Mickey's Fine Malt Liquor

AFFORDABILITY: When a liquor is malted, it automatically becomes a cheap way to discombobulate yourself. Mickey's is no aberration from that standard, although the proud dirtbag Irish-ish white people thickly associated with the Mickey's brand name sort of runs the price up a touch, not to where you're like, "Damn, that's an expensive malt liquor!" But it does take a little more panhandling than a couple 40s of Olde English or Colt 45 would. Still though, it's malt liquor, America's cheapest legal high. 4 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: One of my earliest drunkest moments of my adult life (going by 18 equals adult, not 21) was a party in Richmond where I drank seven double deuces of Mickey's. I fell in love with two chicks I never remembered and tried to create a new life together with a friend girl who was one of those chicks that was so cool, she played it off and never made me feel stupid about it at any later point. Tight. And I have fond memories of living in a ghetto ass apartment on Granby Avenue where it was too hot in the fucking house at all times so we sat on a stolen couch (from Fantastic Thrift) on the porch, and lucky we lived on the second floor so when dudes came chasing by with guns drawn, we were oblivious to the line of potential fire. But we would drink the Mickey's grenades and immediately upon finishing one, throw it across the street at the Terminix pest control warehouse building, busting out their upper windows. Seriously, the sidewalk was covered in green glass. And that was Mickey's. In fact, I have many great think backs to being happy drunk as fuck on Mickey's, in the degenerate cesspool of Richmond, to where things like having skinheads want to stomp my face in or a slut girlfriend who came home with hickeys on her neck, it all was kinda fun in retrospect. That's the Mickey's. It may be one of the greatest alterations to brain thinkings that I've recreationally abused. And the other night when I drank it again for the first time in years, it gave me a painful hangover that even pork products couldn't calm down. 9 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: I am no Irishman, but when watching the very stereotypical MMA, I tend to root for fiery redheaded dudes, unless they have some sort of tribal tramp stamp tattoo, which kinda freaks me out usually. That being said, any white man on Earth who is even relatively aware that his grandparents had a specific European heritage of one flavor or another, as opposed to hodgepodge mutt style like most of us from the South know, that any white man cannot hate upon the retardedly Euro ghetto flag mural-esque labeling of the Mickey's Fine Malt Liquor. It is tailor made for bad tattoos on the upper arms of dudes who proudly wear Red Sox gear in alternate colors. You know a shitty tattoo you just don't see as much anymore? The Tazmanian Devil. Once Looney Tunes pushed the merchandise in the '90s and fat, ugly redneck chicks started having Tazmanian Devil keychains and license plate covers and shit, it kinda ruined the Tazmanian Devil cartoon character as an appropriate meathead underclass white dude muscle tattoo. That makes me sad for the old days, when it was far easier to get high with a guy who had a bad Looney Tunes tattoo on his right forearm done with a guitar string in jail, trying to block the wind so you could light the bowl you were sharing. Who even shares bowls of weed anymore? It's always gotta be some convoluted ass "water pipe" that looks like it was used to test the mental agility of hamsters in lab experiments. Seriously, fuck this world. And props to Mickey's for staying true to it's old style while still trying to get today's people of the drinking world fucked up as well. In fact, double props, fucking beers on the white house lawn bringing on lobbying efforts for certain beers and shit. This world is stupid as fuck. 8 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Mickey's be made by Mickey's Brewing Company of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, which I'm sure is actually owned by some sort of evil empire of one flavor or another, and goes back to some sort of actual Mickey's Brewing Company, which was probably legit, run by some old drunk Mick who figured out to hype up the alcohol content of his swag brew, yet the evil empire of one flavor or another bought it out, kept the stylings, so as to cash in on the poor white identifying with black yet still white demographic, bringing in convenient tie-ins with House of Pain and skinheads and such, and getting a steady chunk of change. Thing is, it kind of disappeared from my own personal public consciousness, and I thought it was maybe because I didn't live in Richmond anymore, but then it was at all the stores again suddenly. Or maybe it was always there but over by the Smirnoff Ices and Mike's Lemonades and all that goofy shit, but then somebody decided to move it over by the Steel Reserve once that section got big enough with the energy alcohol drink movement giving it some weight on the very limited American grocery store beer aisle shelves. So I don't trust this "Mickey's Brewing Company" alleged corporate situation, but in the name of my whiteness, I will give it the benefit of the doubt. If skinheads and House of Pain music from my time in Richmond taught me anything, it's that we have to stick together, those of us who are alike and down for the same types of things, if you know what I mean. 4 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: A great history, an ability to fuck you up, memories galore in my dilapidated ramshackle brain... there are few shitty ass malt liquors that could make me feel as good as a summertime jam as Mickey's. In fact, just thinking about it makes me wish I had a hand grenade of it right now to pour down my gullet and throw at the world, trying to crack open my fishbowl. 5 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 6 STARS!