Bloody Mary garnishes used to be pretty basic: a celery stick, olives, maybe a cocktail shrimp or two. Then came bacon strips and mini cheeseburgers. And now, well, look at this bloody monster, served up by O’Davey’s Irish Pub in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. It’s topped with a slightly precarious looking tower of garnishes including popcorn, bacon, peanuts, beans, sausage, a soft pretzel, nachos, cheesburger sliders, a hot dog, pickles, crackers, cheese curd, and a Brewers flag. If this doesn’t cure your hangover (and give you a different kind of stomach ache), nothing will. [Neatorama]
Why, Chris O’Dowd, why? The “Bridesmaids” actor and his wife Dawn O’Porter, a writer/documentarian, are hands-down my favorite celebrity couple. Which is why I was bummed to see O’Dowd tweet what basically reads like a date rape joke. “Drop the hand” is Irish slang for fingering or groping someone, which means he tweeted that he was going to “sneak” amaretto in her food on date night so he could finger her.
First of all, that’s a dumb joke. It doesn’t make sense. Who puts amaretto in food? Second of all, even though it was a joke (these two tweet all the time about both sex and getting drunk, which is why I like them), cracks about sneaking liquor into someone so you can get sex out of them are date rapey and not cool. It’s not “naughty” or “mischievous”; it’s gross. [Twitter.com/BigBoyler]
A couple years ago my brother showed me a picture of an Asian giant hornet, and I thought he had Photoshopped it for the sole purpose of ruining my life, because if I was in one of those horror movies where a psychotic sadist made all my biggest fears come true, the grand finale would just be putting me in a room with a really big bee. So I was horrified this morning when I came across a story about a Japanese vodka that’s made out of fermented giant hornets. Seriously: you drown a bunch of hornets in vodka and let the resulting stew ferment for three years. That’s the recipe. Apparently the drink smells like rotting flesh and has a “salty aftertaste that comes from the wasp’s poison.” I need a drink–made with non-hornet vodka–to recover from this story. [Oddity Central]
Hey, bro, want to know what we should do this drunk girl passed out of the couch? Here are some crazy ideas. [UpWorthy]
I came across this gorgeous little flask while browsing Pinterest the other night, and like many Pinterest postings, it instantly made me feel like my life was meaningless and empty without it. How have I gone this long without owning a chic stainless steel flask with a cheeky engraving on it? What is wrong with me? Must remedy this immediately. Salut! [$28, BHLDN]
“Love potions do not equal consent. Coercion through magic is illegal. Combined with the use of love potions it is rape.”
Oh, if only those Steubenville rapists could have gotten reported to the Ministry Of Magic. Or should I say those Lord Voldemorts. [The Mary Sue]
This Sunday is St. Patrick’s Day, a holiday which holds many different meanings for different religious and ethnic groups, but for many young people, it’s generally interpreted as “The Day We All Get Super Drunk At Noon.” And so, in the spirit of overindulgence, I thought I’d take a moment to ask the rest of The Frisky staff about their random drunk talents — the things we can’t do (or at least can’t do very well) sober, but we excel at after a few martinis. Check out our list after the jump, and please share your own drunk skills in the comments! Keep reading »
“So, this is kind of a random question…”
I nodded my head at the man across from me. I was in the kitchen of a fellow parent from my child’s school. I had come to pick my son up from a playdate, and found myself hanging around making small talk while the kids finished up playing. Between multiple playdates and a few shared meals, we had become friendly with this family and had reached the level of Facebook friends and random text exchanges. I was curious what his random question could entail.
“Do you … well … do you know where I could get some pot?” Keep reading »
It always starts the same way: “Come out for drinks!”
Maybe, I think to myself. I need to do more research.
“What’s the name of the place?” I ask. ”O’Dooley’s Irish McIrishman Pub,” someone says.
I get a pit in my stomach. I fire up Google. I find the page on MenuPages. My fears are confirmed: yup, this place only serves beers and offers a dinky wine list.
“I’m going to pass,” I say.
“But come onnnnnnnnn. You never come ouuttttttt,” someone whines. That’s because I want to go somewhere where I can get a fucking fancy cocktail. Keep reading »