The Hierarchy of Cocktails

Though he may be dressed to the nines in his fitted Dirty English printed t-shirt and True Religion jeans—his oxblood Santoni slip-ons thumping a back beat against the pavement as he struts his way to the velvet rope—the archetypal douche bag requires more to properly equip himself for a Friday night on the town than clothes alone. These are times of uniquely euphoric economic disparity, when a heretofore run-of-the-mill douche, employed anonymously at a large defense contracting firm, can finally elevate himself above his peers in the financial sector. Thus, those that have it must flaunt it. To the extreme.

This summer, expensive clothes are passé. Any recently laid-off Wall Street schmuck can dust off a Thomas Pink tie and throw it under a spread collar from Banana Republic, hiding the fact that he was recently forced to trade his 34th story flat in Manhattan for his childhood bedroom in his parents’ split-level on the outskirts of Manassas. For a legitimate bag to enjoy the cream’s view of the milk below, he must concern himself not with what’s on his labels, but what’s in his hands. Every well weathered cougar or Bag-ette worth her salt can and does instantly judge a man by the impressiveness of his cocktail, based on this strict social hierarchy:

Level One: The One Trick Pony
Fueled by their precious, freshly unwrapped freedom, recent college graduates and divorced males alike waste no time upon entering their favorite watering holes. Thus, they dispense with pretense and order the most basic drink a bar offers: straight liquor. Utilizing both verbal and visual cues, they cleverly buttress their order with anywhere from three to nine extended fingers (these douches roll deep) to make sure the bartender understands they didn’t go out alone tonight. Not like last Friday. At times preceded by a Price-is-Right-esque glance back at their wingman, they shout their order with confidence: Five shots of Beam! Six GM shots! Chaz, what do you want? Four shots of Patron, chilled, biatch!
The upside: Speed. Without the drag coefficient of sugar and carbonation, one can enjoy alcohol’s warming embrace in a mere matter of minutes.
The downside: Loss of control. Though often voluntary, the drawback of starting the evening with shots requires even the most fastidious douche-on-the-prowl to abandon his strict 7:1 pie-to-thigh ratio.

Level Two: The Captain and Coke
This second-most-basic level of imbibitions entails the sweet synergy of spirit and soda. Jack and Ginger. Beam and Diet. Goose and Tonic. Drinks in this category are favored for their orderability—their names roll off the tongue as smoothly as the names of any girl born after 2005: Keandra, Mikayla, Dakota—and provide an illegal, but un-whistled moving pick between that special blond in the tube-top and the harsh reality of waking up to you the next morning. No harm, no foul.
The upside: Reliability. A douche is certain to find at least one combination of these drinks at any bar he patronizes.
The downside: Plebian. The Captain and Coke falls well short of the sophistication that 47-year-old divorcee at the other end of the bar requires.

Level Three: The Marketini
Thanks to a false sense of intelligence instilled by decades of targeted marketing, any respectable douche bag claims to know a thing or two about quality and tradition (and Marc Ecko). Thus, he is constantly reassured that vodka—a spirit with a centuries-long history flowing from the earliest days of the Middle Ages past the banks of the Vistula to the Steppes of Russia—wasn’t perfected until 1992 when a Dutch distillery finally introduced its also ran European brand to the American market. Yes, the same conglomeration of provinces that brings you the tulip and one-third of the world’s cucumbers is also responsible for Ketel One (now effectively owned by Diageo, the behemoth that also owns such distinct brands as Smirnoff, Crown Royal, Jose Cuervo, Captain Morgan, Tanqueray, Hennessy, Dom Perignon, Baileys Irish Cream and Goldschlager). Nothing says, “I recently thumbed through the three nude spreads in this month’s issue of Playboy Magazine” like ordering a $12 Ketel One Martini, extra dirty, straight-up.
The upside: A touch of class. Ordering Ketel One straight-up gets you a debonair martini glass to swirl (pinky up) while you discuss such sophisticated topics as “This Witch Hunt Against Manny is Just Another F*cking Democratic Plot Cooked Up by Al Franken and his Cronies to Distract America from the Exploding Deficit” or “Holy Sh*t Look at That Girl’s Boobs”.
The downside: The taste of ass…? The Netherlands may be better at growing tulips than distilling vodka, but who would know? Try substituting Aristocrat in your next Vodka Cran and see if you can tell the difference. (Hint: if you can, you’re an asshole.)

Level Four: Bar-bituates
Ironically, peering down from its pinnacle atop the list of sought after alcoholic concoctions sits a non-alcoholic mixer: the energy drink, specifically Red Bull (unless you’re from Maryland, the only state where ordering a Rockstar and Vodka doesn’t get you punched directly in the mouth). Mixing the urine-colored, carbonated upper with its alcoholic foil is sweeping the nation like a cigarette-butt-induced wildfire, freeing the inhibitions of co-eds and cougars from Dewey to the Dakotas, from Tallahassee to Walla Walla. And just as the Talon was the flagship of Eagle’s sport coupe line-up, the coveted Jagerbomb is as close to caffeine-laced alcoholic perfection as it gets. Simply ordering one announces to the world that a third-degree douchebelt is in the room, so any guy looking to trade knuckles should probably just turn that Red Sox hat back towards the front and return to his table of friends-that-are-girls talking to him about the problems they’re having with the guys they do have sex with.
The upside: Endless Love. Free from the bonds of alcohol’s repressive depression, a douche is able to roam the streets indefinitely as he seeks to a) corner an unwitting quarry-in-formal-shorts, b) punch the guy behind him in line at jumbo slice, or c) punch this guy wearing formal shorts.
The downside: Tender Heart. Literally. That’s not just another Lionel Richie song. Your heart might explode.