If you’re like me, you’ve been out a few times. With your friends. For a cocktail! Frankly, we all need adult outings to occupy the time between work and death. So that means serious, rated NC-17 drinking. Viewer discretion is advised. Yet, what would alcohol be without its kooky, trippy friend marijuana? Nothing, that’s what.
The cannabis high makes guzzling alcohol a mellower experience and even helps to moderate some of the depressant effects of downing that drank on a Tuesday. And alcohol can bring the extrovert out of even the most reclusive Stewie Stoner. They go together. Where booze induces ugly-crying and drunk texts, Mary Jane slides in with some paranoid giggle frenzies to bridge the emotional canyon.
They’re the peanut-butter-and-chocolate of getting fucked up!
For best effect, drink only one mixed cocktail per hour, and light up your cannabis after you’ve had 2 drinks (and thus 2 hours to digest). The recommended ratio of Drank-to-Dank is mine, and thus takes into account my metabolism, love handles, genetic history, chin flaps and so on. You’d need to experiment with different types of alcohol and possibly different paces to know what works best for you.
Gin & Tonic
The drink of the sociopath, studies say. Or a drink for the introverted sophisticate who has no time for a scalawag’s sweet nonsense. Save your silly pageant of fruity blends. No. Gin and tonic is for the stalwart mind, the grown person with accessories like watches. Or shoes with laces. Since that psycho likes hard drinks, she’ll want a stout, reliable high to float her into bed. Or else, she’ll be fighting riot cops in The Tenderloin off them elderberry shots.
Stand up to that G&T with a carefully rolled half-gram joint of purple haze. That’ll shut Gin And Tonic tf up, just when it threatens to get too rowdy. Purple haze will lay that motherfucker right down in the nearest park or on a subway bench or wherever bodies are horizontal. Faster than Trump Secret Service will be tested.
Know why it’s called that right? Too many of these on a week night, you’re screwed. Take it easy, breh. And then, take it way easier when you’re making that OJ and vodka. It’s always the simple gal next door who breaks your heart. That’s her job, though. In the timeline of my life, screwdrivers are the shipwrecked captain on one comatose joyride after another. Licensed to ill. (Edit: Revoked.)
They revoked my license is what I’m saying. Don’t drink so many screwdrivers! Instead, rein in that orange tumbler of sin with a stiff bong rip of sour diesel. Beyond the obvious dance of twin citrus notes, vodka and sour can shape an afternoon for the better. Just as you’re getting revved up from that vodka buzz, the sour will rush in with all those random thoughts you had stored away from the week. Next thing you know, you’re buying 2 a.m. toothpaste at CVS, writing notes in the aisle about your first love.