Yesterday, I paid $5 for 1 nip of WhistlePig. 1 and 1/2 ounces of whiskey for $5. Can you believe it?
It was devine.
Running around doing errands on a 100 degree day, doing the average things of an average life. I needed that shit that cleans wax out of your ears, I had to pick up a prescription for "crazy man" medication, I had to pick up some potato hamburger rolls (gourmet meal last night).
In the morning, before I went out on errands, I failed at saving my life, so I was pretty wound up already.
Can't take my job no more. Jesus Christ, putting stickers on sheets of paper for kids participating in the summer reading challenge. What is the point of encouraging them to read? They're all gonna grow up to be criminals and drug addicts anyway. Or billionaires, which is essentially in the same category.
So I'm looking for salvation. Need a job that does not obliterate my soul, and pays enough money to get by, with just a little extra to pad the savings account.
My essence is on life support - I can hear it wheezing, sucking desperately for life-giving oxygen, fighting to stay alive. Against all odds.
WhistlePig is rich man's whiskey. Those with fat bank accounts get to enjoy indulgently, while the rest of us suck down Seagram's 7 or, worse, Canadian Hunter. Canadian Hunter is the type of rotgut that melts your liver as you are drinking it. Smoke actually floats out of your mouth as you grimace the fluid down to your poor stomach.
It was July 3, I was feeling set upon, I was doing menial errands - I deserved a $5 shot. Please don't tell Carol. She hates it when I do that AND I was driving her car. Not that I can't handle one fucking shot - shit, man - shots of whiskey to me are like formula to a baby - life sustaining.
I am continually lectured to be grateful, so I can more calmly navigate my life.
I am grateful for WhistlePig - even at $5 a shot.
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