Picture this: You’re sitting in a restaurant. You reach down for your crotch (like you probably do about 14 times a day) and there it is again. The umpteenth confirmation that: Yes. You are %100 percent male. But cha coulda fooled me. Cause on the table in front of you is a Sex on the Beach. And you’re sipping it with all the glee of a gay parade.
If I’m waiting on a guy who has ordered a drink that shoud only be consumed by pre-teen girls, I make sure to garnish the glass with an overabundance of pineapples cherries and other fruits that symbolize the female genitalia. You may be wearing pants, but underneath you’ve got on panties. And somebody’s gotta let your poor date know before she gets back to your pathetic apartment and finds herself in the middle of a reverse Crying Game script. Here is a list of drinks that as a man, you should NOT be ordering.
I find it pathetic enough that there are still large numbers of girls who shamelessly quote Sex and the City and try to find parallels with the plot and their own lives. But chances are, you’ve convinced one of these halfwits to be your girlfriend for at least two weeks. In that short time, you must have learned that the Cosmopolitan is the show’s signature drink. So by ordering this pink puke, you have just carelessly thrown away your manhood. Now you only resemble a Carrie wannabe. Except not nearly as pretty. Which would make you Miranda. And no one wants to be her. Just ask the dimwitted little PR assistant who was dumb enough to go out with you.
There is only one place you can order this drink. A tropical island. Preferably a deserted one so nobody can see what a douchebag you are.
I used to be somewhat of an acquaintance with an RnB singer (that alone already breaks the gay meter) who drank only Sea Breezes. He also sings a song that I’m sure your ears were once unlucky enough to be poisoned by. Excuse my particularly awful singing voice, while illustrate one the most pussified songs in existence.
“I don’t wanna know
If you’re playing me
keep it on the low
Cause my heart cant take it anymo’”
Unable to be a man and dump the bitch, he’s basically giving her an open invitation to cheat on him. He’d rather just live in the deluded bliss that only his Malibu Rum can provide, and nurse his pussy with “Bay Breeth.” If this is your drink, this is also you.
Just cut off your dick and stick it in the glass. It’s got better use as a swizzle stick. (Although I’m sure at least one woman has told you this already.)
White Wine Spritzer
Is it a coincidence that the name of this drink so easily lends itself to the lisp? I think not.
I hope you’re only here because your girlfriend and her six friends dragged you out, and you’re angrily sipping a scotch in the corner. But if you’re sitting at the bar with several sampler cups, and you (insert lisp) “just cant decide between a ‘call a cab’ and a ‘frozen flaming homo’” then I suggest you skip the charade and head over to Scores. I’m only sorry I avoid Wet Willies LIKE THE FUCKING CHICKEN FLU and won’t be there to make fun of you to your face.
Of course you’re now asking, “Well, Miss Concha, fine dinning guru, what IS acceptable for me to drink?” I’m glad you asked. Cause by admitting your ignorance, you just let ME know you’re a fucking HOMO who’s probably sipping on a Mai Thai right now, with your pinky out and a cocktail umbrella behind your ear. And lemmie guess. The umbrella’s a rainbow.
Why so angry, you ask? As a server, I get looked down upon plenty. This is my chance to talk back. So, boys, next time you shout out a supercilious “Miss!” and expect me to take you seriously, I hope you’re slamming down a Johnny Walker neat. Or I’ll make certain you’re next drink is garnished with a neon pussy – giving your date a heads up that, despite your almost convincing man mask, she’s actually on a date with Miranda.