I’m man enough to admit it: Occasionally I get a little bit scared before I drink a whynatte. Not scared in the “oh no, my boobies hurt” kind of way, but more along the lines of “I can’t believe I’m getting ready to bull-charge that rhinoceros and all I have in my hand is this lousy wooden spear.”

Because let’s face it: A lot can go wrong with the average whynatte. The latte could be so hot that it permanently burns your throat closed and you spend the rest of your life breathing through a toothpick hole that you made in your neck. Or when latte is unavailable, the coffee can be so foul that you nearly regurgitate it all over the bartender’s face at the Hard Rock Cafe in Las Vegas. And when Jager isn’t available, sometimes you might be dumb enough to bomb cheap gin into your coffee, which could very certainly kill that rhino far more effectively than your wooden spear. So yeah, sometimes it’s scary. But facing fear (and getting completely annihilated) is what whynatte drinking is all about.

That’s me on the left, making my “I think I’m ready to do this. Yes, let’s do this!” face. (Notice how calm everyone else looks.)

The Jager has been dropped, and now I’m staring straight into the blood-red eyes of the beast. My wooden spear suddenly feels as fragile as a twig. (And by “wooden spear,” I do mean “penis.”)

After a quick, decisive pour into the gullet (note that everyone else is still drinking), I have to get my bearings before taking the final gulp. You’ll be glad to know it was a success — no problem whatsoever. Now can someone please pass me a napkin? I’m sweating uncontrollably.