After me and my mates in England had ordered our last round of drinks one of us would bash a glass or a fist (sometimes even a boot) on the table, raise his glass and make a toast, "To the End of the World Motherfuckers." The world was being run by men of great insanity and greater power; we were teetering and tottering in the playground of war some asshole with a pharmaceutical imagination once called Eden.
It was our custom to drink a Starboard Light before making our way home to spin in the dark with our bedside bucket. As I recall, the drink was made of Pernod, white rum, creme de menthe, a small bottle of 'baby champs' and 7 Up. It glowed in the dark like the green instrument panels inside a plane's cock pit. The end of the world occurred the next morning when you began the hours long ordeal of farting out the radioactive remains of many beer, whiskies and the glowing nightcap.
The stoned people of Quebec, who could never remember the ingredients of a Starboard Light, invented a beer called La Fin du Monde to pound down at the end of a good night of drinking, or the early end of the Canadiens' season, just to make sure you are so plastered leaving Canada behind like a looks like one fuck of a good idea, until morning.