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When Irish Eyes are Rheumy |
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Written by Administrator
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Sunday, 06 March 2005 (read 2743 times) |
Well little fuckers it's nearly time for that annual March excuse for
drunken debauchery known as St. Patrick's day. I had thought about
treating your skanky asses to some authentic Irish cuisine, a kick ass
corned beef, some potatoes. Maybe an ale braised lamb shank with
cabbage and of course potatoes. I briefly considered a Mexican/Irish
fusion of chicken fajitas and colcannon, a mixture of cabbage, and
surprise potatoes. (see note) Finally I remembered that most of you
pieces of shit just use St. Patrick's day not to celebrate the feast of
the martyr that taught those dumb fucking druids the way, but just as
another reason to shove more booze down your fucking gob. For that
reason I decided to just grace you with three different recipes for a
Jamaican specialty called Guinness Punch.
 Now, personally, I'd rather just crack a fucking Guinness,
pour it into a glass and be done. But then I'm not a pansy ass
piece of shit like you are. Of course, not being a cunt, I like
my coffee black, my scotch straight, and my broads naked. From
observing the way most assholes (pronounced
customers) drink at the bar in my
restaurant everybody else has to have their booze sweetened or diluted
or in some other fashion fucked up. In an effort to support your
sick and demented booze ideas, I found the most disgusting drink in the
known universe for you to try. I've ranked them in order of
simplicity with the most complex at the top. Oddly this also
ranks them in order of vileness with the most drinkable at the top.
OK first you need to assemble some ingredients. Go out and buy
yourself some cans of Guinness. You can use Guinness Draught or not,
although if you look for more recipes on the web some fuckers suggest
"not." They're fucked. One 14 oz can makes about 2 servings
depending on how fucked up you want to get, so grab about 12 four packs
if you're man enough. You'll also need about 24 14 oz cans of
sweetened condensed milk.
Now here we go. Crack a can and pour it off into a pitcher or
punch bowl or blender. It doesn't much matter, but ideally you're
going to use a hand held wand blender so it shouldn't be your grandma's
best thin glass. Although since you're such a callous unfeeling
fuck, see whether you can't borrow an heirloom crystal punchbowl from
your great aunt. It'll be more fun when one of your green clad,
dangerously drunk fucknut friends breaks it diving in head first.
Open up a can of evaporated milk and pour in half, and add 4
tablespoons of a gourmet hot cocoa mix. Blend the shit out of it
and then pour into the punchbowl or into individual glasses.
Garnish with a cinnamon stick if you want, although something like
classy presentation is sure beyond your meager intelligence. For
an amusing game, try drinking it while singing Danny Boy to a
reggae beat.
The above drink will serve you well into the evening but eventually
you'll be so hammered that you'll want to try
experimenting. At this point drop
the cocoa and do your punch with cinnamon, condensed milk, and
Guinness. This has all the bonus Guinness bitter coffee taste,
the cloying sweetness of the condensed milk, and all of the vomit of a
bad case of stomach poisoning. In short it's much like the entrée
you served at your last dinner
party. Under no circumstances should you give this
to your life partner/spouse/live-in cockpuppet unless you want the
little slut to dump you for a more caring individual. My auburn
haired beauty has no problems coming along with me on culinary
adventures, but well, face facts, shithead, you ain't got my charm.
So by this time, you probably have blown through most of your Guinness
and you want to start getting really creative. Well go to it, you
dumb sumbitch. Go with some rum, maybe coconut milk, pineapple,
anything that smells like Jamaica. Fuck put some goddamn pot in
as long as you aren't hanging with undercover narcs. If you're
feeling particularly racy just drink your fucking Guinness
straight. It is, after all
brilliant! Oh, and if you think that
I just fucking phoned this in, well you can suck My Cock. The
quality of a food column should match the quality of the food.
Now fuck off, I've got some real cooking to do.
Note: In
case you're wondering what the fuck is up with all the
Carlos O'Kelly's and Jose
O'Shea's of the world. Not to mention the fact
that Margaritas and the Irish go together like stink on shit, here's a
little historical side note. In the 1840's the United States had
decided, in it's lovable young nation way, that beating the fuck out of
the Indians wasn't nearly as much fun as kicking the shit out of the
Mexicans. With an eye toward killing some foreign brown skinned
folks and securing vast mineral and commercial wealth, that's mines in
Nevada and ports in San Diego and San Francisco to you
gringo, the US declared war on Mexico after a
hastily arranged border incident. Prior to the outbreak of
hostilities an Irishman named John Riley bugged the fuck out and joined
the Mexican army eventually commanding a brigade of other Catholic
oriented deserters known, interestingly enough as Los San
Patricios. By all Mexican accounts the brigade fought valiantly
and heroically thus earning a permanent place in Mexican history and a
small chain of mid-western restaurants. Unfortunately for Mexico,
the only history that matters is that wineries in Napa Valley aren't
called bodegas.
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