I don’t really know much about whiskey. I’ve never drank. Heck, I’ve never done anything. Does that make me a boring, terrible person? I don’t think it does, but hell. I don’t know. Nobody knows anything about anybody else, and that’s why the world scares me. The guy around the corner could be a possible killer, or the kid I like could love My Little Pony. Who knows?
Trickling down. Burning slow brown. Her teeth and head became fuzzy and she tried to forget why she was there in the first place. She just tried to focus on the amber liquid in from of her.
I heard about whiskey one time when I was leaning against a wall. The wind blew through my hair almost as if to greet me with a loving “hello”. I was shocked to see a few faces in the corner of my eye. I eased dropped on the conversation as the bar became a hot topic. Of course since I was signing everyone who does not know me assumes I’m deaf, which comes in handy when you are around people without a brain. I slowly lowered the book I had forgotten was in my hand and looked up for a brief second before they spotted me. Since I was in trouble now I resorted to signing as they walked up to me with eyes wide with terror of the secret I may have heard.
Whiskey. Take one huge gulp, then pour it down the drain where it will flow to the sewers and feed the monsters below who will come after you toninght.
I don’t really know much about whiskey. I’ve never drank. Heck, I’ve never done anything. Does that make me a boring, terrible person? I don’t think it does, but hell. I don’t know. Nobody knows anything about anybody else, and that’s why the world scares me. The guy around the corner could be a possible killer, or the kid I like could love My Little Pony. Who knows?
He used whiskey like a horse uses a saddle. That is, it helped him to bear his burden. Made it a little easier to carry, and a little easier to slide it off his back on the good days. But it wasn’t always this way.
one time on new years i got really drunk because i drank too much whiskey. i was at this kid’s house for the first time and i ended up throwing up in his toilet. it was very embarrassing. especially since i had never even hung out with him before, and then had to hear about him cleaning up my vomit the next day.
I used to have a budgie called Whiskey. He was sweet, but I didn’t care for him very well. I got bored with him in his little cage, with bells, a mirror and cuttlefish. One day I found him dead, on the bottom of the cage. He not only died alone, he really lived alone too, which I still feel bad about.
He only had enough for one bottle. And this was enough. Enough for him to forget. Enough to make new memories, which he would not remember. He emptied the bottle like he empties his skull, and smashed it all over the pavement outside of the Camden tube station causing stares. But his eyes were too wet to see what was happening. Golden whiskey tears slid down Benjamin’s old face. He was getting arrested.
I had whiskey once. Maybe twice. They say it puts hair on your chest. I’m still relatively hairless. But it definitely woke me up. Maybe I shouldn’t drink? I like whiskey.
My cat was drinking whiskey and he got so drunk that he fell on his back. He could never get up again. I tried to help him but it never worked and now my cat is slowly dying the carpet. I also cannot move him.
“i love whiskey,” my aunt has said. i don’t. i love wine, i love tequila, but among all hard liquors, not whiskey. being able to drink whiskey is a sign of adulthood? no, i don’t think so.
I have a kitty cat named easter marie. one day i got a phone call abou tmy aunts party. she was expecting drinking. i went out and bought the whiskey and then came home. i forgot chocolates in the car and when i came back easter marie drank all of the whiskey!
It was there, twice, my first time for getting drunk, sixteen… The golden colour, glistening inside of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Our young fingers wrapped tight around the flask, chipped black nail polish. Popped my cherry a few months ago again, when I puked from abusing it’s power.
whiskey makes me want to get wasted right now. i want to forget the fucking world and leave it for a few hours. i want to drink with my friends enough to block the stress out of my head, enough to make to forget how fucking miserable i am. i want to be so wasted. i want to leave this fucking hell hole. i dont deserve this.
Whiskey causes badness upon my friends emotions. It’s not cool at all. They drunk call me and it is not fun. It could kill them which makes me sad. Very very sad.
whiskey and rum. youm youm youm. that’s not how you spell yum is it? sorry, had a little too much….um, youm ;p well then, isn’t drinking great. quite the ditty on the liver ye mates. ar ar ar. creativity with too much whiskey…better or pepper…i mean, worse? eeeerg.
its a type of drink. there is a place called whiskey river. there is a country song that talks about whiskey. im not to sure why im wrtting about a berverage but its cool a guess. to bad im not 21 ha
i am drinking my whiskey. by that i mean wine. its cheap wine, that maybe a connoisseur would not have but for the sake of getting ratarssed it does me just fine. it seems o me that when a temporary cure is required, where there are no considerable long term effects. alchohol is the answer. you see i just want to sleep without waking up every five minutes thinking of the girl i just lost, so ii choose to use wine to get me to a state where i can sleep peacefuly. wine is now my quick fix. better than drugs (sort oof) better than talking (definitely) and better than being sober. ffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
Burns brown as it slides down. Sadness is often relieved. Perhaps its an underrated anti-depressant. Most likely not. Sleepily, I put the glass down and call it a night.
she tasted like whiskey and cigarettes to many, but I could almost taste the desperation on her tongue. It was as if she was longing to be someone’s somebody, not just the drunken hookup you could always find. She was just searching in the wrong places, she was looking for her somebody where there was no hope. I could be her somebody.
his smell. it was something that couldn’t evaporate from my memory the way faces or places do. his smell lingered on and with it the pain that he left. the empty room and the quiet spaces in between.
He downed the whiskey easily, not even thinking about what consequences might come of it. She eyed him warily, knowing that she would have to be the one to take him home later in the evening and that she’d likely have some trouble doing it.
Ahh the whiskey was my only comfort in the storm. The winds had taken my wife, daughter, hell it even took the dog. It was howling at my shutters and banging on the front door to get in. Soon I’d be whisked away and my bottle was my last friend on earth.
Whiskey is for the big boys, the men. Whiskey bottles and brand new cars. It’s a symbol for a life on the wild side. A darker view of the world is held by drinkers of whiskey, danger is not unknown to them as it is to others.
I feel it washing through my throat like a fire and my lungs expand from the shock, electrical and painful. I hate whiskey and I hate the memories I try to drown with it.
there’s urban in her hair and bourbon riding down her legs, she lost one earring twenty words ago and the other is slipping out now, tiny falling stars—
It was a difficult morning after what I remember to be A LOT of whiskey shots last night. The memories were a little fuzzy of the night before. I think I remember leaving the bar and catching a cab home.
i did not know what to do after he left me. i was drenched in heartache and misery. he was, he is, my world. where can i turn. if he doesn’t love me who will. jack i’m coming to you.
Such a drink seen in Ireland. Perhaps in the depths of the US basement, used only when necessary. Classy, but it burns like hell.
Sum lil cat whiskers rubbing against your beautiful face
I don’t really know much about whiskey. I’ve never drank. Heck, I’ve never done anything. Does that make me a boring, terrible person? I don’t think it does, but hell. I don’t know. Nobody knows anything about anybody else, and that’s why the world scares me. The guy around the corner could be a possible killer, or the kid I like could love My Little Pony. Who knows?
I don’t.
I don’t…
Reasons to drink whiskey:
Someone you loved died.
You tried really hard but still failed.
You want to forget.
…. What’s it like?
an alchoholic drink, originating in
scotland.It iso a name give to wh
Trickling down. Burning slow brown. Her teeth and head became fuzzy and she tried to forget why she was there in the first place. She just tried to focus on the amber liquid in from of her.
I heard about whiskey one time when I was leaning against a wall. The wind blew through my hair almost as if to greet me with a loving “hello”. I was shocked to see a few faces in the corner of my eye. I eased dropped on the conversation as the bar became a hot topic. Of course since I was signing everyone who does not know me assumes I’m deaf, which comes in handy when you are around people without a brain. I slowly lowered the book I had forgotten was in my hand and looked up for a brief second before they spotted me. Since I was in trouble now I resorted to signing as they walked up to me with eyes wide with terror of the secret I may have heard.
Whiskey. Take one huge gulp, then pour it down the drain where it will flow to the sewers and feed the monsters below who will come after you toninght.
…Arn’t you glad you took that gulp?
I don’t really know much about whiskey. I’ve never drank. Heck, I’ve never done anything. Does that make me a boring, terrible person? I don’t think it does, but hell. I don’t know. Nobody knows anything about anybody else, and that’s why the world scares me. The guy around the corner could be a possible killer, or the kid I like could love My Little Pony. Who knows?
I don’t.
I don’t…
He used whiskey like a horse uses a saddle. That is, it helped him to bear his burden. Made it a little easier to carry, and a little easier to slide it off his back on the good days. But it wasn’t always this way.
one time on new years i got really drunk because i drank too much whiskey. i was at this kid’s house for the first time and i ended up throwing up in his toilet. it was very embarrassing. especially since i had never even hung out with him before, and then had to hear about him cleaning up my vomit the next day.
I used to have a budgie called Whiskey. He was sweet, but I didn’t care for him very well. I got bored with him in his little cage, with bells, a mirror and cuttlefish. One day I found him dead, on the bottom of the cage. He not only died alone, he really lived alone too, which I still feel bad about.
He only had enough for one bottle. And this was enough. Enough for him to forget. Enough to make new memories, which he would not remember. He emptied the bottle like he empties his skull, and smashed it all over the pavement outside of the Camden tube station causing stares. But his eyes were too wet to see what was happening. Golden whiskey tears slid down Benjamin’s old face. He was getting arrested.
That stuff. That stuff they say is good, that stuff they say changes everything, that stuff that pricks and tickles; that stuff that took him.
The blonde slopped a generous amount of the amber liqour into the gentleman’s cup. He toasted to her and downed it in one.
I had whiskey once. Maybe twice. They say it puts hair on your chest. I’m still relatively hairless. But it definitely woke me up. Maybe I shouldn’t drink? I like whiskey.
Whiskey Rebellion. George Washington was president. Farmers were against taxes on American-made whiskey. And plus I hear it tastes sort of bad…
My cat was drinking whiskey and he got so drunk that he fell on his back. He could never get up again. I tried to help him but it never worked and now my cat is slowly dying the carpet. I also cannot move him.
“i love whiskey,” my aunt has said. i don’t. i love wine, i love tequila, but among all hard liquors, not whiskey. being able to drink whiskey is a sign of adulthood? no, i don’t think so.
I have a kitty cat named easter marie. one day i got a phone call abou tmy aunts party. she was expecting drinking. i went out and bought the whiskey and then came home. i forgot chocolates in the car and when i came back easter marie drank all of the whiskey!
Like, AAML. Ok, here’s the thing. I like annoying people, LOL. So, QMN, you AOW.
AAML-Acronams are my life.
LOL-Already know that.
QMN-Queen me now.
AOW-Annoying ornge wannabe.
Whiskey does that to you.
It was there, twice, my first time for getting drunk, sixteen… The golden colour, glistening inside of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Our young fingers wrapped tight around the flask, chipped black nail polish. Popped my cherry a few months ago again, when I puked from abusing it’s power.
whiskey makes me want to get wasted right now. i want to forget the fucking world and leave it for a few hours. i want to drink with my friends enough to block the stress out of my head, enough to make to forget how fucking miserable i am. i want to be so wasted. i want to leave this fucking hell hole. i dont deserve this.
Whiskey causes badness upon my friends emotions. It’s not cool at all. They drunk call me and it is not fun. It could kill them which makes me sad. Very very sad.
whiskey and rum. youm youm youm. that’s not how you spell yum is it? sorry, had a little too much….um, youm ;p well then, isn’t drinking great. quite the ditty on the liver ye mates. ar ar ar. creativity with too much whiskey…better or pepper…i mean, worse? eeeerg.
its a type of drink. there is a place called whiskey river. there is a country song that talks about whiskey. im not to sure why im wrtting about a berverage but its cool a guess. to bad im not 21 ha
Whiskey. Something I have never tried before
i am drinking my whiskey. by that i mean wine. its cheap wine, that maybe a connoisseur would not have but for the sake of getting ratarssed it does me just fine. it seems o me that when a temporary cure is required, where there are no considerable long term effects. alchohol is the answer. you see i just want to sleep without waking up every five minutes thinking of the girl i just lost, so ii choose to use wine to get me to a state where i can sleep peacefuly. wine is now my quick fix. better than drugs (sort oof) better than talking (definitely) and better than being sober. ffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu
Burns brown as it slides down. Sadness is often relieved. Perhaps its an underrated anti-depressant. Most likely not. Sleepily, I put the glass down and call it a night.
she tasted like whiskey and cigarettes to many, but I could almost taste the desperation on her tongue. It was as if she was longing to be someone’s somebody, not just the drunken hookup you could always find. She was just searching in the wrong places, she was looking for her somebody where there was no hope. I could be her somebody.
his smell. it was something that couldn’t evaporate from my memory the way faces or places do. his smell lingered on and with it the pain that he left. the empty room and the quiet spaces in between.
He downed the whiskey easily, not even thinking about what consequences might come of it. She eyed him warily, knowing that she would have to be the one to take him home later in the evening and that she’d likely have some trouble doing it.
Ahh the whiskey was my only comfort in the storm. The winds had taken my wife, daughter, hell it even took the dog. It was howling at my shutters and banging on the front door to get in. Soon I’d be whisked away and my bottle was my last friend on earth.
Whiskey is for the big boys, the men. Whiskey bottles and brand new cars. It’s a symbol for a life on the wild side. A darker view of the world is held by drinkers of whiskey, danger is not unknown to them as it is to others.
I feel it washing through my throat like a fire and my lungs expand from the shock, electrical and painful. I hate whiskey and I hate the memories I try to drown with it.
I would wonder why people enjoy drinking whiskey so much, I think it’s appalling. It burns your throat as if a dragon were breathing down your neck.
there’s urban in her hair and bourbon riding down her legs, she lost one earring twenty words ago and the other is slipping out now, tiny falling stars—
It was a difficult morning after what I remember to be A LOT of whiskey shots last night. The memories were a little fuzzy of the night before. I think I remember leaving the bar and catching a cab home.
i did not know what to do after he left me. i was drenched in heartache and misery. he was, he is, my world. where can i turn. if he doesn’t love me who will. jack i’m coming to you.