You Know Who You Are

This ones for you fun lovin', bad boyz and girlz. For the rest of you folks, there's nothing to see here, move along.

Modern Drunkard Magazine Online

 

Very nice! Dare I ask how you stumbled across this?

 

It's not too late. You can be saved.

Landover Baptist | Where the Worthwhile Worship. Unsaved Unwelcome.

 

Now that is dedication to a hobby!

 

Move along sir, there is nothing here to see, please move along.

 

Please move along too sir, there is nothing here for you to look at, please move along

 

Frickin hilarious

 

It was a generous gift of information from my beloved Tucson, Arizona Posse Members. You're only as good as the people you have around you and I'm lucky to have the best :biggrin:

 

If the ocean was whiskey and I was a duck, I'd swim to the bottom and never come up...

 

:thumbsup:

 

Classic ,almost as if a bunch of us lushes created this!!!

 

birds of a feather

Is it five o clock yet?

 

Not even a little teenie weenie bit of satire? FYI, Landover Baptist has chosen the VFR as it's official motorcycle. Praise the Lord.

 

...but the ocean ain't whisky and I ain't no duck,
So if a tree don't fall on me I'll live till I die.

Most famous version by Tex Ritter father of actor John Ritter RIP..

 

Great song! I heard it as 'river' though

Cool website too.

 

Maybe your mind was taken by the whisky river.. LOL

Blessings from Sister Taffy.

 

It is ALWAYS five o'clock SOMEWHERE. And that's generally good enough for me!!:tongue:

 

4:30 now..........close enough!!!!

 

Zima

Zima BottleZima
The Monster That Would Not Die
1993-2008 Coors Brewing Co.

The Name: Zima means “winter” in a number of Slavic tongues.

The Concept: The marketing boys at Coors were certain they had a sure-fire winner on their hands when they unleashed Zima in 1993. It capitalized on not one, but two existing fads: the new “clear beverage craze” (remember Crystal Pepsi?) and the lingering wine-cooler rage. The fact that both fads were plainly diabolical didn’t bother them a hair; there was a great deal of coin to be made and whoever jumped in first would seize the high ground.

Their formula was simple: subtract taste and color from beer and add a vaguely citrus flavor. The 4.7% alcohol content, more than your average macrobrew, would surely put a stop in the gobs of those tiresome beerphiles thinking about calling it a sissy drink. Which was important because men of legal drinking age, the holy grail of the alcohol industry, were the primary target.

The Rise: Coors gambled a $50 million advertising budget and it paid off, at least initially. Despite the best efforts of their TV pitchman, a distinctly annoying gentleman with the disturbing tic of trading his Ss for Zs, a shocking 70% (according to Coors) of the American drinking public gave it a whirl. Coors moved a respectable 1.2 million barrels in the first year. Then things began to unravel.

The flaw in their formula was their focus. They spent their millions targeting a mythical demographic: legal-age males who hated the taste of beer, a group I imagine could be comfortably seated in an average high-school football stadium. After their shameful experimentation 0f ‘94, America’s males reconsidered the boundaries of their collective masculinity and sales of Zima fell off 60% the following year.

To nobody’s surprise, except perhaps for the boys in Coors' marketing department, surveys began to reveal Zima’s true demographic: women and those who the alcohol industry likes to call “pre-legal consumers.”

It goes without saying that Coors was accused by the usual shrill gang of scolds as engaging in a cynical campaign targeting teenagers. Their proof? Teenagers were drinking it. Their logic being: if teenagers are doing something, then adults must be telling them to do it. Which, speaking as a former teenager myself, makes very little sense. Zima was also demonized as a gateway drink, a devilishly gentle ramp between angelic soda and sinister beer.

But like a rudely spurned yet insanely delusional groupie, Coors wasn’t ready to give up on full-grown men just yet. After the fall-off, Coors riposted with Zima Gold, which they swore, with a straight face, offered “a taste of bourbon.” Guys weren’t buying it, in both senses of the term, and it vanished within a year. Coors would doggedly try again with a pumped-up 5.9% Zima XXX (It’s exxxtremely exxxcellent!), but it also failed to gain a foothold with the boys.

The Fall: By so aggressively courting men, Coors gave them sole mandate to lay down judgment. And lay it down they did. With a healthy shove from David Letterman, who made zinging Zima a national pastime, the clear malt leapt into the American lexicon as a reflective term of ridicule and shame. A gentleman’s masculinity was no longer assailed with claims of milk sopping or tea sipping, no, those alleged zissies were zwilling Zima. Behind closed doors, of course. Zima allowed even light beer drinkers to feel macho and superior, which was a long, slow train coming.

Had Coors pitched more to women, men would have shrugged off Zima as a “chick thing” and would not have lambasted it so savagely — when was the last time you heard a guy get worked up about the relative quality of a particular brand of purse?
Despite almost universal derision by the public in general and the drinking press in particular (see Real Drunks Don’t Drink Zima MDM Nov. ‘96), Zima managed to gimp along for an astonishing 15 years. Like a scrappy poodle, it chased off a slew of imitators (including Stroh’s Clash and Miller’s Qube) before upstart Smirnoff Ice grabbed the lion’s share of the malternative turf in the early 2000s. Zima was mercifully put down in October 2008.

Zima PitchmanAvailability: Since its demise was recent, you can probably get as much as you want at a good price. Just don’t tell your friends.

Trivia: Zima’s sales were helped along by an urban myth suggesting that a Zima swill-down wouldn’t register on a Breathalyzer. It should also be noted that the Zima pitchman set back the long-prophesied resurrection of the fedora by at least 50 years.