In these dog days of summer, I will do anything to beat the heat. Well, almost anything.
That important caveat is a direct result of a trip I took last weekend. Driving back to town from a nearby swimming hole, with the sun scorching everything in its path, I pulled over at a convenience store in order to quench my thirst. As usual, I carefully perused the glass-enclosed cooler, hoping to find just the right beverage. Hmmm, Gatorade G2 Rain Lime?… or… wow, I haven’t had an ice-cold Yoo-Hoo in a month of Sundays. But as my eyes keep exploring the myriad offerings, I got to something that I surely thought was a mirage, or maybe just an optical illusion. It couldn’t be… could it?
I opened the case, seemingly breaking an ice crust like Ernest Shackleton’s footsteps to the south pole. What I found defied explanation. It was a beer – I recognized “Budweiser,” but it also said “Clamato” – and I know what that is too. But in the same can? As I looked around for the secret cameras to reveal this tragic scene, none appeared. This was no joke. This product actually exists.
Yes, beer + tomato/clam juice.
Who wouldn’t want to crack open a brew to find their favorite mediocre American lager accompanied by undertones of old seafood? Ahhhhhhhhh.
“Appearance: A disturbing pinkish color, like vomit pink, the appearance alone said, do not drink!”
“Somehow the brewers at Anheuser Busch managed to make one of the worst macros out there taste even worse.”
“This is plain terrible. This is otherwordly in its wretchedness. There’s a distinct vomit note, and I say that without hyperbole.”
“Oh dear god. It’s like a Bloody Mary with a can of tuna juice dropped in. Or wait, spaghettios!”
And all this can be yours for $7.99/6 pack!
If only Lemmonex was still around to knock back this cold one.