“We’re in the port of Old San Juan / We have a boat we can sleep on / Hundreds of drag queens in full bloom / Hundreds of fat men in steam room!”

My singing drives Dan nuts. I don’t know why. Just because I can’t hit the notes…. But for once I got a laugh. The Neue Weimar, the VSOP Caribbean cruise ship we’d taken as our belated honeymoon, had a spa, and we found that the “spa” area was – how shall I put it? – heavily populated. There were many men, a lot of them shaped like our planet. They could no more wrap a bath towel around their waists than could Kirstie Alley at her greatest tonnage.

Spending a week with 2,000 men is an anthropological experience: the size of a flaccid dick varies greatly among the general population and crosses all boundaries of race, ethnicity, age, girth and intelligence. We required a lot of thermal therapy; the hot tub became our second home aboard the Neue Weimar. At one point, a strapping young stud appeared at the hot tub’s entrance; all eyes turned as he strode to the towel rack and whipped off his towel. There were murmurs of appreciation at his godlike ass but an audible groan of disappointment at the sight of his Midget League meat. Moments later, a stooped old man tottered in and nobody gave him a second look until he was halfway down the steps into the tub, at which point the crowd suddenly gasped at his absolutely mammoth shlong – proof that one should never judge a cock by its cover.

Even I was amazed by the alcohol consumption on the cruise. Every hour was happy hour, except that all the drinks were full price. The Neue Weimar had at least 15 bars, and most were busy all day. We were waking up over our granola at 8 a.m. when Dan’s jaw dropped at the sight of something over my shoulder; I turned around and saw a Bloody Mary cart being wheeled toward us. Some guys were tanked by noon, passed out by 2, back at it at 5, flying high through dinner, still drinking at 10, 11, and 12, and staggering around the open top deck, the ship’s equivalent of a back room, at 3. I’m not passing judgment, believe me. The whole point of a cruise like this is to ditch your everyday life and have nothing but fun, fun, fun till your bank takes your credit card away. Still, having had my share of encounters with the severely inebriated,
I must warn: too much alcohol thwarts the project. And nothing is as hard-on-dampening than the sound of one’s trick heaving into the toilet in the next room.

Which is not the proper way to launch into this week’s recipe, but a slap in the face is an effective rhetorical device. Our cocktail this week is Caribbean: the mojito. A Cuban drink, the mojito is made of rum, mint, a bit of lime juice and simple syrup – rather like a mint julep, only with rum instead of bourbon. But I’ve adapted it. Like mint juleps, traditional mojitos are easy to make if you have slaves to make them for you. This one’s easy for everyone.

El Nuevo Mojito
Put fresh, washed mint leaves into a shaker with ice, and add a few drops of simple syrup and a few drops of lime juice. Pour in as much rum as you like; any type will do, since the mint and lime will overpower the rum’s subtleties. Shake hard and serve over ice.
1) Most recipes call for muddling the mint with a muddler or a fork. I say phooey. It’s a waste of energy, and the result is that you’ll end up with bits of mint stuck to your teeth.
2) If you use the repulsive Captain Gorgon’s spiced rum – the “spice” is obviously arsenic – I’ve got a voodoo doll with your name on it.

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