Diesel Bourbon & Cola, unlike other foul concoctions, makes you acutely aware of your own existence. It is not an elixir that conjures rationale or peace, rather it attempts to humble the drinker by bringing you a stone's throw from death. A true battle of body, mind, and spirit. Any breatha that delves into a bourbon-propelled orgy should not be looked upon as degenerate scum, but rather a boding warrior embarking on a hero’s journey.
There’s a reason why Diesels are limited to six-packs. A 330ml, 7% can of high-octane sludge contains ten-fold the opportunity (sugar) a vodka seltzer does. In the days of yore when you could get a slab of Dirty D’s for $13.99, they were an unrivalled option for a night of “light” drinking. Show up to a Tuesday night drinks with a slab and proceed to score a solid 68% on your Wednesday morning mineralogy exam. A damned fine trade-off. Nowadays a slab runs around $22, which is a little rich for what you’re getting.
The Body
Rather than appreciate the shade cast by your garden on a bright summer's day, you instead uproot the tree that dares sequester the sunlight that would fall upon your pile of dirt. These spurs of incredible angst are followed by very real and very troubling heart palpitations. Until this point, you were never truly aware of your body, and now your heart is rupturing. This may very well be your last rark. Until tomorrow.
The Mind
You are out of both your mind and Diesels. You must get more. Somehow, you must convince the body-building Super Liquor cashier to sell you another slab. Through sheer concentration, you string together a three-word sentence without a hint of slurring: “Just this, thanks.” Success! Another six-pack of Diesel. The longevity of your night was hinged on this interaction. You demonstrated considerable mental fortitude despite your failing body.
The Spirit
You have lost consciousness and are operating on impulse alone. In a blackout state there is little room for anything other than pure ego. Drink Diesel, eat sausage, drink Diesel, eat sausage. You are a machine of instinct, fueled by Diesel. This vulnerable state of unbridled ego is only reigned in by spirit. Are your morals steadfast in conscious day-to-days so that you may operate on autopilot and escape unscathed? Or are you susceptible to corruption due to your compromised foundations? It is not up to you to decide.
Ah, you fucked it. You’re actually a piece of shit that knocks over people's rubbish bins and kicks off wing mirrors. Don’t blame it on the Diesel, it just exposed who you truly are. No wonder we can’t get an 18-pack of Diesel anymore, we were never ready.
Tasting notes: Hear me out: steak finished with a Diesel pan-sauce.
Chugability: 9/10. Fill her up.
Hangover depression level: 5/10. Considerably better than a Mavs hangover.
Overall: 6/10. They serve a purpose, and that’s good enough.