This past weekend, I went to a large birthday party-slash-reunion party. A ton of folks showed up, most were local, and quite a few from several states away. It was big affair, and everyone showed up ready to party.
The fact that it was a big and well-attended affair didn’t mean that it was an overly fancy party. Not in the least. A modest buffet, a couple of kegs and a cash bar for mixed drinks.
That last part – the cash bar – is where it started to go pear-shaped. Not because anyone got supremely blottoed (I fucking wish). But because there were drinks ordered that NO ONE in this universe or the next should ever fucking order.
People have no fucking idea how to order mixed drinks at a bar.
It’s fucking deplorable that there are drinks that you’re allowed to order, and drinks no one should ever order, and no one knows this shit. Maybe an easy way to determine between the two is to use a few rules. These are my rules, I made them up.
- If you order a drink that requires more than 3 ingredients, you’re an asshole. In other words, fuck your Singapore Sling.
- If your drink order takes more than 90 seconds to make, you’re an asshole. You’re twice the asshole if it takes you more than 90 seconds to order your stupid drink.
- If your drink has more than four syllables, you’re an asshole. I hope you choke on your Long Island Iced Tea.
- If your drink has some cute name, you’re an asshole. You know what’s the best way to make a Fuzzy Navel? You get a bottle of peach schnapps. And you shove it up your ass. Past your freshman year in college, there’s no fucking way you have any business ordering a Fuzzy Navel or a Sex On The Beach. It’s your freshman year, you’re supposed to do stupid shit you know nothing about. After that, if you order a Fuzzy Navel, you need to be stabbed.
- If your drink order has to come from a “mixologist”, you’re an asshole.
- If you call yourself a “mixologist”, you’re a huge asshole. And a huge dickhead.
So, what does this mean? This means no more fucking Mojitos. The fucking things are so 10 years ago, at best. I read this tweet the other week and it made my fucking week. Enjoy your herpes in a glass, losers.
Nevermind how much trouble it is to make a mojito, the goddamn mojito is such a pretentious asshole drink to order. “I want you to make me a rum drink that cloaks the rum taste with a mass floating bits of leaves. It makes me feel sophistimacated.” Fuck off.
Also off-limits are Whiskey Sours, Mudslides, Kamikazes, or anything with fucking Kahlua in it. If your drink has part of a plant or, a flower in it, or it has different swirly colors, you’ve made a grave error, and you need to send that sumbitch back and order yourself a proper fucking drink.
Another thing you’re not allowed to order anymore: a martini. You can’t be trusted to order a martini properly. Because all of you fuck it up with vodka. Fuck that. Martinis are made with gin. Only gin. James Bond is a colossal douche for getting the martini wrong for 60 years. Also, of course you fucking shake a martini – who the fuck stirs one. Bottom line is if you’re not gonna get a gin martini, you’re not getting a martini at all.
Here’s the thing: a drink is a rite of passage. It’s not a fucking toy. It’s a several ounces of fulfillment you sip out of a glass to replenish yourself, physically and emotionally. It’s something you should take some goddamn pride in. How the fuck are you supposed to take some pride in yourself when you waddle up to some barkeep and order yourself an “orgasm”?
Stop being a douchebag to yourself.
But I don’t wanna come across as being some persistent naysayer, only harping on shit you can’t drink. There’re a ton of drinks that are perfectly acceptable. Again, these are my rules, I make them up.
- You want something brown, get a Manhattan or a Sidecar. These are classics that’ll never earn you a frown from your barkeep. Too complicated? You can NEVER go wrong with a single malt, neat. Ever. And don’t ever put your single malt on the rocks. That’s like putting A1 sauce on a porterhouse. Shitheads do that. Don’t be a shithead.
- You want something red, order a Negroni. Done.
- You want something green, fuck your Appletinis. You get your hands on some absinthe or you can just fuck off. You’re lucky I’m not putting brake fluid in your glass.
- You want something blue, fuck you, you don’t ever fucking drink anything blue, dipshit.
- You want something with tequila in it, try a tequila and tonic. That’s right, tonic with fucking tequila in it. Not gin, and not vodka, you unimaginative wank. And stop being so scared of tequila. Some of you treat tequila as if one whiff of it will send you into some PCP ragefest. Calm the fuck down, it’s just tequila. Tequila and tonic – with a slice of lemon – is one of the greatest summer drinks, so fucking get to it.
There you go. Sort your shit out, and stop ordering dickhead drinks. No one ever got in trouble ordering a beer (unless it’s got fruit in it, or needs to be served in stemware). Or wine (although it may not yet be safe to order a Merlot).
So don’t say I never did anything for you.