< Gargle Blaster

Gargle Blaster/Quotes

The effect of drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is something akin to having one's brain smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped around a large gold brick.
Official Guide entry, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Likely dropped to avoid seizure by authorities, or because of seizure due to drinking it. Garbolg only brewed from 8:74 to 8:92 Blessed, killed when the vapors in his beard spontaneously combusted.
Description of "Garbolg's Backcountry Reserve", Dragon Age: Origins
"Scumble's made of apples. Well, mostly apples."

Maître Folace: Problem is, the ordinary fare got hijacked by the kids. What do we do? Do we take risks with the bizarre?... This won't make anyone younger. (he pulls out a bottle)
Raoul Volfoni: Good, we're saved.
Maître Folace: Saved... we'll see!
Jean: What, did you pull out the vitriol?
Paul Volfoni: Why are you saying that?
Maître Folace: Hey!
Paul Volfoni: Yet, it has an honest look.
Monsieur Fernand: Without being frankly dishonest, at first glance, like this, it... looks a bit weird.
Maître Folace: It's from the Mexican's time, during the golden age... however, we had to stop the fabrication; some clients were getting blind. Ah, this was causing no end of troubles!
(they prudently drink)
Raoul Volfoni: Gotta say... it's brutal!
Paul Volfoni: (tears in his eyes) You were right, it's a weird one, hu?
Monsieur Fernand: I've known a Polish woman who drank this for breakfast. (drinks, winces) Still, you gotta admit: it's rather a men's drink... (he coughs)
Raoul Volfoni: Do you know what it's reminding me of? That's kind of funny thing we were drinking in a low dive of Bien Hoa, not very far from Saigon. "The Red Shutters"... and the boss woman, a blonde bombshell... What was her name already, Goddamn?
Monsieur Fernand: Lulu la Nantaise.
Raoul Volfoni: You knew her?
(Monsieur Fernand rolls his eyes)
Paul Volfoni: I find it taste like apples.
Maître Folace: There's some.
(later, they're drunk)
Maître Folace: And... And... And... 50 kg of potatoes, a bag of sawdust, he could get you 25 liters of 3-stars from the alembic; a real wizard, Jo. And that's why I'm allowing myself to command at some memory smear-spreaders that they should better shut up their stinky mouth!
(...)
Paul Volfoni: You can say whatever you want, there's not just apples... there's something else... it wouldn't be, by any chance... beetroot? Hu?

Monsieur Fernand: Yes, there's some too.

Ratch: Ryncol's a local favorite. Don't try to act tough; it'll tear your insides apart.

Grunt: He's not joking. Ryncol hits aliens like ground glass.

Bartender: Okay -- for you, something special. This is krogan liquor -- ryncol. You'll set off radiological alarms after you drink it. Should I pour you a quad?
Shepard: Hell yeah! Put more stuff in the... the thing more stuff goes in.

Bartender: Your funeral, pal.

Call: (chokes) Shit Johnner, what'd you put in this, battery acid?

Johnner: Just a little. For colour.

Richie: What's in this?!
Eddie: Brandy...
Richie: Good!
Eddie: ...meths, Pernod, paintstripper, Mr. Sheen, brake fluid and Drambuie!
Richie: Drambuie?! Oooh hoo-hoo ooooh!

Eddie: Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right. You've gotta put something in for the birds, haven't you?

Richie: (taking a whiff) Jesus! How are you alive?

Eddie: I may very well not be!
Bottom, "Hole"
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