Girl Drink Drunk

Ghoul Drink Drunk

Ghoul Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male zombie who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “ghoul-y drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you or eat your brains. Enjoy.

When I was a kid, my list of Top 5 Favorite Holidays looked like this:

1) Christmas – Obviously. TOYS. As an only child with typically indulgent grandparents, Christmases at my house made the gift suite at an Oscars after-party look like a miserly old maid begrudgingly sharing her Tic-Tacs. I was spoiled rotten (and am somewhat of a broken person now because of it, but THAT’S not what we’re here to talk about) and I loved every minute of it.

2) Thanksgiving – Feeling like a grown-ass adult, watching football with my uncles, furtively stealing sips of their Coors Light when they went to empty their dip cups. AND THE FOOD. Holy shit. For a fatty-in-training, Thanksgiving was like the Food Olympics. “Well, Bob Costas, I’ve trained all year for this and, yes, I think I’ll probably be able to eat so much green bean casserole that my mother has to take me aside and explain to me the concept of sharing AGAIN, and also remind me that this how rumors about thyroid problems get started. USA USA USA!!!”

3) 4th of July The sky is exploding! THE SKY IS EXPLODING!!!! Why yes, I WILL have another hot dog.

4) Valentine’s Day – Everyone I know wants to give me a card that quantifies the love they feel for me, and ALSO there are chocolates for me to jam into my maw? Everything about this day is tinted with magic in various shades of red and pink.


Ah… youth.

Back in August, I turned 34 years old. This makes me adult as fuck. And, as someone who is adult as fuck, I have finally figured out a few things that I believe to be absolutely true. Things such as:

-Eating a fiber-rich diet will greatly improve your day-to-day existence for various poop-related reasons.

-It is satisfying to pay bills in a timely manner, and parenthetically, it is also pretty cool to not have the electric company shut your power off all the time.

-Holidays, as an adult, thoroughly blow.

Now.. granted… my wife and I do not have children. As I understand it, getting to experience the holidays through your own child’s eyes is a magical thing, like seeing a Leprechaun make out with a Sasquatch. Wouldn’t know. Don’t care to find out, actually, as kids are little punks that suck out your life force and replace it with crippling debt, things they’ve shit on, and also sometimes they become serial killers. That’s just a fact.

At any rate, holidays now are terrible. They’re expensive, they require being places at certain times… usually looking nice, which is in and of itself a whole thing (“which one of these Big Johnson t-shirts would you say is the CLEANEST?)… and they tend to highlight everything that’s not going right in your life at that very moment. Also, does anyone still celebrate the 4th of July anymore? I literally cannot remember the last time I did anything for that holiday. I think I’m usually at work, assuming all the ruckus outside is the citizenry of Dallas exercising their right to bear arms.

ANYWAY, all of this is roundabout way of saying that, while MOST holidays suck gravy, there is one exception… one holiday still holding steady on my list… and that exception is, emphatically, HALLOWEEN. Halloween just fucking rules so hard, it’s spooOOooOOooky.

There are horror movies on all the time, people go fucking nuts with giving out candy, if you’re lucky you’ll hear “Thriller” on the radio… the WHOLE song, with the awesome Vincent Price rap and everything… and, just generally, it’s the one time of year where the entire country embraces the creepy, the weird, and the scary. I fucking love it… I do. Which is mostly fine. There is ONE kind of iffy side effect, and that is the fact that I cannot be in a Target or a Wal-Mart unsupervised. If that happens, I end up buying totally unnecessary, though, yes, TOTALLY BAD ASS, garbage like this:

The Ghoul Drink:


Hahaha, motherfucking Ghoul-Aid???  SCARY BLACKBERRY??? If that isn’t a fucking graveyard smash, I don’t know what is. GOD DAMN, do I love this holiday! And since I’ve got like an entire box of this stuff in my fridge now, I figured it would probably be in everyone’s best interest for me to mix it with alcohol and then write about it on the internet. Everybody on board? Yes? Wolfman? Dracula and his son? Good! Let’s get to it.


Oh, so first though… I drank one of these by itself, so I could fully understand it as an ingredient and, thus, better incorporate it into my mixology. Also, it’s fun to drink things out of Mylar pouches. Feels like right after tee-ball practice. Anyway, the Scary Blackberry Ghoul-Aid (fuck, that’s just so wonderful) was pretty damn good! Tart, like an actual blackberry, yet still retaining that fake-juice flavor that Kool-Aid long ago locked down tight. Gotta say, kids drinks have definitely improved since my day. They taste richer now. More fruity, and less “frooty.” Just superior in every way.

Obligatory Nostalgic Counterpoint: YEAH, BUT THEY’RE SURE NO ECTO-COOLER. Those sumbitches had Slimer on them.

Moving on…

The Official Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry Cocktail Guide

As you probably gathered from the picture above, I mixed the Ghoul-Aids with three different liquors: Some Deep Eddy Vodka, which I let get all frosty cold in the freezer, some Sauza Tequila, because the evening might as well end with me calling a bouncer a pantywaist (…aren’t you drinking these at home…), and Loopy Vodka, which you may remember from a previous post. Believe it or not, we’ve still got some of that left over.

OH, and I feel like it’s important I mention that all the cocktails were mixed with the aid of this incredibly spooktacular shot glass:



To the drinks!

Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry with Vodka


Yes, it’s a pretty unappealing color… kind of like a deep bruise with hints of toxic waste… but that’s just what beverages are going to look like when you’re dealing with BOO JUICE. Also, please note that this cocktail is being hand-modeled by my wife, who is sporting a seasonally appropriate blood-splatter manicure. You are correct: my wife is awesome.

The cocktail tasted… you know… fine. Mostly it just tasted really cold. The vodka kind of thinned out the tartness of the blackberry, which left behind a bland sweetness that wasn’t by any means undrinkable… it just wasn’t terribly exciting. There is the possibility that I muffed up the vodka-to-Ghoul-Aid ratio; I went closer to half-and-half, where I think the whole thing would have benefited from a one part vodka, four parts Ghoul Aid recipe. Still though, what seemed like a really bold, vibrant flavor when sucked from a pouch via an adorable, yellow straw, really weakened and buckled when paired with a spirit. I USED THE WORD SPIRIT THERE BECAUSE SPIRIT MEANS GHOSTS.


Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry and Tequila

So… all the cocktails looked the same. Remember the picture from a few paragraphs ago? This one was exactly that, visually-speaking. Scroll up if you need a refresher.

Whereas the vodka in the previous cocktail neutralized the Scary Blackberry flavor, the tequila in THIS cocktail simply overwhelmed it. Using the same (admittedly kind of stout) ratio as before, all I could taste was the Sauza, with maybe a faint note of sugar on the back end. Essentially it was like drinking purple tequila, which I’m surprised is a thing that doesn’t already exist. The kids these days… they like the bright colors. For their… raves…? Is that still a thing…? Probably. Probably still is. HAHA, I ain’t old!

Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry and Loopy Vodka

I assume you’ve heard the phrase “unholy matrimony” before? The dude that thought that up was thinking about this cocktail when he had his “a-ha!” moment. While the Ghoul-Aid is tasty on its own, and the Loopy Vodka by itself is… well, not tasty exactly, but a fair representation of the weird-flavored vodka trend… when they’re mixed together, they are like the sugar sludge pouring forth from whatever freshly-killed monster up until very recently stalked Candyland’s Candy Cane Forest.

So SWEET. So sticky on the lips. And god, the Ghoul-Aid really brings out the Lemon Pledge notes that were previously examined in the Loopy Vodka. The whole thing was a car crash in a glass, and if you ever end up drinking Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry and Loopy Vodka mixed together, it’s because you are being tricked, not treated.

Drink the other two cocktails. They’re fine. Don’t drink this one. DON’T. That way madness lies.


While most holidays are busy dry-humping your wallet and messing with your schedule, Halloween exists only to facilitate your having of fun times. PROOF: products like Ghoul-Aid Scary Blackberry exist, and are awesome. And you can mix them with booze! It’s not the most successful venture in the world, but it WILL get you drunk.


Girl Drink Drunk

Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.


Here are two things that happened to me this week:

-I bought, then (mostly) consumed two bottles of wine from Arbor Mist’s “Desserts” collection, not because I enjoy such beverages, but because I have made it my business to write about sugar-blasted pseudo-booze on the internet. I assume you’re aware of this by now, unless you are a first time visitor to ZFS; if that IS the case, welcome, please remove your shoes (new carpet), and note that we prosecute shoplifters to the fullest extent of the law.


-I listened to Taylor Swift’s new song “Shake It Off” for the first time. Then I listened to it again. Then several more times. Then an additional thousand times after that, because it is the catchiest song that has ever been written. It makes “The Name Game” look like Side A of Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music.

Now, I want to talk about the second item first, because I guarantee you that… at the very invocation of Taylor Swift’s name, at LEAST half of you made a who-farted face and said, “this guy’s got worse taste in music than MY MOM.” And then you chuckled smugly to yourself as you fired up an e-cig and an old Guided By Voices album. My response to all of that is this: Take a step back from the front lines of the Pop Culture Snark War, and calm down. I get that Swift isn’t everybody’s thing, and I also get that it is fun to throw enormous amounts of shade at people that are very rich and very famous (and even more so when they happen to also be very earnest, as Swift tends to be). That being said… I don’t know… I feel like the internet-curated ill-will towards Swift is a little misguided. There are better targets out there, and more deserving ones, at that.

Which is not to say that I am Taylor Swift super fan, either. I am 34 years old, and also a dude. At this stage of the game, being WAY into young pop starlets is a little… unseemly. It happens, I guess, but it’s really not a good look on my people (early-30’s big, fat party guys). That being said, I am not immune to the charms of a well-crafted, radio-friendly song, which are things that Swift cranks out fairly efficiently. If nothing else, Swift and her musical overlords know how to capture and manipulate that intangible force known as “catchy-ness,” and said necromancy leads to otherwise reasonable people (such as myself) listening to individual Taylor Swift jams over and over again until Spotify sends us an email to inform us that our accounts have CLEARLY been hacked by a group of 7th graders.

The other reason that people dislike Taylor Swift is that she is a bit of a serial monogamist, and that, post-breakup, she writes songs about her exes. This is a stupid reason to hate a 24 year old person. You know what you’re SUPPOSED to do when you’re in your early 20’s? Try on a bunch of guys (or girls) and figure out just what the hell you like in a significant other. You’re SUPPOSED to take chances. You’re SUPPOSED to not settle too early. That is what being in your early 20’s is all about. And the fact that she writes songs about the guys that she dates… well, hell, she has to write about something, and dating and whatnot is a whole lot more relatable than, say, the hidden inconveniences of private plane ownership, or how one can spend $10,000 on hats and not feel even a little guilty inside. Writing about her exes is nothing more than a solid business strategy. But… some people feel that dating a bunch of guys and then singing about it is, somehow, Swift being a bad role model. Putting aside the fact that we, as a culture, should really, really, REALLY stop turning to our nation’s celebrities for moral authority and life-lessons we can point to when we try to parent our children (because, I mean, C’MON), Swift, by and large, is a FINE role model. She is basically just living the life of a normal, early-20’s person… albeit on a grander scale… and, if I had a child (which I don’t), I would be fine with hypothetical him or her hypothetically following her lead. It beats hypothetical him or her taking after Miley Cyrus and rolling on Molly while dry-humping an older gentleman at the VMAs. Which, AGAIN, I don’t care what Cyrus does. She can attempt to popularize the mythical Tijuana Donkey Show here in America, if that’s her heartsong. I’m just saying I’d rather my fake daughter have a few boyfriends, as opposed to smoking so much Salvia that her life turns into a round-the-clock Burning Man.

ANYWAY, I bring all of this up about Taylor Swift because, if you’ll remember several hundred words back, I mentioned that I had bought and consumed some Arbor Mist “Desserts” wine. While, at the time, I thought I was merely drinking some extremely sweet starter hooch, it was only after listening to the aforementioned “Shake It Off” on repeat that I realized I was actually drinking Taylor Swift herself. Or at least it is like drinking one of her songs. Let me explain…

The Girl Drink(s):


If you’re not familiar with Arbor Mist wine, it is basically liquified Skittles that will get you moderately buzzed. You can usually buy it in gas stations, which should fill in any unanswered questions you have about Arbor Mist. The “Desserts” branch of the Arbor Mist family tree make its predecessors look like strong, black coffee. Tying themselves to specific dessert items… Strawberry Shortcake and Caramel Apples, respectively… have opened the door for the makers of said wine to just go absolutely fucking nuts with the sugar. IT’S A DESSERT! You’re basically drinking a pie! DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT!!! How much sugar, exactly, is in Arbor Mist “Desserts” wine? So much that I immediately forgot the amount after looking it up, as it scared the shit out of my kidneys. That’s how much.

So, like I said, the flavors are Strawberry Shortcake and Caramel Apple, but that doesn’t really matter. You could call them Formula x17-A and Formula X17-B and the people that drink this kind of stuff are going to drink them, regardless. Yes, there are some differences… the Strawberry Shortcake one kind of tastes fruity, and weirdly also a little like a cream-based frosting smeared on a sponge cake. It’s unsettling, and not just because drinking it makes you feel like you’re going blind. Drinks shouldn’t taste like carbs. I’ve always said that, and literally no one in the girl drink industry agrees with me. The Caramel Apple variety is a little better; it basically tastes like candy corn, with the faintest touch of cider on the back end. It is slightly less sweet than the Strawberry Shortcake one, which is a lot like saying that a Mako shark will devour you slight slower than a Great White.

At the end of the day, the Arbor Mist family, in general, and the Arbor Mist “Desserts” wines, specifically, are just kind of whatever, at least as far as the actual product itself goes. Where they ARE interesting is within the concept of Taylor Swift, and how drinking a bottle of Arbor Mist “Desserts” is basically like drinking one of her songs. Here’s what I mean… Taylor Swift came into the spotlight as a teenager who sang sweetly pleasant country songs about Tim McGraw and teardrops on her guitar. That Taylor Swift is dead, or at least it is almost in the grave. The current Taylor Swift is a woman, who is living her womanly life out loud, but who still has to keep up a little bit of that sweetness in order to maintain a fan base that didn’t necessarily grow up with her. She has to appeal to BOTH sides of her fans… those that were there at the beginning of her career and are now, like her, grown ups, and those that are the same age as she was when she started, because she unquestionably still makes music that appeals to teenagers. In essence, she has to put out wine for the adults, and sweets for the kids. And since she only has a three minute song to in which to do that, she has to combine the two into one sugary product that will make you tipsy.

Arbor Mist “Desserts” are Taylor Swift, and Taylor Swift is Arbor Mist “Desserts.” One foot in the bar, one foot in the candy shop. Or, to put it another way, Taylor Swift is a specific kind of 24 year old lady, and if that specific kind of 24 year old American lady were a beverage, that beverage would be Arbor Mist “Desserts” wine. Sure, the haters are going to hate, hate, hate, but shake it off. It’s okay to like Taylor Swift, because Taylor Swift is an okay person and an okay beverage. In whatever form she chooses, Taylor Swift is okay.

Girl Drink Drunk

Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.

Marketing to people in their early 20’s has got to be just the worst job. I mean… no, it’s not cleaning up a parking lot after a country music concert (SO MANY EXPLODED DIP CUPS) or working 50 hours a week in a telephone call center (you can only get hung up on so many times before all the rejection makes your soul implode like a decommissioned sports stadium), but still. Having to design advertisements that specifically attract men and women in their early 20’s is awful, because you’re trying to market to a group of people who don’t even know who the hell they ARE. Think back to your early 20’s… what kind of person were you? What were you into? What did you stand for and/or believe in?

If you were anything like me, the answers to those questions are, respectively,  “an awful person,” “whatever, man,” and, “my right to party.” HOW DO YOU MARKET TO THAT??? Early 20’s men and women are emotionally malformed, half-humans who are still trying to figure out how you do adulthood. Everything is exciting! Everything is terrifying! Everything is the best it can possibly be, and the worst it has ever been, all at the same time. Trying to figure out what those people want, and how to make them buy it, is akin to killing the Rancor in Return of the Jedi; sure it CAN be done, but you basically have to be a Jedi to do it.

(For the non-nerds reading this, the above translates to: “Doing something impossible, but only because you’re a person who is literally magic”)

So when you market to people in their early 20’s, you basically have to take the scatter-shot approach. Spray the bullets in a wide enough pattern, and surely you’ll hit SOMETHING that draws blood. And so what you end up with is stuff like… say, an AXE body spray commercial that star an anthropomorphic armpit. Or endless ads that feature a DJ as a lazy shorthand for THIS IS WHAT’ COOL LOOKS LIKE. Or, if you’re Kinky Liqueur… the subject of today’s Girl Drink Drunk… you cram a whole bunch of Sex and the City-style sexual innuendo into a bazooka, then fire that fucker at a laptop fully loaded with Photoshop capabilities. What you get is this:


Flirty, lingerie lady with bottles of booze in her hair? SURE LET’S GO WITH THAT. This will make the young ladies want to drink our cartoon beverages, surely! This girl is what ALL girls aspire to be!!! Look at her! She’s having SO MUCH FUN!!! Just livin’ life, putting liquor bottles in her hair, for some reason. Probably SUPER FUN reasons! CAN I MIX YOU UP A KINKY-TINI???

Anyway, what Alcoholic Medusa up there is trying to sell you is this:

The Girl Drink(s)


Kinky Liqueur and Kinky Blue… booze that looks like liquified Snorks, shown here with a quarter for scale. I really don’t want anyone to think I actually bought whole bottles of this stuff. This is what they purport to be:

Kinky Liqueur (the pink one): It’s a little bit of vodka… distilled 5 times, the copy says, because THAT fucking matters after you dump an entire sand dune of sugar into it… as well as a lot of flavoring, dye, chips from a hunk of radioactive uranium, ground-up members of the Tinkerbell family, and, of course, pure, uncut, CLASSINESS. This one supposedly tastes like, again… deferring to the copy… “succulent mango” (as opposed to shitty mango), “blood orange liqueur,” and “passion fruit.”

Kinky Blue (the blue one): Same thing with the vodka… they are VERY proud of their distillation process, which is a bit rich, seeing as how their product tastes about as filtered and distilled as a piece of Laffy Taffy, but WHATEVER. This one is going for a “tropical and wild berry flavor,” because… I don’t know… that’s what blue flavored stuff tastes like now? Back in my day, blue meant razzberry (not raspberry; spelling is key) and that’s how we liked it!


Taste Test – Straight Up


It became pretty clear, after doing shots of Kinky Liqueur and Kinky Blue that I was really not supposed to do that. These are mixers… drinking these straight is like throwing your french fries in the trash and just squirting ketchup in your mouth. However, doing shots of Kinkys Liqueur and Blue DID give my tongue an up-close, TMI look at what, exactly, they taste like. Surprisingly, I only hated one of them! Kinky Liqueur (the pink one) is sweet… god, so sweet… a Capri-Sun times a million… and it packs a wallop of synthetic fruitiness that is unmatched by even the most engorged Gusher… but it kind of didn’t taste all that bad. Maybe it’s the subtle tartness from the blood orange liqueur that makes it a little more palatable… maybe it’s the fact that the predominant flavor is passion fruit, which I happen to tenderly love (TASTES LIKE HAWAII, BABY). Whatever the case, Kinky Liqueur wasn’t the worst.

Kinky blue, however, WAS the worst. They had a good thing going with the Kinky Liqueur, and they got greedy. “LET’S MAKE ANOTHER ONE! The kids like blue… I’ve seen ’em wearing jeans!!! OUR NEW PRODUCT IS KINKY BLUE!!! PASS ME THAT STILETTO FULL OF COCAINE.” Despite what the copy would have you believe, this junk tastes nothing like anything remotely tropical, or any sort of berry that grows in the wild. It tastes EXACTLY like grape Bubblelicious. To the point where I feel like there’s some kind of weird, corporate synergy going on here. Bubblelicious is the shadow hand behind Kinky Blue! YOU HAVE TO READ BETWEEN THE LINES, YOU SHEEP. YouTube conspiracy theory video forthcoming!

Oh, and acid reflux. Kinky Blue also has subtle notes of acid reflux on the back end. I get why they don’t mention that, though. The word “vurp” rarely appears in packaging copy.

Taste Test – Mixed

I also thought it would be fun (using the loosest, most free-form definition of the word) to try the two Kinkys mixed together, but otherwise straight-up. I was wrong, of course… as I always am about these kind of things… but learning from your mistakes is for DORKS.

First off, it came out the same color as the bruise you get after taking a softball to the thigh:


I’ve put a lot of unpleasant-looking liquids in my mouth (which probably explains why MY early-20’s remain kind of a messy swirl of colors and lights), but this has got to be a Top Ten finalist. Anyway, the Kinky Mix tasted like total sensory overload. Imagine watching a Japanese anime on Adderall that you washed down with a tumbler of 5hr Energy Shots. That’s as close as I can get to pinning down the flavor.

Mostly, it just tasted like bad choices.

Taste Test – W/ Soda Water

I was too strung-out on the Kinky Mix to remember that I was supposed to be photographing everything, so you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. Imagine slightly less pink and slightly less blue liquids in larger glasses with some ice. You’ve got the idea.

These were a little better. Not so much a head-on collision of flavor; more like minor fender-benders. The fizziness helped cut through the sugar, and the neutral mixer made them not taste like you’re drinking cotton candy barf. They did, however, taste pretty watered down (SHOCKING)… kind of like how Vitamin Water ALMOST tastes like something fruity, but not quite.

Pretty uninspiring, frankly.

Taste Test – W/ Clique Vodka

Clique Vodka is thing I bought for a future installment of Girl Drink Drunk, mainly because it looks like this:


I feel like if you replaced the word “vodka” with the word “eyeliner,” you could use the exact same packaging for make-up. Smaller bottle, of course. Anyway, I bought it because it looked SO CHICK-LIKE, but then I tried it and… well, it just tastes like vodka. Not very exciting.

However… seeing as how one of the (many) suggested uses for the Kinky brand is the aforementioned “Kinky-tini,” which is a word (?) that makes may teeth itch when I say it out loud… I figured we could just fold the Clique vodka into the mix here.


The Clique vodka… or ANY vodka, I’m sure… is the code-breaker. THIS is how the Kinky line of beverages is meant to be consumed. The vodka mellows out the harsh acidity of the Kinky beverages; it makes them smoother, and more drinkable. Despite looking like a set dresser’s idea of a “futuristic cocktail” from the kind of cheap-o, sci-fi schlock you used to see on USA’s Up All Night, the Kinky-tinis (ugh, I’m dizzy now) aren’t total garbage. The pink one, anyway. The blue one still tastes like grape Bubblelicious, but without that swallowing-lit-matches reflux taste. Honestly, the Blue Kinky-tini (ouch, my pancreas!) tastes like what a 10 year old would drink after a hard day of playing Freeze Tag and kicking ass on the monkey bars. The pink [brand name martini]… sorry, can’t say it again, I’m starting to go numb below the waist… with the inclusion of the vodka, just tastes kind of mildly fruity and, well, girly. A good starting point, adult beverage-wise, if that’s the kind of life you want to lead.

And if you DO want to lead that kind of life… that VERY SPECIFIC kind of mid-20’s lady life… I guess you could do a lot worse than the Kinky line of products. They’re better than, say, Smirnoff Ices, because at least they’ve got a little punch to them, and they’re not as of yet directly linked to the assorted frat parties and bro-downs that happen at that stage of the game. But… and this is just a little free advice, from someone who’s already walked down that weird, scary road… don’t let the branding of products define who you are. Don’t aspire to be a lady with liquor bottles in her hair, or an anthropomorphic armpit (or whatever those images represent in the real world). Your early-20’s are ridiculous enough on their own.

Girl Drink Drunk

Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.

Ladies and gentlemen, to start off this edition of Girl Drink Drunk, I have enlisted a couple of actors from the local repertory theater to put on a little playlet regarding the beverage we are spotlighting. Enjoy…


Summer of Thirst

Bob: Greetings, Bill! Thanks for inviting me to this outdoor barbecue! My, what a glorious summer day!

Bill: Bob, you old rascal… welcome to my humble home. You’ll see that it is MUCH nicer than yours. You should feel bad about that. Hey can I get you something to drink?

Bob: Sure! Something that reflects the summer-y atmosphere would be a joy. I’m sure you have something high-class and fancy in YOUR refrigerator, seeing as how you’re my boss and I am basically the juice that collects at the bottom of a garbage can.

Bill: I don’t understand the reference. The help takes out the garbage at my house. I am sorry that you’re poor. Say, how about that beverage!

Bob: Thank you, sir, for thinking of my thirst on this hot day when I’m SURE your brain has millions of actually important things with which to concern itself. I am further humbled. I am nothing.

[BILL exits. BOB does some light pantomime, perhaps some juggling]

Bill: Here we are! A tasty beverage for this fine summer afternoon!!!

Bob: Sweet salvation! Surely you have brought me manna from Heaven; a libation unlike anything that have passed between these working-man’s lips! HOSANNA, HOSANNA!!!

Bill: It’s Coors Light with some fruit in it.

Bob: I’m… sorry…?

Bill: You know… Coors Light? The beer of choice for deadbeat dads and people who long ago lost their sense of taste to a war injury or what have you? It’s that, but there’s some chunks of fruit in it. Oranges, lemons, limes… it’s fine.

[BOB hesitantly takes a sip. His face becomes a mask of confusion and rage. BILL begins to flop-sweat profusely]

Bob: I’m sorry, I… must be going… you see… I thought you were a man of refinement and style. I guess I thought this because you are my boss. But now I see that you are just some dirtbag that owns a sawmill. Not even a GOOD sawmill. We have to cut logs with repurposed sporks. SPORKS. Sporks are plastic, you bastard!!! But I guess I should expect as much from someone who would serve Coors Light with fruit in it to his guests on a hot summer day! I’M THE SAWMILL BOSS NOW!!! I HAVE TAKEN THAT FROM YOU!!!

Bill: All is lost. I am now the one who is nothing. OH, THE TWISTS OF FATE!!! Coors Light with fruit in it… you have taken everything away from me. Curse you. I CURSE YOU!!!!



Wow. Well… that was… sort of on-topic. Also, not sure exactly what artistic purpose was served by performing the play nude. So much penis flailing…


The Girl Drink


Today, we’re looking at Coors Light with fruit in it, basically. Well, fruit juice. Sorry… “fruit juice.” I feel like the relationship between this beverage and actual fruit is, at best, a passing one. The fruit juices in Coors Light: Summer Brew are basically the taste equivalents of the fruit smells you find in scratch-n-sniff stickers. But that’s okay! We don’t NEED fresh-squeezed juices in our beers! Or, if we do, we can squeeze them ourselves and mix them into beers like the goddamned industrious Americans that we are. So… no fault to the Coors brand for wizard-ing up some chemical compounds that taste like citrus run-off. They’re just doing their job.

That job being, of course, to create something that is pleasant-tasting and summery enough to steal the casual drinker away from the booming craft beer business that is currently acting as a thorn in the side of BIG BREWERY. I mean… the Anheuser-Buschs of the world are making their money, don’t get me wrong. But they’re not making ALL the money, as a certain subset of the population has realized that beer can be amazing when it’s made with care and an eye towards quality (as opposed to quantity). This pisses off Big Brewery to no end. JUST DRINK YOUR CHEAP HOBO SPIT AND LIKE IT, CONSUMERS. But that mantra isn’t working quite so well any more. So they have to get creative. Not to put too punny a point on it, but, they have to get crafty.

And so we get stuff like Coors Light: Summer Brew. And you know what… it doesn’t suck. It’s not GREAT, mind you. It’s not going to replace your favorite summer ale from your most-beloved local brewery by a long shot. But it does, in fact, taste a whole lot better than it should. Breweries, it seems, have finally gotten a handle on the whole “putting citrus into beer” game. Gone are the days of Tequiza (which tasted like a book of matches splattered with lime jello) and Miller Chill (which tasted like a lime took on human form, got hammered, then pooped on your tongue). Coors Light: Summer Brew is a reflection of just how far the industry has come with regards to citrus beers. It kind of tastes like, well, cheap beer… no getting around that… that’s been fortified with a few spritzes from a box of Five Alive. Honestly, there are plenty worse things to shotgun on a hot day than Coors Light: Summer Brew.

So if you’re looking for something to drink on the beach, or to quaff with your wife in the backyard while the kids cannonball into the above-ground pool as Jackson Browne’s “Lawyers in Love” drifts in from the living room stereo system… GET SOMETHING FROM A LOCAL BREWERY, DAMMIT. That should be like “nip-slip on the red carpet” obvious. But if that’s somehow not an option, then… sure… why not.. get some Coors Light with fruit in it. It won’t change your life, but hey… not all plays make it to Broadway. If you know what I mean. I’m looking at YOU, cast of “Summer of Thirst.” Don’t quit your day jobs.

Girl Drink Drunk

Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.

Being a mother is hard work. Or so I’ve gathered from the mothers on my Facebook feed. Personally, I wouldn’t know… I don’t have kids, plus I’m a dude. Even if I was the proud owner of a few toddlers… legally, like I provided the sperm that created them, not “won them in a sketchy game of Baccarat”… I feel like my role would mostly be providing them with an example of what not to turn into when they grow up. “Daddy smells like if liquor could fart, and is also covered with a thick grit of tater tot crumbs, Frosted Mini-Wheat leavings, and dried tears,” they’ll say, frantically doing research on what traits in a human are passed down via genetics.

But the moms… they do the REAL work. The picking up after, and the getting everyone places, and the making sure no one is eating big flakes of paint directly off the walls, and the covering up the murders committed by their one child that is CLEARLY the Devil incarnate, and so on. Again… this is only what I’ve gleaned from the statuses of the women that I know on social media, and the SomeECards they spread from wall-to-wall like an only-kind-of-funny comedy virus. Maybe they’re lying. Maybe motherhood is a pocketful of miracles. I simply don’t know. (nor do I care to know, as kids are basically hairless rats who feed on attention) (not YOUR kids, of course… your kids are lovely) (ish)

What I DO know about motherhood is that moms love to get fucking hammered. Not a day goes by that I don’t see some variation of “mommy needs her wine, amiright, ladies” splashed across the internet’s various meeting spots, and I think that’s FINE. Fantastic, even. You’ll find no bigger proponent of alcohol as a life-coping mechanism than me; if that fifth of vodka hidden in the freezer behind the jumbo bag of chicken thighs is the only thing that keeps you from coming completely untethered from reality, then… hey… drink the fuck up. That’s why they invented that shit anyway; to keep the wolves from scratching at the door for just a little bit longer. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Anyway, I bring all this up because today we’re going to talk about these:

The Girl Drink(s)


Not since Bartles & James laid waste to the 80’s has there been such mom-based alcohol on the market. These things are sweet, pack a decent punch, and are sugary to the point that… after drinking four of these… I fear my spit will forever taste like an Everlasting Gobstober. But such is my duty to my craft. That’s right, I said CRAFT… stop making jerk-off motions, you bastards.

Now, a quick note before we get started… I feel that I should admit, up front, that I did not drink full-sized (12oz) versions of these jumped-up melted sno-cones. I only had “mini” ones… 8oz each. I know that this might SEEM like a total pussy move, but you have to consider that… had I gone for the full-sized ones, and drank four of them in a row… my kidneys would have fallen out of my butt, then exploded in a cloud of Pixie Stix dust. Erring on the side of caution seemed like the way to go.

On with it!


Margaritas are delicious. REAL margaritas, I mean… those served on the rocks, that employ actual lime juice, and are mixed by the hands of a bartender who knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing. The Lime-A-Rita does not taste like that. But it doesn’t taste NOT like that, either. It’s closer than I expected, albeit in a completely synthetic, manufactured way. It tastes like a margarita in the same way that a tanning bed mimics the Sun; close enough to produce similar results, but no substitute for the original. That being said… I didn’t hate the Lime-A-Rita. It’s not something I’d usually jam back en masse… especially since the sugar content makes my eyes rattle around in their sockets like tennis shoes in a dryer… but, you know, they’re pretty okay. Points off for the fake “salt” taste that lingers on the palate, which has been chemically added to make you feel like you just licked salt off the rim of a wide-mouthed, frozen glass, seductively, because that bartender looks like a truck stop version of Clive Owen… but still. Pretty okay. It earns…

3 Soccer Moms on the 5-Soccer Mom Scale of Boozetacularness




Mangoes are, by and large, a decent tropical fruit. Sweet… juicy… a damn sight better than papayas, which very faintly taste like how feet smell. They’re no passionfruits, or guavas, but they’re dependable… kind of the equivalent of a boring friend that’s always good for a ride to the airport.

So it’s kind of a bummer that the Mang-O-Rita is a total dud. First off, they’re too sweet… I know, I know, that’s like dissing gravity for being too good at keeping all your stuff affixed to the Earth, but dude… we’re talking SWEET here. Getting smushed by a rolling boulder of rock candy… THAT level of sweetness. And it’s got that salty thing, too! You’d think it would balance shit out, but nope… it just gives the whole beverage a weird, medicinal taste, like children’s cough syrup that’s trying so hard to not taste like poison that comes all the way back around to being flagrantly poisonous,

On the plus side, it looks EXACTLY like orange soda. This would be pretty easy to pour into an empty Fanta bottle so you can get a buzz at your kids Pop Warner football game without earning a reputation as the local PTA’s Amy Winehouse. So that’s nice.

2 Soccer Moms on the 5-Soccer Mom Scale of Boozetacularness




NOW we’re talking. These sons of bitches are legitimately tasty. I mean, for what they are… they’ll never leapfrog over a decent beer or anything. Still though, a fine representation of the mom-booze genre.

Mostly, it’s because the sweetness has been dialed down a few notches compared to its counterparts. It’s still powerfully sugary, of course… no escaping that in this Girl Drink world… but the Raz-Ber-Ritas are balanced with a pleasant tartness that mellows out the harsh sensation that you’re drinking Gummi Bear piss.

Of all of these, it reminded me the most of what the girls were drinking in parties when I was in high school. A slick of sugar and fruit still on their lips during furious make-outs behind houses and in the backs of cars, late at night, with an hour of curfew stretched out before you like a yellow-brick road. Good times… good beverage…

5 Soccer Moms on the 5-Soccer Mom Scale of Boozetacularness




Hollywood lied to us when it posited that all “ugly ducklings” are just a glasses-removal and a make-over away from gorgeous glamor. Sometimes, plain is plain… boring is boring… straightforward mom-booze is just straightforward mom-booze. The Straw-Ber-Rita is a mousy, wallflower-y iteration of the canned, fake liquor trend. Does it taste like strawberries? As long as we’re using a very loose definition of the term… sure. Will it get those with low-to-moderate alcohol tolerances syllable-slurring drunk? Yeah, for the most part. Is it sweet? Of course… the Bud Light overlords didn’t suddenly jump tracks and make this one taste like an IPA.

But is it anything exciting at all? NOPE. It reaches no thrilling highs, it scrapes its belly on exactly zero thudding lows. It just kind of IS. Its only defining characteristic is its bright shade of red, and that pretty much only brings to mind stained shirts and unflattering Kool-Aid mouths. Hardly a plus.

So drink a Straw-Ber-Rita if you want to know what the denizens of Candy Land use to take pills with. Otherwise… meh.

3 Soccer Moms on the 5-Soccer Mom Scale of Boozetacularness



Closing Time:

So cheers, moms… cheers to the work you do, and the drinks that get you through it. These “ritas” will do you right. They’re suitable for backyard BBQ-esque functions, as well as reserved nights out with the ladies. They are girly… they are mild… they are sweet. They are MOM-BOOZE.

Knock a few back with pride! THEN hit that freezer-stashed bottle of vodka. “Mom’s so HAPPY after 8pm… she must really love having us all together for dinner.” [Mom laughs bitterly to herself, takes another slug, dares the next day to start anew]

“C’mon” she says, with vodka-breath. “Bring it, you fucking sunrise. BRING IT.”

Girl Drink Drunk

Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy.

Remember when, as a kid, you’d eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and feel like you had the whole world figured out? This WORKS, you’d think, your mouth sticky, and then you’d rip the day a new asshole playing freeze tag like a fucking beast. Or, maybe on a quiet Saturday morning, you’d sit watching your favorite cartoon with a gigantic bowl of Froot Loops… just the PERFECT amount of milk… the sugary taste and brightly colored O’s matching exactly the animated zaniness on the screen in front of you. “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE A PROBLEM,” you thought-screamed into the universe.

The adventures of fucking He-Man, and cereal… goddamn PB&J, and stiff-arming your friends in a field during recess… two magical experiences that perfectly encapsulate that magical “little kid” time. Of course, you eventually grew up. You learned about debt, and liquor, and heartbreak. Soon… too soon… you discovered that death exists, that people will hurt you and not even care, that there are those in the world that will smile through their lies while your soul shrivels inside you like a deflating Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. If only there was a way to recapture those lost moments of pure, innocent joy… to re-experience that simple bliss… but, you know, to do so in a fashion that will ALSO got you super wasted…

The Girl Drink(s):


Enter Van Gogh and Three Olives… two liquor brands that are attempting to mixologize your childhood memories with vodka. These came from my wife’s own personal stock of girly drinks, and they are both a little bit terrifying. I think it’s important to note that the lid on the Loopy Vodka… called that, by the way, for copyright infringement reasons, and for what it makes your stomach feel like immediately after drinking it… was practically cemented onto the bottle due to all the sugar. That should give you an idea of what I’m in for here.

Another note… the “jelly” in the PB&J is raspberry, as opposed to the traditional grape. I think this is blasphemous and grounds for, at minimum, a bazooka-ing of their manufacturing plant. My wife, however, says that grape jelly is “a third-tier jelly” and that I am wrong. So we’ll agree to disagree on this one.

Straight Up:


To really get a sense of what these two nostalgia boozes were all about, I took shots of each of them straight. This was a terrible idea. DO NOT DRINK THESE STRAIGHT. I did that for you, as I am awesome and care about your happiness in life.

If you were to murder a Care Bear and drink its blood in some sort of horrifying, full-moon, pagan ritual, it would taste exactly like Loopy Vodka. Sweet… oh merciful, cruel Jesus… just so very sweet. If you can power through the sugar high that is ripping through your veins, you’ll notice a taste that is… sort of… kind of… in the ballpark of… Froot Loops. There’s almost a wheat-y taste, like the cereal itself, and there’s DEFINITELY a frooty (not “fruity”) taste as well. It’s the most fake flavor you’ve ever let slide down your throat. It makes Bubble Yum taste like organic fruit grown by a vegan cult. Oddly enough, the most offensive part of a Loopy Vodka shot is the smell: It smells unmistakably like Lemon-scented Pledge. Highly toxic cleaning products… mmmmm… WHO’S READY TO PARTY???

The PB&J vodka is much more palatable. The smell, for one thing, doesn’t make you rethink your nose and how it’s really not THAT necessary, right [tests kitchen knife for sharpness by slicing a sheet of paper in half]? In fact, the PB&J vodka smells… good! Really good, actually. Warm and peanut buttery, like the neck of a Keebler Elf as you give him a long, meaningful hug. It tastes pretty not-disgusting, as well, especially when compared to the Loopy vodka. The fine folks at Van Gogh have dialed down the sweetness quite a bit for this particular flavor. Consequently, it has less of that drinking-a-bag-of-powdered-sugar-dissolved-in-rubbing-alcohol aftertaste, letting the Peanut Butter and the Jelly really shine through. (the synthetic, super fake tastes that somewhat resemble those two actual things, but you know what I mean)

Loopy vodka with Milk:


This is an actual paring suggested by the Three Olives website.  They actually want you to pour liquor into milk and drink it and then walk around for the rest of your life like that was an okay thing to have done. “Drink this, then try to justify your actions to your God,” they seem to be suggesting. And so, okay… I’ll take that challenge, you fucking website. I AIN’T NEVER SCARED.

[makes the sign of the cross, sheds a wistful tear for America, drinks the drink]

…I’ll be damned.

It’s kind of… well, delicious might be a stretch, but it doesn’t suck. In fact, it tastes like the milk that’s left over after you’ve eaten your fill of Froot Loops. Like, it tastes EXACTLY like that, with just a hint of an alcohol burn on the back end.

The fact that this didn’t make me do a comical spit-take, then hop around like an angry prospector, completely baffles me. My world is torn asunder. All that I knew is now unknown. Fucking weirdballs.

PB&J vodka with Coke:



This is what my wife suggested for the PB&J vodka, as it is how SHE drinks it, and… eh.

I mean… it wasn’t like drinking that liquid that collects in the bottom of a garbage bag or anything. It was FINE. But it was also just kind of nondescript. Actually, one kind of unusual thing: Drinking it, I could taste the Coke and the PB&J vodka TOTALLY SEPARATE from one another. Like, they didn’t mix. There was no mixing. It was one, and then the other, in the same swallow of liquid. Very efficient, I guess, if you prefer the “shot and a chaser” method of boozing, but confusing if you’re looking for an actual cocktail-style cocktail.

I blame science, or possibly the Devil. That guy’s always up to no good.

Closing Time:

So was there any of that childhood magic to be found in either of these two girly drinks? Maybe a little… the Loopy vodka in particular, when mixed with (of all things) MILK, really does bring back that feeling of slurping down slightly-pink cereal run-off while GI Joe kicks Cobra in the nads at maximum volume, 18 inches from your face.

So propers to Three Olives for that, despite their vodka being more sugary than Gummi Worm barf. And a proper or two to Van Gogh, who’s PB&J vodka isn’t as sweet as you’d expect, and therefore doesn’t taste like you’re asphyxiating on Willy Wonka’s underwear. I trust that both of those sentences will be showing up in the copy of their respective advertisements within the week.

Three Olives Loopy VodkaC+

Van Gogh PB&J Vodka B-

Girl Drink Drunk

Girl Drink Drunk is a regular column that features your host, an adult male who prefers bourbon and beer, exploring the sugary, sweet world of “girly drinks” for your edification and entertainment. He promises not to barf on you. Enjoy

The Girl Drink:


In the world of professional drinking, there is nothing more “training wheels” than a pre-packaged, novelty shot. Actually, they’re worse than that… novelty shots are your parents refusing to buy you a bike AT ALL, instead giving you a copy of the terrible 80’s cult classic BMX Bandits so you can watch other people enjoying bikes without hurting yourself. Your parents are THE WORST. But seriously, dated references and your terrible parents aside, the pre-packaged novelty shots are by and large the biggest jokey-joke in the booze business. What keeps them around is a combination of three factors:

-They are insanely cheap (this box of 15 full-sized shots cost me less than $20).

-They have roughly the same alcohol content as a deep breath, so people who don’t really like to drink, but WANT to drink, can feel like they’re drinking without actually drinking.

-Those that are recently of legal drinking age are dumb and will buy anything. You can sell them a Kleenex soaked in NyQuil, as long as you call it a “Party Rag.” It’s true. Try it. Go to a junior college campus with a box of Kleenex and a jumbo bottle of NyQuil. With the profits you earn, you will be able to buy, at minimum, a motorcycle.

ANYWAY, today we’re talking about the Twisted Shotz Party Pack, which I believe was originally called Regretz. The “z” is, of course, key to appealing to the youth demo in both cases. Here is a picture of the open box, clearly displaying the horrors that lie within…


They’re like the pods that you put in one of those Keurig coffee makers, but with more implied vomit. The novelty here is that each shot contains not one, but TWO different liquors, separated… as you will see… into two compartments for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I mean, I guess “it looks totes wicked and rave-y” technically IS a reason, but still.

Here now, the contents of the Twisted Shotz Party Pack… feel free to run out and get your OWN box if you want to drink along at home. Or just mix two cups of sugar into a beer, then chug it while eating an entire pack of Skittles at once. Same thing.

NOTE: Hand-modeling credit to my wife, who drank these shots with me. RIP my wife’s trust in my projects.

Sex on the Beach


What’s In It: Banana & Pear Liqueur (the orange stuff) and Cream Liqueur (the white stuff)

What hits you first is the banana flavor. And I use the word “flavor” loosely. Also the word “banana.” Nothing resembling actual fruit has come anywhere near the Twisted Shotz Party Pack. The taste is like one of those large, rock-hard gumballs you used to see in vending machines in K-Mart… aggressively sweet, and intensely synthetic (basically edible polyester). The Cream Liqueur does balance it out a little bit, but it also kind of reminds you of Bailey’s Irish Cream and how you could be drinking that instead of this, but aren’t. There is also a hint of pear on the finish, as well as notes of sorrow and diabetes.



What’s In It: Tequila (the clear stuff) and Lime Liqueur (the green stuff)

To Twisted Shotz’ credit, they ARE using real tequila in this shot. Awful tequila that is BELOW bottom-shelf… the kind of tequila that can be used to remove spray paint off of cinderblock walls in a pinch… but… you know… still tequila. It makes the stuff you used to sneak into your dorm room look like the deep, golden elixir a billionaire cocaine czar sips while watching the sunset from the veranda of his jungle estate. It tastes harsh and mean, like a mouthful of rotten cactus and tinfoil. The Lime Liqueur it is paired with is almost unnoticeable, despite looking like atomic antifreeze. Tasting the Lime Liqueur on its own, I discovered that I shouldn’t have done that. If one of the Ninja Turtles were to suddenly appear and then immediately urinate directly into your mouth, it would taste exactly like the Lime Liqueur. All in all, not a fun thing to put into your face, which means it’s a total failure as a product… novelty shots are SUPPOSED to be fun to drink. Not make you feel like a cartoon character is using you as a toilet.

Strawberry Sundae


What’s In It: Strawberry Vodka (the red stuff) and Vanilla Vodka w/ Cream (the white stuff)

Though this claims to have actual vodka in it, it still boasts only a 20% ABV. I’m not saying the makers of Twisted Shots are LIARS… I’m just saying that if this is actually vodka, then I am actually noted handsome person Ryan Gosling. Also strange… despite the aforementioned low ABV, it has a truly rough alcohol taste that burns out your nasal passages immediately upon acceptance into your pie-hole. It’s like inhaling over a blowtorch, which makes no sense, as this stuff is basically no stronger than the free mints they give out at diners.

The Vanilla Vodka w/ Cream is actually the stronger flavor here. It coats the tongue, kind of like a shitty quilt or a shitty dusting of snow or a shitty… well, it’s shitty, is what I’m driving at. There’s a little bit of strawberry taste at the end, but it is very faint. If you stabbed a strawberry to death, and it came back to haunt you as a ghost, when you woke up screaming in the middle of the night… paralyzed by the sensation that you were not alone in the room, terrified that an undead fruit was lurking nearby… the fear-taste you have in the back of your throat would be the same taste as the strawberry component of this shot. (I popped a ligament in my elbow writing that analogy; Tommy John surgery will have me on the DL for the remainder of the season)

Buttery Nipple


What’s In It: Butterscotch Vodka (the tan stuff) and Vanilla Vodka (the white stuff)

I did not hate the Buttery Nipple. It is kind of like picking your favorite serial killer, but if I absolutely HAD to choose my favorite shot out of the Twisted Shots Party Pack… this would by my guy. It is very smooth going down; no burn, no overwhelming flavors kicking you in the teeth. It IS a little on the sticky, sweet side, but that’s to be expected. Compared to the other shots in the Party Pack, The Buttery Nipple is a good friend that wants to meet up for coffee and conversation on a chilly day. (for the record, the other shots are greasy, uncouth, strip club DJs that want to dry-hump your hip bone in a nightclub to a dubstep beat)

If you ever find yourself in a situation where you are presented with a Twisted Shotz Party Pack (I assume time travel and/or terrorism factor in to this scenario in some way) hoard the Buttery Nipples and let everyone else fend for themselves. Better to live in the gutter than in the actual sewer. I’ve always said that.

Porn Star


What’s In It: Raspberry Vodka (the pink stuff) and Blue Curacao (the blue stuff)

Remember those frozen ice pops you used to have as a kid. NOT popsicles… ice pops. They were in little plastic tubes, and your parents could fill the entire freezer with them for like seven dollars. After you had sucked all the frozen goodness out of the tube, there was always a little neon-colored juice at the bottom, which you did like a shot, because even back then you knew that doing shots was a fun thing you’d probably like to get into some day. That juice at the bottom of the tube? That’s EXACTLY what the Porn Star shot tastes like. And here I was expecting it to taste like chlamydia or Astroglide. But nope… ice pop drippings, mixed with a few drops of nail polish remover, because CHEAP ALCOHOL.

If all the Buttery Nipple shots are taken (possibly by one of my thousands of fans who have ALSO read this post) (sorry, novelty shots give me delusions of grandeur) then go for these. Not terribly offensive, though not exactly a well-prepared cocktail created especially for you by a mixologist, either. The Porn Star tastes like something an Applebee’s bartender would come up with on a slow night. If Applebee’s served ice pops, of course.