How To Party Like It’s The Kentucky Derby

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You are cordially invited to the greatest shitshow of a day held in honor of “The Most Exciting Two Minutes in Sports”–the Kentucky Derby.

Kentuckians spend two weeks preparing for the Derby. They skip work and school, and they get 50 shades of drunk all in efforts to get ready. (Well, two weeks for the more conservative crowd and an entire month for those of us who like to extend our alcoholism past the NCAA tournament.) We take the Derby very seriously around these parts, and if you plan to use a two-minute horse race as your excuse to get life-threateningly intoxicated tomorrow, you need to know how to do it.

Dress The Part
Kentuckians dress better for the Derby than we do for the day Jesus Christ rose from the grave. It’s honestly the one day of the year that Hollywood’s finest dress to our standards, and rarely is there a mishap where someone looks dressed for the VMAs or the Oscars red carpet. Depending on what parts you have, you should go with either a sundress or seersucker–both play it on the safe side. However, the most important part of this whole operation is the hat–think along the lines of Pinterest exploding on top of your head. That five times too big and 10 times too obnoxious monstrosity is called a Derby hat. And you can bet your ass you’re going to wear one.

Pick Your Moral Standards For The Day
This isn’t your typical horse race, y’all. You’ll be rubbing elbows with some pretty powerful people who are probably there because money. But like the caste system of life, you have your place and they have theirs. Most of you won’t be at the Derby. Fuck it, you’re probably not even in the state. This means you get to party whichever way you so choose–you pretty much have two options. You have the infield, a group of people who are basically tailgating a horse race they have no chance of watching, or you could go with Millionaire’s Row, where you’re going to get drunk off your ass but still be pretty damn classy about it. This could also be a contributing factor in what you’ll wear, as there’s a lot higher chance of spotting jorts, American flag T-shirts, and navy blazers in the infield than there is in Millionaire’s Row. I suppose we’ve all been to our fair share of tailgates, but you’re a responsible adult, so I’ll let you decide.

Get Pants-Shittingly Drunk
Fact: There are more barrels of bourbon in Kentucky than there are people. Fact: There are more than 4.38 million residents in the Commonwealth of Kentucky. To put it into perspective, we have a lot of fucking bourbon over here, so I hope you like it. Not only do we have a signature whiskey, but we have a signature drink. Bourbon, fresh spearmint, water, and sugar–put it all together and BOOM! Mint Julep. If you don’t have bourbon or you’re not man enough to swallow God’s gift to America, you can use regular whiskey. The official Mint Juleps sold at Churchill Downs are actually made from Early Times, I assume because Hollywood is a bunch of pussies and we like to turn a buck.

Roses On Roses On Roses
We’re big fans of the single most overused and overpriced flower of all time. You can assume that roses are really expensive this time of year because of weddings, but I’m going to assume it’s because we sew 400 roses onto some satin and throw it across a horse’s shoulders. If you’re playing along at home, make a drinking game out of this called Run for the Roses.* See who can drink the most Mint Juleps from the time we sing “My Old Kentucky Home” to the photo finish. I also suggest covering the first person to pass out in roses–complete with thorns. See if he or she ever falls asleep first again. That’s really the only true way to incorporate the official flower of the Kentucky Derby into your day of debauchery, and who doesn’t want to be official?

* I do not take any responsibility for any bodily harm that may come to you or any others because you have a college degree and were stupid enough to listen to the advice of a complete stranger on the Internet.

“My Old Kentucky Home”
I can only assume that this great Stephen Foster diddy was once Donald Sterling’s jam up until 1986 as it is pretty fucking racist, but it still remains the state song of Kentucky. We’ve sung this beautiful compilation before each and every previous Run for the Roses since 1930, and it will never fail to bring one solitary tear to my eye. If you don’t know the lyrics, we’ve totally got you covered–we run that shit across the bottom of your screen. We’re pretty damn friendly in Kentucky and would hate it if you guys had to miss out on anything.

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My state gave you J. Law, Clooney, two-fifths of the Backstreet Boys, and multiple fifths of bourbon. I gave you a cover letter using Brian McKnight lyrics. Psuedo-adult by day; PGP, TFM, and TSM contributor by night. Please don't ask me to do math.

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