WHEN YOU’RE A WRITER and you don’t have a lot of funding going on
because you spend your earnings on poetry workshops in Vancouver ’cause you’re such a complete moron you decided to become a writer, you have to drown your poor life choices, and you have to drown those suckers cheap.
Cheap, however, doesn’t have to mean mouthwash, because, after all, you want to swallow, not spit your swill. So your poison’s gotta be some kind o’ palatably affordable liquor. Amirite? I’m always right. So. Yeah.
Which leads us down the rocky road to Irish whiskey. Don’t get me wrong, all ye of discerning tastes — there are some very fine, very pricey Irish whiskeys going on, and my parents loved drinking that single malt shit back when they had money in the ’70s.
But me, I’m a Jameson kind of gal. Jamie’s rich and delicious and sweet, also it’s inexpensive (especially in blessed live-free-or-die New Hampshire where it’s like four dollars a hillbilly jugful), and if you pour it over a few ice cubs it’ll keep you running nice and easy for a good while. Especially if you’re a cheap, drinks alone date like moi.
Doesn’t this look delicious?
There are really only three options:
THE POGUES: “THE ROCKY ROAD TO DUBLIN”
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