Gossip broetry: a valediction forbidding Lokos

It was denial, at first. Then anger. Then fear. Fear that at any moment it might cost me as much as $10 to get drunk, instead of the usual $5.40 that could once buy me eight Lokos at BP in a simpler, freer time. It was fear of the uncertain future, fear of the “what next?” Could they ban fun and merriment of any kind? Could they ban Christmas? Halloween? The Superbowl?

Sure, I had sufficient business acumen and knowledge enough of the political system to foresee the effective ban on Four Lokos, and yes, I’ll make exorbitant profits when I sell my 30-case stockpile for five dollars a Loko on LDOC—but that isn’t the point, is it? The point is that there is something very wrong with this world that we’re living in, and in my abject disconsolation I turned to the great poetry of the past to help me make sense of things. In my seemingly endless perusal of the renowned anthologies, I came across two poems in particular whose beautiful language and topical relevance truly spoke to me.

The first piece was a poetic statement made after the HoLokoaust of 2010, which was the systematic execution of millions of Lokos across the country. It appears in its original text below:

First They Came…

First they came for clove cigarettes,

and I didn’t speak up because I didn’t roll spliffs and I wasn’t a major stockholder in HM Sampoerna Tobacco (on the books, at least).

Then they came for Tailgate,

and I didn’t speak up because I, like many of you, did not believe that people with degrees in education could actually have the authority to tell me what to do.

Then they came for Four Lokos,

and I didn’t speak up because I was wayyy too Loko.

Then they came for me.

And I was standing 50 feet away from the nearest building smoking mentholated cigarettes and drinking unflavored and decaffeinated malt liquor without wearing a costume on a Saturday morning before a football game, and no one was left to speak up for me.

The next poem is a sonnet that is inscribed at the base of Fratue of Inebriety as a shining welcome to all those fun drinks that have been cast out and vilified by society. It appears in its original text below:

The New Brolossus

A lot like the hazing frat brother of greek fame,

With sleeveless limbs cast wide and beer in hand;

Here at our pre-sloshed, Tailgates shall stand

A mighty sister with a drink, whose can

Is the imprisoned blackout, and her name

Four Loko. From her 23.5 oz-can

Glows campus-wide welcome; her bloodshot eyes command

The Quikshop-fridged stupor for which 2 dollars pay.

“Keep, Family Fare, your Queernoff Ice!” cries she

With slurring lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled Lokos yearning for caffeine,

The wretched refuse of your now-banned store.

Send these, the drinks of the homeless, legality-lost to me,

I lift my Loko beside the Shooters floor!”

Rest in peace, Four Lokos. We hardly knew you.

Look for Gossip Bro’s Four Loko Pop stand, coming soon to the Bryan Center Plaza!