I had a teenage moment. To prove I've still got it, that I'm still "down with the kids" I walked into a Bargain Booze and walked out with a bottle of Aftershock. I paid real money for it, I didn't steal it - although that would probably have been cooler and more urban.
To the uninitiated, if there are any of you still left out there, this is a drink best served chilled, in a glass the size of a thimble. It looks like medicine. It smells of medicine. It tastes like sh*t - for two seconds, and then the inside of your mouth is so numb you can't taste or speak. You can probably cleanse wounds with it, to be perfectly honest. It should be banned by the EU.
After a couple of these shots, my evening carried on pretty much as normal. There I was, waiting for it to kick in in my brain so that I would start doing wild things which would go down in legend as "The Night We Drank Aftershock and Had the BEST PARTY EVER, Man, it was Hysterical, There'll Never Be Another Night Like the Aftershock Night, if You Weren't There, You Were Square..." And so on, and so on.
An hour later I got raging, burning indigestion. And then I was sick. There weren't mounds of sick everywhere, there was hardly any sick. But it shot out of my body at 200 miles an hour, bounced off the porcelain I was aiming into and splattered onto my new, cool jeans.
And that was it. I felt normal. But now I stank of sick. Not ordinary sick. That special acidic reeking sick that your body comes out with when you're very ill.
Aftershock: "I'll Never Forget The Night I Had to Wash My Jeans and Then Go to Bed". Party on, dude!
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