Spencer DeVine, contributor
We are all guilty of a “Sex on a Beach” here or a “Cosmopolitan” there, shit happens, but stop being a pansy at bars.
Drinking still has its hardcore practitioners, guzzling Jameson straight from the bottle on the back of public transportation, but as a whole what was once a proud and manly escape from the world has bitched out.
Alcohol shouldn’t taste good; that way you know that you’re making a mistake you’ll regret later. When all you can taste is mixer or juice you trick your body into underestimating the pain that is to come. Who wants to be their own body’s Judas?
Shots were what whiskey runners would trade when the police tried to snag their ass during prohibition. LMFAO took something so simple and rugged and turned it into a trivial party staple for rapey bros and sorority messes. Chaser? Only if by “her” you mean the tiger shark you’ve jumped into the ocean to pummel to death because that shaker of bourbon you’ve been nursing is empty and you need a manly outlet.
Irish coffees are a joke. You know what a true Irish coffee should be? Whiskey, straight. If you need to wake up you shouldn’t be drinking a damn depressant with your stimulant. That’s like doing coke to wake up but soaking it in Nyquil first; you’re doing unnecessary science there, Bill Nye.
Drinks are supposed to put hair on your chest, not shave it off and taste like unicorn farts. Honestly if you’re not bleeding and regretting the whole ordeal, then you haven’t really had a night of drinking.
Even the homeless, who would make hobo potions in abandoned bathtubs, have regressed to flavored swill like Fruit Punch Four Loko or Kiwi Lemon Mad Dog 20/20. If we can’t depend on our most avid alcoholics to drink for the grit of it, then perhaps we are doomed to a life of mini umbrellas and neon-colored-piss-filled coconuts.