The Imbiber: Holiday Parties - How To Not Spike the Eggnog

By Dan Dunn

Eggnog and office parties: The Imbiber takes them both to a new level.

Conventional wisdom says that a holiday office party isn’t really a party until someone drops trou and photocopies his or her nether regions. Turns out conventional wisdom is full of shit yet again. While it is true that many office “parties” never really live up to the name, the true demarcation line comes not when someone runs off a ream of butt-cheeks, but when someone spikes the punchbowl.

To be clear, I don’t intend to throw shade on such activities as Photoshopping your boss’s head onto the body of a hairy redneck boning a reindeer, or covering everything in the guy next to you’s cubicle with penis-adorned wrapping paper. Those time-honored holiday traditions have their place, but should happen in the aftermath of the party, not to get it going.

No, to get a holiday party started you need just one thing, and that thing is eggnog. Everyone loves the fatty, nutmeggy stuff, plus it can hide the taste of just about anything. Now to be clear, while this is a booze column, I'm not talking about spiking eggnog with liquor here. If your eggnog does not already have liquor in it, then I submit to you that it is not actually eggnog at all. All I'll say about alcohol and eggnog is this: be interesting. Rum is traditional, but to my mind a little boring. I say buck tradition whenever possible. But then again so did my Catholic priest, and all that got me was extra eggnog.

As I stave off disturbing childhood memories, here’s a recipe Jeffrey Morgenthaler of Portland Oregon's Clyde Common kindly lent us, which features tequila and sherry. See? Interesting!

Because we need to be clear about something up front. Spiking the company punch is messed up and probably illegal. Giving anyone any intoxicant without them knowing it is a despicable act, and we do not endorse it in any way. However, it is a whole lot of fun to fantasize about. In light of that, Playboy’s lawyers have asked not only that I insist you never actually never do any of the following things, but to in fact, title this list as follows...

The Four Things You Should NEVER EVER Spike Eggnog With


A little powdered ecstasy or blotter acid livens up even the dreariest office party. I learned that from Martha Stewart. Truthfully, though, I attended a holiday office party in 1997 where someone spiked the eggnog with PCP. To prove it I’ve tracked down an eyewitness. Just like a real journalist! Another career milestone.

“Yes, I do recall someone at that holiday party spiking the eggnog with angel dust,” said Curtis Robinson, former editor of the Aspen Daily News. “And that someone was rumored to be you, you little prick.”

Rumored, eh? Sorry, but serious journalists like myself don’t traffic in such baseless nonsense. Plus, someone once told me Curtis Robinson is a dope-smoking sex fiend. I wouldn’t trust the guy.


Story time again: My super-hot friend Carrie did this a few years ago at a holiday party in Manhattan because she wanted to sleep with one of the septuagenarian partners at the law firm where she worked as a receptionist. Six months later, just as she'd planned, the two of them were married. Less than a year after that, she left the poor bastard citing “irreconcilable differences,” meaning she couldn’t reconcile her desire to bang her personal trainer with all those annoying vows she’d exchanged with the decrepit tax attorney who paid for her tits. Now she’s living high on the hog in deep early retirement in a massive apartment on the Upper East Side courtesy of a fat divorce settlement. And every time that lawyer hears the words “ho, ho, ho” he thinks of Carrie.

I should probably also mention that I also had sex with a boss at a holiday party once, though it didn’t turn out to be nearly as rewarding an experience. To be honest, once the PCP wore off, Curtis Robinson wasn’t nearly as hot as I'd thought.


You made the nog. It’s technically yours. And you never told anyone it wasn’t infused with ballsack. All it takes is a moment alone and a willingness to submerge your danglers into the chilly, creamy depths of the serving bowl. Then for the rest of the night you’ll be laughing on the inside with every sip your co-workers take. It's kind of like ass pennies. What are ass pennies? I thought you'd never ask.


Remember the photos you snapped at last year’s party? Like the one of that sleazy dickweed from human resources boning the boss’s wife in the mailroom? Remember how you were saving it in case you got yet another cruddy performance review from Mister Dickweed? A copy of that photo sure would look great laminated at the bottom of the punch bowl, wouldn’t it?

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm ready for a return trip to Playboy's holiday party punchbowl. If I'm not mistaken, some enterprising soul has spiked it with a mixture of methamphetamine and magic mushrooms. I'll be filing some tasting notes as soon as I'm done wrestling these flying purple goats. Tenacious little buggers!


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