Death in a can

You first start drinking it, and it tastes pretty decent, but the aftertaste is awful. You keep drinking to get rid of the aftertaste, which gets progressively worse after each sip, while each sip gets progressively sweeter, making you want more. You try to pace yourself, but you find yourself drinking it faster and faster, and suddenly a can is gone in about a half hour. You feel definitely buzzed, but also really really good, like you can keep drinking these at a reasonable pace and keep the weird tingling high going all night. You open the second one, and the idea of a reasonable pace goes out the window. There is no more aftertaste, only the sweetness, and it propels you forward. Suddenly you have two cans down in a hour. At this point, you feel drunk, and kinda like you should stop. But you also feel hilariously funny, ten feet tall, and like you could probably beat up Adrian Peterson and LeBron James at the same time. The notion of stopping goes out the window, and you open your third one. By now, you are talking shit about everything and to everyone. If you were able to form a coherent sentence, you would probably be offensive to everyone around you, but instead people just stare. Your stomach is starting to give you warning signs about the diabetic coma you are on the verge of, but your brain has taken the phone off the hook and is not responding to anything not involving sticking your dick in that potted plant that totally looks like a less bitchy version of that girl you just pushed over. You are aware that there is a can in your hand and that you need to keep drinking from it, and that you are probably going to shit your pants. You are slightly amused to find that you no longer care. About anything. The notion of pants goes out the window, along with your actual pants.

Suddenly it's 7am the next day and you have no idea what happened. The hangover and the gut rot are so extreme that you swear off drinking ever again, only to find yourself craving another can of Loko a few hours later. By then you have succumbed to the Hunger and you're pretty much along for the ride until the cops put you down.

And that's only after three cans.