… which means YES, we can have drinks this afternoon. Dr Pockless has requested an obituary theme, so today we will be raising our glasses to the lost.
Please leave your toasts on the order pad below.
Thank you.
July 1, 2005
I’ve got the day off
I’m struggling to think of a obit-related cocktail. Perhaps I lack imagination.
I love reading the obits in the Torygraph, particularly those remembering World War Two veterans which generally include understated comments about how the hero had already had both wings shot off of his Hurricane, his underpants were on fire and yet he still managed to shoot down the blasted Hun, bail out over friendly territory and get the girl – but that was all just in a day’s work. In fact there was one just the other day about a chap who had a damaged aircraft that was out of ammunition, but prevented a Dornier from bombing Buckingham Palace by flying his aircraft into its tail. Whilst his underpants were aflame.
Anyway, a large gin and tonic please. With a DSO and bar.
I’d like a nice rich pint of Guinness. Oh boy, I can taste it already.
Since I am or it is, I’ll have a Last Cause. Many thanks. Although switch the “Sweetened Lime” for some bitter please. It’s more appropriate that way.
Pete how is a pint of black, realted to the lost?
[And can an Uborkadmin please correct the spelling for my drink from Last to Lost]
No, Last Cause is a better name for it. It is hereby renamed. My toast is to wonderful freudian typos.
But how can I be (or it for that matter) a LAST cause. It makes no sense. It can only be Freudian if it makes sense right?
I think the Last Cause is somehow more appropriate, don’t you think?
Mine’s a pint, which I will justify by using it to drink a toast to the the three writers and a surgeon who are the stars of today’s obituaries.
See here my show, look on this spectacle:
Here lay my hope, and here my hope hath end:
Here lay my heart, and here my heart was slain:
Here lay my treasure, here my treasure lost:
Here lay my bliss, and here my bliss bereft.
But hope, heart, treasure, joy, and bliss:
All fled, fail’d, died, yea all decay’d with this
I shall therefore have a Midnight Beach Bliss. Thank you.
Sorry, Adrian. The thought of Guinness just completely thrashed the whole obituary-theme-requirement thing from my head.
I’ll have a RigorSmirnoff please.
And I’ll sip it slowly while I read this that I found on the coffee table…
I’m dead funny, me!
Provide me with a gallon of absinthe, a spade and a barrel of sugar. I forget what this has to do with obituaries, apart from the fact that if I drink it all, I’ll die of liver poisoning and if I don’t, I’ll die of shame.
Friday cocktails!!! How very 2003!
I’ll have a Death In The Afternoon, please.