25 May 2011


Had a bottle of 15 year old Glen Breton collecting dust in the bar. Never tried it before and I was beginning to wonder when I would. I like having whisky like that waiting to take a few days off my life when the time is right.

That time was this weekend, not long after I heard the sound of a motorcycle turn to silence in my driveway. It was my old friend Cupcake. Had not seen him in years. I got us both a Lucky and as soon as he agreed to store his bike in my garage and give Sonja his keys I opened up the bottle and threw away the cork.

Cupcake, I should explain, got his name on a camping trip decades ago. One morning, after drinking about 40 beer and eating nothing but pink frosted cupcakes, he had both vomited and shat pink. Pinker than Barbie's ass.

There were some tasting notes about the whisky in its' box. If I had not burned the box in the fireplace I would pass them on. Something about maple and Lebanese hash. None of that long-winded crap means shit to me. It is a grand whisky; surely the finest ever distilled in Canada. Go get some.

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