Gentleman Whack!

There's really no excuse, Jack. We know you make bank off us. We know you're one of the most popular drinks ordered thusly: "Can I get (I'll have/take) a ________ and coke, please (the please only sometimes)." We know you're probably partially at least responsible for the liver failure of frat boys all across these fifty nifty United States (and Guam), that you seep into the stomach lining of our golden youth, dilute their judgment, impair their spatial reasoning. We know you help stoke the blazes of many a dying fire in the loins of guys and dolls all over. So, please, with all the money you pilfer from us so that we may fuck up our lives with your manly juice, invest some back into your Gentleman Jack. Or should I say, Gentleman Whack! This shit is the most whack ass different bottle same great taste, stupidly obvious consumer whore corporate whisky wanna-be upgrade on a "great American" product I've ever experienced. And we fell for it. I might as well have pissed on my forty dollars and stuck it to my forehead and proceeded to go out in public wearing a shirt with George W. Bush's chimpanzee ass face on it and some text below that reads: "Miss me Yet?"

Whatever. We got drunk, rode bikes, made vegan chick'n burgers with fresh avocado, tomato and spinach and fraternized on a dizzying journey back from one of the most productive trips I've ever made to San Francisco. Oh yeah, and we now have ice cream cone cups with twisty straws attached! liek omigosh.

Gentleman Jack

As we are but kind men, we are Gentleman. And as we are nomads, we are also thrill seekers; seeking great times in the most mundane situations. A day with no work for either Max or myself must consist of some form of extreme adventures, and as we began to board the Caltrain home from San Francsico, we sought out a thrill of the free... taking Whisky onto Caltrain and getting to business.

<----- yes Indeed we are But Gentlemen of the Jack. After initially choosing Jack Daniels, Max insisted we raise our standards and i obliged. After boarding the train of the Cal, we cracked Sir Gentleman of Jack. Is the Whisky taste altered by a cup with a twisty straw wrapping up around the cup like a tornado? Yes. With that said, Gentlemans Jack sucked major phat ass. I mean shit man, this shit is designed for a gentleman.....supposedly. I could believe the shit as Jack Daniels in a different bottle, that for some weird reason costs more. Well Max and I drank about half of this beast, got off Caltrain and operated our

bicycles all the way to Max's pad to play some half drunked stonered scrabble. After scrabble we naturally battled some street fighter, polished off the ugly, disgusting, un-respectable, lying, cheating, pathetic, worthless (almost), and atrocious excuse for our first Bourbon of Whisky Business. If you shall consume and are debating on upgrading to Sir Gentleman Jack, save yourself some much needed scrill, and dont. Gentleman Jack is Gentleman crap. Over and out.

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GrRrRrRr

Johnny Walker Green

Johnny Walker Green... where do i begin? If your a loyal follower like Max and I hope so, you'll know green was next up on our Johnny Walker list. Definitely some high expectations going into this one, the dam bottle cost 60 bucks. I was hoping for a bottle made of 100% recycled material that donated 35% of profits to saving the rain forest, quit the contrary. We began this bottle on a dusky Mid Week day with scrabble on our minds.

<-----If you can read that miniature image than congratulations to you. As the night trickled on, we soon came to realization that this Whisky was not all we thought it would be. Rather than making us "green" Stewards to the environment, our faces turned green along with our livers. Johnny Walker Green is garbage, that does not deserve to be recycled. Im sure you all remember buying that cheep Wal Mart product you thought was so well priced, only to have the plastic peel off, the layers come undone or the basic mechanics of it simply fail after only a short time of use. Well my friends, Wal Mart obviously makes crap that causes our landfills to grow at an alarming rate, so maybe they are the original creators of Johnny Walker Green. After only 2 or 3 glasses, the label on the Johnny Walker green started peeling off.... AND the fucking cork broke in half.

What a seriously Epic fail... my face in the picture that is... Well the night went on regardless. Max is considering entering the Scrabble Olympics due to his extremely large vocabulary. He acts weird when he wins though...

Aside from the fact that Johnny Walker Green sucks ass, it was an extremely fun night. Max's exuberant roomate Jake played a game or two of scrabble with us as well. The night ended typically with Street Fighter, god i love that game. Until Next Time, Whisky Business Over and OUT.

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Anne of Green Labels.

I thought it would save the environment.
There's definitely a misty glow about Johnnie Walker's Green Label, with its gilded lines and lettering, its deep hunter green with an almost matte finish. It looks exotic in a line of Jonnie Walker bottles--the forbidden meadow, the ferngully. And we hoped, sincerely, to be led into the Great Valley, where fruits resplendent shine on trees and water flows between your knees, where the fey folk live in their gourd houses, birds chattering the Gospel of Gaia on their leaf heavy branches...

But instead we were just kind of drowned in a foetid swamp.
(negative 50 health/mana fer sure)

Well, every bottle is a gamble. This one just happened to be an expensive one. A night of tasting and re-tasting and evaluating and reevaluating led me to an enlightening conclusion. Perhaps it isn't the age of JW, but the substance itself. There's something foul in the bottle, in the mix, in the process, who knows? It's just, and I quote myself "too sweet for me. When I drink Scotch I want to be grated against something, something grainy and woody. Johnnie Walker, you are a pussy." I hereby disrespect any lamefoot who orders this particular vintage, this particular Scotch as his drink of choice a goober. The Glenlivet is soft on the palate, sure, but it is both interesting, adequately oak barelly, and a charming introduction to Scotch. As in, if Scotch were California and all the different types cities in California, it would be important to visit the right city to get turned on to California, or to get a faithful representation of California's wonder, wealth, and diversity...aka, its beauty! So, if this were the case, the Glenlivet might be San Francisco. JW Green might be Fresno. Do not go there. For that matter, avoid Blythe (JW Red) and Bakersfield (JW Black):

On a cheerier note, we had a blast with claymation Jacob who only went narcoleptic towards the most latter part of the evening, I have no perceivable hangover, though my heads in a cloud (but when is it not?), and I did my degree some justice by winning two games of Scrabble with words like Azalea, Herb, and Dour. 

Gloat-worthy.

Live Action Joey, it's your turn.

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J. Dubya Bleck.

Black is the most beautiful color, known in physics as the perfect absorber of light, or to us as the color you do not wear in Summer in Bakersfield unless you have a queer desire to have a heatstroke. Like the color itself, which absorbs all the visible colors of light, Joey and I are on a quest to absorb all the colors that Jonnie Walker has to offer.

Red was meh-tastic. Cheap, efficient, unspectacular.
Black was nothing to write home about, but some bizarre energy emanated from that bottle last night--causing us to create the cup protectors Joey shows below as well as give the bottle a face, some character. Character...something that, so far, the Walker clan seems to lack. Perhaps that is why we endeavored to decorate. J.W. Black's lack of complexity, lack of interesting, definitive qualities bored us. Thank Anubis for youtube, synthetic facial hair, my newly decorated gothic altar, my pvc bordered lip service dress shirt (bought special for the occasion), and all things black.

                                                                                                        Like:

                                     Siouxsie Sioux's eyebrows 

                                       Robert Smith's hair

                                   Black satin sheets

                                 ?Obama?

                                     Mother's eyes after private time with Father

                                  The Abyss

                                      Gun Oil Lubricant

                                   Most strap on dildos

                                The Necronomicon

                                       Satan's butthole

                                         My genitalia...

Johnny Walker Black

So Mr. Black, what do thy hath to offer? This was the ultimate question going into our night with plans of consuming The Black label of Johnny Walker. Incase some of you are unaware.... JOhnny walker makes different grades of Whisky...

Red Label - This was our first excursion of Her Walker

Black Label - Front and Center

Green Label - Next in line

Gold Label - this shit is expensive

Blue Label - maybe someday (180 dollar

bottle)

This night started out well. With my last experience fresh in my mind, i was careful to pace myself come the evening. Approximately 8pm arrives, and JOhnny Walker is cracked open. Though red is poor, Black Label is far from pleasing on the pallet. We had a comrade with us, enjoying the evenings entertainment.... which turned out to be a coloful stew of Fake Mustaches, paper, sharpies, tape and Max's immense desire to

share music with the world.

The artist formally known as Geeves

The Unicorn Princess in the Flesh

Tree Hugging Dirt Worshipper

Anyhew, after much consumption, much inhalation (when are these guys gunna learn their lesson!??) and much under water basket weaving.... we were then pulled in by the magnet

known as video game systems. Street Fighter again.... i noticed when i play street fighter i kick serious ass, but every once in a bit Max takes me out... and from this i noticed anger burn in me so strong i want to inflict serious damage on his person, video games are not healthy i say. This night concluded peacefully with little to no yelling, screaming, kicking, puking, howling, meat eating, or candy corn (that shits good too)

Money is the bank,

Shorty what is your preferable

beverage of choice.

kurt cOBAN

Just like Kurt swallowed a barrel of a gun and laid waste to his braincells, Joey had an epic fail last night. The 86 proof Oban 14 year scotch, a scotch from a region nestled perfectly at the intersection of land and sea, a so called "walk on the beach," got down Joey's throat and rallied the prisoners of his stomach and, with a muffled cry, mutinied, taking Joey's dinner and possibly lunch with it. We were watching Siouxsie Sioux videos and then the exalted Alice on Acid for guest Shaina's pleasure, when all of the sudden Joey started to emulate poor Alice. I think the words might even have left his mouth: "I can't do this right now." But its okay, old chum, for thou art definitely not the first fallen soldier:



So how, you may wonder, does an 80 dollar bottle of top shelf Whisky inspire the esophagus to convulse in unpleasant ways? Let's analyze. Oban is unlike almost any of the whisky's we've thrown down the hatchet. It's distinct character is duly noted (and widely appreciated). As for taste, it's muscly, dry, peaty, a bit of the salt of the sea is in every golden olive sip. There's some kind of wicked voodoo in the bottle due to the misty and mysterious qualities of Oban's distillation process. Made in extremely small batches, with 200 year old techniques, using partially germinated malted barley roasted to secret specifications, this is a conoisseur's whisky. In other words, the quality of the alcohol, its taste and complexity are all things to appreciate, not upchuck.

The only reasonable solution to our inquisition is that Joey is a pansy. No, really, the often overlooked statement on almost every bottle you swig out of holds a few ounces of wisdom: Please, Drink Responsibly.