Well, it felt as if his esophagus was melting. A nice searing fire was descending to his stomach. Then it felt as if it was ascending from his stomach. He clamped his mouth shut worried that he might not be able to keep it down, but his body had already decided to clamp his throat shut. It also felt as if the top of his stomach had closed itself off from the assaulting beverage. For several seconds the fiery abomination of liquid bungee jumped in his throat. His eyes clamped shut as his tear ducts went into overdrive. At this point what felt like every muscle in his body started to spasm.

He was going to die. He was convinced that he had gone and done something so irreversibly stupid that his life would end in a wretched hive of scum and villainy. Of course he had no basis to judge whether or not he was surrounded by scum or villainy. His brain was just firing to anything and everything seemingly all at once. At this point, whether through conscious thought or reflex from lack of oxygen he took a deep breath in through his nose. He hadn't been breathing for the last ten minutes. Okay it was only ten seconds, but it felt like ten minutes. The unholy concoction of liquid had finally been allowed into his stomach and settled there.

This was not however the end of the ordeal. When he opened his eyes he was quite perplexed as to why he saw three of everything, and it was all shaded green. His ears heard nothing but a loud rush of air as if he was standing in the jet wash of an airplane. He suddenly realized that his underwear felt wet and assumed that incontinence had paid him a visit. Luckily it was just a flop sweat that overwhelmed every pore of his body, no doubt trying to find any way it could to get this Trolam out of his system. His fingers and toes started to go numb and he felt like if he didn't hold onto the edge of the bar for dear life that he would fall over. On top of everything he was processing, his vision now changed from a green tint to a bright orange tint.

Then his life started to flash before his eyes. Well, not actually his whole life, but his brain took him back to when he was twelve years old and he had gotten into his Mother's fifth of vodka while she was working the night shift. The nice buzz after the first glass, the vomit of the projectile variety after he had drank half the bottle. His mind and body were doing so many things at once that he barely noticed that the burning in his esophagus was beginning to subside. Sadly though, his eyes were still crossing themselves like ships in the night and his vision had gone to plaid.

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A small light at the end of the tunnel began to peek through the mayhem. The old familiar buzzed feeling that happens after the first few drinks began to encroach on his entire body. His muscles began to slowly calm their spasms and his eyes slowly settled into their normal forward facing trajectory. Sadly though it still sounded like he was in a wind tunnel and he hadn't started to regain color clarity. It now looked like someone was spinning a prism in from of his eyes as everything turned to every color of the rainbow in rapid succession. One of his first deliberate thoughts was, "Who in the hell would make such a drink?"

So there he stood, hands still clamped to the edge of the bar, sweating and breathing heavily. As he let his head drop forward to look at the floor his hearing miraculously cleared up and he heard the most confusing thing given the circumstances. Cheering. Taking a moment to focus he could distinctly hear cheering and clapping. A particularly high pitched voice from somewhere to his right exclaimed, "I can't believe that odd looking fellow actually kept it down!". Lifting his head up he looked around and saw clapping, cheering, and revelry. He was highly confused.

Turning to the bartender he tried to inquire as to what was going on, but his voice sounded like a coffee grinder. Taking another deep breath he cleared his throat and tried again. "What's all the cheering for?" Dave asked. The big man behind the bar explained, "Everyone who tries the Trolam vomits uncontrollably. We started putting a pool together that would go to the first person that actually managed to swallow the shit. You just won yourself a little under ten thousand credits!" The bar tender then grabbed a card from under the bar that closely resembled the identification card that Cam had printed for him and handed it towards Dave.

He attempted to reach out and grab the card and missed. He suddenly and briefly realized that his nice buzz had evolved into stranger hugging drunkenness. "Whoa this stuff moves fast.", he thought. Strengthening his resolve and allowing the inhibition neutralizing effect that alcohol to make his decisions for him, he pushed the card back at the bartender and said "looks like drinks are on me then friend.". The barman looked utterly shocked and leaned towards Dave, "Are you sure?" he asked. Dave merely nodded an affirmative. The bartender continued, "What's your name stranger?". Dave smiled and slightly slurred his own name. The big man stood up tall and bellowed across the bar, "Drinks are on Dave tonight!!", and the cheering continued.