to drink my first beer. My parental unit handed me a questionable looking beverage. I gave it a chug. Well punch my groin and call me squeaky, I think I performed my first tactical vomit that night. Succulent notes of hops-infused camel piss.
Spirits are a different kettle of fish. I can barely consume the stuff. However, once my taste buds are butchered from a few brewskis, I can usually ingest a fair bit of it. For me, the taste is always a varying mix of paint thinners and BP’s finest 95 Unleaded. Like a good friend of mine once said; A night on the spirits is a big one, but a short one. Whilst most people comment on the burning sensation upon entry, let me tell you, the exit can be much worse. The thunder box sustains quite a thrashing after a night on spirits, I speak from experience (i.e. shitting straight Smirnoff). Nonetheless, it’s purely a matter of preference. Choose your poison, they say.
These days I’ll settle for a lovely bottle of DB Export two per cent beer. These two-stroke beverages are just the icing on the cake after a day of hard yakka. Let it be known that you can indeed get sauced on these two-stroke beauties, however patience and perseverance are key.
TL;DR: Some of us are gifted with piss-poor alcohol tolerance. On another note, 2/2/22 will be a Tuesday (or should I say two-sday?)
Until Next Time,
Not Your Average Ponderer