Leonardo Da Vinci has the Mona Lisa. Beethoven has Symphony No. 9. And Leigh Hart has got Snackachangi chips, ig. It’s just unfortunate that they come paired with their wet drip of a brother: Wakachangi beer. Even more unfortunately, that’s what we’re reviewing today.
Flies like a chicken, tans like an albino, and tastes like a Dobro. This. Shit. Sucks.
Picture this: your ket-addict flatmate has pissed himself once again, and the chore chart is saying that it's your turn to lick his bedsheets clean. We would rather do that than drink one of these. At least there might be some ket residue in his piss.
There are even rumours circulating that Daniel Leamy is fleeing on exchange due to a close encounter with a Wakachangi. This encounter is not to be confused with the shit yarn printed on the can, which we actually quite like. Props to the marketing team behind that. In fact, the branding may be Wakachangi’s greatest achievement: it successfully distracts from the fact that, eventually, you have to open the can and take a sip.
The bottom read: “We could describe Wakachangi’s subtle aromas, crisp flavours, and age-old beer brewing process…” Yep, age old is about right, because these are mustier than an octogenarian’s orgy. Yes, we know what that smells like. Have you not been to Carousel?
To give Wakachangi the Booze Review it deserves: it tastes like beer. Not good beer. Not even particularly bad beer that's bad in an interesting way. Just beer that has somehow acquired the flavour of already being warm despite coming directly out of the fridge. It’s the sort of drink you crack open, take one sip of, then spend the next hour strategically abandoning the rest of the box on random windowsills.
We’d like to clarify that none of us wanted to spend money on a box of these. So we didn’t. Just like shit’s better left in air fryers, Wakachangi’s are better left at the host – and that’s exactly how we acquired them. Which is probably pretty telling. In summary: didn’t buy, won’t buy. But just like American senators – we can be bribed, and we remain open to sponsorships.
And with that, Swig60 hangs up the bottle opener.
Thank you to all our readers throughout the year (who are probably just the slim minority of BCom breathas who can read and med students who can drink). We appreciate all your support. It’s been great fun coming together as a flat to write one of these every two weeks (except for the times we didn’t).
Special shoutout to the editors who kept us in check. These reviews would’ve sounded far more drunk and probably gotten us kicked out of uni if it weren’t for you. [Editors note: This is very, very true].
Before we go, we’d like to leave you all with some parting wisdom: Floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee. Haha, you freshers aren’t getting first year free.
