Staring at the Sun

Recently, Gawker, who writes the blog A Goose Egg (I've linked him over on the right), posted a story about trying to purchase Irish whiskey. Gawker and I aren't necessarily friends, having never met and never interacted except via our respective blogs and comments. Also, I'm not nearly as funny as Gawker, and so I must remain jealously in his shadow, cursing his very existence and wondering why God has granted me just a fraction of his talent.

It's a complicated melodrama . . . mostly on my end.

But back to the Irish whiskey. As I informed Gawker, Irish whiskey was invented by a little old lady who lived outside of Edinburgh to replace harsh Scottish tea for sickly children. There is only one, true whisky to be drunk and that is Scotch.

And no, I didn't spell "whisky" wrong. If you see an "e" in whisky when referencing Scotch, then it's not Scotch. You're being treated to a knock-off in the finest carmel-colored wood alcohols that will make you go blind and result in tragedy for the rest of your family and friend. Hence Irish whiskEy.

Of course, when drinking Scotch you should always drink responsibly. This means, never drink Scotch that is less than twelve years old, only drink single-malt Scotch, and only drink from the glens: Glenlivet, Glenmorangie or Glenfiddich.

Oh, and it's not Glenfidd-ish. The Scots are a hard people, they live in a hard land, and like to end their words with hard syllables. Glennfiddich, my preferred Scotch, should be pronounced correctly as Glenfidd-ICK, and if possible a little spray should come out, and you should chop someone's head off with an ax.

I told you they hard. It's part of why Scotland never managed to take over the world. Well, that and the Scotch they always drink. True Scotch is never less than 40% alcohol by volume (80 proof for you drunks at home).

Gawker, seeing the err of his ways in consuming Irish whiskey, consulted me further on Scotch as a proper, ethical, spiritual and moral replacement and asked if he could mix in Diet Pepsi. I advised that while the Scots aren't nearly as violent as his people, the Indians . . . from India (reference Gawker's response to me in his comments), we can become unruly as it pertains to drinking Scotch. Unruly to a Scot means that we'll invade your nation, raid, pillage, plunder and otherwise pilfer our hearts out and all this while wearing a kilt!

If you're going to mix Scotch and Diet Pepsi (or any other liquid substance) you should first make certain there are no Scots within hearing distance. You can usually tell, as they have their faces painted blue, carry cumbersome swords and answer most questions by yelling, "FREEEEEEEEDOMMMMMM!" They also end everything they say with "ya bastard."

Which brings me to my conclusion: There were three men, an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scot sitting around a table drinking their Scotch when a fly breezed in. The fly landed first in the Englishman's glass, who being English pushed the glass away and refused to drink. The fly then landed in the Irishman's glass, who shrugged and drank anyhow. Who cares about a fly? Finally, the fly landed in the Scot's glass. The Scot lashed out, grabbed the fly by his wings and shouted, "Spit it out, ya bastard!"