Oh that sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

Singapore Sling anyone? Courtesy The Jane Dough.

Because, I suppose, I am a glutton for punishment, I recently signed up for regular updates from the Martha Stewart death star. These come in the form of emails flogging this or that new moneymaking scheme product or the latest edition of her magazine. Obviously I don’t subscribe, but I have been known to pick up an issue of MS Living occasionally, say in the dentist’s office while cooling my heels until the Novocaine and gas take effect. I would flip through it in the checkout line at the grocery store, but Fairway doesn’t sell magazines — reason number 217 to love hate them.

The latest missive touts an app for making cocktails especially for girls’ night. Wow, I’ll bet Martha frequently invites a bunch of her besties over on a Friday night and really lets her freak flag fly. Can you imagine? Bong hits, Aretha records, Courtney Love impersonations, midnight tattooing excursions and of course, crazy new cocktails like the Roget Colada (a pina colada with a generous bump of cheap champagne — thanks, Karen!) or the Dublin Goes South version of Fat Ass in a Glass (Kahlua, Bailey’s Irish Cream and tequila — the loser of the chugging contest eats the worm!).

Oh right, sorry, that was MY girls’ night.

At Martha’s they probably get all crazy and crochet with gloves on (to make it extra challenging) or add racy captions to their scrapbooking projects (“Is that Bill the beach bum or Bill’s beach bum?!?!? Haha!”) or sit around in their flannel nighties without their Spanx, all the while sipping perfectly blended Cosmopolitans (two if that crazy moon is full) from tasteful vintage stemware while nibbling chocolate covered wasabi soya nuts (Golly that’s spicy!). Pure Martha madness I am sure.

Easy as Pie! Courtesy itunes.com.

I see that the app also includes a special bonus, recipes for “perfectly paired bar snacks,” for the hostess with the mostess. Wow, how much fun would it be to slave away in the kitchen creating beautiful trays of savory snacks so that your drunken gal pals could snarf them up while boozing it up WITHOUT YOU because you’re busy dipping strawberries, baking goat cheese and carmelized onion mini tarts, and filling deviled eggs from a fucking pastry bag? I’ll tell you how much fun it would be: NONE, less than none. It would be a fun black hole, that’s what. In fact, it would suck all the fun out of you and every member of your family for the rest of your natural lives.

Now, it’s not that I don’t love collapsing in an exhausted, sobbing heap on my kitchen floor, stone cold sober, while my buddies dance the night away, fueled by the constant stream of snacks that made it possible to rave until the wee hours, but I do on occasion tire of enjoying myself so very much.

So, listen up, Martha! The whole point of girls’ night is to get a load on and eat greasy takeout food followed by a whole cake, which you then attempt to dance off while playing “Baby Got Back” on an endless loop. There SHOULD be vomiting, and if there isn’t, you’re not trying hard enough.

And finally people, if you need an app to make a cocktail, you should seriously re-assess your life. So anyways…

Happy St. Paddy’s Day from me and my dream pub buddy,
the great Peter O’Toole!

Courtesy pixar.wikia.com