Whiskey and Donutholes

Welcome to the CSI: Miami drinking game rules. Try to keep up, as the point of this drinking game (as with any other drinking game) is to get you drunk as fast as possible. The only thing different with this drinking game is that you always fucking drink; there is no down time. So grab your beer and your Horatio sunglasses!

Governing rule 1: everything must be a consensus. This is fucking America, and we practice democracy here, for the most part (insert Bush Administration jab here). So if someone claims they see one of these rules and calls a drink, there must be a majority to rule on it. For example, if a lady shows her ample cleavage, but is not a cop but a suspect, that could be ruled as just your standard-issue seduction cleavage, not “inappropriate cleavage.” The group would have to rule as a whole as to whether or not the placement of said cleavage is appropriate to the case or not.

Governing rule 2: Don‘t turn the sound on. The weak dialog and terrible acting in this show will only want to make you drink more, which will ruin the game. Play fair, turn off the volume, and blast some music. We prefer TLC.

Moving along…

Rule 1: Horatio taking off/putting on his sunglasses

When Horatio–CSI: Miami’s red-headed hero–either puts on his sunglasses or takes them off, you drink. This one isn’t up for any sort of interpretation…just watch him do his thing. When it happens, take a drink. Plain and simple. The only caveat is you have to see him do it. If one frame shows him with glasses on, and then the next shows him with glasses off, that does not count and you do not drink.

Rule 2: Inappropriate cleavage

This one rule tends to confuse a lot of people, and for good reason. After the first five minutes of CSI: Miami, you can be pretty tossed if it’s setting up to be an epic episode. The “Inappropriate cleavage” rule relates to women only. At any given time that you notice inappropriate cleavage, you drink. You must define “inappropriately,” however. As stated above, a cop wearing a low-cut halter top at a crime scene is obviously inappropriate. A suspect in a murder case, however, may not be (unless she’s an old bag and just nasty, in that case, it’s ALWAYS inappropriate). Another notable instance of “inappropriate cleavage” is the morgue technician lady, who tends to wear shirts way to revealing for just being in a basement working on dead people. Use the democracy governing rule, it may save you a drink.

Rule 3: Ridiculous technology

Computers and cell phones nowadays are pretty rad, but unless you work at a super-secret Government facility or Microsoft, most of the technology found in CSI: Miami is pretty ridiculous. Any time you see this ridiculous technology, you drink. For example, the touch-screen, transparent computer monitor type deal (see picture at left)? C’mon, that’s just ridiculous. Did George Lucas help co-produce this fucking show? This isn’t Star Trek: The Next Generation, here folks. This is 2008 Miami. What technology they may have like this would more than likely be stolen by a band of Cuban gangsters. Get real. Caveat: watch for the masked use of Google tools. Google is fucking high-speed, so when they use Google Maps or Google StreetView, someone may want to call “ridiculous technology.” Be wary, and use the democracy governing rule in this case.

Rule 4: Someone ’bout to get capped? rule

This is another easy rule. Any time you see someone (anyone!) draw a gun, you drink. Just like the “Horatio putting on/taking off his sunglasses” rule, you have to see the gun get drawn on the screen, otherwise it’s a no-go for the drinky.

Rule 5: On-screen visual effects are awesome! rule

No cool screen capture for this rule. You’ll just have to know it when you see it. At any time in CSI: Miami when the show does something wacky–like chase-cam a bullet into someone’s chest, or fades to black and does the “Matrix”-style black & white camera angling that recreate a crime scene–you drink. Since this is a cornerstone on which the CSI franchise is built, you’ll be drinking a lot.

Rule 6: Split screens rule

By this time, you’re probably pretty trashed, but Jerry Bruckheimer intends to ratchet up the cheesy drama even more. Prepare yourself for the split screen! Any time the screens split into two or more frames, you drink. This usually occurs after the half-way point of the episode, so be wary. Caveat: to make things interesting, you can make a drink be taken for every split screen that appears after two. So if the screen splits into four separate screens, take four drinks. Use with caution. People have puked blood when this rule is enacted.

Capstone rule: Mystery solved! rule

When the episode is nearing it’s conclusion, when CSI: Miami gets their man (or woman, or midget), you must prepare yourself for the “Mystery Solved” capstone rule. This is the last rule, and the one where you drink the most (although the “Split screens” rule can get up there in terms of volume). The “Mystery Solved” rule involves when the mystery is solved, and Horatio retires for the evening to his plush, “Miami Vice”-themed bachelor pad. You’ll know when the mystery is solved, because Horatio will put on his sun glasses for the last time in the episode, just before the credits appear. When Horatio puts on his glasses in a self-satisfying manner at the end of the hour, you finish whatever beer you have left. Case closed.

By the end of the CSI: Miami drinking game, you’re going to be tore the fuck up. Any episode will surely contain all these situations numerous times to make you drink. Again, remember, leave the volume off and be democratic about some of the rules that may be up for interpretation. We’re all friends here!

Recently Don and I checked out The Dugout Bar, in Superior. We were feeling adventurous, and wanted to check out something new. At the same time, we knew at the end of 2008, our favorite bar (The Viking in Superior), would be disappearing. So we were looking for a replacement for The Viking. The Capri (affectionately known by us as “The Crap”) is too dude-errific to replace The Viking. The Anchor is too busy. The Belknap–as wonderful as it is–is also too busy and just doesn’t vibe the same as The Viking. What The Viking projects for an atmosphere can’t be captured by too many other establishments in the area. Except for The Dugout, we discovered.

The Dugout is a smallish bar, as long as an old brownstone building that inhabit Superior’s tower avenue, and about half as wide. It’s a simple bar. A pool table, two dart machines, an old juke box, and an ornate bar that is almost a throw back to the Speakeasy bars of yesteryear. There’s nothing elaborate about The Dugout: it’s simple layout and inadvertently-retro decor (Packer’s banners from the 80s, old beer lights, etc), and it’s terrific bartender, Forrest.

Forrest is just a regular guy. He’s the bartender you’d see in the movies that open in a bar. A friendly, down-to-earth guy who loves nothing more than to tell you a story and make you feel at ease for the night. At the same time, Forrest comes across as the guy that you don’t want to have to deal with should a fight or scuff break out. But that’s a non-issue when you take in the clientèle at The Dugout.

The patrons of The Dugout vary in all ages and walks of life. Young people, old people. Dock workers, clericals. But everyone of these people, no matter how incompatible in normal life, are here at The Dugout for one reason: to have a good time. This automatically makes the environment in The Dugout relaxed. Although when Don and I walked into The Dugout for the first time, it was one of those moments where the record scratches to a halt and everyone stops what they are doing to look up at you. After we ordered a beer from a non-caring Forrest, however, it was back to normal. And when we walked into The Dugout the second time–in all seriousness–no one even batted an eye. Forrest even remembered us:

“Hey, you guys are the guys that drank all our Coors Light and were here with those athletic trainers from Stillwater.”

“Actually, it was Mankato, Forrest, but incredible memory,” I replied.

“What?” said Forrest.

“Nothing, let’s drink,” I answered.

As Forrest got us our $2.50 cans of Coors Light, Don and I relived the story of our first visit to The Dugout with the athletic trainers from Mankato. I had recognized them from long ago when I frequented Mankato State University. Don and I were sitting by the door, backs to the wall. The two from Mankato walked in, and I recognized them. I said “hey guys, whats up” and they nodded–obviously not recognizing me. Before I could say anything else, one of the Mankato individuals started handing me his I.D. I looked at Don to see what was going on, and he was taken aback, but I knew what he would want me to do.

So I carded the kid.

I told him it was a fake I.D., because it was a Wisconsin license, and he obviously lived in Mankato. He looked extremely confused. Then I explained myself. Everyone busted out laughing–I wasnt’ really a bouncer–except for the two from Mankato. They went off and got drinks. A classic Dugout moment was hatched.

Getting back on track, prices at The Dugout seem reasonable as well. I believe it’s $2.50 for a can of Coors Light. You can leave the loose change for Forrest, but usually all he does is take it and put it towards a $10 or $15 collection for the jukebox, so people can just walk up and select whatever songs they want for free. A great idea, if you ask me, because you’ll hear one of the most motherfucking eclectic mix ever when this occurs. $10 of free songs in a juke with a mishmash of patrons makes for one helluva interesting night. From the club music, to screaming death metal, to Elvis and George Straight, it’s all on there. And Forrest doesn’t mind, either. He even says that some of the rap and “boom-thump” songs, as he calls them, are enjoyable to him.

I unfortunately have no other drink to draw a comparison in prices with at the Dugout, because all we drank there was Coors Light (until we drank them out the first time, in which we switched to Black Bullets). But knowing the cheap cost of Coors, and Forrest’s friendly and just-have-fun-here attitude, it can’t be very much.

The Dugout, we’ve deemed, is an excellent replacement for The Viking. While it will never be The Viking, it will fill the void that will be left at the end of the year. And The Dugout will create its own memories. Like the Mankato guys thinking I’m a bouncer, and me playing it off with Anthony Hopkins-esqe coolness. Or the time we went there after starting drinking at 3:30 in the afternoon. The Dugout will no doubt fill the void for bar comfortability and bar friendliness, and in good time, will become the stuff of legend that The Viking is and always will be.

That’s the State of the Bar for The Dugout.