Sunday, 27 March 2016

Booze Bunny.

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It's the long Easter weekend so many of you will be looking to destroy some of your liver and brain cells, volleying massive amounts of booze into your face in the hope of forgetting how dreadful your life is. We at TOLAS are always ready and willing enablers so if you're tired of the usual Special Brew and cough medicine cocktails and are looking for something new to pour down your neck then here here to help with our updated list of some of our favourite tipples. Whether you're a carefree but busy professional glue sniffer, a workaholic Mexican prostitute, or a world weary traveller on a business trip to Honduras buying a teenage boys pancreas for yourself, we've got the drink that's perfect for you.
Have a fucking look if you don't believe me you fat cunt!

The Hodgepodge:
Served in: Jar.
Splash of every brand of alcohol I can name with my eyes closed in ten seconds, with ice.

The Amalgam:
Served in: Chilled highball glass.
Point to every bottle behind the bar. The first two I mispronounce the name of, go in the glass. Garnished with sprig of rosemary.

The Pisto Scour:
Served in: Soup Bowl.
That's me slurring "Pisco Sour." Just make a pisco sour.

The Knockout:
Served in: Tumbler.
One time I tried to convince two sixty year old security guards who were watching a boxing match that it was intimate and tender that the adversaries would sometimes lean on each other for support, their heads on one another's shoulders like an old couple dancing in the final hour of their child's wedding, after they had both exhausted themselves in salvos of brutality upon each other. Two fingers tequila, sambuca, grapefruit soda, splash of spit.

The Senior Thesis:
Served in: Rag.
This is more of an inhalant than a cocktail. Anytime I start talking about my undergraduate literature thesis I am implicitly ordering this. Soak a rag in ether. When I rally and say "What was I talking about" say "The middle ages."

The Middle Ages:
Served in: Ale flagon.
I've started yelling about shit. Not figuratively, actual shit: its provenance, its prevalence, and its pestilence. If I use the term "horse diarrhea" it's time to drink a flagon of water.

The Gordon Brown:
Served in: Vase.
This is what you order if The Queen shows up to the bar. I don't know what's in it.

The Weekend At Bernie's:
Served in: Margarita glass.
This is a cute one. Fill a margarita glass with Muppet pubes.

The Dublin Over:
Served in: Shot glass, Pint glass.
This is a modified Irish Car Bomb, the modification being that instead of a 60% chance of immediately vomiting the probability is 100%. Guinness, with shot of sriracha dropped in.

A Glass of Port:
Served in: Whatever port is served in.
I only ever drink port if I'm a tulip bulb merchant with gout in which case we're both already dead and we're reincarnating backwards.

Pispo Powder:
Pisco Sour again.

The Garden of Earthly Delights:
Served in: Champagne flute; Margarita glass, Champagne flute.
At this point I've either recuperated through the curative powers of vomiting and protein (Dublin Over, Pispo Powder) or I've died (Glass of Port). Either way, let's visit the garden of earthly delights.
This drink is three panels long and visually symmetrical. It deals with conceptions of heaven, purgatory, and hell. The first champagne flute is spring water, the finest that the bartender can provide. The margarita glass is elderflower liqueur, rosé, splash of wormwood, a sprig of lavender, and a drop of bitters. Served on a napkin with a titty drawn on it. The final glass is piss.

Till next month.
Big love. Mark. X

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