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Excuse Me, Bartender? There’s a Piece of Ass In My Drink

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In the land of booze, there’s no doubt that sex sells. We’re used to seeing the half-clad woman on a billboard, covering her crotch with a bottle of vodka. But why do we combine drink names with sex? Is it because of the good laugh we all have when asking a hot bartender, “Can you make me a Spread Eagle?” Or perhaps it’s because of the close association between excess drinking and casual, completely uninhibited, downright dirty sex. Or maybe that’s just me.


Whatever the reason, these sexy drinks usually have outlandish names with disgusting, random, sugary ingredients—things that no self-respecting boozehounds would ever order or put down their gullet. But damn, they’re fun. Here’s a sampling:


Sex on the Beach (vodka, peach schnapps, cranberry, and orange juice)


This is probably the most notorious of all sexual innuendo drinks. But if you’ve ever had sex on the beach, you know two things: a) You have to be prepared and b) you’re rarely prepared. You need a blanket big enough to protect two semi-naked bodies from touching the sand, or else you’re getting sand in all types of orifices, making this a most uncomfortable (albeit unforgettable) screw.


But if you’re having sex on the beach, chances are you’re either a dirty, horny hippie, or completely shit-faced; in either case, you’re too stoned or drunk to remember—or care—about a blanket. You end up waking up with not only a hangover, but sand in all those orifices. Not to mention the condom. What to do with the used condom when you’re on a beach? Lord knows you didn’t bring a plastic baggy to the bar with you that night. You (not really you, but the wasted you) probably tossed that thing in the sand, so it can get wrapped around some unsuspecting child’s pinky toe while she’s flying a kite at the beach the next morning. Really, you should be ashamed of yourself.


This cocktail ain’t half bad, even if it is sweeter than your unpopped cherry, but the real sex on the beach is anything but. Proceed with caution.


Slow Comfortable Screw (sloe gin, Southern Comfort, and orange juice)


Who doesn’t want a slow comfortable screw? You probably wouldn’t if you’ve ever had sloe gin, which is a nauseatingly sweet gin flavored with sloe plums, or Southern Comfort, the trailer trash’s version of a soda pop. After drinking a couple pintfuls of these, you’re less likely to be having a sloe comfortable screw and more likely to be having a blur of sugary, booze-induced sloppy sex. Really, have you ever had slow, comfortable sex when you’ve been wasted? I’m much more familiar with the sexy cocktail known as the Whiskey Dick (find man, add whiskey, watch penis turn flaccid.)


But if you are going for this theme, you might as well try a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against a Wall (same as above, add vodka and Galliano), because walls always provide amazing back support when you’re about as alert as the dead guy in Weekend At Bernie’s. You might as well be dead; you just imbibed a four to one ratio of booze to mixer. And in case you have a thing for south of the border action, you could try a Slow, Comfortable Screw up Against a Wall in Mexico (same as above, add tequila). Because we all know that adding tequila to the equation makes everything mejor, no?


I really think sloe gin had a marketing hand involved in the creation of these recipes, because no one would drink the shit otherwise. And if you’re a real alcoholic, there’s no way you’d be able to remember all the adjectives involved in ordering a SCSUAWIM.


Piece of Ass (Amaretto, Southern Comfort, sour mix)


Anything with Southern Comfort as a main ingredient has to make you shake yer head. Sure, it’s good when you’re looking to spice up a diet coke (the Southern sorority sisters’ drink of choice), but it screams of two-bit hangover. And you can just picture the type of guy that orders a “Piece of Ass”: he’s got a huge chaw of tobacco under his gum, a piece of straw between his lips, and is wearing Wranglers so tight you could bounce a quarter off his thigh. He has a confident swagger, even though he stands about 5’3".


Entering the bar, he yells, “I’m gon’ get me a Piece of Ass tonight—ewwweee!” This is because the cocktail type of ass is the only type of ass he can get. Then he’s over at the jukebox, playing—you guessed it—“Free Bird,” while subtly trying to grind himself up against your leg in a drunken stupor. I mean, amaretto and Southern Comfort with sour mix? You’d have to be born in a barn in the deep south to think that’s a good enough drink to get you some. In fact, the drink isn’t a piece of ass, it tastes like someone’s ass—not that I’ve had it on multiple occasions or anything. Eewwweee!


Buttery Nipple (Bailey’s Irish Cream, Butterscotch Schnapps)


This is one drink, and name, I can stand behind. Not that I’m a big fan of having butter poured or rubbed on my nipples or anything. I much prefer Extra Virgin Olive Oil, or as the dirty, drunk, whore Rachel Ray likes to say, EVOO. It’s much easier on the nipple than butter, and does wonders for moisturizing the breast area. And, you can understand why the drink has its name. The shot is smooth and creamy, and while taking about six of them one winter evening while snow was blustering outside, I found that there was more than just butter being melted.


Fuzzy Dick (Kahlua, Gran Marnier, coffee, whipped cream)


In theory, this drink should be a hit during the winter, say, après ski, or when snow is blanketing your city streets. But there’s something about the idea of a man heavily layered in thermals, sweaty from a day of skiing or snow shoveling, with little to no air circulating through his genital area, that doesn’t mix with the phrase “fuzzy dick.” I mean, is it fuzzy like that three-week-old grapefruit on my desk is fuzzy? Or fuzzy like a warm sweater? Cause that’s either mold or hair, and that’s nothing I want to wrap my lips around. Fuzzy dick gives me a very bad, very long-lasting mental image.


But the drink is good. And leaves you with a whipped cream-wrapped mouth that looks like you might have had your lips around that fluffy penis.


Screaming Orgasm (Kahlua, Irish Cream, Amaretto, vodka)


There is no doubt in my mind that you’re likely to have a screaming something after drinking this mixture of booze, booze, booze, and yes, booze. The worst part about it is that it goes down so easy, you’ll be drunk before you’ve even hit foreplay. While that kind of sounds like fun, you may not remember this so-called “screaming” orgasm. In fact, you probably passed out in the middle of making the beast with two backs.


The Handjob (Jack Daniels and Squirt)


This cocktail, created by my friend Sean Hancock (no, really, that’s his real last name) is one of my favorite sexy drinks, because the ingredients define the name and vice-versa. The best part is that the bartender won’t know how to make it, so after asking for a Handjob, you get to say, “you know, it’s Jack n’ Squirt.” I don’t even like Jack Daniels, but I’d be willing to order some just so I could get a good taste of Squirt, a totally under appreciated soda. For the men, a few of these and you won’t even notice it’s your own hand whacking you off; you’ll be so rat-arsed you’re likely to think it’s the hot bartender who’s doing the jacking and squirting.


The Leg Spreader


A friend of mine, who worked at a Berkeley brewery, coined this term for a particularly good, particularly high alcohol content beer. The beer was widely consumed and widely praised for its ability to part more than just lips. Since most people think that they can “handle” at least three or four beers, this brew comes up and sneaks off their panties faster than you can say “I luv dese beerz … burp.”


There are so many more—Between the Sheets, Cocksucking Cowboy, French Kiss—but I’m really getting thirsty and randy. Bottoms up.

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