Everybody has a place that they can say they came from, a place that they can remember the smells, sights, and sounds of. I hate generalizations but this makes the opening sentence more heart warming than just saying “some people and I like the ring of it. The place that I was talking about before I was so rudely interrupted by my conscious is called New Jersey. I love the smell of ciggs and fresh man made snow in the air. I love seeing randoms with no clue what proper winter attire may include. Oh … and the sounds, the sounds that these creatures make is indescribable it is like Bach’s “Toccata & Fugue in D Minor, sweet music to my ears.
This year would be the first in five that I have ventured home to take part in the celebratory manner of this foul holiday that we call Christmas. I say this because, and don’t get me wrong I hate organized religion, but the children have forgotten what they are getting those presents for. They are consumed by primogeniture behavior. Like a nymphomaniac fiending for the morning after pill they flock to morning after sales where they will learn to return, re-buy and re-gift. Nothing is sacred not even the birth of our/their (politically speaking) lord and savior Jesus H. Christ. However if this is what we need to get together, to put our differences aside for one day, have a glorious feast fit for the gods and watch twenty four hours of A Christmas Story on TBS then sign me the F**K UP! Give me a credit card, a shopping mall and an excuse not go to work, I’m there baby!
Getting back to my love of Jersey I ventured to the Creek to find myself a little holiday cheer, straight to the Hex Bar. There I met up with Jersey legends Matt Bates, JP Flynn aka “Juice, Eva Boner, Tim Kempson and the Hebrew Hammer, Josh Finkelstine. We started of our day with a drink that’s recipe was passed down to me 13th disciple Rufus. This is a layered shot, like a mind eraser so if you don’t follow the recipe it will taste horrible.
THE PURPLE BASTARD:
1. Verify that you are in fact 21 years of age. Underage drinking is no laughing matter, though a drunk infant is quite hilarious.
2. Get a big glass and stuff it with ice.
3. Pour 2 shots of Blackberry Brandy in the bottom. Chambord can be subbed for smoother but more pricey results.
4. Layer 2 shots of Orange Vodka on top of the Brandy.
5. Top off with a Red Bull and a thick straw.
6. Put straw in mouth and power that bad Oscar down.
7. Pay and Repeat.
So we got a couple of these in our throat pieces and proceeded to rip the Creek a new one. Since Jews can’t drink Christmas liquor, The Hammer and myself had to split one. Plus we didn’t want to fill up—we both were having pork for dinner that night. We rode for eight nights on a pass that should have lasted only one day. We got shots, drank shots and made merriment. As I departed that night form the festival of eternal lights I said farewell to my Wise Men and preceded to Christmas dinner. I learned something that day. It doesn’t matter who we pray to, what or who the meaning of this holiday is, it’s all about being with people you love and getting drunk … oh and shredding the gnarr and getting drunk and shredding the gnarr at the same time. That’s the meaning of Christmas … Wait till Hanukkah then we’re really gonna get wasted L’Chayim!!!