Thunderbird, man. Shit. What can I say, really? Introduced by Gallo in 1957, it's probably the American Bumwine. They actually put “American Classic” on their label, which I guess is the case in the same way that David Berkowitz is emblematic of 1970's New York. But hey, if it's good enough for James Mason to hold (but not drink), let's see how that goes. Let's ride that Thunderbird.
Thanks, Internet. Thanks.
LOOK
At first I thought that the glass had a vague green tint to it, you know, like some bottles do. Narp. That's just what color T-bird is. No wine should be that green-- it's not candy-apple style intentional green, it more just looks vaguely spoiled. Really faint, like someone squeezed an old lime into a white wine bottle and shook it. It's also startlingly opaque. It tries to look like white wine, but you should really be able to see through white wine better And it streaks the glass like dish soap.
NOSE
Thunderbird is quite possibly the most offensive thing I've ever smelled for this blog.
More offensive than Thunderhawk.
There's not actually that much aroma, more just an acrid bitterness. Kind of like gasoline has, where there is an aroma there, but undercut by just the semi-pain of inhaling the fumes and chemical haze. What identifiable odor is there is sort of fruitiness, but not of identifiable fruits, just the vague sweetness of cheap champagne.
TASTE (STRAIGHT)
There's a faint citrusiness there, and a little bit of identifiable wine flavor. It does taste the most like wine out of anything I've reviewed this week, but the problem is that the fruity flavor does not cover up the flavor of butane as well as a stronger, sugary thing would. And it keeps coming back like Michael Fucking Myers. It surges back in waves of bitterness, hyper-sweetness, and a sort of pain that coats your mouth, which is the equivalent of when they decided that Michael Myers was motivated by a druid curse. It just doesn't go away. (Deep Space 9 Millimeter son keep smilin')
I'm a Caveman your Thunderbird frightens and confuses and me.
Karim, by the way, is pretty much just uttering obscenities, moans, and Farsi slurs.
TASTE (SHAKE 'EM UP)
It makes it worse. I can buy a conspiracy here that the above ad was actually a conspiracy by the US Government in the 70s to destroy Black America. The grapefruit juice really brings out the bitterness, while covering up the sweetness. It essentially just tastes like grapefruit juice undercut with the butane bitterness of the original T-bird. I will at least say this: it makes the Thunderbird more drinkable, speed-wise. I can take it down a lot faster, so it accelerates the "get drunk as fast as possible" motives behind Thunderbird. But look. Don't buy Thunderbird. Take it from me-- go for Mad Dog or Night Train first, there's no reason to crawl into the burning gullet of this.
This is also the worst buzz I've had from anything. It's not fun, it's not even sad. There's this throbbing anger running through my cortical lining and a really cold leaden nausea sitting on my diaphragm. It's not a fun drunk, just a sad one and pretty sick-feeling. This is the closest I've come to throwing up for this blog, and I'm not even that drunk.
TOM WAITS SONG THAT BEST EXEMPLIFIES MY CURRENT STATE OF DRUNKEN DERANGEMENT:
"Reeperbahn"
Hustling and Easterner
Bringing out the beast in her
A high dive on a swimming pool
Filled with needles and with fools
No comments:
Post a Comment