Aug. 3 2011 10:37 AM

Ukrainian company provides bar buddies for a fee—and I'm getting in on the action, too


“[I read] about this job in Norway or Iceland… where people hire drinking buddies for the night. Man, if you couldn’t swing this, no one could."—William H.

Thanks, William. Good tip!

The company to which William refers is called the Kind Fairy Agency out of the Ukraine. For about $18, they will hook you up with a drinking pal for the evening.

I do love this concept, but judging from the tone of the company’s press release, I’m not sure Kind Fairy is right for the job: “We are not trying to get people drunk deliberately,” says director Yulia Peeva. “Our main mission is [to provide] good, fruitful conversation.”

“… [W]hen I see that a client is relaxed,” says professional drinking buddy Gennady Maksimov, “I urge him to talk rather than drink more.”

Well, what the hell kind of drinking buddy company is this?! A true drinking partner doesn’t “urge” his buddy to drink less—unless, of course, he’s on the verge of talking shit to a table-full of soldiers of The Mongols motorcycle and murderers club.

And the “main mission” of any true drinking excursion isn’t “conversation.” The main mission is drinking. All that other stuff—talking about problems, exploring philosophical concepts, arm wrestling, picking up hotties, telling jokes, starting bar fights, closing business deals—whatever it is any two drinking buddies decide to do while they drink together—will vary from buddy to buddy. However, the one constant—the raison d’etre—of a having and being a drinking companion is drinking.

Oh well, you get what you pay for, I guess. Eighteen bucks does seem rather inexpensive. Not to be snooty, but I’ll be charging a helluva lot more than that to be a professional drinking buddy. But then, that’s because I’m a pro.

My credentials are impeccable: For one, I like boozing with other boozers, so you won’t be hearing any of this “urge him to talk” talk from me.

Also, as a veteran bartender, I have had plenty of experience breaking up fights, which means there’s a decent chance I can talk Mongols’ Nation out of pulverizing your spine into a fine powdery substance and then snorting it. However, if I fail, and a bar brawl with these felonious behemoths is imminent, well, don’t worry, because I have your back… gammon board. It’s at my house, where I’ll be hiding with the blinds drawn.

And what is a bartender but a paid drinking buddy, anyway? For years I’ve listened to the go-nowhere stories of the mumbling masses. I listened as they cried into their pints about their broken marriages, crumbling careers and devastated self-esteem. I’ve listened to them rant about their political ideology, religious convictions and conspiracy theories. I have heard so many brain-butchering tales of exaggerated conquest and valor that I actually grew an extra ear canal to receive all the crap I don’t care about.

The secondary canal runs from the outer ear, to the inner ear, toward the brain, but then dips—bypassing the brain entirely— down the spine and into the intestines, and into the rectum goes whatever turd of a story (also known as a “mono-log”) that had just been shat into my ear.

So, how does that benefit the client? Well, having a secondary ear canal means you can talk incessantly without worrying about my going into a coma.

Finally, not only am I a talented and efficient drinking comrade in the field; I’m also a scholar of drinking-buddy philosophy.

I know everything about the subject, including: Shot Rotation Theory, The Psychology of Barstool Selection, Quantum Waitress Seduction Mechanics, Beer Goggle Defogging and soothing back-patting methods for when your drinking buddy is pitching dinner in the bushes.

I’m also well-versed on the history of drinking buddies. For instance, did you know the concept didn’t even exist until the 9th century? Apparently, two males boozing together was seen as being totally gay, so they only drank alone or in groups. It wasn’t until 865 AD, when Viking warrior Godfrid “Drippy-Beard” Ragnarsson drank side-by-side with Ivar the Boneless—the infamous berserker King of Scandinavia.

Legend has it that Boneless, so named for his difficulties with impotency, was distraught over the sudden death of his queen. And though it was Boneless himself who murdered her in a rage for failing to arouse him, he was still stricken with grief. Not wanting to be alone, he invited Drippy-Beard to join him at the pub.

By all accounts, the meeting was a success:

The two drank long into the night, guzzling mead and devouring cow legs until Boneless had forgotten his despair and nearly split his belly open from all the riotous, blow-hardy Viking hilarity.

The night did end in tragedy, however, when Drippy-Beard made a pass at Boneless during the walk home. It was then that Boneless discovered, as evidenced by the bulge in his tunic, that he was not impotent at all. turns out Ivar the Boneless was gay as a glory hole in a Gomorrah bathhouse. So, he did what any closeted Viking king would do in this situation—he beheaded Drippy-Beard on the spot.

So there you have it: my drinking-buddy résumé. The cost is $25 an hour, plus you pick up the tab and the cab. Oh, and don’t worry: If you get a bit boozy and decide to make a pass, I won’t lop off your head. I will charge extra, though.

Write to to be your drinking buddy. Write to if you want a knitting buddy instead, or to discuss your feelings of inadequacy over a glass of wine. Visit for a map of the notorious Gomorrah glory holes.