Rather than sullenly sucking on my drink, I’ve always enjoyed making toasts. Nothing pompous or forced, like the best man at the wedding reception’s jackass valedictions, but just something short and sweet to sprinkle a sense of community on the task of gettin’ loaded. I feel it’s almost required of the situation, as much as is saying something more profound than “ahem” during lovemaking, or taking a bong hit and coughing out a Tommy Chong-sim.
One of my favorites is from Steinbeck’s “Cannery Row:” “Over the river, boys.” If with fellow lapsed Catholics, “The Blood of Christ” is always good if it’s unexpected, but, like “Da Bearz.” can quickly become tiresome.
I remember reading that England’s King William of “William and Mary” was planning an invasion of Scotland but died after his horse tripped on a molehill. Thereafter the Scots would toast to “the little gentleman in velvet.” That would be an obscure toast in a lot of settings - but try it and see if any closet Jacobite is present and puts a glass of water on the table for Bonnie Prince Charlie.
Lift 'em high
and drain 'em dry.
To the guy who says
this round, I’ll buy…
For your lover:
Here’s to the trees and flowers in bloom.
You in my arms and I in your room.
A bird and a bottle and a bed badly tossed.
A door that is locked and a key that is lost.
And a night that’s a thousand years long.
My college drinking friends and I must have tired out the “Blood of Christ” toast, because one of the Jewish people in the peer group once preempted that toast with “Next year in Israel!”
One evening on the island of Yap (real place) in O’Keef’s Oasis Club (really just a lagoon-side dive, but great name, huh?) three of us went through as many toasts as we could as we drank shots of our national alcoholic beverages.
I don’t recomend this. I woke up on a tramp freighter with two women of very questionable morals, and it took me almost a month to get back to Yap. My editor was very angry.
“To absent friends…”
We used to say this towards an empty chair when we lost a collegue. But I’m getting maudlin…How about,
In the mouth,
and past the gums,
watch out stomach,
here it comes.
An old rugby toast I’ve gotten a lot of miles out of.
Here’s to the girls we love the best
We love them best when they’re undressed
We’ll fck 'em sitting, fck em lying,
fck 'em dead, and fck 'em dying
And when they’re dead and long forgotten,
We’ll dig 'em up and f*ck 'em rotten!