Trouble's brewin' in Madtown. There's an alarming trend more pervasive than guys who ask each other if they're \gellin.""
It's rising at breakneck speed and threatens our way of life. We must address this now or stand to see our children's children succumb to this awful tragedy. This is...
...men who drink Smirnoff Ice.
Admittedly, I am a chauvinist in certain respects and this just happens to be one of those areas where I draw a line between men and women. Alcohol has always had a guys/girls category. You just don't see frat boys on Langdon Street grilling their red meat and sipping Strawberry Daiquiris. Or have a bunch of dudes over to watch the game and break open the Doritos and Watermelon Cosmopolitans. It's just not to be done.
So why do I see more and more ""men"" belly up to the bar and order Mike's Hard Lemonade? Or Skyy Blue? Or Captain Morgan Gold? And no, they're not ordering for their lady friends. They're ordering for them and their boys. Their Good Charlotte-loving, Chevy Avalanche-driving, Techno-clubbing boys. How can you do this? If I came back with a round of Sauza Diablos, my friends wouldn't bother yelling at me. They would just break off a Blatz bottle and deservedly cut me for being the pussy that I am.
Nothing is worse than a guy who likes boozing without tasting the booze. Personally, I don't care if those drinks contain more alcohol than a High Life. You're still trying to get away with getting drunk with the taste of lemon in your mouth! SHAME ON YOU! Drinking is not easy. When you're drinking whiskey, it's a test. A test of your ability to withstand a fire burning in your lungs. And when you finish it, you've accomplished a wonderful feat and the whiskey gods will smile upon you. It's like you just finished a marathon with a liquor forged in Hell (or Lynchburg, Tenn.). Now with Jack's Hard Cola, you didn't run a marathon. You, my friend, just hopped a cab to the finish line, you worthless poser.
This doesn't just end with ""hard"" juices. Do you regularly drink Pucker? Do you drink that UV crap with berries in it? What about Woodchuck Beer? If you said yes to any of the above questions, then you officially just lost your Y-chromosome privilege and should begin the estrogen treatments toute-suite.
And don't trust commercials. You'll never find yourself caught in a phone booth during a storm with two nymphomaniacs who are all about wuss drinks and three-way sex. You'll never get a hummer from a random girl in the middle of an ""impromptu"" laundry foam party. You'll never be at a party where people pass oranges via neck muscles and sippin' Bacardi O (the O is for O-my-fucking-God-I-can't-believe-I-actually-thought-that-I-was-gonna-get-laid-at-a-pass-the-orange-via-neck-party!). And for the love of God, if you ever feel the need to slash your own tires because you're too afraid to drive under the influence of a few Smirnoff Ices, call me. I'll gladly come over and drive you home... and then run you and your hippie/pirate shirt over repeatedly with my Oldsmobile because you shouldn't procreate under any circumstances.
The lesson for today? Just suck it up and down the beer. Because if you're at a bar and drinking Smirnoff Ice, you deserve to get the living tar beat out of you by ""the Brad"" you bloody pansy!
