THE DIGITAL VIKING: EDSBS GUIDE TO SPICY LIVING, VOLUME 9
by Orson on Jul 10, 2009 2:48 PM EDT
44 comments
Your Patron Saint of Spicy Living: Oliver Reed.
Don't even bother searching Youtube for "Oliver Reed drunk." You don't have enough time in your day. Oliver Reed completes the Four Horseman of the Mid-20th Century Alcoholcalypse along with Richard Harris (who discovered Hawaiian tropical drinks and wandered into traffic punching cars,) Richard Burton (two bottles of vodka a day,) and Peter O'Toole, who only avoided making the atrocious movies the others made by staying in the bar even longer than the others did.
Reed was fond of rugby, fighting, arm wrestling, and had a tattoo of an eagle's claw on his genitals. A journalist once asked him if he drank 104 pints during his second bachelor party, to which he responded, "No, that was in Guernsey a few years ago." He outdrank Lee Marvin. He appeared constantly drunk on not one, but on a series of British talk shows toward the end of his life, including one where he performed "Wild Thing" with Ned's Atomic Dustbin. He realized he had a drinking problem where all of us realize these things: when he was lying prone on the baggage conveyor at Galway Airport. He vomited on Steve McQueen after a marathon bender in 1973. He was once pulled naked from a giant goldfish tank while ranting "You can't touch me! I'm one of the Four Musketeers!"
Whether his life was an accomplishment, a warning in the form of one long incredible bender, or something else entirely, we can't really say. But instead, let's just say that it certainly happened, and happened with great vigor. At the very least, stand back and gape in awe at it, especially when you consider the final salvo Reed fired over the bow of good sense in his death:
Reed died of a sudden heart attack[1] during a break from filming Gladiator in Valletta, Malta on 2 May 1999. He was 61 years old and was reported to be heavily intoxicated at the time of his death. Racking up an $866 alcohol bill, Reed had reportedly drunk three bottles of Captain Morgan's rum, eight bottles of beer and numerous doubles of Famous Grouse whisky. He also beat five much younger Royal Navy sailors at arm wrestling at a bar called "The Pub." (The owners have since added "Ollie's Last Pub" to the sign.
We salute you, Oliver Reed. If you hear something stumble, punch a wall, and laugh before vomiting, stumbling, and laughing again in a Wimbledon pub one day, it's him.
Drink.
Holly: Ommegeddon. Like any real patriot, I was hanging out at Green's on Ponce over the holiday weekend, and Doug threw this bottle in our basket because it had a mushroom cloud on it:
And despite being referrred to as "funkhouse ale" on the label, it turned out to be really good beer, America the beautiful, the end.
Orson: Cape Fear Punch. America, at one point in its increasingly awesome history, had to resort to pooling resources to get trashed. This was called punch, a drink so evil and subtly powerful it comes from the Hindi word "panch," meaning five. A name of such simplicity can only exist as testimony to how completely drunk someone can get guzzling tasty, sneakily strong booze from a bucket all night, since in the morning, all one could really do was open one bloodshot eye and answer the query "What happened to you?" with the words "RGHHHRGHGHHH FIVE HARKHHDGHHHH." Then, you'd have to go plow a field all day, or wander through excrement-filled streets where you could be killed by simply stepping on a rusty piece of metal. (Living now is awesome and do not forget it.)
Cape Fear Punch is the most face-melting of the punch family. Read the recipe if you dare: it involves no less than 4 whole bottles of various hooches thrown into a mixing bowl, though if you're real classy you'll just mix it up in a sink like we do. (Or better still, in a bright yellow janitor's bucket. Class is an aerosol that seeps from our pores like Axe Body Spray.)
Most punch recipes suggest you keep a sort of premixed refresher on hand so that you don't end up pouring straight booze into half booze, and that you serve this at a party for 20 people or so. We say you pour the booze right in and split between five or six people. You've never lived out the orgy scene from Caligula, anyway. (Hint: buy a mop.)
Comestibles.
Holly: All right, next offseason we're all taking a field trip to Dorset and throwing down at the world stinging nettle eating championships. What could possibly go wrong?
Not surprisingly, the rules are tight for this level of competitive nettle eating.
Only nettles provided by the organisers can be eaten, competitors are not allowed to bring their own, no mouth numbing substances are permitted - although a swig of beer in between mouthfuls is always encouraged.
And for spectators, it makes for a bemusing sight. Competitors have described their unusual bar meal as tasting like anything from "rancid salad with no dressing" to "a mixture of spinach and cow-pat".
(Oh, and it's attached to something called a "charity beer festival". Bangarang.)
Orson: The Chik-Fil-A sandwich. We don't live in America...yet. The more perfect union spoken of by our forefathers will not exist in full until each and every one of you can drive, walk, crawl, stagger, or autogyro down to a conveniently located Chik-Fil-A, order a number one, and open the sturdy white insulating bag of happiness to find this bundle of joy and two carefully nestled dill pickles staring back at you like a wide-eyed newborn:
There was a point in your youth when, as an elementary schooler living in an exurb, you'd get crackhead excited over the opening of a new restaurant. OMFG MOM!! IT'S AN ARBY'S!!! HAVE YOU HEARD?!?!? THEY SERVE SHAVED HORSEMEAT!!! I WANT SHAVED HORSEMEAT AND A DRY TURNOVER OR I'LL DIE?!?!?!?!?!!!! This is still how I react to the news of a Chick-Fil-A opening, even if it is in fact a huge Chick-Fil-A announcing the construction of a smaller, miniature Chick-Fil-A inside the larger Chick-Fil-A, or if they are in fact across the street from one another. The American flag should be flown upside down until each of you can enjoy this in your neighborhoods, where you can taste the only sandwich really worth holding a bus full of screaming, terrified children hostage over.
Combustibles.
Orson: Exploding hammers. Watch until the end. Once, in Las Vegas, we saw a guy lean out of a window and yell at a rowdy SUV limo full of insanely drunken men, "Y'all doin' it like a motherfucker! Like a real motherfucker, ya hear?"
The guy at the end is doing exploding sledgehammers, and he is indeed doing it like a motherfucker.
Holly: I don't know anything about this girl except that I want her to be my best friend. We can braid each other's hair and make necklaces out of shell casings.
Transit.
Holly: If James Bond had been not British but a German super-spy looking to help his nation shed its Nazi past by aligning with the West and halting the advance of the Soviet menace, Q would've assigned him a Mercedes-Benz 300SL, the fastest street-legal production car on the planet when it was introduced in 1954. The 300SL didn't have gullwing doors because they were cool or because Mercedes was crossing their fingers and hoping against hope it'd get included in a potential Michael J. Fox/Christopher Lloyd movie franchise 30 years later; the doors were needed to accommodate the structure of the car beneath, which was basically lifted intact from the Le Mans-winning W194 race car. The Gullwing could go from 0 to 60 in right around seven seconds and keep going past 150 miles per hour, and while it cost nearly $90,000 in 2009 dollars, that was just the price you'd have to pay if you wanted to impress the likes of Sophia Loren (who replaced her boring old luxury sedan with a Gullwing in 1955, not that she needed to look any sexier):
Keep your Maseratis and your Beemers: A 300SL driver is someone who appreciates the finer things in life, tips well, and exudes more cool sitting on the john than most of us do in our very best moments. And the valets always park his car right out front.
Transit:
Orson: Sing along! AMERICAAAA!!!
The only thing funnier than watching someone actually drive this would be watching someone drive it while attempting a drive-by flamethrower attack on a Rose Bowl float full of clowns, because fuck a clown. No technical specifics are listed in the description of the Burger Trike, but my keen automotive eye is pretty sure that looks like a vehicle capable of achieving speeds of up to eleven million miles an hour, give or take wind resistance.
Canon.
Holly: In 1963, Walt Disney ingested some weapons-grade hallucinogens and thought it might be a fine idea to construct a thatched hut full of robotic singing birds to terrify children with. The result was Disneyland's Enchanted Tiki Room. The Florida version has since undergone a series of unneeded upgrades, but down in Anaheim that's all it is to this day -- a cool dark room full of feathery animatronics that breathe, croon, and insult each other for ten minutes at a stretch. They're getting up there in years and for parts of the show you can barely hear the songs over the clacking of metal beaks, but it's all part of the Tiki Room's sinister, vaguely horrifying charm:
Canon: Caravaggio's Judith Beheading Holofernes.
The Sam Raimi of the 16th century, Caravaggio was fond of street-brawling and paintings they don't show you in Art class because Art class, for one reason or another, doesn't appreciate jets of blood quite like you do. The expressions here are what merit praise:
Holofernes: Um, this hurts.
Judith: Are you sure this is how it's done?
Old woman and beheading expert: Oh, yes. Cut on the diagonal and apply more pressure.
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I’m going to hijack this comments section for a moment and say that if you are in the mountain region (CO and WY), part of your spicy living for this weekend is switching to Altitude network RIGHT NOW. They’re rebroadcasting the ‘91 CU-Notre Dame Orange Bowl, and there’s so much 90’s football goodness it’s gonna make me pass out.
Lou Holtz, Rick Mirer, Eric Bieniemy, a verdant Bob Costas at halftime, and an up-and-coming young prospect of a sideline reporter named OJ Simpson? What more to start your viking weekend?
by Snowden on Jul 10, 2009 3:04 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
if you think cape fear punch is good, wait ’till you try a monkeyboy.
“Then, you’d have to go plow a field all day, or wander through excrement-filled streets where you could be killed by simply stepping on a rusty piece of metal.”
-this quote still applies in state college.
by jd on Jul 10, 2009 3:09 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
From Reed’s Wiki entry (which is outstanding):
“He was forced to leave the set of the Channel 4 television discussion programme After Dark after arriving drunk and attempting to kiss feminist writer Kate Millett, uttering the memorable phrase “give us a kiss, big tits”.
When material like this can’t be worked into an entro, you know you are dealing with a legend.
by BennyBeav on Jul 10, 2009 3:13 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Benny, there’s really way, way too much for any of the Four Horsemen of the Alcoholcalypse. It just goes on, and on, and on.
by Orson Swindle on Jul 10, 2009 3:16 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Ahh yes, good ole hunch punch! I went to a party in Athens where we made the hooch in a kitchen trashcan (just removed the bag, and viola hooch container!) and stirred it with a Mr. Microphone stand. Said stand later turned into a one inch diameter straw, ’cause fast consumption of ridiculously strong fruity drink is necessary. Woke up to many stained red, slices of fruit stuck to the ceiling throughout the apartment. My head throbs just thinking about it.
by skinnyphatman on Jul 10, 2009 3:19 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Is there a blood fountain in the Enchanted Tiki Room?
by ChasingMizzou on Jul 10, 2009 3:26 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Joust. Wow.
“In 1991, Reed appeared on the late-night Channel 4 discussion programme After Dark (popularly known as After Closing Time). The subject was violence, and Reed was determined not to disappoint.
“Drinking wine from a half-pint glass, he freely expressed his views on the subject, periodically falling off his chair before kissing a surprised feminist author and announcing “Right, I’m off to have a slash.”
“Channel 4 took the programme off the air after 20 minutes; when it returned, Reed terminated the discussion with the words: “Look, I’ll put my plonker on the table if you don’t give me a plate of mushy peas.” "
by jd4au on Jul 10, 2009 3:36 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
No discussion of Oliver Reed is complete without mention of his turn as KGB Agent Krokov in the 1981 classic “Condorman”
by Chips O'Toole on Jul 10, 2009 3:39 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
follow that intro pic from left to right and you’ll see the progression of a night of drinking acted out at some point in your life by someone you know.
Happy -> Fightin’ Mad -> Confused/Repentant
It’s like the Stations of the Cross, only with more club soda.
by CincySooner on Jul 10, 2009 3:40 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Drunk rugby afficianados, Chic-fil-A and a recipe recently featured on Good Eats?
It’s like my mind is being read.
by jakldawg on Jul 10, 2009 3:49 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Best characterization of Athos ever on film. Reed captured the role brilliantly (as did most on the 1973 version, Christopher Lee’s Rochefort is another perfect match). Part of this was due to the screenplay writer (and Flashman author, George MacDonald Fraser), the rest was the man himself. Only Reed could spar with both the bottle and Faye Dunnaway’s M’Lady in such a way that would make you believe they were once married.
By the way, are fictional characters allowed in the ‘The Guide’? If so, Harry Flashman should earn top billing one of these days.
Just sayin.
Sullivan013
by Sullivan013 on Jul 10, 2009 3:51 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
The more perfect union spoken of by our forefathers will not exist in full until each and every one of you can drive, walk, crawl, stagger, or autogyro down to a conveniently located Chik-Fil-A (and) order a number one ,
except on Sundays dammit!!
No matter how bad your hangover is, you can always make it worse by remembering that chick-fil-a is off the recovery menu all day sunday.
by CincySooner on Jul 10, 2009 3:52 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Look, I love me some Chick-Fil-A. I love it real hard. And one of my wife and I’s biggest fears about our eventual move up north is that we will settle in an area that doesn’t have one. (I may or may not have stopped job hunting in a certain area a couple years ago simply because there was no Chick-Fil-A within an hour’s drive.)
But let’s be clear on one thing. Pickles suck.
by JD on Jul 10, 2009 3:54 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Stirling Moss drove the open version of the 300SL for the win in the 1955 Mille Miglia – 992 miles in just over 10 hours, which was never beaten – in fact he raised the average speed record by something like 10 miles an hour – and he was cranking amphetamines while doing it.
It’s no Olly Reed, I grant you, but it’s spicy enough to be getting on with.
by dc trojan on Jul 10, 2009 4:00 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Green’s? You mean Disney World for Alcoholics?
by BurritoBrosShits on Jul 10, 2009 4:06 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Ya gotta love Walt’s pre PC take on different ethnicities, they’ve definetly helped to shape my world view. I was just waiting for Jose to squawck out “Eeeet’s not my yob.” right before the Irish parrot fell off his perch onto a potato, drunkenly swearing about Ty Willingham.
I will say he showed great restraint in not having Pierre surrender to Fritz, especially since if the rumors of Walt’s sympathies are true, Fritz would have been the master breed.
But to be fair, he did inflict “It’s a Small World” on us….. or wait a minute…….was that just an insidious plot to turn us against multi-culturalism. Because if hacky 80’s comedians taught us anything – that shit is annoying
by ben hill gryphon on Jul 10, 2009 4:07 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
1
OJ Simpson sez that Holofernes had it coming from Judith. And mentioned she has good form, too.
by yoyofutbawl on Jul 10, 2009 4:10 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Just a heads up, when driving your 300SL, it doesn’t matter what speed you drive, you will not achieve lift by opening the gullwing doors. I have seen more than one of these beauties sans doors.
by Ruck'em Horns on Jul 10, 2009 4:10 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Sullivan013 @ #12…I agree that Bloody Lance should be given an opportunity to shine, however I fear that since his exploits exist only in print and our psyches that those who haven’t read Fraser will not get the rich tapestry of a life that should have been lived…
Oh well…off to Telluride for a little spicy living of my own…high altitude makes the effects of a fine martini all the more impressive…
by sb on Jul 10, 2009 4:14 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
@12
Always great to see a reference to the Hero of Gandamack. I gave a shout out to him a few weeks ago in another Digital Viking volume. And I agree, he lived the spiciest (albeit fictional) of lives
by ben hill gryphon on Jul 10, 2009 4:16 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Who’s the proto-Clooney on his right?
by CockofAges on Jul 10, 2009 4:17 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Caravaggio stabbed a guy in the nuts (he died) and had to flee Rome. He also used prostitutes (male and female) to model as his Virgin Mary and Jesus. Wonderful. William S. Burroughs talked the talk but Michelangelo Caravaggio walked the walk!
by EastHoustonpondwater on Jul 10, 2009 4:28 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Don’t I feel like white trash for making my punch in a Gatorade container. Now I find out how a gentleman mixes large amounts of alchohol. Thanks Orson.
by John on Jul 10, 2009 4:47 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Chick-Fil-A is proof that Baptists are useful for something.
by cowtown on Jul 10, 2009 5:00 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
is Chick-fil-a owned by mormons? That’s the only worthless shit out in this heathen town that’s closed on Sundays.
Not that I give a rats ass about going to RC WIlley’s on a Sunday. Golden Spoon can eat a bowl of hot dicks, too. I’ll take my Ben and Jerry’s frozen lard over their soft serve margarine any day.
by vegas_buckeye on Jul 10, 2009 5:03 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
@ 17- I have no idea what you’re talking about.
by JimHalpert on Jul 10, 2009 5:10 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Shadows and dust Mr. Reed………..shadows and dust
by macker on Jul 10, 2009 5:44 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
“a flamethrower attack on a Rose Bowl float full of clowns”
someone needs to make that happen.
by Flatlander on Jul 10, 2009 6:04 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
@27
Oddly enough, there is footage of a Nick Saban recruiting visit in the same movie
by ben hill gryphon on Jul 10, 2009 6:13 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Here’s a meta-comment:
Orson & Holly, you done good with this one. 30 comments, and not one yet about the blond/rifle/explosion vignette
by Sean Glennon's Jersey on Jul 10, 2009 6:32 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
26- Chick-fil-a was founded by Truet Cathay, a lifelong Baptist. There are plenty of family owned businesses in small towns across the South closed on Sundays, but Chick-fil-a is the only one to franchise it.
by chg on Jul 10, 2009 9:04 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
That chick with the gun is like a redneck Fiona Glenanne, but much less skanky.
Many a Sunday I have wished burning hell on S. Truett Cathey for being such a religious freak.
by Raider Red on Jul 10, 2009 10:26 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
“But Reed’s screen career often seemed like a mere rehearsal for the more important business of hell-raising in real life. He once summarised his career as "shafting the girlies and downing the sherbie’.’ A prodigious drinker, he spent much of his later life being escorted from various pubs and hotels after initiating what he regarded as “tests of strength”."
Other than the reference to “screen career,” this sounds like a description of the goings-on at the Florida-Georgia game.
by Floridan on Jul 10, 2009 11:14 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
I see someone’s an Alton Brown fan, or viewer at least.
It’s ok, Orson, you’re slowing acclimating to the proximity of NATS.
Next, you’re going to try and build his “safe” turkey fry rig and bacon smoker.
by Techie on Jul 10, 2009 11:34 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Picked up some Ommegang during a tour of their brewery just outside Cooperstown, NY—definitely worth the trip while visiting the baseball HOF. That stuff is STRONG. I drank a decent amount like I would regular brew and ended up with the Devil’s own hangover the next day. This stuff is for pros. Hunch punch/party punch? That’s strictly amateur hour.
by Farsider on Jul 11, 2009 12:03 AM EDT reply actions 0 recs
That poor animatronic bird…yet another performer who’s act has been stolen by Carlos Mencia.
by Emotional Fescue on Jul 11, 2009 9:47 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
Chick-fil-A…. Feh – call me when they are open on Hangoverd-, I mean Sunday…
by Cock D on Jul 12, 2009 12:04 AM EDT reply actions 0 recs
What a great photograph up there. I also like the Raimi-Caravaggio analogy.
by sitting pugs on Jul 12, 2009 1:46 AM EDT reply actions 0 recs
The Sweetwater Dank Tank Donkey Punch Barleywine Ale I scored from Green’s this Wednesday is the best new beer I’ve had in years. Huzzah!
by Nick Black on Jul 12, 2009 2:20 AM EDT reply actions 0 recs
I’m pretty sure the car that blond is bracing herself on has an Alabama tag, starting with the number 64.
by Kecalf Bailey on Jul 12, 2009 8:00 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
I have heard of this wonderous thing called Chick-fil-A…and I wonder why Idaho doesn’t break the ice by getting one.
by idahobuckeye on Jul 13, 2009 2:28 AM EDT reply actions 0 recs
“Reed’s notoriety increased yet further in 1985 when he married Jospehine Burge; she was then 21, but had been his companion since she was a 16-year old schoolgirl. At his stag party, which lasted two days, Reed claimed to have downed 136 pints of beer. But to the surprise of many, the marriage proved a success, although in 1986 Reed was forced to dig up nine acres of his back garden after forgetting where he had buried his wife’s jewellery when drunk. "
by Jack on Jul 14, 2009 3:23 PM EDT reply actions 0 recs
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