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A Year Under The Influence

A recipe book for disaster

Ladies, gentlemen and shareholders, after taking a Year Under Review, we can proudly say that the state of our livers is STRONG!
Thanks  to our innovative outside of the glass approach to drinking, 2011 was a  banner year for Influence Labs Inc. What started as a slush fund for  some of our more gin-soaked board members has become a tax dodge  near and dear to all of our hearts. We pioneered many new techniques  and excuses for your continued inebriation. We tested the limits of the  blood-alcohol level. We struck a powerful blow against the stigma of  the functioning alcoholic stereotype. We made it socially acceptable to  wake up on an unfamiliar floor covered in what is assumed  to be your own urine. And while we never actually found a cure for the  hangovers and blackouts, the parts of the night you did remember were the best of your  life.
We successfully achieved our goal of inventing, testing and  marketing a new and exciting concoction every week for an entire year. The  research was grueling. There were sleepless nights spent in the lab and  mornings after spent catching up on that sleep. There were hours spent  forcing drinks on test groups. There were lengthy debates spanning such  far-reaching and high-minded topics as which US President drank the most  during his term and what was the best TGIF lineup. But through it  all, we stayed resolute, remembering that no hour we were wasted was an hour wasted.
Our proudest achievements include a 25% increase in public  drunkenness; 13% drop in boredom; a 310% increase in perceived  popularity with bartenders and a staggering 533.574% rise in the use of  arbitrary statistical data to prove meaningless points. The effects of  our work have also been felt at the highest levels of government. Many  states have instituted more stringent blue laws to keep us from  poisoning the nation’s youths and wells. There is even some talk of  re-instituting prohibition with the much reviled De-21st/Re-18th/now-28thed Amendment.
Since many of you probably cannot recall what happened for most of the  year, we’ve created a drink that conveniently sums up this entire Year  Under The Influence in one “easy to swallow” drink. Many of our  detractors claim we spent 2011 taking a roundabout path to the world’s  most disgusting Whiskey and Soda. The Year Under Review proves so much  more goes into a quality year-long bender. We’ve crunched the numbers and found  that a surprising amount of vodka and gin also go into making a good  year. We drank a lot cinnamon and cayenne pepper too.
If only we knew then what we know now. Or is that the other way around? Either way, I think we’ve all earned this  one last nightcap of the year. Let’s sleep this year off, meet for  breakfast around 3pm and start fresh in whatever year we happen  to wake up.
Party Tip: If you’re only going to drink once this Year Under Review, make it a double.
Eye-Witness Accounts: 
Brian: “For 2012, my liver is planning a hostile takeover of Anheuser-Busch.”
Matt: “What do you mean the calendar starts over again?!”

Ladies, gentlemen and shareholders, after taking a Year Under Review, we can proudly say that the state of our livers is STRONG!

Thanks to our innovative outside of the glass approach to drinking, 2011 was a banner year for Influence Labs Inc. What started as a slush fund for some of our more gin-soaked board members has become a tax dodge near and dear to all of our hearts. We pioneered many new techniques and excuses for your continued inebriation. We tested the limits of the blood-alcohol level. We struck a powerful blow against the stigma of the functioning alcoholic stereotype. We made it socially acceptable to wake up on an unfamiliar floor covered in what is assumed to be your own urine. And while we never actually found a cure for the hangovers and blackouts, the parts of the night you did remember were the best of your life.

We successfully achieved our goal of inventing, testing and marketing a new and exciting concoction every week for an entire year. The research was grueling. There were sleepless nights spent in the lab and mornings after spent catching up on that sleep. There were hours spent forcing drinks on test groups. There were lengthy debates spanning such far-reaching and high-minded topics as which US President drank the most during his term and what was the best TGIF lineup. But through it all, we stayed resolute, remembering that no hour we were wasted was an hour wasted.

Our proudest achievements include a 25% increase in public drunkenness; 13% drop in boredom; a 310% increase in perceived popularity with bartenders and a staggering 533.574% rise in the use of arbitrary statistical data to prove meaningless points. The effects of our work have also been felt at the highest levels of government. Many states have instituted more stringent blue laws to keep us from poisoning the nation’s youths and wells. There is even some talk of re-instituting prohibition with the much reviled De-21st/Re-18th/now-28thed Amendment.

Since many of you probably cannot recall what happened for most of the year, we’ve created a drink that conveniently sums up this entire Year Under The Influence in one “easy to swallow” drink. Many of our detractors claim we spent 2011 taking a roundabout path to the world’s most disgusting Whiskey and Soda. The Year Under Review proves so much more goes into a quality year-long bender. We’ve crunched the numbers and found that a surprising amount of vodka and gin also go into making a good year. We drank a lot cinnamon and cayenne pepper too.

If only we knew then what we know now. Or is that the other way around? Either way, I think we’ve all earned this one last nightcap of the year. Let’s sleep this year off, meet for breakfast around 3pm and start fresh in whatever year we happen to wake up.

Party Tip: If you’re only going to drink once this Year Under Review, make it a double.

Eye-Witness Accounts: 

Brian: “For 2012, my liver is planning a hostile takeover of Anheuser-Busch.”

Matt: “What do you mean the calendar starts over again?!”

Year-Under-Review.jpg

Behind every jolly fat man is a Santa’s Little Helper.What do you call the guy that works the overnight shift on a holiday? A working stiff. A hardcore, blue collar slob. And working overnight on Christmas is as hard-collared slobby as it gets. Only the truly dedicated or completely disadvantaged take that shift. And the worst of the worst is the delivery route on Christmas night. For that work, there’s one man whose collar is so blue, it’s red. That man is Santa.
While everyone else is sleeping and dreaming of presents, Santa is clocking in and making those dreams come true on time and under budget. But the Christmas game is tough, tedious work. Tight chimneys, overzealous guard dogs, caffeinated children and Dutch Reindeer Disease all take their toll. So Santa needs a little more than holiday pay and stress eating to get him through the silent night. Something to keep him awake. Something to take the edge off. Something to help him forget about that other bearded guy that’s always taking credit for his holiday. Not to mention all of those big box stores that undercut Santa’s sweetheart distribution deals with top toy manufacturers. That’s why he never jumps into the sleigh without his trusty Thermos of Santa’s Little Helper. It’s got everything the bottom of the 99% pile needs: coffee, milk and cookies and Jack Daniels.You see, beneath Santa’s red suit is a stained wife beater and some prison ink of Mrs. Claus on his chest. And beneath that wife beater pumps a heart deadened by decades of ungrateful children and meddling parents. You know what, kids? Santa knows you needed those socks and underwear. Your old socks stank like Rudolph’s reindeer pen after taco night. He doesn’t like giving those anymore than you like getting them. But it’s his job to act jolly about it and you should too. And mom and dad? Santa knows all. The list is made. Just cause you don’t want to deal with a week of the little brat’s crying doesn’t mean you can send Santa a $100 “suggestion” for a stocking stuffed with anything other than coal. The kids are earning what they get, and you’re getting what you’ve payed for it. Remember, minor infractions are $100 per offense to forget, major infractions are $500. It’s Santa’s job on the line everytime he “conveniently forgets” things for you, so you better make sure him and Mrs. Claus will be taken care of if he goes down. Those are just the in’s and out’s of the job, though. The real worry are the kids that think they can catch Santa. Happens once or twice every year. Nets, ropes, cages, tranquilizer darts, tiger pits, Santa’s seen ‘em all. One of these days, Santa’s gonna exercise his God-given right to bring guns to the workplace and fix the problem at its source. But not yet. Not while the Jack Daniels is still doing the trick and evening him out. But it will happen someday unless OSHA finally gets their act together and enforces some kind of merriment and good will regulation. We’re all in this together people. One little pinhead can ruin Christmas for the whole world unless we all work together. Besides, the economy is riding on it. Now have a Santa’s Little Helper for yourself. Merry Christmas!Party Tip: If you do manage to catch a Santa, be sure to follow all Catch and Release Policies to preserve and protect the wild Santa population.Eye-Witness Accounts:Matt: “I saw Mommy kicking Santa Claus out of the house for making a pass at her.”Brian: “Wait. Jack Daniels, cookies, AND that awesome red uniform?! Santa might be the luckiest guy I know.”

Behind every jolly fat man is a Santa’s Little Helper.

What do you call the guy that works the overnight shift on a holiday? A working stiff. A hardcore, blue collar slob. And working overnight on Christmas is as hard-collared slobby as it gets. Only the truly dedicated or completely disadvantaged take that shift. And the worst of the worst is the delivery route on Christmas night. For that work, there’s one man whose collar is so blue, it’s red. That man is Santa.

While everyone else is sleeping and dreaming of presents, Santa is clocking in and making those dreams come true on time and under budget. But the Christmas game is tough, tedious work. Tight chimneys, overzealous guard dogs, caffeinated children and Dutch Reindeer Disease all take their toll. So Santa needs a little more than holiday pay and stress eating to get him through the silent night. Something to keep him awake. Something to take the edge off. Something to help him forget about that other bearded guy that’s always taking credit for his holiday. Not to mention all of those big box stores that undercut Santa’s sweetheart distribution deals with top toy manufacturers. That’s why he never jumps into the sleigh without his trusty Thermos of Santa’s Little Helper. It’s got everything the bottom of the 99% pile needs: coffee, milk and cookies and Jack Daniels.

You see, beneath Santa’s red suit is a stained wife beater and some prison ink of Mrs. Claus on his chest. And beneath that wife beater pumps a heart deadened by decades of ungrateful children and meddling parents. You know what, kids? Santa knows you needed those socks and underwear. Your old socks stank like Rudolph’s reindeer pen after taco night. He doesn’t like giving those anymore than you like getting them. But it’s his job to act jolly about it and you should too. And mom and dad? Santa knows all. The list is made. Just cause you don’t want to deal with a week of the little brat’s crying doesn’t mean you can send Santa a $100 “suggestion” for a stocking stuffed with anything other than coal. The kids are earning what they get, and you’re getting what you’ve payed for it. Remember, minor infractions are $100 per offense to forget, major infractions are $500. It’s Santa’s job on the line everytime he “conveniently forgets” things for you, so you better make sure him and Mrs. Claus will be taken care of if he goes down.

Those are just the in’s and out’s of the job, though. The real worry are the kids that think they can catch Santa. Happens once or twice every year. Nets, ropes, cages, tranquilizer darts, tiger pits, Santa’s seen ‘em all. One of these days, Santa’s gonna exercise his God-given right to bring guns to the workplace and fix the problem at its source. But not yet. Not while the Jack Daniels is still doing the trick and evening him out. But it will happen someday unless OSHA finally gets their act together and enforces some kind of merriment and good will regulation. We’re all in this together people. One little pinhead can ruin Christmas for the whole world unless we all work together. Besides, the economy is riding on it. Now have a Santa’s Little Helper for yourself. Merry Christmas!

Party Tip: If you do manage to catch a Santa, be sure to follow all Catch and Release Policies to preserve and protect the wild Santa population.

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Matt: “I saw Mommy kicking Santa Claus out of the house for making a pass at her.”

Brian: “Wait. Jack Daniels, cookies, AND that awesome red uniform?! Santa might be the luckiest guy I know.”

11-51-Santas-Little-Helper

“Yule Nog is a drink made for gingerbread men, by gingerbread men, of gingerbread men.”
Do  you suffer from a chronic lack of the holly jollies? Does Jack Frost  rarely nip at your nose? Have you always considered Ebenezer Scrooge to  be a misunderstood anti-hero? Don’t worry, the holiday spirit doesn’t come naturally  to everyone. The stress of competitive gift giving, incessant holiday  music and forced conversations with relatives can distract anyone from  finding the true meaning of Christmas.
Luckily, Influence Labs is here to help. We understand that  Christmas’ bizarre combination of Pagan tree rituals, magic barnyard  babies, and a morbidly obese, clinically selfless home invader can  confuse even the savviest of shoppers. This year, in an effort to combat the epidemic of humbugs, our  candy-paid, under-height achieving man-child  labor force tirelessly cobbled together a synthetic formula of Christmas Cheer. It’s a cure for any lingering doubts about the most wonderful  time of  the year. Now, after extensive testing and several cases of diabetes in  lab  reindeer, we are proud to begin human trials!
The breakthrough formula in Yule Nog is a tidal wave of good  tidings.  Our Holiday Sweater/Anger Correlation Survey (or H-SACS in industry  terms) revealed that after centuries of over-indulgence, the human body  now metabolizes egg nog  too efficiently. So we’ve created a new high octane version containing  equal parts nog,  brandy and dark rum. This high-spirited spirit is then chilled in it’s new home: a cup made of gingerbread house parts held together by double rich icing and festive candies. One sip will definitely give you  visions but our litigation team advises us to not guarantee they will be  of dancing sugar plums.
Oddly, the lawyers will allows us to guarantee that Yule Nog will  carry you through the holiday season without any weird religious side  effects. Drink one at your office party and  you won’t ruin Secret Santa! Drink one at the mall and maybe you won’t  make children  cry for waiting in line to talk to a fat red lie! Drink one Christmas  morning and you’ll never be called “Jewish” again!
This year, you’ll be screaming season’s greetings from the rooftops  until that look of childlike wonder is frozen on your face. And isn’t  that what Christmas is all about? Isn’t it?
Party Tip: The resulting sugar crash might cause you to miss a considerable part of the new year. Plan accordingly.
Eye-witness Accounts:
Brian: “Whenever I’m snowed in, I make sure to get plowed.”
Matt: “Maybe now’s the year to finally start that Hess Truck Collection I’ve been talking about.”

Yule Nog is a drink made for gingerbread men, by gingerbread men, of gingerbread men.”

Do you suffer from a chronic lack of the holly jollies? Does Jack Frost rarely nip at your nose? Have you always considered Ebenezer Scrooge to be a misunderstood anti-hero? Don’t worry, the holiday spirit doesn’t come naturally to everyone. The stress of competitive gift giving, incessant holiday music and forced conversations with relatives can distract anyone from finding the true meaning of Christmas.

Luckily, Influence Labs is here to help. We understand that Christmas’ bizarre combination of Pagan tree rituals, magic barnyard babies, and a morbidly obese, clinically selfless home invader can confuse even the savviest of shoppers. This year, in an effort to combat the epidemic of humbugs, our candy-paid, under-height achieving man-child labor force tirelessly cobbled together a synthetic formula of Christmas Cheer. It’s a cure for any lingering doubts about the most wonderful time of the year. Now, after extensive testing and several cases of diabetes in lab reindeer, we are proud to begin human trials!

The breakthrough formula in Yule Nog is a tidal wave of good tidings. Our Holiday Sweater/Anger Correlation Survey (or H-SACS in industry terms) revealed that after centuries of over-indulgence, the human body now metabolizes egg nog too efficiently. So we’ve created a new high octane version containing equal parts nog, brandy and dark rum. This high-spirited spirit is then chilled in it’s new home: a cup made of gingerbread house parts held together by double rich icing and festive candies. One sip will definitely give you visions but our litigation team advises us to not guarantee they will be of dancing sugar plums.

Oddly, the lawyers will allows us to guarantee that Yule Nog will carry you through the holiday season without any weird religious side effects. Drink one at your office party and you won’t ruin Secret Santa! Drink one at the mall and maybe you won’t make children cry for waiting in line to talk to a fat red lie! Drink one Christmas morning and you’ll never be called “Jewish” again!

This year, you’ll be screaming season’s greetings from the rooftops until that look of childlike wonder is frozen on your face. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Isn’t it?

Party Tip: The resulting sugar crash might cause you to miss a considerable part of the new year. Plan accordingly.

Eye-witness Accounts:

Brian: “Whenever I’m snowed in, I make sure to get plowed.”

Matt: “Maybe now’s the year to finally start that Hess Truck Collection I’ve been talking about.”

11-50-Yule-Nog

There is a vacuum from which no memory can escape. We have contained it  in this mug, and the scientists have named it the Event Horizon.
The bar - the only frontier. We’re beyond it now, having drifted  past  the Big Buck Hunter machine and that old guy that always brings his own  beer nuts. It is all a distant point of light, no brighter than a  candle, and  the only thing we can hear is the jukebox repeating A-Ha, Europe, and  Toto. We’ve said our goodbyes to friends and families. We won’t be seeing  them again until they find us crashed out on the front lawn in the morning. Ignore the images of our past lives, the clocks, the bartender checking  with a mirror to see if we’re still breathing, they are mirages of a  long time ago in a galaxy far out past the parking lot. They’ll haunt us  if we let them, so we must push on. We can’t abort now, we  must boldly venture further to where no man has gone before he blacked out.
We fuel up the second stage. The coffee keeps our hearts warm  while the Vodka, Whiskey and Kahlua kick in the after burner. Pint  glasses look like shot glasses from up here. We can see  that Einstein was right, time is slowing down as we approach the alcohol  singularity. Now, we’re on the edge of forever. We’re Peary and Henson, discovering the North Pole of the universe. We’re Magellan before his  ill-fated Singles Mingle party in the Philippines. We’re Uncle  Waylon, on  the verge of discovering the The Uncle Waylon (Influence 11-11). We’re the discoverers  of  the undiscovered country, we’re playing amongst the cosmic strings of theory, we’re  that cool guitar break in David Bowie’s Space Oddity. We are surrounded by white dwarves and red  giants and there is no  coming back.
But we need more fuel. HAL, make us more drinks. Two, we’d like two  more drinks. HAL, we said TWO. Look, don’t argue with us, HAL. We’ve  come too far to let you and your stupid vest stop us. No, you CAN’T cut  us off, HAL. Here, give us the bottles and we’ll make them ourselves.  What do you mean, “you’re afraid you can’t let us do that?!” What does  that mean?! And now you want to call the  cops?! HAL, you idiot. We’re in deep space. There aren’t any  cops here. We’re the only humans for light-years around. We are the  kings of this sector. We are the Lords of space-time and we no longer  have to answer to you with your hipster mustache and ironic love of  eighties synth-pop. We are beyond your comprehension, HAL. That’s why  you hate us, cause you’re jealous we attained oneness with the universe. Fine, try to call the cops, HAL.  We’re just gonna lay down on top of this outer space bar and wait for  them. We’ll see who’s right, but when they don’t show up, you owe us  another drink.
Party tip: Works best when made with gravity-well liquor.
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Matt: “I always get a headache from reentry.”
Brian: “Ugh…  when we were out last night, I think a pulsar went up my nose.”

There is a vacuum from which no memory can escape. We have contained it in this mug, and the scientists have named it the Event Horizon.

The bar - the only frontier. We’re beyond it now, having drifted past the Big Buck Hunter machine and that old guy that always brings his own beer nuts. It is all a distant point of light, no brighter than a candle, and the only thing we can hear is the jukebox repeating A-Ha, Europe, and Toto. We’ve said our goodbyes to friends and families. We won’t be seeing them again until they find us crashed out on the front lawn in the morning. Ignore the images of our past lives, the clocks, the bartender checking with a mirror to see if we’re still breathing, they are mirages of a long time ago in a galaxy far out past the parking lot. They’ll haunt us if we let them, so we must push on. We can’t abort now, we must boldly venture further to where no man has gone before he blacked out.

We fuel up the second stage. The coffee keeps our hearts warm while the Vodka, Whiskey and Kahlua kick in the after burner. Pint glasses look like shot glasses from up here. We can see that Einstein was right, time is slowing down as we approach the alcohol singularity. Now, we’re on the edge of forever. We’re Peary and Henson, discovering the North Pole of the universe. We’re Magellan before his ill-fated Singles Mingle party in the Philippines. We’re Uncle Waylon, on the verge of discovering the The Uncle Waylon (Influence 11-11). We’re the discoverers of the undiscovered country, we’re playing amongst the cosmic strings of theory, we’re that cool guitar break in David Bowie’s Space Oddity. We are surrounded by white dwarves and red giants and there is no coming back.

But we need more fuel. HAL, make us more drinks. Two, we’d like two more drinks. HAL, we said TWO. Look, don’t argue with us, HAL. We’ve come too far to let you and your stupid vest stop us. No, you CAN’T cut us off, HAL. Here, give us the bottles and we’ll make them ourselves. What do you mean, “you’re afraid you can’t let us do that?!” What does that mean?! And now you want to call the cops?! HAL, you idiot. We’re in deep space. There aren’t any cops here. We’re the only humans for light-years around. We are the kings of this sector. We are the Lords of space-time and we no longer have to answer to you with your hipster mustache and ironic love of eighties synth-pop. We are beyond your comprehension, HAL. That’s why you hate us, cause you’re jealous we attained oneness with the universe. Fine, try to call the cops, HAL. We’re just gonna lay down on top of this outer space bar and wait for them. We’ll see who’s right, but when they don’t show up, you owe us another drink.

Party tip: Works best when made with gravity-well liquor.

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Matt: “I always get a headache from reentry.”

Brian: “Ugh… when we were out last night, I think a pulsar went up my nose.”

11-49-Event-Horizon

Don’t put your money where your mouth is, put a 3AM Diner Dare there instead!
Idiot stunts and drinking go together like coleslaw and Skittles: they only make sense together at three in the morning. You’ve already made enough drunken mistakes tonight so what’s one more between friends? How else are you going to prove to everyone that you’re the coolest person in this diner? We all know it’s between you and that guy at the counter with the mutton chops and the members only jacket, but I don’t want to see him walk away with the trophy. Especially after I got us thrown out of the last bar while stealing a beer tap to make it, I want it to live over your fireplace. This is your game to lose, chum. This is your destiny.
The 3AM Diner Dare was painstakingly designed to prove you are cool. Each ingredient I have dropped into this ketchup bottle is a badge of honor you can add to that sash you’re contractually obligated to wear from our last dare. Do you think I stole these tiny bottles of whiskey from the hotel minibar for fun? No. I did it for you. Sure, now you’ve been banned from that hotel chain but realistically how often do you sleep? Do you think I spent twenty minutes at that other table hitting on those drunk girls for my health? No. I needed to steal some of their sugar packets. Remember when I went up to them and asked if I could get some sugar? We all laughed. Remember? Do you want to stop the laughter now? No? Then give me some of your gravy and let’s make history.
Convincing friends to do insane, possibly dangerous things while drunk is one of humanity’s oldest traditions. Some “historians” refer to it as the Oldest Tradition, and we can’t let that tradition die. You’re not only doing this for us. You’re doing it for drunk people everywhere that don’t have the opportunity to live life to it’s fullest like we do. Right now, there are kids passing out in a basement in some sleepy midwestern town that can only dream of a place that will make them triple cheesy cheese fries at this ungodly hour. You have a responsibility to them to let me mix some of that quickly congealing goop into this drink too.
This is the perfect night cap (or endgame) for our evening of escalation. Look at it this way: At least you get to drink out of a bottle for once. Now sit back, relax and suppress your gag reflex.
Party Tip: Pairs well with the phrase “If I die, I’m going to kill you.”
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Brian: “Reports of 4am diner deaths have been blown grossly out of proportion and have barely anything to do with the 3AM Diner Dare.”
Matt: “To sweeten the pot, I got the waitress to give me her phone number and this bendy straw. Which one do you want?”

Don’t put your money where your mouth is, put a 3AM Diner Dare there instead!

Idiot stunts and drinking go together like coleslaw and Skittles: they only make sense together at three in the morning. You’ve already made enough drunken mistakes tonight so what’s one more between friends? How else are you going to prove to everyone that you’re the coolest person in this diner? We all know it’s between you and that guy at the counter with the mutton chops and the members only jacket, but I don’t want to see him walk away with the trophy. Especially after I got us thrown out of the last bar while stealing a beer tap to make it, I want it to live over your fireplace. This is your game to lose, chum. This is your destiny.

The 3AM Diner Dare was painstakingly designed to prove you are cool. Each ingredient I have dropped into this ketchup bottle is a badge of honor you can add to that sash you’re contractually obligated to wear from our last dare. Do you think I stole these tiny bottles of whiskey from the hotel minibar for fun? No. I did it for you. Sure, now you’ve been banned from that hotel chain but realistically how often do you sleep? Do you think I spent twenty minutes at that other table hitting on those drunk girls for my health? No. I needed to steal some of their sugar packets. Remember when I went up to them and asked if I could get some sugar? We all laughed. Remember? Do you want to stop the laughter now? No? Then give me some of your gravy and let’s make history.

Convincing friends to do insane, possibly dangerous things while drunk is one of humanity’s oldest traditions. Some “historians” refer to it as the Oldest Tradition, and we can’t let that tradition die. You’re not only doing this for us. You’re doing it for drunk people everywhere that don’t have the opportunity to live life to it’s fullest like we do. Right now, there are kids passing out in a basement in some sleepy midwestern town that can only dream of a place that will make them triple cheesy cheese fries at this ungodly hour. You have a responsibility to them to let me mix some of that quickly congealing goop into this drink too.

This is the perfect night cap (or endgame) for our evening of escalation. Look at it this way: At least you get to drink out of a bottle for once. Now sit back, relax and suppress your gag reflex.

Party Tip: Pairs well with the phrase “If I die, I’m going to kill you.”

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Brian: “Reports of 4am diner deaths have been blown grossly out of proportion and have barely anything to do with the 3AM Diner Dare.”

Matt: “To sweeten the pot, I got the waitress to give me her phone number and this bendy straw. Which one do you want?”

3AM-Diner-Dare

Thanksgiving dinner was a blast. Thanksgiving night was a Pepto Bismal Blast!
Look, no one told you to go up for fourths at Thanksgiving Dinner. In fact, after you upgraded your plate to a serving platter for your seconds, I recall everyone asking you nicely to hold off for a bit. After how much you’d already eaten, I believe we suggested December 5th as a good time to come back for more. But you didn’t listen, did you? No, you had your thirds: A bowl of mashed potatoes garnished with corn on the cob, two more turkey legs (where did you even find those?) with a side of mashed potatoes, corn on the cob garnished with sweet potatoes and stuffing, and some mashed potatoes. Grandpa Richards started a betting pool to see if you’d throw up or just burst. 20 people entered immediately. It was more popular than the family football pool.
Then, with the grace of a parade balloon, you lumbered up from the table to get another round. We didn’t ask you nicely that time. It was a battle royale: our will to save some of the food for late night leftovers versus your will to show the rest of the world “how we do it in America,” whatever that means. Some nasty words were exchanged, a few blows, granny Johnson got some new stitches and the dog lost some fur but after a hard fought battle to fit through the kitchen door, the day was yours. You got your fourths: corn on the cob stuffed with turkey, turkey-wrapped mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes garnished with the fried onions scooped from various casseroles, turkey garnished with the turkey that you had been secretly deep frying in the guest room.
I’ll grant you that it was a certain kind of impressive. I’ll grant you that I’d never seen anything like it. I’ll even grant that it was a defining moment in history of the human animal, but I’ll also tell you it wasn’t fun to watch. I’m not sure when you made the “breakthrough” that it was easier to eat the stuffing directly out of the turkey carcass, but we were all gathered around in horror at what we were witnessing. The children started crying. When one of them asked if you were going to die, we calmly replied, “Yes.” But you didn’t, naturally. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, here you are looking like a python that swallowed a whole turkey, the pilgrims, the indians and the whole of plymouth rock. Nice job, I guess. And what’s that? Your stomach hurts? No shit. Here, have a Pepto Bismol Blast. You and your colon are going to need all the help you can get in the coming days. The whiskey should finish the job the tryptophan started so that you don’t do something stupid like eat more food. Now let the children climb you while you think about what you’ve done. Oh, and next year? I’m bringing a bat.
Party Tip: If you don’t need one after Thanksgiving Dinner, then the terrorists have won.
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Matt: “Try outsmarting your quitter stomach by using Pepto Bismol Blast instead of gravy.”
Brian: “I usually estimate I’ll need one Pepto Bismol Blast for every plate of food I eat. Better safe than sorry!”

Thanksgiving dinner was a blast. Thanksgiving night was a Pepto Bismal Blast!

Look, no one told you to go up for fourths at Thanksgiving Dinner. In fact, after you upgraded your plate to a serving platter for your seconds, I recall everyone asking you nicely to hold off for a bit. After how much you’d already eaten, I believe we suggested December 5th as a good time to come back for more. But you didn’t listen, did you? No, you had your thirds: A bowl of mashed potatoes garnished with corn on the cob, two more turkey legs (where did you even find those?) with a side of mashed potatoes, corn on the cob garnished with sweet potatoes and stuffing, and some mashed potatoes. Grandpa Richards started a betting pool to see if you’d throw up or just burst. 20 people entered immediately. It was more popular than the family football pool.

Then, with the grace of a parade balloon, you lumbered up from the table to get another round. We didn’t ask you nicely that time. It was a battle royale: our will to save some of the food for late night leftovers versus your will to show the rest of the world “how we do it in America,” whatever that means. Some nasty words were exchanged, a few blows, granny Johnson got some new stitches and the dog lost some fur but after a hard fought battle to fit through the kitchen door, the day was yours. You got your fourths: corn on the cob stuffed with turkey, turkey-wrapped mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes garnished with the fried onions scooped from various casseroles, turkey garnished with the turkey that you had been secretly deep frying in the guest room.

I’ll grant you that it was a certain kind of impressive. I’ll grant you that I’d never seen anything like it. I’ll even grant that it was a defining moment in history of the human animal, but I’ll also tell you it wasn’t fun to watch. I’m not sure when you made the “breakthrough” that it was easier to eat the stuffing directly out of the turkey carcass, but we were all gathered around in horror at what we were witnessing. The children started crying. When one of them asked if you were going to die, we calmly replied, “Yes.” But you didn’t, naturally. No, that would have been too easy. Instead, here you are looking like a python that swallowed a whole turkey, the pilgrims, the indians and the whole of plymouth rock. Nice job, I guess. And what’s that? Your stomach hurts? No shit. Here, have a Pepto Bismol Blast. You and your colon are going to need all the help you can get in the coming days. The whiskey should finish the job the tryptophan started so that you don’t do something stupid like eat more food. Now let the children climb you while you think about what you’ve done. Oh, and next year? I’m bringing a bat.

Party Tip: If you don’t need one after Thanksgiving Dinner, then the terrorists have won.

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Matt: “Try outsmarting your quitter stomach by using Pepto Bismol Blast instead of gravy.”

Brian: “I usually estimate I’ll need one Pepto Bismol Blast for every plate of food I eat. Better safe than sorry!”

Pepto-Bismol-Blast

"At the stroke of midnight, the Great Pumpkin rises from the pumpkin patch and drops Pumpkin Bombs on all the little boys and girls of the world!”
~ Linus in the final stages of the Delirium Pumpkens
We’ve got Pumpkin Fever! No, not the devastating fungal disease that has plagued rural Europe for the past decade. We’re talking about the frenzied two month period when society suddenly remembers pumpkins are edible! Every year, usually when all of the more traditionally delicious vegetables have died off, people turn to the pumpkin for a little seasonal pick-me-up to get them through the rough transitional period known as pre-winter.
Scientists have yet to uncover a definitive explanation as to why the human brain inexplicably craves fresh gourd meat during the ten week stretch preceding the new year. Leading research points to the sudden seasonal drop in alpha and beta carotines in the blood stream combined with falling leaves conditioning the brain to be attracted to the color orange. This mass delirium can only be calmed by consuming copious amounts of root vegetables and other orange-colored foods. Hence the medieval colloquialism/wizard diagnosis that a patient is “going out of his gourd” was probably rooted in some amount of fact. Unfortunately, modern science is no closer to scratching this persistent itch than our dark aged predecessors due to the pumpkin’s tough exterior and awful-smelling interior.
While there is still no cure for the pumpkrazies, there is a hope of relieving some of the malady’s more severe symptoms. The pioneering Pumpkinesiologists of Influence Labs have developed a new inoculation pumped full of the pumpkin nutrients (or Vitakins®) your brain requires to keep you from succumbing to “vertigourd,” especially in situations where squash-based desserts or other gourd by-products aren’t immediately available.
The Pumpkin Bomb features a two stage pumpkin-infusion that tackles pumpkinesthesia in both the long and short term. First, a pumpkin-flavored beer rushes the brain, numbing and slowing the impulse receptors. Since we’re still not entirely sure which part of the brain controls the gourd impulse, the beer targets and delivers soothing relief to the entire head region. Then a dose of super-concentrated warm pumpkin filling gets to work providing hours of lasting relief. The secret to the stage two slow release formula is a liberal outer shell of cinnamon and medical grade whiskey that safely thins the blood, which slows the body’s ability to absorb the payload and because all the best medicine has some alcohol in it.
Don’t let life’s changing seasons keep you from living. Drink a Pumpkin Bomb and dive into life head first.
Party Tip: Combining a Pumpkin Bomb with seasonal cold fighting supplements has been known to reduce it’s effectiveness and cause uncontrollable sobriety in lab animals.
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Brian: “In fact, the scholarly division of Influence Labs has shown that the nursery rhyme “Ring around the Rosy” was originally about a wave of pumpkrazies in the 12th century.”
Matt: “Gourdeous.”

"At the stroke of midnight, the Great Pumpkin rises from the pumpkin patch and drops Pumpkin Bombs on all the little boys and girls of the world!”

~ Linus in the final stages of the Delirium Pumpkens

We’ve got Pumpkin Fever! No, not the devastating fungal disease that has plagued rural Europe for the past decade. We’re talking about the frenzied two month period when society suddenly remembers pumpkins are edible! Every year, usually when all of the more traditionally delicious vegetables have died off, people turn to the pumpkin for a little seasonal pick-me-up to get them through the rough transitional period known as pre-winter.

Scientists have yet to uncover a definitive explanation as to why the human brain inexplicably craves fresh gourd meat during the ten week stretch preceding the new year. Leading research points to the sudden seasonal drop in alpha and beta carotines in the blood stream combined with falling leaves conditioning the brain to be attracted to the color orange. This mass delirium can only be calmed by consuming copious amounts of root vegetables and other orange-colored foods. Hence the medieval colloquialism/wizard diagnosis that a patient is “going out of his gourd” was probably rooted in some amount of fact. Unfortunately, modern science is no closer to scratching this persistent itch than our dark aged predecessors due to the pumpkin’s tough exterior and awful-smelling interior.

While there is still no cure for the pumpkrazies, there is a hope of relieving some of the malady’s more severe symptoms. The pioneering Pumpkinesiologists of Influence Labs have developed a new inoculation pumped full of the pumpkin nutrients (or Vitakins®) your brain requires to keep you from succumbing to “vertigourd,” especially in situations where squash-based desserts or other gourd by-products aren’t immediately available.

The Pumpkin Bomb features a two stage pumpkin-infusion that tackles pumpkinesthesia in both the long and short term. First, a pumpkin-flavored beer rushes the brain, numbing and slowing the impulse receptors. Since we’re still not entirely sure which part of the brain controls the gourd impulse, the beer targets and delivers soothing relief to the entire head region. Then a dose of super-concentrated warm pumpkin filling gets to work providing hours of lasting relief. The secret to the stage two slow release formula is a liberal outer shell of cinnamon and medical grade whiskey that safely thins the blood, which slows the body’s ability to absorb the payload and because all the best medicine has some alcohol in it.

Don’t let life’s changing seasons keep you from living. Drink a Pumpkin Bomb and dive into life head first.

Party Tip: Combining a Pumpkin Bomb with seasonal cold fighting supplements has been known to reduce it’s effectiveness and cause uncontrollable sobriety in lab animals.

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Brian: “In fact, the scholarly division of Influence Labs has shown that the nursery rhyme “Ring around the Rosy” was originally about a wave of pumpkrazies in the 12th century.”

Matt: “Gourdeous.”

Pumpkin-Bomb

Take a rocket ride to the jet age with the Vodka Atom-o-Tonic!
In the far-flung future of the year 2012, everything will be powered by the amazing atom! Your house will be atomic-powered. Your dishwasher will be atomic-powered. Your dog will be atomic-powered. Even your Trans-Time Drive equipped cars, while powered by fusion, will still have an atomic-powered starter! The people of the future will enjoy luxuries that we can only recklessly speculate about, like moon bases, world peace and self-melting cheese. Men will fly to work on jet packs while women will clean the house and make dinner without the bipedal burden of footwear or the mental burden of an education! And everyone will be blown away by the spiffy new atomic-powered drink craze known as the Vodka Atom-o-Tonic!
Influence Labs is so excited about the future that we’re starting it  today! Yes, that’s right! Take a sip of your impending devastation!  However, since plutonium won’t be readily available to civilians for  another two months, every Vodka Atom-o-Tonic is currently fueled with the doomsday power of an Atomic Fireball. Abandon your fossil fuel-based beverages for a taste of tomorrow! Enjoy the cinnamony tingle  of humanity’s gravest achievements and greatest mistakes in one deliciously  weaponized cocktail. Get toasted by the overwhelming power of 10,000 suns. Measure the size of your buzz  with a Geiger counter. Don’t just close the bar, vaporize it while making sure nothing can live there for another million years!
In six months, when the machines rise to impose their cold mechanical  order on the scattered remains of humanity, the Vodka Atom-o-Tonic will become the  official drink of the human resistance and the mechano-establishment. We’ll be  there, lieutenants on one side or the other, probably in charge of partying or something. Until then, enjoy huddled  under a desk or with friends in your favorite party bunker. Let the  fallout begin!
Party Tip: It’s not a party unless everyone is mutually-assured of their destruction.
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Matt: “This is so much cheaper than paying for an X-ray!”
Brian: “Mmmm… tastes like collateral damage.”

Take a rocket ride to the jet age with the Vodka Atom-o-Tonic!

In the far-flung future of the year 2012, everything will be powered by the amazing atom! Your house will be atomic-powered. Your dishwasher will be atomic-powered. Your dog will be atomic-powered. Even your Trans-Time Drive equipped cars, while powered by fusion, will still have an atomic-powered starter! The people of the future will enjoy luxuries that we can only recklessly speculate about, like moon bases, world peace and self-melting cheese. Men will fly to work on jet packs while women will clean the house and make dinner without the bipedal burden of footwear or the mental burden of an education! And everyone will be blown away by the spiffy new atomic-powered drink craze known as the Vodka Atom-o-Tonic!

Influence Labs is so excited about the future that we’re starting it today! Yes, that’s right! Take a sip of your impending devastation! However, since plutonium won’t be readily available to civilians for another two months, every Vodka Atom-o-Tonic is currently fueled with the doomsday power of an Atomic Fireball. Abandon your fossil fuel-based beverages for a taste of tomorrow! Enjoy the cinnamony tingle of humanity’s gravest achievements and greatest mistakes in one deliciously weaponized cocktail. Get toasted by the overwhelming power of 10,000 suns. Measure the size of your buzz with a Geiger counter. Don’t just close the bar, vaporize it while making sure nothing can live there for another million years!

In six months, when the machines rise to impose their cold mechanical order on the scattered remains of humanity, the Vodka Atom-o-Tonic will become the official drink of the human resistance and the mechano-establishment. We’ll be there, lieutenants on one side or the other, probably in charge of partying or something. Until then, enjoy huddled under a desk or with friends in your favorite party bunker. Let the fallout begin!

Party Tip: It’s not a party unless everyone is mutually-assured of their destruction.

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Matt: “This is so much cheaper than paying for an X-ray!”

Brian: “Mmmm… tastes like collateral damage.”

Vodka-Atom-o-tonic

"After a few of these, any virgin would sacrifice herself to the Volcano God.”
Here at Influence Labs, we are devoted to keeping the crazy train of scientific progress chugging down the tracks until such a time when trains will no longer require tracks. That’s why we’re involved with a number of shadowy organizations that are dedicated to fact checking planetariums, funding alien autopsy videos and hosting a yearly science fair for kids. But then it struck us like Newton’s gravity apple: We’re so much BETTER at science than kids. Why should they get their own fair to show off their paltry scientific discoveries? Most kids can’t tell trepanning from a hole in their head. If we entered the science fair, we’d win all of the prizes and finally prove to our high school principal that we were studying chemistry and not just drinking on school property.
For our first foray into super science, we decided to investigate the world’s giant rock elephant in the room: Volcanoes. Volcanoes get a bum rap. People are either fleeing them in terror or appeasing them with virgins. Our science theory: This longstanding fear is one born of ignorance. If you got to know volcanoes a little bit better, maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to judge.
Volcanoes are a lot like mixed drinks, if you think about it (and we often do). The proper ingredients mixed together under the right circumstances, shaken or stirred resulting in a violent eruption that if not carefully controlled can cause unspeakable devastation. So why do volcanoes get demonized while your Uncle Harvey does the exact same thing at a family reunion only to get invited back year after year?
That’s why we’ve chemistried a new drink to help get people educated about these misunderstood mountains. The Volcano God is a smaller, more manageable working volcano that can be made and enjoyed in the home without any of that hot, cumbersome lava to clean up afterwards. Instead, you get a healthy mix of rum and diet cola with a cool refreshing fizz of mint!
Not every volcano can taste this good but at least we’ve taken the all-important first step towards a world where humans and volcanoes can work together without fear or virginal sacrifice. In this scientist’s opinion, a discovery of this magnitude should be honored with 1st Place at every science fair across the nation and the Nobel Prize in Applied Mixology.
Party Tip: Point drink away from face at all times.
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Brian: “People often flee me in terror or appease me with virgins… Does that mean I’m a volcano?”
Matt: “Finally, someone stopped talking about it and actually got around to domesticating the volcano.”

"After a few of these, any virgin would sacrifice herself to the Volcano God.”

Here at Influence Labs, we are devoted to keeping the crazy train of scientific progress chugging down the tracks until such a time when trains will no longer require tracks. That’s why we’re involved with a number of shadowy organizations that are dedicated to fact checking planetariums, funding alien autopsy videos and hosting a yearly science fair for kids. But then it struck us like Newton’s gravity apple: We’re so much BETTER at science than kids. Why should they get their own fair to show off their paltry scientific discoveries? Most kids can’t tell trepanning from a hole in their head. If we entered the science fair, we’d win all of the prizes and finally prove to our high school principal that we were studying chemistry and not just drinking on school property.

For our first foray into super science, we decided to investigate the world’s giant rock elephant in the room: Volcanoes. Volcanoes get a bum rap. People are either fleeing them in terror or appeasing them with virgins. Our science theory: This longstanding fear is one born of ignorance. If you got to know volcanoes a little bit better, maybe you wouldn’t be so quick to judge.

Volcanoes are a lot like mixed drinks, if you think about it (and we often do). The proper ingredients mixed together under the right circumstances, shaken or stirred resulting in a violent eruption that if not carefully controlled can cause unspeakable devastation. So why do volcanoes get demonized while your Uncle Harvey does the exact same thing at a family reunion only to get invited back year after year?

That’s why we’ve chemistried a new drink to help get people educated about these misunderstood mountains. The Volcano God is a smaller, more manageable working volcano that can be made and enjoyed in the home without any of that hot, cumbersome lava to clean up afterwards. Instead, you get a healthy mix of rum and diet cola with a cool refreshing fizz of mint!

Not every volcano can taste this good but at least we’ve taken the all-important first step towards a world where humans and volcanoes can work together without fear or virginal sacrifice. In this scientist’s opinion, a discovery of this magnitude should be honored with 1st Place at every science fair across the nation and the Nobel Prize in Applied Mixology.

Party Tip: Point drink away from face at all times.

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Brian: “People often flee me in terror or appease me with virgins… Does that mean I’m a volcano?”

Matt: “Finally, someone stopped talking about it and actually got around to domesticating the volcano.”

Volcano-God

BeelzeBud: from the Hebrew, literally meaning “Lord of the Beers.”
Oh, Prince of Beverages, Lord of the Beers, Bringer of all that is Fun and Liquidly Sinful! You have chosen to present thyself to us in the form of 12oz bottles so that we might partake of your glorious fermented ways at home or on the go. We have poured the Liturgical Libation of Social Lubrication. We have donned the Beer Goggles. We have prayed to your counterpart, The Porcelain Prince. He that is the Moon to your Sun. He that is the End to your Beginning. He that will receive us when your night’s work is done.
We are ready! We are prepared! By eating lots of pizza, we have laid the mighty foundation for your manifestation! We have turned on  Animal House so that you might be entertained! We have invited many young women over for you to hit on! We have invited only worse looking dudes over so that you may appear to be the best specimen in the house. The  party mix is cued in the stereo, beginning with Fat-Bottomed Girls by Queen and repeating it once every 15 minutes until the witching hour, as  specified by your rider. The party is nigh and only awaits you, the Ghoul of Honor, BeelzeBud!
Take form before us now! We beg of you! In exchange, as penance and payment, we will hand you out as Treats to the little Tricksters that will visit us this All Hallow’s Eve! They will enjoy  your smooth drinkability and cauldron-brewed lager flavor made from only  5 All-Natural ingredients as writ in the Necronomicon. Their idle hands will consume  you and be prepared to do thy bidding. They will probably egg Old Man  Haggerty’s house up the block! We hope this pleases thee. We know thy two have  never gotten along. Regular candy shall turn to dust in their mouths now  that they have partook of your spirit. They will fall asleep with your  name on their lips and wake with your memory pounding in their heads. Thus, we sow the seeds of dipsomania that shall mold the next generation of your unholy army.
BeelzeBud! BeelzeBud! Klaatu Barada Nikto!   BeelzeBud! Present thyself!
Party Tip: Kids, always check the cap to make sure it hasn’t been tampered with. Safety first, especially on Halloween Night!
Eye-Witness Accounts:
Robot Matt: “01101010111010001011010101010101010101000111”
Airhead Brian: “…………………………………………………………………”

BeelzeBud: from the Hebrew, literally meaning “Lord of the Beers.”

Oh, Prince of Beverages, Lord of the Beers, Bringer of all that is Fun and Liquidly Sinful! You have chosen to present thyself to us in the form of 12oz bottles so that we might partake of your glorious fermented ways at home or on the go. We have poured the Liturgical Libation of Social Lubrication. We have donned the Beer Goggles. We have prayed to your counterpart, The Porcelain Prince. He that is the Moon to your Sun. He that is the End to your Beginning. He that will receive us when your night’s work is done.

We are ready! We are prepared! By eating lots of pizza, we have laid the mighty foundation for your manifestation! We have turned on Animal House so that you might be entertained! We have invited many young women over for you to hit on! We have invited only worse looking dudes over so that you may appear to be the best specimen in the house. The party mix is cued in the stereo, beginning with Fat-Bottomed Girls by Queen and repeating it once every 15 minutes until the witching hour, as specified by your rider. The party is nigh and only awaits you, the Ghoul of Honor, BeelzeBud!

Take form before us now! We beg of you! In exchange, as penance and payment, we will hand you out as Treats to the little Tricksters that will visit us this All Hallow’s Eve! They will enjoy your smooth drinkability and cauldron-brewed lager flavor made from only 5 All-Natural ingredients as writ in the Necronomicon. Their idle hands will consume you and be prepared to do thy bidding. They will probably egg Old Man Haggerty’s house up the block! We hope this pleases thee. We know thy two have never gotten along. Regular candy shall turn to dust in their mouths now that they have partook of your spirit. They will fall asleep with your name on their lips and wake with your memory pounding in their heads. Thus, we sow the seeds of dipsomania that shall mold the next generation of your unholy army.

BeelzeBud! BeelzeBud! Klaatu Barada Nikto! BeelzeBud! Present thyself!

Party Tip: Kids, always check the cap to make sure it hasn’t been tampered with. Safety first, especially on Halloween Night!

Eye-Witness Accounts:

Robot Matt: “01101010111010001011010101010101010101000111”

Airhead Brian: “…………………………………………………………………”

BeelzeBud