We had spent the evening drinking beer at our local pub and had come back to my place for a nightcap before calling it a night. As it turned out, I only had enough Aberlour left for two drinks. As we finished them off, Johnny asked if I had more whiskey. The only bottle I had in the house was the Hiram Walker Special Old that Brian and I sampled for yesterday's column. I had purchased the bottle that day as an impulse buy at the local LCBO. I passed it to Johnny who took a nice long pull from it. As he placed the bottle back on the bar, he suddenly asked if I had any Cisco. As it turned out, I still had the over half-bottle of Stawberry left over from the infamous 'Evening of Bumwine'. I retreived the bottle from the fridge and handed it to him.
Now as anyone familiar with this blog will tell you, not only is Cisco in all probability the most disgusting alcoholic beverage ever created by man, but Strawberry is arguably the most vile flavour ever. Despite hearing repeated tales of Cisco's depression-inducing hangover recounted ad nauseum by both Brian and I, Johnny uscrewed the cap and proceeded to chug the remaining contents of the bottle. I stood there in disbelief as he drank, with my only thoughts being to get photographic evidence of the event (along with ensuring I got him out of my house before he vomited and permanently stained the carpet).
The strange similarity between these two events was the fact that it seems drinking Hiram Walker Special Old Rye brings out the street bum in those who consume it. Both times I have witnessed people shoot this particular brand of rye, they seem to immediately reach for a chaser of bumwine to wash it down with. I cannot help but wonder if Brain and I had not lived through the horror that was the 'Evening of Bumwine', would we both have woke up bloodied and beaten as a result of fighting over that last drop of MD 20/20? This peculiarity begs further study, but I do not think I could ever talk Johnny or Brian into serving as guinea pigs for any type of Cisco-related experiments. After all, they both had experienced the devastating streetwine hangover, and neither was too fond of Hiram Walker Special Old Rye Whiskey.
As for Mad Dog Johnny, I managed to escort him out of the house before he made a mess of the carpet. However, he recalls nothing of this incident save waking up in the back seat of his car drenched in sweat as the hot sun beat down upon it. He since requested that should he ever get a bright idea like chugging Cisco again, I am to smash the bottle over his head before he gets the chance.