…I think we should go out for drinks. I’ll get the first round. What’ll y’all have?
posted by Kathy Hilen-Smith in alcohol | * | 109 comments
Well, Kathy – I’d love a Martini, my favourite – or perhaps a Manhattan.
How’s about one of each?
I’ll have a margarita please, Kathy.
Vodka on the rocks, please. It don’t have to be fancy. I’m down with whatever the house pour may be. Here’s to Sheila!
Is there an Armagnac in the house? Why, thank you, Kathy.
Next round is on me.
Margarita~ got it.
House pour on the vodka is Ketel One tonight.
chin chin. Or, So let the cannikin clink clink… let the cannikin clink!
For you Sheila, it’s not only in the house, it’s on the house.
(got a little on the sofa too… sorry.)
Say, I dig that Othello theme you struck up, Lucy!
I’ve always loved Shakespeare’s bar scenes.
Lucy said bar scene.
Um, I’m still waiting for my drink. Is it being fed-exed?
Lucy, I think maybe your Margarita might be like one of those faery-potions them faery-folk pour out by lonely crossroads there in your corner of the world.
That’s the conclusion I’ve reached about my Armagnac, anyway.
Now we’re talkin.
Talkin’ the talk that’s “spun from the finest malarkey”. Oh, yes.
Another variation on the theme: bullshitology. Or as Joyce would have it, Shite and onions.
Wait a minute though: if your armagnac is currently being poured by the Púca at The Lonely Crossroads (which is indeed in my corner of Clare, even. There’s a small river and it gushes right underneath the crossroads, and there’s a bridge and a solitary post box) then you’d better get your arse over here then, Ryan.
…huh? what? Sorry. I passed out a little. What’d I miss?
Jesus, Phil! Phil! Phil, for fuck’s sake! Will you clean up the patch under Kathy please? She’s had a little accident.
Oh and whoever’s round it is next, they can fed-ex me another margarita. I’m raring to go.
I was drinking a Manhattan for Phil, then I googled Armagnac and watched the cat bat an olive around then I woke up to what sounded like Othello.
What the hell is this on the sofa?
By the way, I”m out of cash. Who’s got the next round?
Kathy, I got some funny money. Let’s see if I can slip it on by.
And y’all, I think Phil done passed out.
Eh, I heard him say he’d leave his wallet out for us. Yes, I definitely heard him say that. Right after he said, “So hold up your bright swords for the dew will rust ‘em”. I said, fair enough, Phil. There’s a hatchet around here somewhere. I assumed it was his way of proposing a toast.
I think that was when you woke up, Kathy. And piddled.
So who’s buying? I’d like another ubber dirty. The cat needs more olives.
Rick’s outside in the garden singing a Brubeck tune with the Brooklyn Roof Goat. Pour him another vodka, Kathy. Make it a double.
That’s no way to talk about Danny.
Phil tends to mutter when he’s in his cups. So you just have to make assumptions. And filch cash from his wallet. Then set into drinking. And piddling.
Ah, Kathy. There’s no way to talk about Danny. Not really.
We’ve got it covered, Sheils. We wouldn’t let you down on your birthday.
Alright, a bit of hush please.
I’m going dooooooooooooooooooown
So I can get boiled as an owl? Drunk as Cooter Brown?
Now if that comment ain’t drunk, I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS.
Load ‘er up, bartenda. Nice and loose.
“Carrickfergus” is cool. And I feel safe in the knowledge you won’t commence to droning “Danny Boy”.
WTF? Who’s going to clean that up?
It was only singing.
Did I miss anything while I was under the table?
I believe Phil said he was on top of any spillages that might occur. Right after he said, I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgotten all custom of circumstance, and then got really embarrassed because he was in the wrong play altogether.
He got all conflibberated after those few tokes off that Camberwell carrot. He ain’t used to suchlike, and so he will jumble his lines.
I said, it’s called a Cambewew cawwot Phiw, because I made it in Cambewew, and it wooks wike a cawwot.
Go break up a chair and throw it on the fire before Monty comes, will you please, Sheila? I’ve got a bastard behind the eyes.
That is so fwicking heavy . . . Wucy . . .
We may as well sit round this cigarette. This is ridiculous. We’ll be found dead in here next spring.
My heart’s beating like a fucked clock.
…huh? what? Sorry. I passed out a little. What’d I miss?
I can’t keep up with y’all. I shouldn’t have put all that crack in your drinks.
All you missed. Kathy, was when the pig shat in my head.
That’s a terrible way to talk about Danny.
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY, SO I GET WHAT I WANT.
And I want something’s flesh.
I know Kathy, it’s a tough call, special occasion and all, you’d think we’d enjoy being turned into crackwhores, but no. Can’t please some folk.
I’m ready to go all maudlin any minute now. Will it be “Danny Boy” or something from “Astral Weeks”?
If I ventured in the slipstream… between the viaducts of your dreams… where mobeel steel rims crack… and the ditch in the back road stops.
Could you find me? Would you a kiss in my eye? Laaaay me doooown. Inside it’s easaaay to be born again… to be born agaiin…
Do you think this comment thread is a musical?
ah jeeze…. it’s weepy tiime.
better order some high-fat snacks and pop a couple Excedrin
And I will stroll the merry way and jump the hedges first — And I will drink the clear clean water for to quench my thirst — And I shall watch the ferry-boats and theyll get high — On a bluer ocean against tomorrow’s sky — And I will never grow so old again — And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain — – Ah, stop it! Stop it, I say!
Ra ra rasputeeen lover of the russian queen
la lalal alaaaaaaal a we carry on
Awh . . . can’t somebody phone for a pizza?
Ok this is the kind of thing that won’t please all of the people all of the time, but I think tonight’s crowd will dig it.
Lucy linked to Boney M.
Rasputin was a sex machine.
G’night all. I’m going home with the Brooklyn Roof Goat. He offered to drive.
And Lucy’s up late. Real late.
Ooh, Kathy. A dirty sweet Brooklyn Roof Goat! Dig it, girl.
Yeah… that Danny’s a sweet-heart.
Thanks to all y’all for the bestest birthday.
Now I gotta go find me some food.
Not that I been drinking or anything.
Somebody shake Phil, eh? He knows how to announce a fart in modern folkish Greek.
Jesus, the combination of jet-lag, one of Kathy’s special Martini’s and Manhattan’s rendered me unconcious there. Mop up after Kathy eh! You know how the body relaxes, I’ll just deal with my own small puddle and I’ll be over there.
Hell you doze off for 2 minutes and it seems like best part of 8 hours.
. . . . and if that is piddle it’s the oddest shade.
Kathy – was there a Maraschino Cherry in my Manhattan or has someone had their fingers in my drink?
Yeah, sure I’ll buy the next one – after all I have all these dollars left over!
Well, ladies, I’m so glad you made use of those spare dollars. I’m always okay for one Martini, I struggle to finish the second. As soon as I started to speak of bright swords and hatchets – well, I guess at that point I really was away with the faeries.
Sheila, did you say “fucked clock?
And, whilst I was under I swear I heard someone peeing and spelling, it may have been a dream I guess.
Shit, Lucy – if I were able to stand there is always the chance of me dancing to Rasputin. I never thought I would utter those words, obviously some indication of how pissed I am.
Good Mornin’ all, I’ll put on some coff….! Holy Crap! Just look at this place!
Good man, Rick – I woke in a puddle of something and I’m not even sure it was mine!
Anyone got a birthday today?
Kathy, is there no stopping you?
George Washington – was he a party animal?
and of course Robert Wadlow – ‘The Giant of Illinois’.
Now you wouldn’t want to say to him “fill yer boots, Bob” would you now!
(pssst… hey phil….can you tell me something? What the hell is a Brooklyn Roof Goat?)
Kathy – I have no idea, I just assumed it was a Goat that lived on a Brooklyn roof. But then I am English and much can be excused because of that! I propose that we stay cool and jokingly ask the birthday girl and her Irish partner in crime when they wake if you can milk those roof goats – always leaving ourselves an out in that it’s a joke question.
I reckon if we wave coffee under Sheila’s nose she’ll release Lucy and wake.
Hey, I just woke up, and I wanna know who stuck this head of an ass on my shoulders!
I had the weirdest damn dream.
Like Rasputin, George Washington was a sex machine.
Dunno about Robert Wadlow. But he was big, I’ll grant that..
Hey!! I can’t believe y’all would have a party without me.
I guess I’ll just crawl back into my hole and die.
But first – anybody up for a mimosa?
Uh, maybe mimosas aren’t such a good idea after all–my head’s still swimming from reading about last night’s revelry. I think I’ll just go have a grilled cheese sandwich and some iced tea and act all normal.
Cindy, better late than never – I’ve just fired up a Martini, jet lag for the time being seems a thing of the past although I have no doubt it may come and club me on the back of the head later. Actually, if the truth be known, I’m on my second.
Phil, the first time I had a martini was at the age of 22, at New York’s Plaza Hotel. I ordered it because it seemed the sophisticated thing to do. I took one sip and thought it tasted like gasoline, so I ate the olive and gave the drink to my friend.
That olive tasted really good.
well Cindy, I guess in many ways your assessment of the taste of neat Gin is quite accurate – I’m not sure what it says about me, but, I am more than happy to buy you Martinis all night – you just eat the olives and I’ll happily dispose of the nasty liquid for you!
Thank you, hon, but I got over my aversion to the taste a long time ago. In fact, I’ll drink pretty much anything, as long as it has alcohol in it. (Well, I take that back–I can’t stand sweet drinks or most liqueurs. So, if you want to buy me those, I’ll happily play with the little umbrellas while you drink the sweet stuff for me!)
The best martinis are when you take the jar of olives big fat olives and dump out all the olive water and fill the jar up with some good vodka and let ‘er sit for a while but not too long ‘cuz you’ll need to commence drinkin’ soon. I call them über dirties unless I’ve had a few and forgot how to make a proper umlaut in which case I just double-b it: ubber.
Whose birthday is it today?
94 comments. 96 tears.
way mo betta: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkvK638yKuY&feature=related
Owh — got-dam, Kathy! Mmmnh, mmmnh, mmmnh.
And when the sun comes up, I’ll be on top
You’ll be way down there lookin’ up
And I might wave – Come up here -
But I don’t see you wavin’ now
Owh owh owh!
Ooh, I knew that second clip was from Where the Action Is even before I saw the super-title.
Rudy Martinez. Owh! I’d fuck him in a Saginaw minute.
Cindy, I’m not into the sweet and sickly drinks either – but a Martini drinkin’ partner sounds sweet!
Sheila, your birthday was yesterday. Stop offering to fuck everybody. Save a little something for next year, how ’bout it?
Yeah. I’ll settle down. (In a pig’s eye.)
Kathy, could we substitute that jar of Vodka for a jar of Gin easily? I mean, would I be committing some sort of cardinal sin or anything?
We could. But I think it would be better to get two jars of olives (big fat olives) and do the Gin thing and the Vodka thing separately and try to maintain as much dignity as possible.
It’s probably too late for the dignity part, isn’t it?
Oh, Kathy – I never inteded for no bastard mix – of course separate jars are essential!
(psssst…. sheila…. i’d fuck rudy in a saginaw minute too, but MGS reads this clusterflock too and, well, you know…)
Damn, Kathy – I didn’t mean to hear that I just did. Does that mean I have to fuck Rudy as well? ‘In for a penny, in for a pound I say!’
Close your eyes and listen:
You’re gonna cry ninety-six tears
You’re gonna cry ninety-six tears
You’re gonna cry cry, cry, cry, now
You’re gonna cry cry, cry, cry
Ninety-six tears c’mon and lemme hear you cry, now
Okay you’re right. Maybe it won’t be so good for you.
Kathy. Kathy. It’s never too late for the dignity part. Not here.