Bottoms Up

I first met Ass Juice in 2000. It was a simpler time, when a crappy fake ID was good enough to get me past the bouncer at the legendarily shabby-cool Double Down Saloon on Paradise Road. Carrying Uberschall’s drums and saying “I’m with the band” also alleviated underage suspicions that I wasn’t from Maine and spent summers yachting.

I wondered about this Ass Juice drink prominently advertised via homemade poster-board signs near the “you puke, you clean” rule. I sniffed and gingerly sampled a friend’s, but feared some horrible gastrointestinal reaction.

It was eight years before I dared drink the stuff, which is made of, well, everything leftover in the well at the bar. The occasion for imbibing was my participation in the Girls of the Double Down Saloon calendar shoot, which had me standing on the Double Down bar at midday with my tits practically hanging out. I drank up for liquid courage—and became an instant fan.

I’ve been told there are two rules to Ass Juice: It must be a weird color and has to taste good. And sometime this month, Double Down proprietor and ringleader P Moss will serve the 1 millionth shot of it. To mark the big moment, he’s begun selling commemorative Ass Juice toilet shot glasses—a perfect gift for someone who needs their stocking stuffed ($10, or $12 filled with Ass Juice).

Keep an eye on Double Down’s Facebook page as Moss and his crew count down. Not only will the lucky millionth shot-taker get a warm (or nauseous) feeling inside, but fabulous prizes including a snowboard and free tattoos.



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