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And now it's time for Rum Reviews with Chester A. Rum.
We, are getting sued.
Uh... Well allright then.
Top of the evening good sir.
Indeed.
Say... Is that... Is that... rum?
Yes. Yes it is.
Can I.... Bum some?
Why yes! I would love a drink. Thanks!
So what are we having this fine evening?
Screech rum!
Screech rum you say?
Indeed! Straight from Newfoundland!
Wolrd famous?!
No less!
Oh my...
This miserable little pile of screech is actually a jamaican rum
dating back roughly 300 years.
When it was traded to newfoundlanders for really salty cod and tuna.
This was one of the major source of legally imported rum in Canada at the time
and people jumped, I mean jumped on those unlabeled bottles of blindness inducing alcool
like rabid sailor persons with something to forget.
The newfoundland labrador liquor corporation
is desperatly trying to sell this as some mystic liquid forged of myths and legends.
but the boring truth of it is that it's mainly composed of four jamaican rums
brewed at Appleton estate. Yes, Appleton.
The most average.
Of all the average rums.
Ever made.
Ever.
This mess is then stored into a bunch of decrepit old white oak bourbon barrels for up to a year.
and eventually released for the thirsty canadian populace to sip at lunch time
with their thirsty children.
The result? Aside from juvenile drunkeness
and brain developpement issues,
Screech rum was the grand winner of the Howler award in 2011.
Oh really? That's cool!
Kinda.
One question. What's an Howler award?
Some wordpress blog. About ***.
Run by this one guy.
Oh....
He has a pretty great mustache tough!
OH!
Well... That was uhm... Informative.
Now let us taste this glorious rum! Like Gentlemen.
Indeed! But wait!
Something's missing.
mh, You're right. Something classy dudes like us should never go without.
OH I KNOW! Cool frakking hats!
Here we are. Drinking hats ON!
Now I feel classy. Cheers mate.
***!!
Oh God! Are you sure this bottle isn't expired?
I think we drank it wrong.
Maybe you mixed the bottles. I mean, this is engine oil right? Right??
Ok. Clearly, this was our fault.
Let's try this more traditionally.
Right, on the rocks.
On the rocks.
This is terrible ice.
Anything would taste better than this! Hey, you know what would be better than this?
YELLOW SNOW!!!
Waaait. Wait. No reason to Hulk out just yet.
Not before we try easy mode.
Good ol' rum. And coke!
CHEEEEEEERS!!
***!
***!
*Singing* FUUUUCK! This screech rum...
Stop singing! No singing! Why am I so mad about this?!
I know why! It's this rum, I feel like it's *** mocking me!
I'm not that drunk! Yet.
WHY?! What is this famous for? Vomit inducement?
What drunken clam smoking retard came up with this terrible idea?
I'LL SEE YOU IN HELL SCREECH ***!
WAIT!!!
*Singing* Dude...
*Singing* We've been trough so much ***...
NO! Again with the singing!
And no we haven't! This is our first show!
Uh. You're right. Well that was stupid.
Allright. But before we give up, let's at least learn more about the enemy.
Yhea, you're right. As Shipwreck always says: Knowing is half the battle.
What's the other half?
Violence.
Before being an Appleton's *** offsring, Screech rum was composed of ungodly
ammounts of alcool thrown in unsanitary barrels used to carry molasse and other
filthy liquids and sediments.
It was an annonymous source of passing out. Synonym in every way to any cheap
liver melting mooshsine of the time.
At least it was. Until the term screech emerged sometime during world war II.
There once was this random american commanding officer passing by Newfoundland
where, for some reason, he was treated to a huge *** steak dinner.
After unbuttoning his pants pressurised by all this delicious meat,
our gracious newfoundlander host whips out a bottle of the then unnamed rubbing alcool.
and offers a glass to our unsuspecting officer, who I assume, also had a really cool stach.
One swig later, and people are gathering from miles around
seeking the source of this horrifying shriek of utter terror and pain.
Here they find our good officer, regaining his composure on the floor,
looking like death incarnate.
An american sargent burst in asking: What the cripes was that ungodly screech?
To wich, our Newfoundlander duder and his marketing team replied:
The screech? T'is the rum me son!
And now we know.
Wait. Screech rum is made with WHAT?
Horribleness!
Well it was. To the point where they proudly
named it after an actual heartfelt acknowledgement of its undrinkability.
I'm beginning to think it's original form must have been pretty great.
Surely much better than this.
So why is this award winning *** so intolerable? What are we doing wrong?
Well, see, Screech rum is so bloody mystic it eventually grew into this twisted sect thing
called the screechers. With a ceremony and ***.
Well there you go! The ceremony. That's what's missing! Why didn't we try it first?
Because it's stupid. God it's so stupid.
Let's see... Get on one knee, take a swig...
Make out with...
You don't happen to have a codfish or a similar type of sea creature
lying around do you?
Surprisingly no!
Well, there goes that idea! It would have been a really cool scene too.
And really *** stupid.
What's the point?
This rum destroyed everything that was good about living. it even destroyed our hats.
Remember when we used to have hats?
What happened to those?
Ihunno.
Let's just end it here. Have some motor oil. Extra petroleum.
Good idea! This isn't extreme at all.
***!
It still tastes like Screech!
Screech rum sucks!
Nothing can make this cat *** enjoyable.
Not even the burning fiery need to get shitfaced.
It's simply awful.
Dreadful.
It blows!
It stinks!
It's sickening!
Nauseating!
***!
Poop!
***!
God! I need a drink.
NO! YOU FOOL!!!!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!
Ew! That doesn't smell good! Am I wrong?