I Love Whisky.

Listed on humor-blogs.com…

David Letterman, the elder statesman of talk show hosts rightly pointed out, “There isn’t a man, woman or child alive who doesn’t enjoy a tasty beverage.”

This throwaway line is only used to give a tiny laugh while Dave drinks coffee at his desk, but it does note our universal need for hydration – really, it’s a public service. Also, according to the guys at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, it’s better than Jay Leno’s best day by about 376 percent.

But that’s another post – or maybe just a later point in this post; I really won’t know until I’m done and there’s no way that I’m coming back to change this sentence if I’m wrong.

Of course, some beverages are more easily dealt with than others. Water is pretty popular, unless it is laced with e-coli in which case it will turn your internal organs into bloody liquid during an agonizing and inexorable path to the grave – yumm-o! Milk is also pretty straightforward, but according to the entirely non-insane people at PETA, it’s also full of puss and motor oil.

To be fair, drinking milk from another species of animal is dubious at best and had to be the product of a Neolithic double-dog-dare. Just imagine trying to convince someone to go and suck on the bulbous hindquarter of a strange animal. Then imagine, to your profound surprise, that the product is not that bad. It strikes me how many people tried this before and got a delicious slurp of …well…something else. But I’m not walking down that road.

The point (not that I need one) is that I really like – nay, I love – whisky.

Like most kids from Atlantic Canada, I had easy access to alcohol by the time I was 36 weeks old. I can clearly remember my fourth birthday; surrounded by my lumberjack uncles I was presented with a case of Alpine beer and a carton of Player’s Light cigarettes. In return I had to promise never to vote for a French person and take an oath to perpetually resent Canada’s aboriginal population, but that’s another story.

I started off with Canadian Rye Whisky since it can be purchased here by the gallon for about the price of a pack of strawberry Twizzlers. Not knowing any better, I had the misfortune to mix my vile, cheap rye whisky with discount root beer. This is about as appealing as sucking the viscera from an infected spleen and I’m just guessing that the two fluids are similar in color; lesson learned.

After that, I drank it straight – I won’t use the proper term ‘neat’, as that seems fairly inappropriate considering the consequences. It should be noted that if you drink whisky with anything in it other than more whisky, then you should switch to another tasty beverage; Ovaltine leaps to mind.

I sampled Irish ‘whiskey’ in gulps and slurps for a while and then moved on to American whiskies. I consumed these from increasing larger containers, disdaining Bourbon but forming a deep bond of love with Jack Daniels. This relationship ended badly on a summer morning around 4am. I awoke in the fairway of the 16th hole of the local golf club with no shoes, half of my beard burnt off and a headache so severe that I was functionally blind in my left eye.

The effects of the headache and the burnt beard were both remedied by 16 Advil and a hot shower, but I never did find my shoes…if you see them, email me.

When I was about 20 I received a bottle of Glenfiddich for a birthday present, since I enjoyed this whisky a great deal and it made me more pretentious, I’ve been a Scotch drinker ever since. Recently, I was on vacation and went into cottage country for a long weekend of cards, food, swimming, drinking and speaking very loudly. During that wonderful long weekend, I used vast quantities of Scotch whisky to expand my consciousness and experience the following epiphanies;

1. I think that Vice President Dick Cheney should be forced to perform a cover of the 80s hit Safety Dance, complete with an expensive music video. This isn’t a political thing; I just think it would be cool.
2. When I eat certain foods, I smell bad. This is an adequate analogy for all of existence.
3. While I think it would be cool to be immortal, I think that the pressure to be a stylish and charismatic immortal would be too distracting. Instead of carrying forward generations of wisdom, learning and unique cultural insight, you’d spend all your time searching for the right coat to wear.
4. I really need to spend a little more time thinking about the premise of my blogs instead of just spraying this drivel across the interwebs.

DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE!!! Go To Humor-Blogs.com!