Shits and Giggles; I Need a Liquor Sponsor
Picture this: it’s 8 p.m., I’m live on TikTok, the lashes are glued, the wig is snatched, and the Casamigos bottle is looking at me like, “We’re about to ruin some lives tonight—but make it fabulous.” My virtual stage is set. The audience? A motley crew of chaos-loving tipsters. The star? Me, a drag queen trying to balance a flawless performance while avoiding tequila-induced death drops.
If you’ve never experienced the unholy matrimony of Casamigos tequila, drag, and the internet, let me tell you—it’s not a show. It’s a movement. And by the end of the night, my movement is a little shaky from all the $20 shots Brent, Shellby, and The Nitas have thrown my way.
Brent, Shellby, and The Nitas: The Real MVPs
Let’s talk about Brent first. Brent is the one who shows up to the live chat with energy like he pre-gamed the live. He’s typing, “Take a shot, queen!” like his rent depends on it. Within five minutes of me lip-syncing to Cuff It, Brent drops $20 with the Casamigos challenge. Naturally, I rise to the occasion like the star I am.
Enter Shellby. Shellby is Brent’s spiritual twin, but with an even darker sense of humor. She doesn’t ask me to take a shot; she demands it. “I just Venmo’d you for two. Double up, queen!” Shellby is the kind of person who would make you play tequila roulette at brunch—and win every time.
Then, of course, there’s The Nitas. Now, The Nitas roll deep. They’re like a tequila cult, except instead of robes, they wear glitter. “For the culture!” they scream in the comments as another $40 drops. I’m halfway through my Casamigos bottle, and The Nitas are hyping me up like I’m Beyoncé at Coachella.
Casamigos Chaos: The Drag Show Begins
Let me paint the scene: I’m halfway into my Mariah Carey mix. My lips are moving like butter, my wig is bouncing, and my audience is living. Then Brent hits me with another $20 shot. “Brent,” I say, trying to sound sober, “I love you, but you’re about to have me performing We Belong Together from the floor.”
Casamigos, for its part, is doing what it does best—ruining my ability to differentiate between choreography and interpretive stumbling. The comments are wild:
- “TAKE THE SHOT, QUEEN!”
- “This is why I followed you.”
- “Shellby just tipped again!”
The Nitas? Oh, they’re practically running the show now. “Do a split!” they yell. Let’s be clear: I’m not doing a split. I’m falling into one, and Casamigos is the co-pilot. By the time the clock hits 9 p.m., I’ve taken more shots than I can count, and the vibe in the chat has shifted from “party” to “group therapy.”
Where Are My Mods?
Now, this is where I need to ask: Where are my mods? You know, the people who are supposed to be keeping the chaos in check? Last time I checked, they were here to monitor spam, not sit in the comments saying, “One more shot, babe!”
Mods, if you’re reading this, explain yourselves. Are you moderators or my personal tequila dealers? By the time I look at the chat for help, one of them has changed their username to “Casamigos Stan.” Traitors.
Shits and Giggles: The Grand Finale
The end of the show is where the magic happens. Brent and Shellby have stopped tipping, but now they’re sending me gifts—a sombrero emoji here, a digital disco ball there. The Nitas are chanting, “Encore! Encore!” and I’m just trying not to burp into the mic.
It’s at this point that the harmonies begin. No, not from me—I’m too busy trying to stand upright. It’s the audience. They’re singing in the comments. Someone starts typing out Shallow from A Star is Born, and suddenly, it’s a drunken, virtual karaoke session. I feel like Lady Gaga, except with less talent and more tequila.
Brent hits me with a “This was the best live EVER” message, and Shellby agrees. The Nitas declare they’re starting a GoFundMe for my next Casamigos bottle, and I realize something: I’m not just a drag queen—I’m a tequila-fueled community builder.
Where’s My Liquor Sponsor?
Here’s the real question: Casamigos, why aren’t you sponsoring me yet? Do you know how many bottles I’ve emptied on TikTok? Do you know how many Brent-level superfans I’ve converted into loyal customers for you? This is free advertising, and frankly, I’m offended you haven’t sent me so much as a bottle with my name engraved on it.
If anyone from Casamigos is reading this, let’s talk. I’m your perfect ambassador: dramatic, entertaining, and apparently incapable of saying no to a $20 shot. Let’s make this official.
The Morning After
The next day, I wake up with a wig stuck to my pillow, glitter in places it shouldn’t be, and the faint sound of Brent’s laughter echoing in my head. My head feels like I performed a death drop onto concrete, and my phone is lighting up with comments from people begging for another live.
And you know what? I’ll probably do it all over again. Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about the shots or the tips. It’s about the shits, the giggles, and the absolute messy joy of connecting with people—even if it’s through a Casamigos haze.
To Brent, Shellby, The Nitas, and my AWOL mods: see you next live. Bring your wallets, and maybe a hangover cure. Cheers! 🥂
