LizzieMaine
Bartender
- Messages
- 33,717
- Location
- Where The Tourists Meet The Sea
If I was starving to death on a deserted island I wouldn't eat an oyster. Oysters aren't a thing here. We eat *clams*, either steamed alive in the shell and dipped in butter or dunked in batter and deep fried. Clams were what we ate when we were desperate and couldn't find anybody who wanted to get rid of a few lobsters. My grandfather would grab a hoe and a pail and would go down to the shore, and half an hour later we'd have clams for supper.
And yes, that was the same shore covered with oily deposits, fish guts, and orange waste from the chemical plant. I didn't say they were *good* clams.
As far as liquor goes, I was once in a play where the action called for me to pour a drink and down it in one gulp. Some jackass in the crew swapped the prop gin bottle full of water for a real gin bottle full of gin. I spat the drink out in a ferocious jet that spattered across the stage floor and immediately began to liquefy the varnish on the boards. I'd sooner quaff a glass of Prestone.
And yes, that was the same shore covered with oily deposits, fish guts, and orange waste from the chemical plant. I didn't say they were *good* clams.
As far as liquor goes, I was once in a play where the action called for me to pour a drink and down it in one gulp. Some jackass in the crew swapped the prop gin bottle full of water for a real gin bottle full of gin. I spat the drink out in a ferocious jet that spattered across the stage floor and immediately began to liquefy the varnish on the boards. I'd sooner quaff a glass of Prestone.