Swamp Juice

After the funeral I visited another Pham family. As to the classification of our relationship, its likely several degrees of separation. However they graciously invited me to eat and drink with them. I chewed on some chicken that they raised in their backyard without the fear of contracting Avian Flu and had some nice rice soup.

Yet the kicker wasn’t the chicken or that I was invited to urinate in their yard, but the huge bin of snake wine. The leading Pham of the household brings out his pride and joy, a three year old vat of fermented snake and oddball vermit alcohol. This snake-ohol had the stench of a big liquor punch whirling in a muddy grayish solution. It had the look of diluted swamp water. He poured me and the four other men a shot glass of the intoxicating ghetto juice.

I hesitated and held the glass up to my nose. I said to myself, “It’s just like Tequila or even better, Ecto Cooler Kool Aid.” I shifted the glass to my lips and took a gentle whiff of the pungent fumes. I held my breath and wetted my lips with the “Ecto Cooler.”

But I stopped, recognizing the possible ignition of the gag reflex. I could not go any further. I returned to my Tiger beer (Thank god it’s not made of Tiger. It’s just a brand name.) as a defeated snake wine drinker.