between naps and 10 trips to the bathroom at work today, i was engaged in an online conversation with a buddy regarding how a certain alcoholic beverage tasted. he claimed it tasted like "rays of sunshine", i claimed it tasted like "unicorn orgasms". it got me thinking of how i would describe a few of the choicer scotch's on the market. welcome to what my pallate speaks:
Highland Park 18* tastes like:
- the day the SPICE channel forgot to scramble the station for 45 minutes
- the Angels winning the world series
- jimmy fallon getting hit by a bus
Macallan Cask Strength* tastes like:
- your first handjob
- seeing Blue Oyster Cult perform "don't fear the reaper" live
- a 92 pound asian girl with fake breasts
Bushmills 20 single malt* tastes like:
- wanting to break up with your girlfriend, only to find that she's cheating on you so you get to dump her AND make her feel guilty
- hearing the 2 greatest words in the english vocabulary, "Open Bar"
- nick nolte's roll in "the thin red line"
Knockando 15* tastes like:
- moving into a new apartment to realize the previous resident forgot to put in a change of address on his Playboy subscription
- clean blood work
- finding out "everybody loves raymond" got cancelled
Ardbeg 12* tastes like:
- the fall of communist china
- finding out its NOT your baby
- stumbling home drunk to your grandmas house and her making you a fried chicken dinner at 2am
- whatever erin andrews tastes like
Macallan 20* tastes like:
- the blinding light of god
- being in the middle of making a sandwich and realizing you've run out of jalepeno mustard. promptly throwing the knife, kicking the cat and wondering how you could of let such an atrocity happen. then realizing you bought an extra one at the market just the other day because only fucking tards run out of jalepeno mustard. retrieving knife, petting cat, completeing construction of said sandwich and devouring the sunnavabitch while watching "casino royale"
- bong rips during fellatio
St. Germaine* tastes like:
- when your neighbors house floats away in a flood but yours is ok and secretly you're glad it was that asshole and not you cuz seriously, how the fuck do you start over again when your house floats away down the river? (this description was offered by QLC's good friend William [wshowell.com])
Ten High* tastes like:
- finding out it IS your baby
- your supervisor taking a shit on your desk
- finding out someone ate the last of the smoked almonds
- smashing your junk in a sliding glass door
- whatever Oprah tastes like
- owl cock
- Dodgers baseball
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