Washed Weekly: A Single Cig, OG Four Loko, & The World Series
Just one (1) drunk cigarette.
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The Original Four Loko, In Remembrance
by Dillon
Hand up, I never tried the original Four Loko before the recipe changed. I’ve never actually tried the current Four Loko, either, come to think of it. Am I missing out? For whatever reason, it never appealed to me back when it started gaining popularity and apparently still doesn’t to this day. It feels like a young person’s beverage to me.
I do remember all the bootychatter about Four Loko when it hit the streets, before the FDA pulled the plug on all the fun and all the heart palpitations that came with it. The current Four Loko lacks the caffeine that the original had. Caffeinated alcohol beverages are dangerous, apparently. It’s a tough combo.
I recall so much social media banter about elevated heart rates, trips to the ER, rapid blackouts, nights spent in the clink, acting up, relationships coming to a quick halt, starting fistfights — all attributed to the OG Four Loko.
Washed Media hopped on the Vince McMahon viral meme trend over the weekend with an homage to the original Four Loko recipe.
It resulted in people reminiscing about their experiences from drinking the controversial adult bevvy. The comments are sensational.
Even Ghandi wouldn’t be immune from throwing hands while on the OG recipe.
This one paints a hilarious picture and might be my favorite. It reminds me of the drunk guy at Coachella who struggled putting his sandal back on.
If an of-age person was “hey mister”ed into buying some for minors, that’s a guilty conscience that should stay with you for a while. High schoolers shouldn’t be anywhere near this stuff.
A lot of us can recall a time when we made a drunk purchase and totally forgot about it until the thing we purchased arrived in the mail. But when that thing is a living, breathing creature, it’s bad. Really bad. Who would sell a rabbit to someone this intoxicated? Unless it was stolen?
Could have been the beginning to a beautiful love story and happily ever after. A real shame.
Samoans. 2 of um. With a bonus drunk Elmo.
This required either a LOT of digging with a shovel or operating heavy equipment. Either way, it had to have been difficult explaining this to the neighbor who woke up to a missing basketball hoop.
Is four a lot? Four feels like a lot. That’s 16 lokos.
Saving for a special occasion, are we? Are these worth something?
I need more context here. Where was the cheese from? What kind of cheese was it? Why on earth would you mix this stuff with Xanax?
Jesus. I hope she doesn’t know the guy who kept seven of the OGs because she should absolutely NOT do this again.
Circling Back: Barking For Whiskey Ghosts in the Squad-Box
On the Monday episode of Circling Back, the boys discussed the absolute scenes at Matt’s El Rancho for Dillon’s 40th birthday dinner, Will being a Skims boy now, entering the Steam Room™, Dave going to the movies, and one man’s ghostly impulse to drink whiskey.
Listen to it on Spotify here:
Or you can watch all our episodes on YouTube:
🤝 It’s been a pleasure earning your business.
Thoughts On A World Series
Please forgive me, as I’m not operating at an extremely high level right now. It turns out improbable playoff baseball runs that culminate in your team winning the big game are quite draining. I’d love to beautifully craft two thousand words on what this championship means to me, but I think it would be more fun to just list out some Ranger thoughts I’ve had over the last month or so. I also have a deadline. Enjoy.
I like watching games at home by myself.
I was at a bar for the end of game 1. There were probably 6 people following the game in there, and the sound wasn’t on. While still a verified situation, experiencing moments of that magnitude alone is just more appealing to me at this point. Also, I’m much less likely to rip celebration shots at home. I need to retire from shots altogether.
Parking should not cost 100 dollars.
My dad and I went to game 2. We lost, but that’s okay. We still got a commemorative cup. We parked in a lot that was maybe a half-mile away from the stadium. It was 100 US dollars. I get that it’s a World Series, but you don’t have to do us like that, Big Parking Lot.
My favorite non-championship Ranger moment involves David Dellucci.
In the middle of a division race in 2004, a few of the boys skipped class one afternoon to watch Rangers-Athletics. That was a fun Ranger team. Soriano, Hank Blalock, Kevin Mench, Teixeira, Laynce Nix- household names. All of them. Dellucci walked it off with a two-run double in the bottom of the ninth. What a day that was. Sure, we missed the playoffs, but that was a great time to be at the Sterling Apartments in San Marcos, Texas.
What were those tears?
I’m not afraid to get a cry off, and cry I did. It was a blend of joy and relief. The 2011 World Series was without a doubt the worst moment of fandom I’ve ever been a part of. I still haven’t gone back and watched those last couple innings where my baseball dreams came crashing down in spectacular fashion. Maybe I will now, though. After game six, I thought we’d never get back into contention. Hell, after we got Altuve’d in game five of the ALCS, there was a moment when I thought I’d have to stop watching sports altogether.
My wife was out of town, and my mother-in-law was watching our son. Down impossibly bad, I went and bellied up to a Mexican restaurant bar nearby. Two margs and a plate of enchiladas later, I convinced myself that despite being down 3-2, we’d win games 6 and 7 on the road. I had a hunch. A Ben Crenshaw hunch. But unlike the vast majority of sports hunches I’ve had in my life, this one came to be. And with that came the tears of a grown man who remembers sitting in the bleachers of Arlington Stadium, baking in the Texas sun, to watch Bobby Valentine’s Texas Rangers finish third in the division.
Where do we go from here?
I’ve never been a big officially licensed championship merchandise guy. I may have some mid-nineties Super Bowl gear lying around in my garage, but that’s it. I think that all changes now. Playoff baseball is far too grueling on the fan to not get some sort of obnoxious reminder that I can pridefully wear around town like I actually had anything to do with it. When baseball inevitably breaks my heart again, I’ll always have a 2023 World Series champs shirt, probably ill-fitting and used by my wife as a sleep shirt, that I can toss on to get me through the tough times.
Please Stop Me From Buying This Single Cigarette Holder
by Will
I don’t even remember what the old dining room table looked like. I think it was antique-y with ornate legs and a bunch of scuffs on it from my sister and I, but that could also be a false memory.
Our new dining room table was nice but it wouldn’t have gone well in Frasier’s apartment. It was a departure from the-table-I-can’t-really-remember that was giving Crate & Barrel more than 1st Dibs, which was fine in the grand scheme of how the room was evolving.
At the end of the table, however, there was a drawer. It sat directly in front of my dad’s seat and I never really knew what the drawer was filled with.
My father and I share a trait — we’re both a bit fidgety. For him, it displayed itself when candles would have wax dribbling down the side. He’d grab it, shape it, and then get yelled at by my mom for doing so at the dining room table. I, however, allow it to materialize in a much more self-destructive way — I pick at my nails.
As it turns out, the main selling point that lead to us buying that table was that single drawer. A vessel to keep trinkets in it that would distract my dad from playing with the napkins, candle wax, and whatever else made its way to our end of the table.
We probably share some other traits too, ones that I never really put much stock into until I was doing some spring cleaning recently — we both enjoy those aforementioned distracting trinkets. And while he hasn’t smoked for years, I’m pretty sure each of us had a stint where a drunk cig sounded pretty damn good. Yes, I’m my father’s son and that only gets reaffirmed as I get older.
Enter: The most pointless purchase I could ever make in my life. The Single Cigarette Holder in Stainless Steel.
This is what I looked like when I first saw it:
I need this thing. And this isn’t me doing personal PR right now but I don’t even remember the last time I had a puff of a cigarette. I think it was on the Retail Therapy trip to New York because that’s just what you do when you’re boppin’ with the boys in the big city.
Unfortunately, there’s a part of me that’s absolutely yearning for this pointless trinket that will live in my Barbour pocket until I lose it on a night out. I mean, just think of the scenarios for this thing.
A drunk tux’d out 25-year-old at a wedding approaches me on the patio and asks if I’ve got a cig? “Sorry, kid, only got the one in my $110 case. I think I saw someone with an Elf Bar somewhere.”
A homeless man asks me for one as I walk down the street? “You know what, I’ve got a special one just for you. Enjoy.”
Post-Thanksgiving beers with the hometown crew and we feel like going down a path that’ll lead to all our wives yelling at us in the morning? “Anyone got a lighter for this Spirit?”
I know the harms of darts. As a blanket statement, no, I don’t approve of smoking cigarettes. That is, unless you’re drunk with your friends and it’ll add another layer to a night you’ll want to look fondly on in the future. We all have our vices and if your personal vice is having one (1) drunk cigarette a quarter with your fellow crew members, who am I to shame you?
I mean, that at least feels less reckless than seeking temporary happiness in buying a $110 stainless steel cigarette case. Right? RIGHT?
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This article ended with me purchasing a miniature steel beam keychain from Benjamin Edgar so shoutout to Will for that.