A Man Drink

My friend Becky said I drink like a wuss. I am on call a lot, so I usually have non alcoholic beer, or on occasion, a glass of wine. But I really don’t consider myself a wuss. I mean, I jog and work out, and I can handle myself in a fight if I have to. Actually, when I used to drink in college I would end up in lots of fights, and today I feel lucky to still be in one piece, more or less.

But Becky’s wuss statement bothered me, and I decided that one night, when I wasn’t on call or working the next day, I would go out and do some manly drinking. But alas, I am inexperienced in the masculine art of serious drinking, so in true scientific fashion, I decided to research the situation. I went to Google and typed in – Manly Drinks. After some furious clicking, I finally arrived at a site, http://www.Askmen.com, which listed the top ten manly drinks.

You are What You Drink

Never mind that delicious daiquiri — you want a man’s beverage. Just like the clothes you wear and the company you keep, the drink you order speaks mountains about who you are. So, during your next night out on the town, walk up to the barmaid, flex a manly muscle, lower that husky voice and order a real man’s drink.

Kamikaze
Stride coolly to the bar, lean in close to the barmaid and aloofly say, “Kamikaze.” Ordering this shot will make you look and sound like a tough guy.

How to prepare it: Shake the Vodka, Triple Sec and lime juice together, pour in a shot glass and serve.

Type of man it makes you: A Kamikaze drinker is adventurous, bold and outdoorsy. He takes chances, and has battle scars from his motorcycle accident or from rock climbing that women find extremely sexy.

I was determined to drink Kamikazes and prove my manliness to Becky. But, according to the drink description, I needed some rock climbing or motorcycle scars to show off to the many wonderful and lustfully stimulated women who would flock to me as soon as I ordered my Kamikaze. I desperately needed a scar and a story. I frantically tried to remember any scars that I had, and finally remembered that long deep scratch  I got when I scraped my arm on coral when scuba diving. Yup, that’s a cool looking scar, but I needed a manlier story to go along with it. Then it hit me – I had the perfect story to complement my scar – that pesky nine foot Great Hammerhead shark that rubbed its sandpapery skin up against my arm while I was photographing its mating habits! I didn’t feel too bad about the story, because on one dive, I had actually seen a Great Hammerhead shark, only it never even came close. But my made up story was definitely cool.

Wearing my new shirt with the top three buttons unbuttoned, and the sleeves rolled up to show my manly scar, I walked smoothly and confidently into Gallagher’s Bar.  I saw Walrus, Titus, and a group of nurses from the hospital at a table drinking beers. I hadn’t seen a couple of the nurses before, and this was my chance to really wow them. I strode up to the table, nodded in a manly way, and in my deepest voice asked Kate the barmaid for a KAMIKAZE. A hush settled over the table and I found my friends just staring at me. They knew I didn’t drink, but no one said a word.

Kate arrived with my drink, and I found to my dismay it was a nauseating green color. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a picture of it on http://www.Askmen.com, but I was committed now. I wanted just to taste it, but as the table full of people stared at me, I boldly drank it down in two manly gulps. Becky would be proud.

So while Walrus, Titus and the luscious nurses sipped their beers, I found myself pouring down several Kamikazes. At first, all was well in my new world, but soon troubling signs appeared. As I sat in my chair, I noticed the room slowly revolving around me, so I focused my eyes on the nearest stable feature. Unfortunately for me, that feature was the perky and full bust of the nurse next to me. I became totally fascinated, in a way I hadn’t since I saw my first womanly breast in my uncle’s National Geographic magazine so many years ago. My head slowly nodded up and down as she breathed, and a child-like smile shone upon my manly face. I had become twelve years old again.

Vaguely, as if through a thick fog, I could hear someone saying my name. I tore my eyes away from that fascinating bosom to see its owner looking at me with a mischievous smile.

“Rob” she said, “How did you get that scar on your arm?”

‘I  uhhh..” For some reason, my well-rehearsed story about the Hammerhead shark would just not come forth.  I think it was because my jaw wouldn’t work properly. With a monumental effort, I managed to get at least part of the story out.

“I uh, got hammered,” I slurred, and went back to staring child-like at that magnetic bosom.

That was the last thing I remembered until the next morning, when I woke up, incredibly hung-over, on Walrus’s couch. Advil anyone?