Nothing is quite as sweet as a creamy, icy class of Amarula followed up by a shot of Hillary’s caramel vodka (Patycakes, this is the new Christmas martini).
And, nothing is quite as raunchy or hysterically offensive as Ian’s jokes.
It’s our last night at Daktari proper, our last big meal in the lapa, our last bonfire, and Ian lights it up like the comedy hour at a basement gig in Manhattan. It’s absurdity on a stick, particularly the one about the kid who asks daddy to fill his car up with green golf balls, and I laugh so hard I think I might piss my pants.
The silly ones, like–How do you circumcise a whale? Well, you send foreskin divers–are the icing in the cake.
Or, better yet, Ian miming a rather ungodly tongue twister with an ice cream cone, setting the stage for–how can you tell if a woman is married based on how she licks an ice cream cone? Look at her wedding ring, you perve.
And, the cherry on top, a joke Hillary, Danielle, and Andreas vie over for telling at their respective Christmas dinners with their families, complete with acted-out pantomimes–Jesus is on his cross and manages to rip his hands out … and falls on his face.
I don’t know why, maybe it’s Bullet’s sad departure today, but that last one is so unexpected, so short and simple, we almost completely lose it.
Can’t wait to taste test those drinks!!