Have you ever been to a bar? If you’re not over 21, stop reading this. I’m not trying to get into any trouble with the law. The rest of you, people who have been to bars, picture a bar in your mind. Muddy sort of counter, dim lighting, a weird smell that seems to be coming from the chairs. That’s a bar, baby. But you know what really soils my garments? When you order a cool sounding cocktail, probably called a “rosemary spiritual” or something, and there is so much shit in it that you can’t even drink it. That really pisses me right off. Prepare for my rant about it.

First of all, I’m trying to drink something, not eat it. That should first and foremost be something you understand as a bartender. Drink, not eat. Print that out and staple it to your forehead.

Secondly, it’s just cumbersome and that is not a word I throw around lightly. I once tried to drink this bloody Mary that literally had a burger on top and I almost threw up in my mouth even picturing it now. How do you expect me to enjoy a drink if my straw is getting clogged with olives and blueberries the whole time? I want something that tastes good and is cold without ice or anything solid, is that too much to ask?

And let me tell you, this isn’t just some political issue I decided to champion because I was looking for more to do with my free time. This is deeply personal. My brother came incredibly close to death as a newly minted 21-year-old because of an overstuffed fancy cocktail. Ever since that day, I have pledged that I will not rest, I will not sleep until this justice is rectified and my retribution is complete. It’s either me or fancy cocktails, but one of us isn’t leaving this cage.

So this is my word of warning to you, bartenders of the world. If you so much as dare put anything on a toothpick in my liquid drinkable drink, I will come down on you with the fury of a thousand suns and the might of a brother wronged. You wouldn’t dare test me, would you, foolish mortal? I would like to see you try me.

This was uttered into the cold wind on a regular Thursday night. It’s appearance here is nothing but coincidence.