If you’re already a member of the San Francisco Sazerac Appreciation Society (SFSAS) you were, at least at one point, cool. If you’re getting our correspondence and don’t know us, you’re at least cool enough for us to confuse you with someone who actually is. Ergo, no one (I mean NO ONE) has a good reason for not coming by this week.
To the faithful (or unemployed and shiftless) who are already regulars: thank you. To everyone else: you can f*ck right off. Well, come to our party first. Then frig off.
Oh, we’ve heard the excuses before:
“Who are you?”
Okay, maybe if you had a little too much fun last week you need a refresher. We are the entire crew of the original SFSAS (Brendan, Lisa, Preston, and Jed, minus Mike and Julie, who are here in spirit), plus a few newcomers. Meet Jason Wolfe, computer genius. Bei Jiang, chef extraoidinaire. Matt Arnold, the baddest-ass bassoonist this side of the Atlantic. And, last but not least, Steven Q. Bice, terror of fantasy football leagues from here to Mankato (bonus - he consults if you pay him in Mountain Dew).
“Why should I come by your dirty warehouse party?”
Because we’re awesome. And we’ve got a hanging couch. Plus, if you get drunk enough, you might get laid.
“But what about my job? Isn’t Tuesday a little early for a bender?”
We will not dignify that with a response. I pitty da fool.
We know you’re out there, so why aren’t you coming? We’ve got all these snacks . . .
-The Gang
“The heathen are sunk down in the pit that they made: in the net which
they hid is their own foot taken.”
-Jesus H. Christ
Its been a while. A long while in fact. This Tuesday, September 23rd marks the triumphant return of the drink which gave our weekly happy hour its beginnings. The Sazerac. Loved by some, hated by others, the Sazerac is not only a New Orleans staple, but an SFSAS staple. Its disappearance in recent months has caused much controversy, stirfe, anguish and general soberness.