The first time I had Malort, it was 5am outside the hotel of Worldcon, in Chicago; I had been raising hell with a Sweed and a Finn trying to out drink the Irish at their own party, and eventually they kicked us out around blur thirty. We go outside to find a drunk kid passed out, a native Chicagoian smoking a stogie and a Polish dude who was cool 'cause he was into metal. The native Chicagoian pulls out a bottle of Malort, to welcome us to his city. I take a drag off his cigar, and pound back the shot. I get up. I walk over to the closest thing to hang over. I instantly vomit. I go back and ask for a second shot. And, goddammit, he gave it to me.
The second time, I drank Malort I was watching a turtle race.