Now oft outlawed but once prevalent initiation rites, whether it is to a cult, a school, a sorority, a not-so-secret secret service organization, or a tree-house club, often involved the imbibing of some sort of brew. The rite of passage of putting the blindfolded trust into the previously initiated members’ hands holding the concoction was practically as mandatory as the signature on an application form.
What of this brew? Beer laced with cayenne and the best prescription tasteless laxative money can buy? Turtle eyes, poke of ground coal, stale coffee, and moldy goldenrod sprouts? Cooled lavender tea with a touch of pure organic clover honey topped with a touch of fresh cinnamon? Expensive French cognac? Freshly picked grass, unknown berries, egg yolk, ground cob of corn, and chocolate cookie? Plain Kool-aid with a quarter gram of Brewer’s Yeast stolen from Mother’s pantry?
Who can resist the call of the initiation coordinator? “Now for the third and final step before entrance to this grand organization is what we term the ‘drinking of the brew’. Assistant, is the blindfold ready? Second mate, what about the aspirant? Is he all set for imbibing?”
“Oh Master, I do believe yon aspirant has been prepared in all ways worthy of this clan.”
“And what about the brew, humble Brewster? Hast thou completed it according to sacred recipe, rule, and rites?”
And the little guy responds: “Certainly. I believe it be sufficient to kill an elephant. Maybe two. If not, then the smell will kill an albatross beyond the clouds. Maybe two.”
And so with all the false bravado hormones can muster, the initiate chugs the swill, thus forever entwining himself in the group karma of said sect. “Ah, but she tastes mighty fine,” says he, before heading directly to the well placed vomit urn.