I'll take my whiskey neat

When Christopher Hitchens died I decided to buy a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label to honor his memory. I have to say the taste was harsh and unforgiving. I figured something must not be right so I ventured out onto the google and learned myself how to drink whisky like a gentleman. I thought about mixing it with something, probably Diet Rite as that used to be my diet cola of choice (now I drink water, which, ironically...wait, getting ahead of myself here) thankfully I saved myself from that experience by reading that it is perfectly okay to cut your whisky with a little water, especially for us noobs. And I've been drinking that bottle down to the point where it is almost gone now. Probably I'm going to buy another bottle, my good friend Ricardo has suggested I up myself to an 18 or 20 year single and I think I will. Why buy another bottle if I don't love, love, love it? First, I like the way it looks sitting on my desk, it matches the decor well. Second I've grown fond of the flavor; it is harsh, it can bring tears to your eyes and fire to your throat, but in moderation that is a perfectly acceptable proposition.

Those who know me, know that I prefer Rum as my vice of choice and I'm not a rum snob either, I'll drink the $6 a bottle Paramount dark they sell at Sam's club more often than the Pyrat, Appleton Estates or Sailor Jerrys. My other spirits include Wine (red) and, of course, beer of most sorts. The funny thing about all this drinking is I've never put it into any of my stories. No drunks, no getting wasted, nothing. You're supposed to 'write what you know' (which is sort of not possible with fiction, when you think about it) and I do know my way around a bottle of liquor, so I wonder at this anomaly. Maybe deep in my heart I realize once the shit hits the fan, people won't be reaching for the alcohol, they'll be hunkering down and shooting the zeds coming to get them.