If beer is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy, then the Zaca Recovery Patch is proof he doesn’t want us to be hung over in church.
Full Disclosure: I was not sent these buy the folks over at ZacaLife.com. Nope. I got a free sample when I got my Freedom Flask in the mail (More on the Freedom Flask later). It was a pack of four patches which worked so well, I had to order more – and pay for them – just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke.
Now if you’ve been a regular reader of this blog then you know Nate and I have tried our fair share of lotions, potions, pills and home-grown hangover cures. To be quite honest, most of the commercial hangover remedies that we test are souped up vitamins, which do work because of basic biology. If you replace depleted vitamins in your body while drinking plenty of water in a given period of time you will start feeling less like a dump truck full of dirty assholes and more like your old self – Unless of course you feel like a dump truck of dirty assholes on a normal day.
That being said, Zaca is the first and only wondiferous hangover cure that I have ever tested that actually works. Period.
I first tried the Zaca patch during a Memorial Day Weekend camping trip. The instructions are pretty simple: “Place the patch on your skin before you begin drinking and leave on for 24 hours.” Now girls, you can get away with the option of putting it on your bikini area so it isn’t seen. DO NOT PUT IT ON OR NEAR YOUR PUBES OR TOO CLOSE TO YOUR VA-JAYJAY. THE GLUE THEY USE IS RIDICULOUS.
Being a guy I chose the many option of just slapping it on my shoulder and calling it good. This was a problem. No less than five people (drunk shirtless rednecks) came up to me and said something to the effect of, “Hey man, hows that patch workin out for ya?” The first time I gave the guy a confused look and said, “Don’t know, haven’t gotten drunk enough to see.” To which I got an equally confused look and the reply, “What’s drinking got to do with how well a nicotine patch works?”
Fuck. Wearing this thing on my arm while shirtless and drinking Natty Light out of a can had taken me to White-trash-trying-to-quit-smoking-level-10. The next day I would just wear it on my left ass cheek. Wearing it on my bikini line would just be gay.
We floated down the river, drank, ate, drank, played Bear Pong until 4am while drinking and then finally fell asleep right before dawn to Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” playing on repeat in some distant truck stereo.
About 4 hours later my eyes opened. I lay still, assessing my overall feeling of feeling like shit. Other than feeling a little tired and sunburned, I felt pretty damn good. As soon as I came to the conclusion that I had in fact drank for 16 straight hours and gotten 4 hours of sleep in a tent and felt completely normal, I sat up to check on my buddy Dave.
Dave resembled what a someone in a concentration camp would look like if the camp were filled with people with spikey hair who wore bathing suits. He did NOT have a Zaca patch on. I had to leave a few hours later. I went home, mowed my yard and started drinking again. I would later find out that Dave would have to call his wife to come get him because of the severity of his hangover.
At the end of 24 hours I put on another patch and got the same results the next morning. Granted I didn’t drink the the same extent, but I got the smae results nonetheless.
The Real Test – 5 Days In New Orleans
After it’s strong showing at the Memorial Weekend camp out, I decided to throw the kitchen sink at both myself and Zaca – Five days in New Orleans
If you’ve never been to New Orleans before, let me sum it up for you:
It’s a thoroughfare of bars and Jazz clubs competing for your patronage. Three-for-one drink specials, all day happy hours, no cutoff time and jazz music blaring from every alley and dilapidated, voodooesque doorway. And everyone is hammered. All day and night.
The first night we scored some tickets to the House of Blues and saw quite possible the best concert ever. A Prince cover band called “1999”. I was alternating locally brewed Abita Turbodog with Smirnoff and Redbull. I was drinking like I didn’t have shit to do the next day. Truth was I had to be at the convention center at 8 am and had to talk to doctors, nurses and vendors until 6 with no break.
This would be the true test of the little 2 inch miracle patch I was wearing on my arm.
The next morning I slowly opened my eyes fully expecting to feel like I had been repeatedly jackhammered by Bill Goldberg.
The only thing I felt was a veracious hunger pang in my stomach. As I lay there, my wife woke up and asked me how I felt. “Fanfuckingtastic” I replied. To which she replied with a look of utter disbelief, “How?”
I hadn’t told her about the patch yet. Once I filled her in she demanded one and promptly put it on.
Over a breakfast of fried catfish and grits – Yes, catfish and grits for breakfast…with wasabi sauce. That’s how good I felt – I told my boss and his wife about my new best friend, the Zaca patch. Over the next 4 days, each morning, I gave everyone their Zaca patch for the day.
We drank like it was our job for those next four days. No one was ever hung over. Ever.
Some time later I would put Zaca through the gauntlet during a 4-day stint in Vegas. Same results.
Kids, I get nothing from the folks at Zaca for telling you to buy this product. If there’s something on the market that works better, I haven’t seen it.