The Drunk Pirate

So here I am, somewhere around the 2 a.m. hour, watching Youtube videos of the late, great Hunter S. Thompson, listening to Warren Zevon and finishing off my handle of Saint Brendan’s Irish Cream Liqueur. Sure it’s not as manly or cool as a trunk full of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers . . . and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. But hey, that’s okay. It’s getting me buzzed, and at the moment that’s good enough.

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There’s absolutely no place like Florida in the dead of winter. I mean honestly, who doesn’t love mowing their lawn in late December? I spent all day Sunday working up a good sweat while trying out my new backpack leaf blower. Once I finished the migrant worker routine, I fired up the grill and cracked open an Abita Turbodog. Turbodog wasn’t quite what I had expected.

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Don’t get me wrong. Gustafson’s Farm makes fantastic eggnog—if you’re a pansy.

But if you’re in it to win it, making your own eggnog is the only way to go (this coming from a guy who has his mommy make it). Seriously, I’m tired of all the store bought “eggnog” making its way into family holiday pimp cups every holiday season. Come on people—we’re celebrating sweet baby Jesus’ birthday (unless you’re not). This is the one time of the year when you have to pretend to actually have traditions. Besides, you’ll have time off from work, some of you permanently thanks to the economy, and a need to get into the holiday spirit drunk pirate style.

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The other night I stumbled into my local liquor store with absolutely no idea what I was in the mood for. But like a Japanese businessman I wanted the most amount of fun for the least amount of money. In other words, I was looking for a deal. I walked past the bourbon and eyed the Makers mark for a moment. “That won’t do at all,” I (The little Japanese businessman) thought. “I’m in the mood for something exotic. Something lIke underwear from a vending machine.” With this in mind, I kept moving until I saw it sitting on the second shelf next to the Santa Teresa. The Crazy Kirpal deal of the week.

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Sir Robert Burnett is an asshole. On the front of this green, 750ml bottle of devil’s piss it reads, “This celebrated Gin is distilled according to the original formula of Sir Robert Burnett & Co. LTD……….In Baltimore Maryland. Ok, first of all I’m going to call bullshit because as far as I was told London Dry Gin was supposed to be made in, oohhh I don’t know, maybe London.

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