Brewing Up Candied Malt Liquor; 211 Skeel Reserve

Brewing Up Candied Malt Liquor; 211 Skeel Reserve-God no, what on earth was I thinking? I feel like a Lucy tripper who has just realized he triple-dosed. Alas, I will (or may,) prevail.

211 is best served very, very cold. So cold in fact that one could argue it numbs the taste buds. I was afforded no such luxury going into venture. Though chilled, it lacked any numbing quality. I had to settle for the anesthetizing quality, though pity, that is so very slow.

There was no immediate reaction, though within a minute they were foaming over, having increased their respective volumes by 5% per Skittle. Sipping the foam back was enough to kick up my gag reflex for the first time in probably eight years� don’t worry, though. I doubt the Skittles had anything to do with it.

Starting with the red/purple I found the taste to be almost entirely unchanged. Gross, but gross as usual.

Yellow/orange tasted like day old keg piss Coors, which is a pretty big compliment coming from me to 211 Steel Reserve.

Green tasted much as I’d imagine the river in Boston does at the St. Paddy’s day parade. It’s green, it’s murky, and heck, it just ain’t right. My fear has returned with reinforcements.

Red/purple was more nasty than before. Still no sweetness to speak of.

Yellow Orange. I paused to savor the aroma. Sweet and delightful. Tasting� Repugnant Christ, did I remember to add the Skittles to unholy concoction? Tummy rumbles grow worse, gagging returns.

Green was the most awful before and time has been a wicked agent against the palatability of these drinks. A shiver, shutter and some squinting ensues.

Red. Only three ounces to go� I can do . A quick sniff says “cherry ass” flavored. Pound it, you bitch! Hhhough! I sound like a vulture. Thought I was intoxicated enough to make a go of polishing it off, but no dice.

Orange. Aroma is still pleasing, or so my drunk ass thinks. Pound it? Why not, it’s tasted about the best of the three. No dice again. Same albatrossy sound escapes me.

Green. Internal Skitallic residue is floating in increasing quantity. Like pond algae I wish to skim it. The scent, me do thinketh, is truly of limey Skittle beer. Is a break though, wishful thinking, irrelevant, or just a malted hallucination? Wow, the sedation of it all has clearly set in, for I’ve tasted not a thing. Kudos to me.

Red. I only smell corrupt sugar now. It’s so sweet I barely gag, just a bit and it almost remotely was not disgusting.

Orange. My drunkenness has nearly convinced me I’m not stupid, though these pages of documentation speak to the contrary. Ugh! Still a culture. Shiyte howdy, what disgustitude! Still smells okay, though I’m clearly anything but. Tummy rumblins’ have passed, but so has any semblance of judgment. I plug on. Only two ounces to go. Last drink is sweet, but by no means a consolation. F*ck .

Green. is it. Less than three ounces in my entire trial and freedom awaits. God don’t let me vomit now. It smells like a shooter on an assy knoll. I’m procrastinating, which is never good in Skittlebraulogy. Onward� I just drank moss. ain’t right. I wish to tell you how much time has passed thus far from inception to moss drinkery but I’m unsure. Twenty minutes from then to now perhaps?

A WORD ON NAUSEA & Confusion-
4/24 ounces down and my gullet began a rumblin’. It remains to be seen how much I’d be able to complete.

10/24 ounces down. Found that round two did not help as the mixes grew more vomitous. My handwriting grew poorer, my intestines growled a sad melody. My spell check was sure to struggle with text.

16/24 ounces out of the way. By the end of round three the hiccups got the better of me and the confusion had finished moving in with me.

18/24 ounces was the end of round three and the beginning of round four. Yes, there was an unprecedented round four. On the previous experiments two rounds was always sufficient to get through the composition, but due to the nast-tasti-less-ness, I was unable to get very far per round. I still had over six ounces to go. I was no longer scared, just a bit tossed.

21/24 was near the end of round four. I felt an inclination to vandalize my Skittle bag, or even take the individual Skittles and extrapolate those mindless S’s on each piece with Sharpie “ittles”� is madness Skittlebrau induced?

There is a reason we perform these experiments for you. While some mixtures may prove delightful, others prove unfit for human consumption, nay, toxic even. It is not recommended you try at home. However, should you embark on your own Skittlebrau excursion, it is strongly recommended that you photograph and document it and send it to us for publication.

Overall, mixture was a complete failure. I mean, come on, I started with 211 Steel Reserve and I added Skittles like a total short-bus screw up. Though some parts of the mixture did, in fact, make me gag less than others, it’s still hardly any consolation.

For my finale, I ate the worms� Green was okay, very soft. Yellow and orange had some very unpleasant lingering beer about it, though still soft and tasty (once past the beer). Red/purple had that same bilous beer pre-taste, though the sweetness damn near made up for it.

I cleansed my palate with a fifteen minute choke-load of Skittles and a Djarum clove. Did I mention I did all at work? Oh, well never mind.

Author: Brian White

Brian first began peddling his humorous wares with a series of Xerox printed books in fifth grade. Since then he's published over two thousand satire and humor articles, as well as eight stage plays, a 13-episode cable sitcom and three (terrible) screenplays. He is a freelance writer by trade and an expert in the field of viral entertainment marketing. He is the author of many of the biggest hoaxes of recent years, a shameful accomplishment in which he takes exceptional pride.