Lady just got back from a tour of the Jack Daniels Distillery in Lynchburg, TN. She went with a friend whose goal in going was, "I'd better check on what these guys are doing with all the money I've given them over the years."
She brought back some whiskey, of course, in a special commemorative you-toured-the-distillery bottle. I taste. I don't like Jack Daniels, as a rule. I'm not a bourbon (sorry, "sour mash") drinker. I like Irish whiskey, and I like Canadian whiskey. Check that: I like Bushmills, and I like Crown Royal. Canadian Club will do if we're on a budget. No Jamesons, please, we prefer Northern Ireland. But this is different. It isn't cloyingly sweet, and it doesn't sit in your throat and coat your tongue like regular old No. 7 does. Could it be that this is actually Gentleman Jack, or the single-barrel stuff? I dunno. But it's pretty gamn dood. I think I'll have anoffer tashte.
Hey, Chilton-Shelby Mental Health Center: I'm enjoying a sip of whiskey! At home! Guilt-free! Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah!
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Black Bush dude. Nothing like it. Hubby like Jack's Silver Select.
Don't try to fool me with all this fancy booze talk. Tell us something about your pack of Bucks and six pack of Stones days. And remember, I'll be watching for accuracy.
I woke up on yr hardword floor with one of the worst feelings of my life in 1990, (hungover, awfully and sleeping on the floor — because it was actually more comfortable than your bus station couch) and I feel I've earned the right to give you a bit of poop on your blog. Boo ya.
Heh. Welcome to my blog, chappy. Folks, the stories I could tell about this guy would get his ass fired from that hoity-toity newspaper job he has now....back in the day, we were the terrors of South Alabama.....
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