Four Loko, your days are numbered: Here in New York City, the demonically energetic malt liquor beverage has just one month left to peer menacingly from bodega shelves before it’s evicted forever. And I can’t say I’m upset by this news, because I was wronged by the drink. Betrayed by one of those camo-colored tallboys. That’s right, Four Loko, with all its promise of fun-filled and enlightened party going, screwed me over me in a truly horrific manner that I will recount as a warning to you all.
Cut to: Me at 2 a.m., on a street corner of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, hunched over a trash can and vomiting a four-hour-old plate of barbacoa tacos (with everything) into a trash can. Sure, a few beers entered my system that night, and there was a red plastic cup filled to the brim with WIld Turkey, but I blame the Four Loko. Because I am a fully grown and reasonably responsible human who has been around the block once or twice inebriating-substance-wise — and that shit messed me up in unprecedented ways. More