Cocktails that Suck

A chickadee and a swallowtail came to my house for lunch. The swallowtail circled my head and the chickadee sat 8 feet from me in a lilac bush. Jealous house sparrows flew back an forth protecting their dying bush, which was decimated by two years of bag worms. They build traveling cocoons and use long silk like strands to anchor themselves to higher ground. They must know something. One of the Unwalking Dead sisters has a nephew Floyd. Pretty Boy Floyd. Not a lot of Floyd’s around. Less and less Ursula’s. Maria’s are shrinking. Violets are also. Soon the only Tiffany’s will be on 5th and 57th. Uber babies are taking over. They Know things. They talk incessantly. They have a patient agenda.

It is so unfortunate that some of the things we need to do to be better and feel better and be happy and make people happy are simple, but we just can’t bring ourselves to do them.

A Manhattan is pretty sucky. Sweet, boozy, no alpha spirit guiding and controlling taste. A true martini is nice, but very medicinal and sharp tasting. I like a good Bloody Mary cause they are like a soup or bowl of salsa and usually non alcoholy tasting. But so many people hate tomato juice. A Sazerac is basically putrid. If a fat food chain served something that tasted like that it would inspire world wide, web protests. Good bourbon or cognac, absinthe and bitters. Would hate to vomit that up. I love um though and Stingers (which taste like mint Lifesavers  and French 75’s and Jin & Guice and daiquiri’s.)

Rob Roy’s yuccky, Vodka and Ginger is syrupy and rubbing alcohol reminiscent. Negroni, baloney. Campari tastes like the window fluid of a Ferrari. Wine Spritzer, no shitzer. Kamikaze, makes you nausey. And the Old Fashioned. The opposite of Jiffy Pop, it’s way more fun to make than it is to eat.

On the wall at Sunshine Daydream, a ratty head shop in Guilfff, it say’s “Seth BLANK Sucks, He shoplifted.” And the Sunshine Daydream is as bad as the Singapore Sling. Both taste like Lavoris.

Last night Drake poured Red Bull into my Coppola Claret. I drank it just to spite him, but it was good. Drake is a good person, but because he’s spoiled, he expects effortless happiness. Undoing that expectation is not my job. I can only protect myself from his Kanyesque stinging comments. It takes energy to summon all that disdain, anger, disappointment and unmet expectation. I am glad I have a lower threshold for happiness.