Hangovers are never fun, and the older you get, the worse they are. When I was a spry young lad, all I needed to do after an epic night of drinking (and getting shot down by chicks) was shower and use mouthwash-if I was hungover at all. Now I almost need a battlefield medic to patch me up after I balltap my liver and execute brain cells via alcohol.
On top of a shower and oral hygiene, to cure my all-night binge drinking woes I like a good (or bad) blowjob, handjob or selfjob. But sometimes all that motion, exercise and crying (afterwards) is too much effort. Or makes me want to throw up. So I need to take a different angle.
The obvious stoner advice is "Just smoke weed." Perfect solution usually, but that unfortunately involves planning and owning ganja-I'm bad at both. I'm the kind of drunk who wakes up spooning his roommate's potted plants wondering why his family photos have blowdarts in them. Sometimes, kicking my roommate (who sleeps outside my door for some reason) cures all my ailments.
Pre-mixed anything such as Bloody Mary Mix, cookie dough and napalm is for whorish Communists. But there is one semi-sweet little tramp that never lets me down: Bloody Mary.
I'd like to meet Bloody Mary's parents or inventor just to shake their/his/her hand and say "Thanks." I mean, who thinks of mixing vodka, tomato juice, peppery stuff, Worchestershire Sauce, celery, celery salt and ice? Seriously? I've made some effed up drinks in my day, but figuring out this alchemy ranks up there with creating ice or gunpowder. Absolutely amazing yet impossible to reverse engineer the process.
Imbibing in a morning (or whenever you wake up) Bloody Mary after a long night of drinking is like fucking a relatively fuckable girl after a vicious breakup. Sure she's kind of a pain in the ass, tastes weird and is more of the same bullshit you dealt with before, but banging some dirty skank makes you feel good about yourself…for a little while-and then really really nasty inside afterwards. The point is you feel a little bit better about yourself for a little while.
I generally refuse to do Sunday brunch at places that don't serve Bloody Marys. Who the hell enjoys eggs, sausage and bacon without three shots of vodka intertwined with tomato juice and other crap?
Of course, there's always the option of drinking a mimosa, but only girls and gay men are allowed to do that. A man drinking a mimosa is like a man smoking a Virginia Slim. It's only acceptable if it's a dare. Mimosas are for girls. Seriously. Our fallen heroes such as Teddy Roosevelt, Kirby Puckett and Yoda wouldn't drink bitch-ass mimosas. They'd grab the dog that bit them by the ball hairs and bite back. Or however that saying goes.
I prefer making my own Bloodies from scratch. Pre-mixed anything such as Bloody Mary Mix, cookie dough and napalm is for whorish Communists and anti-pirates. Even though I've worked in bars for the past eight years, I still don't really know the exact science of making Marys. I just mix shit up until it works, tastes good or I get tired of mixing shit.
My special move is usually Clamato juice. Don't ask me why this makes it better. I don't really like any of Bloody Mary ingredients on their own, but mixed together they're an orgy of goodness.
I attended two Bloody Mary buffets last weekend and let me tell you, that's the way to do it. A buffet of crap to stick in your drink. If you leave the celery in your drink long enough, it sucks up alcohol. So you can get drunk by eating vegetables. That's frikkin' awesome.
I especially like drinking Marys in beautiful Minnesota. Along with your Bloody, bartenders give you a lowball of beer just in case you feel like drinking a beer in the morning. I'm sure bars do this courtesy in other places along the Midwest, but since 9,999 of Minnesota's lakes haven't tried to kill me (FUCK YOU, Lake Ottertail!), I place special feelings towards this fine state.
Once again, Bloody Marys are a lot like sex. Sure there's the good and the bad and the ugly and the crabby, but in the end, you're still getting a drink and still getting laid. So there's no real wrong way to do it-unless it's up my butthole. That's wrong.
 Weekly Drunk Text: My liquidy poop is sixty percent alcohol by volume. -Bones |