The Hangover Part II -- Full Trailer

It's looking good. It's looking really good. Let's hope for the best, and BYOB to the theaters on Memorial Day.

Social Drinking Excellence: Lindsay Lohan

This was destined to happen the second this regular "On the Rocks" feature was started. Lindsay and alcohol are almost as synonymous as...well, as me and alcohol. Ironically, if she didn't have the checkered past that she does [Am I the only person who is shocked to read that she's only 24? I feel like we've endured 20 years of Lindsay/alcohol/drugs/general buffoonery news clips.], this story likely would have ended up as a different kind of "On the Rocks" feature: "Wifey Material". But, alas...

Lindsay seems to have broken probation with a spectacular night of drunkeness in Gotham. From The Daily Mail:

Sitting in a grimy street, head almost on the pavement, troubled star Lindsay Lohan appears to be down and out as she leaves a New York bar.

Looking decidedly the worse for wear, Lohan - who as part of her probation is not allowed to drink alcohol - appeared to have spent the best part of the evening hanging out with friends in bar The Cabin Down Below soon after arriving in New York by private jet.

After emerging, she is seen stooping on the floor, groping for support, and struggling to stay atop her high platform heels.

Dressed in a very short black dress, leopard print coat, the Machete star knelt on the floor, cigarette in hand, laughing uncontrollably and inadvertently exposed her underwear.

The 24-year-old stumbles to her feet while her laughing friends - which includes Samantha Swetra who was recently involved in a fight with Boardwalk Empire actress Paz de la Huerta - show little concern.

I hesitated to post this at first, because no one has confirmed that Lohan was, in fact, drunk. But, Lindsay being Lindsay, I feel pretty safe standing on the assumption that she was twisted like a wet rag. My thoughts:

1. The Paz connection is ironic, given that she was the last Hollywood actress to earn a Rummy. Though her performance was a tad more grandiose, as she managed to expose a titty AND have it all recorded on video. Lindsay, it seems, has some work to do on her game—she's getting outperformed by newcomers.
2. Which is more surprising: That Lindsay flashed her panties, or that she was actually wearing panties? Yeah, that's what I thought.

3. There is a part of me (likely located in my southern hemisphere) that wants to believe this is all a misconstrued moment of innocent fun with friends. I mean, she is wearing huge platform shoes—the odds of falling in those are roughly the same whether you're drunk or sober. She does know her own reputation, and that it would be impossible for her to go anywhere in NYC without paparazzi following her. So how would she expect to get drunk and violate probation when she has zero chance of getting away with it? But every time I stop to consider these factors, I keep coming back to, "Yeah, but...it's Lindsay."

*sigh* Who would've thought there's a rich, good looking woman out there who's too big of a drunk to be wifey material? Lindsay, your Rummy's in the mail. It comes with a matching ankle bracelet (that a nice officer will be helping you put on).

Wifey Material: Sweet Dee

Whether she's chugging beers with teenagers or being more Paula than Paula Abdul at a talent show tryout, Sweet Dee (Kaitlin Olson) is the perfect drinking partner-in-crime-and-in-life.

Full Metal Patrick

Tony and I strode down the street towards Shannon’s Mt. Washington apartment at 9:30 a.m. Armed with a 5 Hour Energy in my pocket, a fifth of Jameson in my hand, and my “Irish I was Drunk” tee on my back, I felt like I was walking into combat. It may have been my last shred of sensibility that kept me from saying to Tony, “On my word, unleash hell.” As we approached we met up with Weatherman, who was also just arriving. He dapped me and nodded towards the large gym bag slung over his shoulder. “Case of Guinness.”

I love the smell of Car Bombs in the morning.

Shannon’s the consummate hostess. A table with cups and pong balls was set up on her deck, and the sliding glass doors that you pass through to get there were turned into a sign-up sheet by washable markers. Two coolers full of beer and ice sat near the steps. Trays of food blanketed the kitchen like a fresh snowfall of pepperoni rolls, cookies, and pretzels. Bottles of hard liquor crowded the counter of the portable bar in the living room, and Celtic music wafted from her stereo. Only one blemish appeared on her party-planning performance: she left Entertainer, her boyfriend, in charge of the beer. That meant that her coolers were stocked with Pabst Blue Ribbon Light. My first instinct upon hearing this was to cast various aspersions upon his pedigree. Then I remembered that he and I not only graduated from the same college, but the same high school, too. *sigh*

If you were going to gather the most rabid pack of alcohol-hungry boozehounds that you could imagine, with the sole intention of sicking them on Saint Patrick himself, I think you’d come up with the following lineup: TJ and Rackt, Jay Swag, Mitch Canada, Dupa, Chappy, Affliction, Belle, Prince of Ligonier, Dr. Kelly, Weatherman, Tony, Shannon, Entertainer, and a humble fella by the internet pseudonym of D.E.F.I. Maybe you’d throw in another 30 lovers of the sauce as well—we certainly did. And every last one of us drank like consumption was going to be outlawed at sunup the following day. If you had 24 hours to live, how would you drink? If you had 24 hours to drink, how would you live?

The steps from Shannon’s living room down to the deck were slick from seasonal rains and a moderate accumulation of moss. We may never have known how much of a hazard these conditions can create if it weren’t for Prince, whose ass made contact with Shannon’s deck long before his feet ever did. Rackt and TJ witnessed the tumble; later, when they were telling me about it in the living room, Rackt said, “I felt so bad for him.” TJ shot a look in my direction. “If you had been down there when [Prince] fell, how would you have reacted?” “Well,” I said, “I would’ve asked if he was okay…as I uploaded pictures to Facebook with tears of laughter coming down my cheek.” When Prince and his fractured dignity made it back inside, he showed us the moss green stains on the sleeves of his thermal undershirt. “At least it’s St. Patty’s Day,” we offered. “Otherwise, those stains would look ridiculous.”

By 1:45, several of us had trickled into Redbeard’s. I crossed paths with a project manager from my program at work, and luckily was still coherent enough to say a few words of greeting before plopping down at a table on the patio with TJ, Rackt, Tony, Dupa, Prince, and Weatherman. But it wasn’t much longer before things grew…foggy. I’d done at least three rounds of Irish Car Bombs at Shannon’s, as well as Jell-O shots and beer pong. And all the while I had been steadily drinking cans of PBR Light and Miller Lite, as well as bottles of Point St. Benedicts Winter Ale. My memory and I were on a conference call, and someone on my side had started playing with the mute button.

We left Redbeard’s, intent on taking our campaign to Station Square. As we walked toward the Incline, I jumped on Weatherman’s back for an unrehearsed piggyback ride. That lasted all of .693 seconds, as the big guy lost his balance—seriously, how does someone who’s been drinking all day lose his balance…psshhh—and his resulting struggle to restore stasis launched me feet-first into the street. Thankfully, the approaching minivan’s brakes were up to par. Having defied (or is that “D.E.F.I.’d”?) Death, I laughed and rejoined the march to Station Square.

Pardon me if I paraphrase, but by now my brownout was only growing stronger. We moved to a bar in Station Square…that I know nothing about. Well, not nothing; it’s across the street from the Hard Rock Café. Beyond that, I’m at a loss. Tony chose it (personally, I think Tony being in charge is a distinct sign of just how irreparably impaired the rest of us were), and not even he knows the name of it. I remember there being girls there—new ones, not the used ones from the party (I kid, ladies). But how well we romanced them, how many times they maced us, how long the restraining orders are in effect…these are all unsolvable mysteries. The only thing I know for certain is we somehow all got to Rumshakers in South Side.

I remember only one moment from my visit to Rumshakers: a still frame of frozen time as I stood at the bar talking to Mary. [You know, the sexy bartender with the huge chest? …From the time last year when I was there and The Ex was in the cut, stalking me? …Wait, I never told you that story. …Damn I’m a lazy-ass writer.] Also, I remember someone handing me a beer. But that’s it; the 8 mm on my St. Patty’s 2011 ends there. When the lights came back up in the theater, I was sitting on the loveseat in my own apartment. In my boxers. Alone. *sigh*

Damage assessment: Total.

The postscript to my memories of the day has been incredible, as nearly every person in my crew who I’ve talked to seems to have had some adventure or two at the close of the night. Wondrous tales abound at every turn:

• When TJ and Rackt decided to call it a night, they walked back towards Station Square and the Incline. Rackt was, by then, in “Angry White Female” mode—a common side effect that can result from a full day of heavy drinking. When she found that a group of guys walking down the street needed to be told that they were acting like idiots, TJ had to do his best to drag her away from the confrontation. As they continued down the sidewalk, he said, “We’ve been with a crew of people bigger than me all day, but you wait ‘til we’re alone to get me into a fight?!”

• As they traveled on, they happened upon Affliction, who we had lost early in the day’s action. He had literally vanished while we were at Redbeard’s. Now, at about 9 pm, here he was in a random part of the South Side, quietly standing at a bus stop.

TJ convinced Aff to come with them; TJ would drop him off at his house on the way home. As they walked, Aff explained where he’d been all day. “I had to take care of something,” he said with a guilty grin. “She was terr—…” He stopped his storytelling as they passed a row house with its front door opened wide. Inside there

was a party going on, with the sounds of people and music spilling out into the street. After they’d passed the house, Aff spoke up again. “I just fucked some fat chick at that party.”

• Jay Swag sent me a text, right around the time I awoke on my loveseat, stating that his face was bleeding and his glasses were smashed. He also sent a picture he’d taken in the mirror; his face looked like he’d gone five rounds before the knockout. I asked him a day later who hit him. “Carson Street packs one hell of a punch.”

• Then you have Tony and Dupa. They left Rumshakers together, and tried to hail a cab. Having no luck, they found Pakistanimal and offered him $20 to drive them up to Mt. Washington. He agreed, and they all started walking towards his car. But when Pak turned back a block or two later to ask them something, both Dupa and Tony were gone. They had spotted Tom’s Diner; getting to Mt. Washington, it seems, would have to wait.

Although they had quit on the day’s boozing—and had eaten, even—the day’s boozing hadn’t quit on them. Their blackouts had rolled on, growing stronger with each passing minute. After they had paid the bill at Tom's, they parted ways as though they had never known each other. Dupa walked straight outside and renewed his search for a cab; Tony walked down the street in the other direction. TK randomly happened upon his roommate, who by this point was standing in the middle of Carson, waving money at passing cars. He pulled Dupa over to the sidewalk and drove him home. Tony, on the phone with K-Man’s wife April, ran into a girl that they both know from work. He handed the phone to Girl-from-Work, who said to April, “You need to come get him. He’s a mess.” April, angel that she is, drove the half-hour-each-way trip into the city and back, dropping Tony off at his house along the way.

• Monday morning I was in the kitchen at work when the project manager from my team walked in and greeted me with a grin. “Just so you know, I saw you almost get killed on Saturday.” I blinked at him in confusion, because I had (and continue to have) absolutely no recollection of almost getting hit by a minivan on the way to the Incline.

In the end, everyone—with the notable exception of Swag—managed to make it home unharmed…sort of. Chappy and Rackt each had to purchase new cell phones due to alcohol-related causes. They may have gotten off cheaply, though. The only way I could begin to sum up my state of mind that Sunday: I felt as though I’d damaged my soul. Dupa expressed similar sentiments, and Tony maintains that we each shaved a good five years off of our lives.

"Only the dead have seen the end of war."

Get with the Clique

Here's a new ad for Clique Vodka, which is brought to you by Pittsburgh's own Premier Innovations Group.




I know a few people who know a few of the people behind Clique's marketing efforts, and decided to test it out late last year. Being a start-up, and costing only $15 for a fifth, I didn't set my expectations too high as I poured my first glass of it. After taking my first sip, I waited for a bitter floor cleaner taste to seize my tongue. Instead, I was greeted by a pleasant surprise: the vodka was smooth, with a fresh, clean taste. So smooth and clean, in fact, that I had to check my receipt again to be sure I had only paid $15 for it. Amazing.

Check their website for locations where Clique is sold. If there's one near you (and with every passing day that becomes more and more likely), I highly suggest you get to the store and pick up a few bottles. It's great on the rocks or with mixers (which guarantees the ladies will love it too). Their savvy marketing team has, of course, also blitzed Facebook and Twitter in an attempt to help get the word out.

Well boys, consider this the official On the Rocks—and Crooked Straight—endorsement. If you folks at home need any further encouragement, though...

Social Drinking Excellence: Keith Gruber

I really don't think there's anything for me to add to this tale. So I'll just give you the MSNBC.com report in full:

A New York man is being held in jail after showing up an hour and a half late for a court hearing on a felony DWI charge — he was also drunk and carrying an open can of Busch beer, authorities say.

Keith Gruber, 49, is in Sullivan County Jail without bail. He was allegedly carrying four more beer cans in a bag when he went through the courthouse security check on Monday.

The Middletown Times Herald-Record reported that Gruber, from Swan Lake, appeared before Sullivan County Judge Frank LaBuda, who asked him if he enjoyed his "liquid lunch."

Gruber said he did, then said he was sorry. LaBuda sent him to jail with no bail.

"It was obvious that he was intoxicated," LaBuda said according to the Herald-Record.

Gruber, who has prior DWI convictions, was arrested on Dec. 27 in the town of Liberty and had been out on $30,000 cash bail before this week's unfortunate court appearance.

A few thoughts:

1. Showing up for any court hearing drunk is just tugging on Satan's tail. But when you've been charged with a felony DWI? Well, you're not just pulling on Satan's tail, you're laughingly pissing on it.
2. Day-drinking is supposed to be limited to special parties, events, or basically days free of responsibilities/chores. If you call off work to get hammered all day with your boys while playing PS3? Maybe you're a bit of a slacker, but in general you're just a fun-loving person. If you outline your day by saying, "Let's see, I have to stop by the post office, go to my court date, and then stop at the store to pick up that medication for my mother. Hmmmmm...I'll never have time to finish this 12 pack before I leave; I'd better make them to-go," well then you have a legitimate problem, and it ain't the metal detector at the courthouse.
3. Admittedly, this has nothing to do with the drunken shenanigans in the story, but I love the irony that Gruber was arrested in "the town of Liberty".
   

Mr. Gruber, your Rummy's in the mail. It can also be used as a thermos, so you don't have to lug your "roadies" around in a bag.

Wifey Material: Holly Madison

Another week, another Playboy bunny shows her "On the Rocks" merits. This time it's the former "Girls Next Door" and current "Holly's World" star, who took part in the Sport of Kings in Vegas on St. Patrick's Day.

From FHM.com:

On St Patrick’s Day, Ex-Playmate Madison took part in a Beer Pong tournament at O’Sheas Casino, which is apparently the “Centre of the Beer Pong Universe.” Good stuff. Didn’t know it warranted a universe.

...Holly played Beer Pong (which seems to involve a lot of jumping around with your arms spread – we’re not complaining, though) in a sexy dress and then had some pictures taken with what we’re sure isn’t an authentic leprechaun.

Playboy Playmate, beer pong vet, television star, lover of leprechauns... Yup, wifey-worthy.