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0179b: Singe-likker, bees, and peanut butter: The AlculoVeglegon (Patreon)

Published:
2026-05-22 19:00:11
Imported:
2026-09
Tags:

Content

A lot of people liked recent A24 horror drama The Lighthouse because the guys had such cool old-fashioned hats. (Richard Brody of The New Yorker gave it 5 out of 5 popcorn bags, and his brief review mentioned only this one detail.) But I liked it for the way it portrayed the men's descent into a gothic-scale, fatal bender. I had not heard of Thieves' Oil before then, but it was the work of an instant to imagine Lyle breaking into a lawnmower repair shop and mixing up a batch. What's the lowest, saddest concoction you've ever swallowed in pursuit of a buzz? Ever finished the vanilla? The dregs left on a different table?

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Comments

blair

Lyle's elbows hyperextend! I never knew.

Achewood

I was just trying to draw his arm kind of twisted and from below. But maybe yeah the $3 bottle has also liquefied his tendons.

DOUGLAS URBAN

I did actually finish the vanilla once, after the bourbon was gone! What a terrible idea. This was a bit more "college freshman" than deep desperation.

Daniel M Ford

I have drunk a glass of plain white vermouth when there was nothing else and the stores were all closed. I know a guy who pried the top of a bottle of bitters and just poured it over ice

GruntyGinMan

Saddest? Tiger beer, but bottled in Southeast Asia with 1 part alcohol 1 part formaldehyde. I was choking it down why my liberty buddy was laughing his ass off, because I was a young lad who hasn't had beer before and didn't want to say it tasted bad but finally he rescued me and pointed out the discrete parts of the vile fluid. One of my most memorable Navy moments.

GruntyGinMan

Ironically I had gotten smashed on crown Royal before (but not beer) and it's off limits to this day. Maybe a question one week can be "what was the liquor that was the first one that got you fucked up so you swore it off forever?"

Achewood

May the cycle not repeat itself. Vanilla has become dearly expensive, but in most states you *can* still buy it after the bars close

Achewood

Hm. That's not nice, but it's certainly not rock bottom. It's like three sad steps away from rubbing alcohol and stevia.

Achewood

Tequila, bourbon, vodka, beer...but those oaths never lasted. I am a man of multidimensionally low character.

Lew Basnight

That would be wild turkey at a bonfire in an abandoned quarry on the top of a small mountain. I was 15 and fully prepared to die

b.zap

Me and Bacardi don't get along since that one time

Achewood

Tyrone, I think I speak for us all when I say we want to hear how your reality collapsed that night

Achewood

zap, I think I speak for us all when I say we want to hear how your reality collapsed that night

b.zap

Which of these two are the cops most familiar with?

Bungus Bronbo

I know a guy who once had nothing but two bottles of bitters. He's sober now. That didn't do it by itself but it contributed.

Bruce Wright

We’re not monsters, Chris. Not all of us, anyway

Douglas Wykstra

I had never considered until this moment how Achewood-coded the "But ye like me lobster, don't ye?!" scene in The Lighthouse is. Cooking, interpersonal strife, mood-altering substances, intimations of a sea-curse... Robert Eggers, if you're in the comments, don't be shy.

Julie (HiDeeHoGal)

One (1) peyote button the size of a quarter. I barfed even though it was nowhere near enough to trip balls. If the planet could shit, that's what it would taste like. I doubt I could have rolled a ball any distance with that. The time I chased a pesto type sauce using cilantro instead of basil (MISTAKE) with a whole bottle of rancid butter tasting Chardonnay would have scored a fucking penalty kick. Pat and Lyle are like the GWAR of white boy jackass rap. But I'm glad they're having fun.

Ian Stewart

The barf panels are perfect concept art for a crustpunk fighting game where the characters mainly just spew at each other

Johnny Deans

A friend and I consumed a fifth of Dos Dedos so quickly we were still stone sober when we emptied the bottle. Shit go weird. The evening also featured Bacardi, Moravian cookies, a cow encounter, an electric fence, and a huge antique lantern filled with glass marbles…

Achewood

It was a cute moment. It was not to last. Especially because of that axe fight.

Achewood

haha great question. Lyle: danger to self. Pat: possibly flagged as potential bioterrorist

Achewood

You know, that's not the worst you could do. Salted cooking wine...and I stayed in inpatient rehab with guys who ate the deodorant for its denatured alcohol

Achewood

then ye have dodged the curses, the Boomerang of Burnett's, the Bad Penny of Bruichladdich

Achewood

That's neat, I had no idea peyote has that flavor. Don't know anyone who's tried it, is I suppose why. Sounds like Yellow Tail Chardonnay.

Achewood

This strip could have had so much barfing, but that wouldn't really be unexpected, would it. You can't just come around here and always see spumes of vomit. It would grow tiresome, no matter how well I learned to draw the spumes.

Achewood

Those are the TIMES. Now describe the day after

Achewood

Door County is charming. It's like Dirty Dancing, but without the Dirty. I get that this is actually an island off the tip of Door County; I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't used to be an island, but once the locals got wise to the drinking behavior up there, they dug a trench and made it one.

b.zap

Nice Pete all proud and also jealous

C C

When I was 13 years old, I paid a person, a man I knew to be a hopelessly poor alcoholic, (a neighbor I had know all my life) twenty dollars, to buy me two six packs of Malt Duck. This was so embarrassingly long ago that twenty dollars was not only enough to buy the Malt Duck, it was also enough to buy a handle of whatever my neighbor wanted for himself. I wanted the MD to take to the first middle school, no adults party I had ever been invited to. I thought, I would be the coolest kid there. If drinking Malt Duck by itself wasn't sad enough, me alone, in my jean jacket, huddled against the November wind, outside, on the faded deck of a respectable suburban split level, pounding Malt Duck to try and build up the courage to walk back in to that party is historically the lowest concoction I have ever had. If I misunderstood the theme, I have a story about my catering days that is also pretty bad but in a fun, lighthearted way!

Achewood

Why can't a man be...three murderers

Achewood

Glory be to God that you have written this story about Malt Duck. If it expanded to five, fifty, five hundred pages, I would still study every detail. Now I believe it is important that you couple the memoir with the catering story. But, you end the story prematurely: did you get to first base? Did you actually go inside to the party?

Julie (HiDeeHoGal)

The bitterness is matched by the rank poopoo foulness. I think I dodged a bullet, though. I don't think peyote is for fun white girl times. That's what molly is for.

C C

I did go back inside, but I was not as I had envisioned myself to be ,the coolest kid at the party. Instead of being a laid back effortlessly charming dude, I was an embarrassingly drunk thirteen year old who was, at some point convinced or forced to leave the party (and any hopes I had of being cool or accepted). I thought I could just walk home, but I got hopelessly lost and slept for a few hours on the ground beside a boat trailer (that was parked next to the garage of a house I have never been able to find again). I woke up several hours later very cold, still a bit drunk and badly needing to pee, which I did next to the aforementioned boat trailer. After this brief respite I was still lost but not as disoriented, I walked until I found a street I knew and made my way home. I couldn't go inside because I was allegedly spending the night at a friends so I climbed into the camper on the old Ford truck where a dirty tarp was my blanket and I slept until the sun came up. Part Two. When I was in my very early 20's I was a prep cook at a popular American Bistro style restaurant. We catered often, mostly weddings, graduation parties, rich people's dinner or holiday parties, that sort of stuff. At the end of the evening I was always one of the scrubs left to clean up. I'm not sure who started it, but we used to make something called "Old Punch Bowl". As we cleared the tables every alcoholic drink, beer, wine, mixed drink, whatever left in a glass, bottle or can, was dumped into pitchers as we cleared the tables . All the pitchers were dumped in to the punch bowl, if there was one (the restaurant was popular for serving great punch at parties) so there was usually at least one punch bowl there. After everything was cleaned up and the trucks were packed up, we would stand around the punch bowl, dipping our plastic cups in and downing that nasty mixture as quickly as we could, like a challenge to each other to see who would quit first. At the very bottom of the bowl was a thick nasty mixture of grey, gritty liquid. Who would drink it? Who would be the master of the punch bowl? It was usually me, It was always a mistake. We drove the trucks back to the restaurant unloaded like a bunch of stumbling idiots and if any bars were still open we would go close them.

C C

Wild Turkey, abandoned quarry and large fires!?! Tyrone, you're holding back on us man, let's hear more.

C C

I never ate an actual piece of peyote, but I had what was allegedly 'tea' brewed with peyote. I also barfed and no balls were tripped. Even though I was never actually curious about it, I did find out what a dry white dog turd dissolved in hot water tastes like..

Achewood

I think it's time you were honest with yourself and...started a substack of these stories. The "hairy buffalo" / old punch bowl thing is an enduring human fear factor trope. When I first moved to Portland, I saw a wraith-man with a fully blue-tattooed head and face walking down a busy cafe / bar street with a garbage bag. He was pouring all the leftover drink dregs from empty tables into it. I recall being mortally terrified of this person / lifestyle.

C C

What you are describing, is me going on a terrify plunge in to a portion of my life I only see in the rearview mirror. Don't get this wrong I loved the old me, I was fun, I was erratic, I was sometimes described as a little terrifying or at least intimidating. With the right amount of tasty beverages, ancient plants, and the strange powers of chemistry, my natural state of irrational fear mixed with bouts of depression would vanish, and the other me, or 'right' me, could emerge and entertain people with food, drink and borderline illegal ideas to really bring that certain joie de vivre to an evening. I miss 'Old Me', I was actually sad to see him go. But he had to go. Pushing out little snippets here in my safe place seems pretty easy, no pressure, no judgement, it's kind of fun. I just don't know what will happen if I spend all day at the pool..