What do villains drink?
Why, friend, Villains drink what they damn well please. But if it’s a cocktail you want, one to stir murderous intent, one to celebrate dirty deeds done at deservedly high prices, or to toast future crimes unspeakable, and you stop by ’round my place, I’ll fix you something simple. This is a workable recipe; you can try it yourself, if so inclined.
A Warning: Consumption–indeed, even preparation–of this villainous brew could lead to side effects such as murder, murder, murder, murder, murder, murder, and/or suddenly finding yourself trapped in the 1930s, racing a primitive automobile at very high speeds in the opposite direction of Mr. Al Capone.
A Second Warning, For Villains: As with all things that we do, the force of our wills and the intention of our hearts infuses our actions, as well as our drinkin’, with a little bit of the diabolical weirdness which suffuses our souls. Feed this drink to non-Villains, and they may become Villains.
Is this some kind of Magic? No way. Everybody damn well wants to be a villain; everybody secretly wants to do a heel turn, even Captain America. Provide ’em with the right excuse, and there’s no closing that door. Who’d want to be some lily-livered “Hero”? A Hero ought to be honest; any honest being knows there’s darkness in every heart; and almost every Hero lies about it. There’s no joy in Heroism; it’s a mug’s game. Give ’em a good drink and the inspiration of our piratical and joyous band of ne’er-do-wells, and they’ll go from Constrained to Cad in less time than it takes to say, “Drinks on the house, and Devil take the hindermost!”
Now, when you actually consume the thing, you might want to do it proper honors. And for that you’ll need:
A Villain’s Toast
To that which is sweet because it is stolen,
that which is treasured because it was plundered,
and that which is beautiful because we were forbidden from seeing it.
The Actual Monstrous Recipe
Now, I’m no chef, but I’ve always been really good at preparing certain foods. For example, if you ever want boiled water, just give me a pot, a source of drinkable water, and approximately four hours to figure out how to turn on a stove. Likewise, if you like roasted marshmallows, all I need is a couple of long sticks, a roaring fire, and a willingness on your part to accept “a heaping handful of blisteringly hot cinders which might once have been edible” as being reasonably close to a marshmallow treat. And you should see my s’mores recipe, it’s excellent.
(I’ll actually tell you that secret. It’s these simple steps:
- Find someone else who knows how to make S’mores.
- Cry until they give you some.)
Now, for Gin & Tonic, I have always favored a particular recipe. You might not be able to guess what it is. So I’ll tell you what comes next:
- Take three liters of bathtub gin, clear and forbidden and flavored with sin.
- Take 2 liters of water tonic, to ward of maliaria, and plagues bubonic.
- Realize that you live in the United States and have no idea what a liter is.
- Give up and drink whiskey.
I hope this helps! Next week, I shall teach you how to make soup using nothing other than a can of soup, an ordinary kitchen heating appliance, a can opener, and reservations to a restaurant with an extremely liberal “bring your own bottle” policy.