Rum And Coke Quotes

It doesn't taste anything like the drink I had at the party with Tucker. And now, almost two years later, I realize why. Tucker never put any rum in my rum and Coke. That little stink. That overly protective, impossible, infuriating, and utterly sweet little stink. In that moment I miss him so much my stomach hurts.

It doesn’t taste anything like the drink I had at the party with Tucker. And now, almost two years later, I realize why. Tucker never put any rum in my rum and Coke.

Rum and Coke, please," she told the bartender. Maybe that was why Liza and Bonnie never had guy trouble: great hair. She looked at Liza, racehorse-thin in purple zippered leather...Okay it wasn't just the hair. If she jammed herself into liza's dress, she'd look like Barney's slut cousin. "Diet Coke," she told the bartender.

Happy birthday, Nicaragua. I drank a toast in the best rum in the world, Flor de Caña Extra Seco. Mixed with Coke, it was called a Nica-libre, and after a few glasses I was ready to take on the salsa champions and knock them dead. I went outside to dance.

But I would watch how black people moved, how in these clubs they danced as though their bodies could do anything, and their bodies seemed as free as Malcolm's voice. On the outside black people controlled nothing, least of all the fate of their bodies, which could be commandeered by the police; which could be erased by the guns, which were so profligate; which could be raped, beaten, jailed. But in the clubs, under the influence of two-for-one rum and Cokes, under the spell of low lights, in thrall of hip-hp music, I felt them to be in total control of every step, every nod, every pivot.

Excuse me,” she said, “but I’m a children’s librarian. Can I ask why you’re defacing that book?” “I don’t know, can you? Maybe you can and maybe you can’t, but why ask me?” the man said. Turning his back to her, he hunched over the picture book again. Which was really too much. She had once been a child. She owned a library card. She opened up her shoulder bag and took a needle out of the travel sewing kit. She palmed the needle and then, after finishing off her Rum and Rum and Coke—a drink she’d invented in her twenties and was still very fond of—she jabbed the man in his left buttock. Very fast. Her hand was back in her lap and she was signaling the bartender for another drink when the man beside her howled and sat up. Now everyone was looking at him. He slid off his bar stool and hurried away, glancing back at her once in outrage.

Now Janie ordered a drink and glanced at the bar menu, choosing the goat curry because she'd never had it before. "You sure about that?" the barman said. He was a boy, really, no more than twenty, with a slim body and huge, laughing eyes. "It's spicy." "I can take it," she said, smiling at him, wondering if she might pull an adventure out of her hat on her next-to-last night, and what it would be like to touch another body again. But the boy simply nodded and brought her the dish a short time later, not even watching to see how she fared with it. The goat curry roared in her mouth. "I'm impressed. I don't think I could eat that stuff," remarked the man sitting two seats down from her. He was somewhere in the midst of middle age, a bust of a man, all chest and shoulders, with a ring of blond, bristling hair circling his head like the laurels of Julius Caesar and a boxer's nose beneath bold, undefeated eyes. He was the only other guest that wasn't with the wedding party. She'd seen him around the hotel and on the beach and had been uninspired by his business magazines, his wedding ring. She nodded back at him and took an especially large spoonful of curry, feeling the heat oozing from every pore. "Is it good?" "It is, actually," she admitted, "in a crazy, burn-your-mouth-out kind of way." She took a sip of the rum and Coke she'd ordered; it was cold and startling after all that fire. "Yeah?" He looked from her plate to her face. The tops of his cheeks and his head were bright pink, as if he'd flown right up to the sun and gotten away with it. "Mind if I have a taste?" She stared at him, a bit nonplussed, and shrugged. What the hell. "Be my guest." He moved quickly over to the seat next to hers. He picked up her spoon and she watched as it hovered over her plate and then dove down and scooped a mouthful of her curry, depositing between his lips. "Jee-sus," he said. He downed a glass of water. "Jee-sus Christ." But he was laughing as he said it, and his brown eyes were admiring her frankly over the rim of his water glass. He'd probably noticed her smiling at the bar boy and decided she was up for something. But was she? She looked at him and saw it all instantaneously: the interest in his eyes, the smooth, easy way he moved his left hand slightly behind the roti basket, temporarily obscuring the finger with the wedding ring.

I was getting my knife sharpened at the cutlery shop in the mall,” he said. It was where he originally bought the knife. The store had a policy of keeping your purchase razor sharp, so he occasionally brought it back in for a free sharpening. “Anyway, it was that day that I met this Asian male. He was alone and really nice looking, so I struck up a conversation with him. Well, I offered him fifty bucks to come home with me and let me take some photos. I told him that there was liquor at my place and indicated that I was sexually attracted to him. He was eager and cooperative so we took the bus to my apartment. Once there, I gave him some money and he posed for several photos. I offered him the rum and Coke Halcion-laced solution and he drank it down quickly. We continued to drink until he passed out, and then I made love to him for the rest of the afternoon and early evening. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up it was late. I checked on the guy. He was out cold, still breathing heavily from the Halcion. I was out of beer and walked around the corner for another six-pack but after I got to the tavern, I started drinking and before I knew it, it was closing time. I grabbed my six-pack and began walking home. As I neared my apartment, I noted a lot of commotion, people milling about, police officers, and a fire engine. I decided to see what was going on, so I came closer. I was surprised to see they were all standing around the Asian guy from my apartment. He was standing there naked, speaking in some kind of Asian dialect. At first, I panicked and kept walking, but I could see that he was so messed up on the Halcion and booze that he didn’t know who or where he was. “I don’t really know why, Pat, but I strode into the middle of everyone and announced he was my lover. I said that we lived together at Oxford and had been drinking heavily all day, and added that this was not the first time he left the apartment naked while intoxicated. I explained that I had gone out to buy some more beer and showed them the six-pack. I asked them to give him a break and let me take him back home. The firemen seemed to buy the story and drove off, but the police began to ask more questions and insisted that I take them to my apartment to discuss the matter further. I was nervous but felt confident; besides, I had no other choice. One cop took him by the arm and he followed, almost zombie-like. “I led them to my apartment and once inside, I showed them the photos I had taken, and his clothes neatly folded on the arm of my couch. The cops kept trying to question the guy but he was still talking gibberish and could not answer any of their questions, so I told them his name was Chuck Moung and gave them a phony date of birth. I handed them my identification and they wrote everything down in their little notebooks. They seemed perturbed and talked about writing us some tickets for disorderly conduct or something. One of them said they should take us both in for all the trouble we had given them. “As they were discussing what to do, another call came over their radio. It must have been important because they decided to give us a warning and advised me to keep my drunken partner inside. I was relieved. I had fooled the authorities and it gave me a tremendous feeling. I felt powerful, in control, almost invincible. After the officers left, I gave the guy another Halcion-filled drink and he soon passed out. I was still nervous about the narrow escape with the cops, so I strangled him and disposed of his body.

Quit looking for an answer. You're rich, I'm beautiful, we're both intelligent. And your wedding ring, it itches. Isn't that enough?

And later in the year, at a party where we both had too much to drink, Jack admitted he had wanted to ask me out, but he chickened out and Noah got to me first. As we both sipped our rum and cokes, he grinned and asked if I thought there was any chance I might ever want to switch.

Here’s the part that’s off the hook! Say you’re at a bash, and some dude wants a drink, and you say, ‘I’ll get it. Is rum and Coke good?’ He says, ‘Goddamn right.’ And you go in the kitchen giggling and make the drink. And you drop these ice cubes in the glass, except they’re not normal ice cubes. They’re the ones where you froze half, stuck a Mentos in the middle, then froze the other half on top of it. But the guy’s not going to see the Mentos in the middle of the cubes because rum and Coke is dark, and you hand the drink to him while he’s talking up some chick. And a few minutes later when the cubes melt . . .” Coleman waved both arms in the air. “Bloooooshhhhhh! Foam exploding everywhere, all over the guy’s clothes, up his nose, in his eyes, and all over the pissed-off chick, who’s definitely not going to fuck him now.” “So Mentos can also be used for birth control.

It needs to be said. I didn’t have the strongest stomach. I wasn’t the type of guy who could hold your hair while you puked and not be affected. Did that make me the worst possible boyfriend ever? Maybe. It’s entirely possible I’d throw you a towel and run out of the room gagging. I know it’s romantic to women—oh, my gosh, he’s so sweet he held my hair while I puked up last night’s hot dog and enough rum and Diet Coke to kill Captain Jack Sparrow! Seriously? What do you women read? How the hell is that romantic? Give me one reason. One. Just one. I don’t even need three. Oh, wow, silence, big shock. You wanna know why? Because it’s gross. Because if I had long hair and I were leaning over the toilet, God, you would not, ever, in your right mind waltz into the bathroom, put it in a ponytail, rub my back, wipe my mouth, and think, Wow, I really love this guy, oh, look a cracker!

I’m getting a headache.  Wine makes my head explode.  Where’s the rum and Coke?

Cuba is just a slave-prison. Our only crime is brith, but our sentence is life behind barbed wire and prison bars.

See? I harvested your seed; I burnt your sperm. Now you can't help yourself. You're mine.

Love's not my religion. I don't wait, I don't hope, and I don't believe. I'm free; I take.

Well, this is us, Jack. Cuban cane rum and yanqui Coca-Cola; Cuba Libre, 'free Cuba'. Only we call this cocktail 'ha-ha' now, because there's no Cuba and no freedom. Salad!

Rum and Coke.  No ice, please.”  She nodded

The rum and Coke tastes just awful. He wishes he had Susan’s plain Coke.

I understand Tom’s got a good business going now.” Sheila nodded. “Computers. He’s taught me a lot about them. They’re not really so bad. Oh, they don’t pick up the dirty laundry or do boring case reports or—” she glanced down “—fix rum and Cokes, but they’re pretty clever when it comes to things intellectual.” She drawled the last for every syllable it was worth.

Clay sat down next to my head and handed me a drink. I took a sip. Rum and Coke. He gulped his own, then leaned over me. “Perfect night, wasn’t it?” “It could have been.” I smiled up at him. “But you were there.” “Which means it was only the beginning of a perfect night.

Bacardi Limited was started in Santiago de Cuba by Facundo Bacardí Massó, a wine merchant. Having immigrated to Cuba from Spain in 1830, he refined the method of making a quality rum, which until then was considered an inferior drink compared to grain whiskey. Filtering the rum through charcoal gave it a smoother taste and made it the drink of choice in the island nation. One hundred years later, the company headquarters moved into an art deco building in Havana. Other than drinking it straight, the favorite way of drinking rum was with Coca-Cola, which is now called a “Cuba Libre.” At the time I was there, the midshipmen bought cases of rum for very little money and brought them back to the ship without anyone objecting. The Navy also routinely flew to Cuba, and brought airplane loads of Bacardi Rum back to Pensacola, on what were called “Rum Runs.” This was not considered smuggling, but rather was thought of as “routine multi-engine training flights for U.S. Navy SNB-5 pilots.

Bourbon’s on the sweeter side, which by the way you massacre your coffee it’s clear you like. You’re careful about your appearance, meticulous, so no time for extravagant or ridiculous ingredients. Besides, the Old Fashioned is a classic with wide appeal.” Grif leaned back, placing his arms on either side of the booth. “Cheater,” Dan responded, the grin reaching his eyes. “Was your next choice a rum and Coke?” Grif snorted. “You’ve got way too much class to be a rum and Coke.

Son, you can mix rum and coke or peanut butter and jelly, but you can never mix friends and sex.” When I’d asked about friends with benefits, he had snorted. “Sex ain’t no benefit, boy; it’s a sacred privilege, never to be taken lightly.

One day as I sat and drank, I saw this young Asian male. He was a little younger than I would have liked, but he was eager and willing. I offered him fifty bucks to come home with me and let me take some nude photographs of him. We drank some rum and Cokes and I took some Polaroids, but he was very young and not that developed sexually, so I didn’t kill him. He must have told his parents because about two hours after he left, the police were at my door, found the photos I took, and arrested me. I thought this was it, that everything would come out, but the cops were only interested in the photos I took of the Asian kid and nothing else. I remember that my father was upset when I called from jail, but he got me a lawyer. I made a plea arrangement in court and was put on work release for about a year.