I was nineteen. It was New Year's Eve. I had a Big Mac for dinner at McDonald's. Then proceeded to toss back three, yes, three bottles of Boone's Farm Country Kwencher over the next few hours. I didn't make it to midnight but I did make it to the kitchen sink after discovering that the only available bathroom was occupied. My friend's tiny apartment was wall-to-wall people. Those who observed what I had deposited in the sink began to sing the two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun song and attempted to identify said sandwich ingredients. I found my way to the bedroom and pushed aside the pile of winter coats on the bed so I could lie down. I desperately hung onto a bedpost hoping it would make the room stop swirling. I thought I was going to die. I couldn't eat for a couple of days. I didn't drink again for about six months. I didn't eat a Big Mac again for nearly twenty years. And probably never will again. I remember Country Kwencher tasting like Squirt. Even if the Boone's Farm people still make the stuff, trust that I will live a long and happy life without drinking a single drop of it. I have imbibed to the point of barfing only a couple of times since and have suffered with a hangover on only a handful of occasions. As life lessons go, this turned out to be an easy one to learn. Somebody help me like exercise!