The Dublin Mudslide

 

I’m not one of these dudes who’s a afraid to veer a little left. A good contigent of my bros routinely give me shit for lifting a pinky and sipping on something off-beat (read: something other than Jamesons, Jack Daniels, Bud and Coors Light). Even in The Great Liberal North-East – NYC being the epicenter of “live and let live” – there is still a bastion of meathead’ish, old school, “straight-guy logic” that outs itself in force when boozing time rolls around. There’s a set of unwritten rules to abide by. Among a half-dozen, mostly straight dudes, few other things can incite fierce stare-downs and raucous shit-talking faster than ordering a “girly” drink (like a milkshake, fruit-juice highball, or the poster-child for metrosexual and homosexual men – The Cosmo). Having the balls to order such a drink in a sea of seemingly straight men has sometimes even lead to drunken skirmishes.

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