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In a large shaker, pour one dash bitters, a splash of sour mix, and every alkie downward-spiral cliché from The Lost Weekend to Leaving Las Vegas, such as a self-described “drinker with a writing problem” (Anthony LaPaglia) who’s too drunk to get served at the Algonquin—Mrs. Parker’s ghost recoils—and who refuses to let a little terminal cirrhosis get in the way of a good buzz. Top off with the kind of enabler they warned you about in Al-Anon meetings (Caroleen Feeney). Add two teaspoons of ipecac syrup (optional if you’re curious about post-colostomy sex). Strain credulity. Shake until sudsy. Garnish with a maraschino cherry or Eric Stoltz. Serve chilled, straight up.

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