Link's Drink of the Week: The Flaming Peruvian Nipple Twister

Ah, yes...

One of the most impressive, yet impossibly difficult drinks to produce. The Flaming Peruvian Nipple Twister is the official drink for the International Bon Vivant, and an essential refreshment for my annual Peruvian Pillage & Plunder Pizarro Party, in which I don a Francisco Pizarro outfit and reenact his victory over Inca Emperor Atahualpa. Really get to show off my acting chops for this one.

Note: The Flaming Peruvian Nipple Twister is truly an unpalatable drink, but for historical accuracy and style, MUST be served in a devilishly dapper-esque hollowed out Maranka gourd.

DIRECTIONS:

3 part Peruvian Pisco (not that upstart Chilean swill)
2 part Vodka
2 part Mr. Pibb (they love this stuff)
2 scoops llama-milk ice cream
2 Maraschino Cherries

First, buy a first-class ticket to Lima, Peru. I only travel with Pan Am, and advise the same of you. But, I happen to be a card-carrying Platinum Member of the Mile High Diners Club, so my perks may be better than your complimentary bag of salty nuts!

Upon arriving at said destination, charter a local Incan guide and a team of 20 pack-mules/llamas/small children and trek east 250 kilometers to the hamlet of Huancayo, where you will proceed to purchase 125 Maranka gourds (since it will be a big party). Smuggle gourds and any llamas you may have taken a liking to back into the States, carve out all 125 gourds, and bring everything to my pad.

Now proceed as follows:

Place handful of ice and all liquids into gourd. Float two ample scoops of ice cream on top (luckily for us you brought back the llamas), position your cherries to mimic nipples, and light the whole damn thing on fire! Do this 124 more times, then get the hell out of my penthouse! You reek of llama-lovin'. Salud!

The Linkmobile

A man is defined by the style, the savoir-faire, the spirit, of the car in which he tools around the city. A chap in a travel-sized Japanese n500 Hondamatic, will convey a sense of being "Lean in the Manliness Department" to the ladies, while a sucker in a Ford Country Squire might as well have that ball n' chain hanging out the driver's side window, bouncing and sparking off the road as he transports the ankle-biters to their Piccolo lessons.

So what would I, Link Worthington III, jaunt within the confines of?

A brand new, state-of-the-art Cadillac Cyclone, of course!





Cutting edge, outer space-aliciousness. The future in horizontal inter-galactic transportation. You know Fellas, I thoroughly enjoy the sensation of being strapped to an out-of-control rocket, because that's how I live my Dapper™ life every day.

In order to maximize the Dapperness of such a technologically advanced vehicle, I had my tailor design a special space-age, tin foil jumpsuit and polarized Iridium goggles. I always keep a spare or two for any lovely "co-pilots" who may accompany me on my travels (ie. liquor & ice runs).

All that aside, I chose the Cyclone based on this brilliantly designed ad:


Why... Yes, I do have a desire to drive faster than the majority of flying phallic-shaped objects! I'll race any rocket-powered dildo for pink slips.

Alas, I've long fantasized of possessing a car in homage to those driven in Death Race 2000: A time in which a driver weren't unjustly persecuted for mowing down pedestrians, but richly rewarded with points and hot chicks.

Okay, I Admit it...

I can not lie to you, my loyal minions. You've all given me so much of your trust (and UnGodly amounts of your money in tuition) by entering into my Program of Higher Dapperness™... I have to come clean. I DREW THE THREE BLUE RIBBON WINNING HAIR-DACITY™ RENDERINGS. There, I said it. I admit my bamboozlement. I will pay dearly for my fourberie & chicanery. Please forgive a charlatan who only wanted to maintain a high sense of Hair-dacity™. If you saw the REAL entries, you'd agree with my summation. Here, look at a sampling for yourselves (NOTE: There were many so abhorrent, I thought it best to not publish, but rather have framed and hung in my rumpus room):



Good God, People... you are all quite sick. Again, I have taught you well...

The Hair-dacity™ Winners are in...

By Golly, I am tickled pink by the fantastic response and high quality of my readers hair styling abilities. I've taught you well, Grasshoppers. Here are the Three Blue Ribbon Winners:


And being a Man of my Dapper Word, I will march down posthaste, renderings in meathook, and have Roscoe work his magic on my coif. I thank you all!

Good Day, Sirs!

Q & A Time with Link...

Dear Link,
I'm a hard-workin', hair-lovin' Stevedore (Local Union 15: "The Pumpin' Pompadours") who doesn't have the luxury afforded some Namby Pamby Trust Fund Babies (present company excepted) of waking up at the crack o' dawn to primp and fuss before headin' to the docks for 18 hours of gut-bustin', spine-crackin', heavy hoistin'. What's a blue-collar bub like myself to do?

A. Johnson
Hackensack, NJ


Dear "A",
I'm going to take a wild guess and assume that the "A" stands for "Asinine", because apparently you didn't read my Redken Award winning article in Gentleman's Cosmetology, Autumn issue: The Future in Hair Preservation Dome Technology for the Common Working Stiff.



Fork over the 79¢, and do yourself AND your hair a favor. Or, get out your magnifying glass and read it for free:


Oh Deer... I... I mean Dear. I completely forgot this photo shoot was during my short-lived, but heart-wrenching experimentation with Man-Cervidae Love. That little Reeve's Muntjac crushed my very soul when she ran off with Paul. I should have known better than to leave the two of them alone after that grass juice-fueled late-night Kismet tournament. They should call them "evil-toed", not "even-toed" ungulates, if you get my drift, Fellas. It's for the best. I've got my eye on a spicy little Mustelidae down the hall in 5B now!

Yours,
Mr. Worthington III

Decorating with Leopard Print

Just putting the finishing touches on my Man Cave's chambre à coucher. Très groovalicious. Replete with a state of the art lit d'eau ("water bed" for you non-French speaking peasants out there), African fertility sculptures, a copious lotion & oils chest, and decked floor to ceiling with as much endangered Leopard pelt as one could poach, smuggle, or pinch. It's taken me many moons, but I've obtained enough Leopard flesh to make my dream a reality. And what better way to christen such an endeavor than inviting over one of my special lady friends for an evening of martinis and connect the dots. Schwing!

I've kept one future pelt as a pet, whom I'm calling Sir Dingles. But alas, I'm beginning to tire of Sir Dingles incessant nibbling of my dry clean deliveryman. Humorous at first, he recently took a bite out of my Duke Dunby hound's-tooth blazer during one such nibble-fest. I will miss his entertainment value, but he'll make a perfect Leopard lined bathtub.

Why, Thank You! I think...

It's becoming more and more apparent that I am quite the cat's pajamas with the incarcerated crowd. Jailbirds respond to dapperness. Or perhaps it's my soft, supple hands due to so many years of heavy freeloading under my employment with the Link Worthington II Trust Fund that attract the desperados. Either way, I was pleased this morning to find an offering on my stoop: All neatly wrapped in brown paper... a beautifully painted dual portrait of ME. Me in repose, pipe in pie hole, and me in reflective contemplation. This artist/felon chap truly captured the essence of yours truly. I felt a small dollop of moisture streak down my face. A tear. How peculiar, for I lack the ducts necessary for such facial lubrication. But upon hanging this Masterpiece of Moi, I happened upon a note scrawled in the back:




Seemingly, our penal system offers adroit instructions in the art of art to convicts, but lacks the fundamental tutelage in the science of human biology.

Carl, if you're reading this, I thank you for the painting AND the kind offer to bear your offspring. Unfortunately, I am on permanent birth control known as being a MAN. Perhaps we can adopt?