My Slow Descent Into Alcoholism

I've always had an appreciation for good booze. I wouldn't call myself an aficionado, but I might toss around terms like "enthusiast" or "frequent drinker" or "lush." Let's just say that I like the sauce, but always within the confines of health, relationships, budget, and sobriety. (Pfft)

Anyway, I feel as though I've graduated to a new stage of alcohol appreciation in my "discovery" of single-malt Scotch whisky. Generally eschewed by those of my generation as being overly pungent, expensive, and "just plain nasty," this product has captured my nose, taste buds, heart, liver, wallet. As a close conspirator recently related during a late-night Scotch heist gone awry, "Damn, son. This shit just got real."

There is a wealth of information about the creation, geography, bottling, and appreciation of decent Scotch available on this World Wide Web. After a few months of doing "field research," I've come up with a short list of four "must try" bottlings that I've found are available in finer drinking establishments:

1. The Macallan 12 Year (Speyside) - This is the one that I recommend for novices, and also happens to be my favorite readily available malt. Smooth, fruity, spicy, and delicious.

2. Lagavulin 16 Year (Islay) - It's like a campfire in your mouth. Smoky and sweet. The Laphroig 10 Year is a good approximation if this isn't on the shelf.

3. Glenmorangie 10 Year (Highlands) - The way I remember that I like this is by thinking, "Orangy? I like oranges. Hey now." Sure enough, it's got a nice orange/tangerine nose and taste.

4. Johnny Walker Black (Blended) - Because it's pretty good and I'm not ballin' hard enough to shell out $60 a glass for the Blue Label.

Merry Christmas! I wish I could be there to say it in person to you, friends. Or better yet, I could leave you a cryptic letter that I wrote with my left hand so that you wouldn't recognize my handwriting. Then, while you were reading the letter, wondering who the hell would write something so disturbing, I would jump out of my hiding place in your pantry dressed as a Christmas elf, but with my ski mask over my face so you wouldn't recognize me. It would be so funny! You'd probably pass out from excitement, so I would take the opportunity to wrap you up like a big present, except I wouldn't have enough wrapping paper, so I would use garbage bags and duct tape. Then I would drive you out to the woods in the trunk of my car and unwrap you, except I would leave the blindfold on. Then I would start singing "Silent Night" in a low, gravely voice.

Wouldn't that be the best gift ever?

Cpt. Gaylord Battles Prehistoric Sea Monsters

Captain Trey Gaylord was doing some undercover work in a fraternity house in Alabama. He'd been accepted as one of their own, and was working as a "secret weapon" bouncer in the bar/BBQ restaurant on the first floor of the house where all of the new pledges had to work. Turns out that the small college town where this frat house was located was about to be flattened by the nearby weapons testing facility of super-villain Elliot Fister (played by Bill Nighy). After surviving the blast, Trey climbed out of the rubble to find a few survivors needing leadership. Mounting a resistant force made up of resourceful frat guys, hot college chicks wearing tight wifebeaters stained with barbecue sauce, and scrappy punk kinds who kept the witty banter alive, Trey tracked Fister to his secret lair on the coast of Trinidad. Fister, having successfully demonstrated the sheer destructive capability of his new weapon, was hosting a yacht party on the deck of his huge, advanced hovercraft. All of the major evil forces in the world were invited, and despite the obviously nefarious overtones, they seemed to be having a generally nice time.

The group of ragtag heroes, led by Gaylord, stole into Fister's lair through the hovercraft docking bay on the side of the rocky cliff where the lair was located. After disabling the entire destructive capability of Fister's, the heroes started trying to sneak onto the hovercraft and snag some of the free snacks and food. Their presence detected by the hypervigilant hosting abilities of Fister, the heroes started fighting with the rest of the party and certainly seemed to be doing better than you would think. The most resourceful of the frat guys, Skippy, and Trey made their way to dispatch Fister. Just as victory was at hand, Fister activated a new, experimental weapon that turned everyone on the boat into human-sized dinosaur. It was pretty random of who got turned into what, and what color they were and stuff. A few minutes later, just as everyone was getting used to the idea that they were going to be dinosaur from now on, Fister declares that the hovercraft is also a plane, and starts firing off the jet engines and taking off into the stormy night. Everyone is like, "Oh, crap, dinosaurs aren't the best at holding onto moving planes, especially in the driving rain." Also, they can still talk. Predictably, they all start sliding off the plane into the raging water, presumably to drown.

Gaylord, however, has luckily been transformed into a Pterodactyl, and is particularly well suited to be holding onto this plane, and could fly if he needed to let go. Skippy has also been transformed into a dinosaur with good forearm strength and manages to hang onto the speeding boat/plane, but doesn't have flying ability and has a strange crest thing that looks like a head of curly hair. Thinking everyone has been long dead, Fister lands the plane at his lair and finds the remaining heroes ready to do battle. Knowing he couldn't fight two talking dinosaurs, he reverses the transformation. He kills Skippy in hand-to-hand combat. Now Trey can hold his own with the best martial artists in the world, but Fister produces a bow and arrow, which he quickly demonstrates he is very proficient at firing. Trey jumps into a limousine/party boat which is docked at the lair and crouches down in the back and rolls up all the windows, which are heavily tinted. Fister knows he is in there, and just walks around the limo gloating, and firing an arrow into the limo every now and then. One of the arrows hits the seat right in between Trey's legs and he's like "Damn. This shit just got real."

Grabbing an antique double barrel shotgun that is mounted on the back of the limo, Trey rolls down one of the windows just as Fister fires arrows into the barrels of the shotgun, keeping it from firing. Before he can reload, Trey gouges Fister's eyes with the barrel of the gun, making him scream painfully. Taking this as a good opportunity, Trey jumps out of the limo and starts vigorously rubbing the neck and shoulders of Fister. This relaxes the villain so intensely that he pretty much gives up and is just like, "Oh, god. Just keep doing that. Right there. Fuuuuuuucck..."

The End

I just woke up from this dream. For real.

They seemed to have changed the air freshener scent in the men's restroom here at the office. Now it smells like "Holiday Spice," which is reminiscent of cinnamon. I much prefer this to the previous scent, which I would have called "Rotting Chicken."

Some things that I have pondered lately:

Yesterday, my fortune cookie at Five Happiness read, "If you think you're too small to be effective, you have never been in bed with a mosquito." These words ring so true, for me especially.

Every time I walk into my bathroom, my cat follows me in and jumps into the bathtub, crying. She does this, I think, for no reason at all.

If for some reason you got into a fight with a ten year old kid who has a triple black belt in karate, even if he was able to defend against your intial assault, I'm doubtful that he could do any damage to you after that and you'd just both be like, "Now what?"