Schnuckelputz: Putting “ass” in the glass

We were in Athens, OH this past weekend for an Ohio University reunion of friends. In all, about eighteen of us made our way back to OU to reminisce and drink and reminisce about drinking. I hadn’t seen some folks for over fourteen years. It was a very good time.

For dinner, Miss Sally, Russ, Cheri and I went to Casa Nueva. Casa is a highly regarded Mexican restaurant that utilizes local farmers and producers. The food is awesome. We ordered dinner, drank Mexican beer and discussed our plans for the rest of the evening. Next to our table was a flyer for Schnuckelputz, a wine from Shade Winery.



Per the advert, I could see that the Schnuckelputz was:
Carbonated
Ginger
Lemon
Wine

I’m aware of carbonation.
I’ve had ginger. It’s the light, refreshing stuff that sits next to your sushi.
Lemon, check.
Wine and I have had a relationship for years.

So I ordered a glass.



What I did not know at the time was the origins of the word Schnuckelputz:
Schnuckel (German) - drip from the ass or wet from the backside
Putz (Yiddish) – fool, idiot

The foul, rancidness contained within that glass cannot be described. I had Russ try a sip and he gagged and made a horrible face. I was not quick enough to catch it on camera so later I had him sniff the glass to relive the experience.



I assume that on its way to the restaurant, the bottle of Schnuckelputz was accidentally filled with a combination of urine and battery acid. The bottle was then smuggled across the border of Mexico in a Crohn's Disease sufferer’s lower intestine, where it was set out in the sun for three weeks. Upon its return via a railcar filled with diarrhea, it was rinsed, chilled, lightly shaken and poured into my glass.

And to spite everyone, I drank the whole thing. For the rest of the night, I couldn’t stop burping up ginger.



We saved six people’s lives on our way out of the restaurant who were discussing, fortunately out loud, if they should order a glass of abomination.

And just so you are aware, my poop smelled like ginger for the next two days.

To sum up:

Casa Nueva = HIGHLY RECOMMENDED
Schnuckelputz = Ask, instead, for the interactive, taste colonoscopy

Forehead Spider Tattoo

In the springtime at OU, it was very easy to spend hours in the doorway that led to Dominic, John and Chris’ apartment above Mountain Leather. Sunday afternoons were especially good as many locals would roam the downtown sidewalks and the echoes of my hangover would sweat out and down the back of my shirt. There were several doorways and stoops going up and down the street. You could nestle back in one and watch the flesh go by for hours.

On this particular afternoon, there were several of us loitering on the sidewalk as we spilled out from the doorway. We formed a human speed bump and people had to slow down as they navigated around us.

I was reminiscing with Dominic when I noticed two dudes sauntering down the sidewalk with their shirts off. They had various tattoos and spiky piercings on them. Kids.

The walked around us and continued on their way. I turned and watched them head down the street. When they were out of earshot, Dominic leaned in and whispered, “Did you see this guy with the spider tattoo on his forehead?” I guess I spent too much time checking out their other arm and body tats to notice a spider on whichever’s forehead. I waited until they were out of earshot before starting my tirade.

“Who the hell gets a tattoo of a spider on their forehead?!”

Dominic immediately gave me the wide eyes and whispered “Shhhhhh!”

The dudes were more that half a block away and there was no way I was going to be heard by them so I continued.

“How’s that going to work out in a job interview! Idiot! Which one was it?”

Dominic grabbed me by the shoulders and whispered, “Doug! Shut up!”

Dominic has a soft heart for others and I could understand why he might want me to keep it down, but come on!

That, of course, is when I noticed the guy sitting 10 feet from us in the door stoop next to John’s. He was disheveled. He had crazy eyes. He had a spider tattoo on his forehead.

He also looked very self conscious. If not embarrassed.

I said over my shoulder in the direction of the spider tattoo guy, “But you know what? That takes fucking balls. You’ve got to be a bad mother fucker to get a tattoo on your forehead. Nobody’s going to mess with you!”

And then I ran off like a little girl through the open door and straight up the stairs to their apartment.

I’ve got to feel bad for the dude because it takes some heavy shit falling on your shoulders to get a tattoo on your forehead. Nothing says “I’m fucked up,” more than that. I know there are people out there who get certain tattoos just to have a permanent visible middle finger up to the world. This guy, in the five seconds I looked at him, seemed different. Like he’d been in a Russian prison or a mental facility where the arts and crafts counselor accidentally scheduled painting and needlepoint during the same day of the week.

Or just maybe that dude was just a bad-ass motherfucker and he feels sorry for me.