My friend Simon asked me to write a tasting review for iscotch. As a lark I asked to review the worst, nastiest, rotgut hooch that could lay claim to the whiskey name. He obliged.
Click here For my iscotch Review
In a moment of even deeper folly I decided to drink the whole bottle early Saturday afternoon, when I have a work Christmas party at 7pm, and to keep a journal chronicling my descent, drink by drink.
I’ve only just opened the bottle and the bar music from “Leaving Los Vegas” is playing in my head. I feel such a strong connection with Nic Cage that I’m sure the teachings of Scientology could have kept me from this foolhardy course of action.
The bouquet smells like a fresh suicide note written in dry erase marker. The booze at least makes a pleasant burbling noise when poured.
Drink two: I have donned my blue drinking robe and slippers to lend majesty and comfort to the process. Two sips a glass seems a fast pace but savoring comes at a high price. My cat Walter is watching with curiosity but no judgment.
Drink Three: It has begun snowing. I feel like I’m living out the dark days before a Christmas Carol from Bob Cratchit’s perspective. Don’t watch this, Tiny Tim…daddy’s got work to do and it’d be shame if your other leg got broke.
Drink four: Watching old episodes of He-man, became convinced at one point that He-man had a beard in some seasons. Learned internet will take you troubling places if you do a google image search using terms “He-Man’s beard, late period, forgotten episode”
Drink five: A telemarketer just called. I may have said something racist so I try to make amends by listening to the whole pitch. Was unable to control volume of my voice. Possibly purchased vinyl siding for house with Sally’s credit card.
Drink six: Crushed up spare Ritalin and mixed into next drink. Got to maintain. Focus is strong but wandering dark places. Kayne riding shotgun now: Hold my liquor.
Drink seven: I believe I under estimated the demand of the performance art portion of this experiment. I might awake tomorrow as Hunter S. Ineedanewfuckingjob. I think I’ll take a break and eat some food.
Drink eight: Right slipper has become unreasonably hot. Removed it. Left is doing just fine. Walter has my robe tie and will not give it back. Secured robe with extension cord I found on porch. Gonna spend some time out here, clear my head.
Drink Eleven?: “I’m on the pavement mixing up the medicine…talking bout the government hanging from my clothesline…trying to get a policeman designate an outlaw.”
Drink twelve: Too cold outside and my robe’s all wet. One foot real bad. Argued at Sally to bring the shower down stairs. She’s refusing to admit she’s hiding my suit. Walters licking my face because he understands. Found eye glasses to seem sober
Drink Last: Cab will take me to hotel but I have to promise about my job. Sally has paper…to explain. Gotta sit in the back where the bosses aren’t.