Word: whiskeys
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...intiation itself consisted of about 40 men in their undershorts in the small cement-floored Pi basement being fed shots of whiskey and vodka as well as the notorious beer bong, which shoots a large volume of the hops straight into the indulger's stomach. Initiates never had a chance: the first casualties arrived at University Health Services (UHS) less than two hours after the festivities began. Members dispensing penalty shots for various imagined transgressions quickly got the initiates roaring drunk. Spilled beer and vomit made walking hazardous. One participatant lost his front teeth falling on the slick floor...
...everybody drunk," the pressure was certainly there. From Ippolito's promise to the legends of other wild initiations, participants must have showed up at the clubhouse on Mt. Auburn St. expecting to sleep through their first class the next day. When sober members are repeatedly pressing glasses of whiskey or garden hoses of beer for immediate consumption, it must be difficult to decline...
When the first news of Japan's surrender came to the fighting fronts, G.I.s yelled wildly, pounded backs, fired guns, drank hoarded whiskey. On Okinawa the night was lighted by millions of tracer bullets as men fired rifles, machine guns, antiaircraft guns. Green and yellow flares glared in the darkness. Ships offshore, fearing a Kamikaze attack, laid down a smoke screen, opened up with antiaircraft guns. Veterans had seen nothing like it during the whole battle for the islands. The celebration had tragic consequences: six men were killed, 30 wounded...
...Cooper sat in low armchairs overlooking the British Embassy gardens in Paris, comparing notes. Then Premier Paul Ramadier and dapper, London-tailored Foreign Minister Georges Bidault arrived with their experts. Eleven French and eleven Britons got their heads together over the veal, adjourned to the garden veranda later for whiskey, brandy, and more happy talk...
Club Casablanca (40 Brattle St.): From Mexico to North Africa, Casa B's is probably where Rick--that's Humphrey Bogart, for the uninitiated--would hang out if he came to Cambridge. Nowhere she will you lie back in a cushioned wicker chair, whiskey in hand, with a piano player tickling the ivories in the corner of the room. His name isn't Sam, but he'll play it again and again if you want...