Single Malt Snobbery

As a longtime Seagram’s 7 Crown drinker, who felt a bit snobby when I graduated up, first to Crown Royal (now ‘fess up – that fuckin’ royal blue felt bag – how many have YOU got?), then to Jameson (I mean Jesus H. Christ – if the IRISH didn’t know how to make whiskey or learn how to do so, they’d all be dead of thirst, right?) – I thought I had “reached the mountaintop”.


Single malt whiskey? That’s for cork-sniffin’ SNOBS that drive BMW’s, have wives named Buffy, Missy, or all that fairly recent wave of fancy douchbag names like Mica (pronounced “Meeka”, not “Mika” – like the stone, which is what they prolly are in the sack; although a casual lookup of the word mica claims that it is a mineral that has “perfect cleavage” – I am NOT making this up!), Kaylee, Aaliyah (you DO and YOU’LL clean it up!), Makayla (I have on good authority that a topical ointment will clear this up in 2 weeks), Peyton (REALLY?!), Paisley (feel free to projectile-vomit in this space), London (“Oh yes, Mommy & Daddy – please oh PLEASE name me after a place with shitty food, bad teeth, badder weather, and Mary Fuckin’-Poppins!”) or Cadence (insert ball-scratching wonderment here); THOSE are the assholes that drink single malt whiskey…or so I THOUGHT…

About 3 months ago, my neighbor (who’s nickname is “Kronk” – I am NOT making this up! This guy is a luddite if ever there was one; the last of a dying breed of “men with opinions”, who aren’t afraid to speak their minds, even if it means stepping on a toe or thirteen – LOVE this guy!) invited me over to help him uncork his newly-purchased bottle of 18 year old, single malt Glenfiddich.

After initially turning up my nose at such pomposity, at his URGING, I jumped in – “Shit – this stuff tastes like freakin’ PEAT MOSS!” “Just sip it and give it a chance, you retart” – his reply – him knowing that he was talking to a guy that actually LIKES Spam AND chipped beef on toasted Wonder Bread…

So I sipped it down, had a second, then walked back home, after feigning gratitude for introducing me to “Liquid Dirt”. Two days later, he souvenirs me a bottle for some car job I did for him that saved him a few hundred bucks.

Now hear this – Dick James Jones is NOT one to waste a bottle of liquor – Nossir! But it sat in its fancy box for a coupla weeks, ’til I ran out of my big jug o’ Jameson; reluctantly, I opened it up…

I gotta say – by the time yours very truly poured that last drop in his 4 ounce shot glass (What – YOU don’t HAVE a 4 ounce shot glass, you poor, dumb bastard?), the hook was set Goddammitall!

Last night I poured meself a double+ shot of my (formerly) beloved Jameson – PISS WATER! That swill is now relegated for visitors and house pests – now pardon me Laddies & Lassies, while I head on out to Costco for a bottle of Glenlivet/Glenfiddich – if I can get my nose out of the air long enough to see down the road…


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