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In every realm of nature there have always been struggles for the throne of bad-assed-ness.

Whether it’s alpha males competitively vying for female attention, rivers and mountains struggling for ultimate geologic supremacy or me haranguing my editors to get profanities included in my columns, nature’s dictate has always created a power struggle.

In this vein, I’d like to pay homage to the tyrannical titan of alcoholic beverages: Bacardi 151. Everything about this drink is no joke.

First of all, 151 is undeniably a badass number. The number rolls off the tongue so well in so many different ways. My personal favorite is “one-five-one” although most are partial to the more commonplace “one-fifty-one.”

Indeed under the auspices of heavy inebriation, I’ve gone so far as to call it “Beluga” and, on one particularly brazen occasion, “Griselda,” a namesake of my fiery ex-girlfriend.

But all trivialities aside, there are many reasons I hold such esteem for this particular brand of alcohol.

The most obvious is that this rum has an alcoholic content of roughly 75 percent. The label specifically states it is highly flammable, and on top of the bottle lies a funnel conveniently shattering all would-be delusions of taking shots of this potent liquid from the bottle.

Of course, this is not to say that many have not looked into the fiery depths of 151 and consumed it in the enveloping yield of a shot glass.  But it’s like one of those asinine “Do Not Remove” labels that adorn comforters and blankets: the more one sees the message of negation, the more one yearns to defy its decree.

Mixed or taken straight, Bacardi 151 has brought about slackening of inhibitions, dulled senses and in general, good times since its inception in the alcoholic arena.

I recall one instance where my four friends and I finished a bottle of 151. Forgoing more modern incarnations of video game entertainment, we broke out an O.G. Nintendo replete with a Track and Field pad and promptly began to stomp furiously on the spots to simulate actual running.

In the course of that drunken night, my friend, a 280-pound behemoth, broke a previous 100-meter world record of 9.8 seconds by four ticks of the second hand. Needless to say, the 151 set the mood of jubilation for the unbelievable race he had won.

My friend’s time, physique and glory as world 100-meter champion were merely an alcohol-induced fantasy. But how badass is a drink that can turn this humble man into an Olympic god?

Indeed, many claimants to the throne of alcoholic supremacy maintain any alcohol could induce these effects just as well as 151. Although these other liquors may have a claim (a dubious one) to the throne 151 regally possesses, none have the right mix of attributes that keep Bacardi in its monarchial position.

Beer? Unnecessary calories.

Midori liqueur? Many dislike sugary tastes when it comes to alcoholic drinks.

XO Cognac? You have to drop the Gross National Product of small island countries for a bottle of that rotgut.

Bacardi 151? At eighteen dollars a bottle, with a name that reeks of style and sporting a triple digit proof? This choice is reminiscent of the excellent Jagged Edge song, “Where the party at?” An appropriate answer would be: “Where the Bacardi’s at.”

Many will no doubt decry me as an idiot or, judging from my hate mail, much worse, for writing such an esoteric homage on rum.

Yet, faith without works is dead.  At least try 151. Drink it with Coke to add kick to an otherwise boring cocktail. If you’re feeling especially saucy, garnish your drink with a cherry bomb, a maraschino cherry soaked in 151. Throw down a shot and receive the warm embrace – preceded by initial throat searing – of 151-induced bliss.

Whether swayed or unmoved by my anecdotes, statistics and theories, I hope you have the courage to accept Bacardi 151 as the reigning badass of alcoholic drinks.