Who Your Drink Defines You As

Posted: March 27, 2010 by kaostheory in Informative

By now, you all should have completed the survey we sent you through the USPS. Yes, the United States Postal Service. A finer group of men and women…never…*snrk*. Sorry. I’m sorry.

(KT…really? You’re going to piss on the postal service now? – ed.)

And we here at Dan Eats Cat Food know that you can’t wait to get the answers back. Well, we’re here to deliver. But first…

(Just get on with it. This “showman” bullshit needs to go. You’re not Harold Hill. You’re a drunken mess. – ed.)

FINE. God. So without any further ado…hey, you ever notice how “ado” sounds more like “a doo” which is a totally different thing of course, although a lot funnier? And for that matter, does anyone use the word “doo” anymore or do (HAH!) they use other terms like….

(KAOS! The article. What, did you forget your ADHD medication today? – ed.)

FINE. God. So without any further ado…*snrk*…we present to you the person that your drink of choice defines you as. Or put less clunkily, what does your drink say about you?
If you answered Beer (domestic – PBR, Natty/Bud/Miller Lites), you are a frat boy. It is not taste or quality that wins you over. It is quantity. Who cares if it tastes like watered-down horse urine? You can drink forty-eight cans of it and still be sober enough to drive! At least in your mind, that is. You may be able to ply sorority girls with this, but it’s a safe bet that they’re already greasing their…wheels for a hard ride. You may also be a redneck.

If you answered Beer (foreign – Belgian, imported), you are probably a douche. You will hold parties in your downtown loft apartment where you and seven of your closest compadres will hold a weekly “beer tasting” night where you sample IPAs or stouts or lambics. You treat them as if they are as nuanced and subtle as various wines. However, you neglect to remember one thing. IT’S FUCKING BEER.

If you answered Red wine, you are more concerned with the tannins than the taste. Or, to put it a different way, you like the fact that after a bottle and a half of pinot noir, you are so slammed that you can read Pablo Neruda and understand everything he’s trying to say…and you don’t know a lick of Spanish. Red wine enthusiasts tend to be more concerned with the region of the wine as opposed to the type. It doesn’t matter if it’s merlot or cabernet sauvignon but is it damn well ITALIAN.

If you answered White wine, you…well…let’s be honest here. You aren’t really too concerned with what it tastes like either. It usually tastes like nothing. You just like being able to say words like chardonnay or chablis. Little life tip here: those words are a hell of a lot harder to say AFTER you’ve been drinking bottles upon bottles of them. Then again, they also sound a lot funnier too so you may be on to something.

If you answered A Manhattan, you are either Frank Sinatra or want to be. If you want to be Frank Sinatra, just stop. You are not him. Have a little bit of self-respect. If you are Frank Sinatra, you are dead and therefore are a zombie. Please excuse us while we go answer a few other questions, grab our shit and run for the hills.

If you answered A Bloody Mary or Other Breakfast Drinks, you are either an alcoholic or are working on a hangover as we speak. If you are an alcoholic, please go find some help. There are groups designed to prevent people like you from drinking goddamn tomato juice with your vodka. That’s only like…a step above sucking vodka out of a shag carpet. If you’re working on the hangover, you might want to try not drinking. Hair of the dog seems fun ahead of time but that doggy will latch on as hard as he can to your ornaments when you finally DO have to stop drinking. Might want to avoid that.

If you answered A Cosmopolitan, you are a woman and therefore aren’t really helped by this article. We don’t know how answer questions like how to put in tampons or if your ass looks fat or why we aren’t being talkative. That’s not how we roll. Sorry, ladies. We roll four deep, waiting to get up on ya. If you’re a guy drinking a Cosmo, though…come on, man. You may as well be walking around and announcing that you’re wearing a butt plug. Sure, someone might respect you…but you’re just as likely to get an ass-kicking.

If you answered Scotch, you are a wealthy businessman. You are sitting in your ivory tower, smoking a Cohiba and sipping Glenmorangie out of crystal tumblers. You take your drink neat or maybe with a little glass of water on the side. You don’t order by the glass. You order by “three fingers” or so. You are able to tip your waiter with a twenty dollar bill and think nothing of it. We both envy you and kind of want you to die of a heart attack while driving your Bentley.

If you answered Brandy, no you didn’t. Nobody ever answers brandy. That is nobody’s drink of choice. Unless they’re like…a Saint Bernard. And dogs aren’t able to properly manipulate pencils. No opposable thumbs and all that. Stop lying, you ass.

If you answered Tequila, you are out of your damn mind. You probably enjoy getting liquored up, going to clubs and starting fights. The police don’t scare you. You are Teflon. You are unbeatable. You would just as well hit Mother Teresa with a chair as look at her. If you are a woman, there is not a person in the tri-state area that has not seen your breasts. One of your nipples is probably pierced. That applies even if you’re a dude. AA will be waiting for your call.

If you answered Rum, you wish desperately that you could be a pirate. Sailing the high seas, yo-ho-hoing it up, searching for buried treasure. You wish that you could have a peg leg or a tricorner hat and wouldn’t look like a dick. You’ve considered poking yourself in the eye so you could get an eyepatch but the depth perception loss makes you queasy. Since you can’t be a pirate, you at least make yourself scruffy and drink rum straight from the bottle. Any win’s a win for you.

If you answered Vodka, you are Russian. Alcohol is like water for you. It makes you strong, puts hair on your barrel chest. You are able to walk out into the snow without pants on because you’re so damn hard. Then the cops come, arrest you for public indecency and intoxication and you wind up in the drunk tank, crying and puking and hoping that your dad doesn’t find out because you don’t want to lose the Beemer. Some Russian you are.

Finally, if you scratched out all the answers, instead just writing in Yes, you’re a comedy writer.
Speaking of drinking…

(Here we go… – ed.)

Remember to stay safe and always have a Designated Driver! Deuces!

(Wait, what just happened? – ed.)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s