Famous actors have a long history of getting completely blitzed and accidentally appearing in wine ads. Believe me, no one appears in a wine ad on purpose. Even if you drove up to Orson Welles’ house with a dump truck full of money he would be hesitant to show up. The only reason he’s in this ad is because he’s on the tail-end of a three-week bender. If he blew into a breathalyzer it’d show up as yes.
There have been times when sober actors have appeared in wine ads, but they didn’t want to be there either. James Mason looks like he’s being held at gunpoint in the lobby of a Motel 6. You can tell that he’s holding back tears as the producer motions for him to take a sip at the end. There’s only so much you can make a man do under duress, but no power on this planet can compel James Mason to drink Thunderbird wine.
Orson Welles, on the other hand, carries a bottle of Thunderbird wine on his person at all times.
I don’t drink. It’s not because I don’t want to; I’m not allowed to. I’ll get around to it eventually. However, If I did drink, I have a feeling I’d have a Танк Бар every night to take the edge off. I’d have one with dinner and I’d have one before bed. When I went out to eat I’d ask the waiter to bring me a helmet, a shovel, a keg, and a fire extinguisher so I could have a Танк Бар with my meal. At family gatherings I’d have my grandmother smash colorful drinks over my head while shouting at me in Russian, so I could have the proper Танк Бар experience. The Танк Бар will be my drink of choice even though that’s probably not what it’s called.
I can’t think of a better way to drink. Now you don’t have to drunkenly fight the surly looking fellow at the end of the bar to get a concussion. Just ask the bartender and he’ll do it for you. It’s important to remember that the blows to the head enrich the drinking experience, and bring out hidden flavors in the alcohol. Now you can really taste the vodka.
It ain’t a party till the cops come, or at least that’s what my dad told me. He seems to be an expert on such things. Being that he’s at least vaguely Irish I’m not sure there’s much he couldn’t tell me. I do however have full confidence that my daddy could take your daddy any day of the week, but I digress.
I don’t go to parties anymore. It’s too much effort trying to pick my friends back up from under the table. I’d stay for the music if there was any, but it’s just beep and bloops being blared at flight deck volume. I’d rather not go than complain about it. Let the people have what they want, I can throw my own party and get what I want whenever I feel like it. Of course, I want to listen to Oingo Boingo records while squatting in my living room, but that can be a party too.
And Today’s Entry In The International “I Love You, Man; Let’s Fight” Sweepstakes Is From Trashcanistan. Take It Away, Trashcanistan
I’ve been inebriated. Drunk, actually. Really drunk. Totally drunk. Wasted. Drowned my tonsils and my sorrows alike. Been three or four sheets to the wind. I’ve been banjaxed and blasted, tight as a tick and tanked, too. But I’ve never been that drunk. Trashcanistan drunk.