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.
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.
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?
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.
