Former First Lady Nancy Reagan cried out to America in 1986, “Just Say No!” Now is the time to once again put our collective foots down and just say no to an obvious wrong happening around us. I’m talking about Lucky Charms flavored beer. What the heck, people?! This is what happens when pajamas become pants, girls become Boy Scouts, and “house plant” is an option for gender affiliation. Is nothing sacred?
When I was a kid, Lucky Charms was sugar-packed cereal devoid of nutritional value that you got to eat on Saturday morning while sitting in front of the television watching Scooby Doo cartoons. It was your reward for not waking mom and dad up before 8:30am. Beer was never part of the Saturday morning equation until college, and, at that point, no one woke up before noon anyway. So how did this unholy union even happen?
According to the Norfolk, Virginia brewery, Smartmouth Beer, on Saturday, March 2nd, they released their newest IPA beer appropriately (or not) called “Saturday Morning,” brewed with marshmallows. It’s “brewed with house toasted marshmallows and cereal marshmallows in the mash, hopped with Galaxy and Calypso, and dry hopped a whole lot more. This IPA is sure to set you back with nostalgia, on the couch, turning on the best cartoons for a Saturday morning.” Again, my Saturday morning childhood memories never came with the threat of a hangover, but we were Presbyterians, so who knows.
And now that we’ve kicked the lid off of Pandora’s Box, what could possibly be next? Tootsie Roll Tequila? Or better yet: Pot Tarts! A clever mix of newly legalized marijuana with a frosted Pop-Tart®? You can get the munchies and cure the munchies all at the same time, the whole while hallucinating about your first Tonka truck or Barbie doll. How long will it be before the trend turns the other direction and Kellogg’s partners with Anheuser-Busch for Bud Light Flakes Cereal?
Take note all you breakfast boozers, Smartmouth Beer’s “magically ridiculous” “Saturday Morning” is only available for a limited time in Virginia. So hop on your Schwinn’s banana seat and pedal on over there before it’s gone. But bring a note from your mother and a designated driver.
When Extreme Midget Wrestling shows up near you, I’m sorry, but you just drop everything, change your plans, miss your parents’ anniversary dinner, and give away your tickets to whatever is on the stage at Houston Grand Opera so you can go. How many times in your life are you presented with the exciting opportunity to be ringside for midgets in masks wrestling each other? From personal experience, I’m going to say maybe one, if you’re lucky, and that really may be plenty.
Before anyone gets frosty about the word “midgets,” just don’t. There’s enough hate in the world right now, and I am not going to add to it with this. I’m going strictly off their publicity: Extreme Midget Wrestling. It did not say Extreme Little People Wrestling or Extreme Person of Short Stature Wrestling. Or I would have used that. So just stop before you start.
Recently, I’m pleased to say, I was able to cross this off my bucket list without actually knowing that it was ever on my bucket list. In a poorly air conditioned space in a mostly empty mall in Texas City, I stood in line with one of my best buds hoping and praying that we could still get a standing room only ticket for the event for $25. If there were concerns about the stability of my mental state for jumping on this crazy idea, then paying $25 for it pretty much clears up those doubts.
I’m not even going into what they were charging for beer. Trust me, though, beer is pretty much a requirement with midget wrestling. You could almost get by without actually having the midgets or the wrestling, but if you don’t have the beer, you’ll lose 98% of the audience for an event like this.
So it had what one would expect from Extreme Midget Wrestling. Midgets launching off the ropes to land on other midgets on the mat. Midgets smacking each other in the face with trash can lids and yellow “Caution: Wet Floor” signs that I think they found at the mall. There were midgets in tights and capes and one wore a chicken mask thing. The midget referee would count the “knock-out” to about two before there was a miraculous recovery and Cinderella victory.
Those who went ahead to the opera (and in some families, those who opted for their parent’s anniversary dinner) probably had the exact same experience without the beer.
I recently had a little free time on my hands (it was actually more active avoidance of things like laundry and pressing world problems like what’s-for-dinner) and ran across a story on the internet about a village in Mozambique where 69 people died and nearly 200 more were admitted to the hospital after drinking beer that was contaminated with crocodile bile. Stop the washer and dryer! This is big!
From what I read (feel free to Google this if you think I’m making it up), it seems like half the country of Mozambique showed up for a funeral and drank the poisoned beer. Okay, first of all, if you’re giving away free beer, yes, you should expect half the country to show up. Even for a funeral. Of course, now there’s going to be 69 more funerals and maybe more. For those, though, I’d stick with the punch or bring your own. I’m wondering if anyone has turned the glaring eye of accusation at the local funeral director as his business has suddenly and rather suspiciously skyrocketed.
According to reports, the poison came from the gall bladder of a crocodile, and this isn’t the first time. Knocking folks off with croc excrement is a common crime there. When a crocodile is killed, the gall bladder is immediately removed and buried in front of witnesses to keep it out of the wrong hands. I guess they don’t have activists demanding constitutional rights to bear arms … or other body parts and organs.
The beer in question is a traditional local drink made from corn flour and brewed for all of two days. So basically, we’re spiking the moonshine with dead reptile bile. This maybe makes sense since you’re not going to have anyone commenting that their beer tastes bad if it’s poisoned because it probably already tastes really bad anyway.
One does have to ask at this point if the large, man-eating, river lizard had elective surgery to have the gall bladder removed or was he dead? Was it, in fact, his funeral? Wouldn’t that be ironic?! And how many crocodile organs did someone have to try out before they finally figured out that the bile from the gall bladder was deadly? Are there parts of a crocodile that you’d actually want to eat? Suddenly answering that dinner question at my house just got easier!