Digusting, hate it, makes me puke, but at the same time makes me wonder and be in a pararel universe i hope one day i can leave my adiction to alcohol… love it! stupid whiskey you’ve ruined my life!! hate ya!
Jack Daniels has a bitter kick to it, the kind of kick a mule’ll plant on your ass without thinking twice. I was never a fan of ol’ Jack, it felt too rough, too mean. It was the drink of sailors and industrial laborers, not me. Jameson is the drink of an artist and one unburdened by responsibility. To us.
because “cheese” in spanish doesn’t form a smile. a collective word as a group, slightly provocative in that we’ve all drank it but can’t openly admit it. a lonely secret. coupled with a cigarette in the foggy twilight on the back steps next to the trash can, wishing we could get the next train out of town
Whiskey is a strong influence. strong enough to take advantage of innocent people. it is what keeps us from staying sane. from hurting loved ones when we are hurt. it is what keeps evil inside us.
whiskey does not taste very good. There is a good whiskey, however, named Forty Creek Whiskey, made in Grimsby. Whiskey in Canada is actually spelled whisky. It is a Canadian spelling. Whiskey, i am not sure what else to keep writing about it. Is Jack Daniels whiskey?
Whiskey is my drink of choice. Not really. In fact, I find it a little repulsive. Instead of it being smooth, it gets caught in my throat, I can’t swallow. I don’t want to. I just buy it, because it’s cool.
I took my first sip, and it went down my throat with a horrid look on my face. But I liked it. I drank until all of those academic and social worries vanished. I lived in my own world where no one mattered but me. This was the beginning of the most lovely bad habit ever.
Whiskey poured from tap by a crusty octogenarian in Connemara.A cigar is lit alongside the stout glass to complete the summer scene on the West of Ireland. The texture is the ocean curling towards the shore,the flavour is the essence of the rustic bar filled with summer revelers,the colour is of the evening sky that awaits a happy tomorrow.
The whiskey tasted bitter on his tongue, but still he drank it feverishly. He did whatever he could to alter the world that he lived in–the world that let him down so frequently. A little more whiskey, and perhaps he could make it through another day….
i remember whiskey. i remember shooting it out of red plastic cups and chasing it with coca cola. and coughing and gagging at the smell of it. and probably puking it up later while regretting a million and one decisions. we were all young once. and whiskey nearly did me in. you grow old. we all grow old. and we thank the things that got us to this point. the bourbon. the whiskey. the boys. the cars. the parents on vacations. the older cousins with a fake i.d. you learn so much when you’re so stupid. it’s those years where all you do is fail that you grow the most.
I think of an old mans breath after a long days work. Mom is cooking sew and bread in the kitchen wearing an apron that matches her eyes. The 3 kids are running around in the yard playing tag or some other game. Mom calls out to the kids, “supper!” and everyone gathers at the table for a family meal.
He gulped down the hot, searing drink, wishing he could blame the tears in his eyes on this godforsaken booze. He wished he could blame anything but the person sitting in his chair, wearing his coat and staring at him in the mirror. Most of all, he wished this booze did was it was supposed to; make him forget.
he holds it in his hand and smugly looks at me.
taunting.
tantalizing.
his eyes glimmer and glaze.
i can see his breath oozing from behind his teeth.
brown and thick.
his hand grips the glass and my throat.
oh whiskey the nectar for my father being who he is with the troubles he deals but he just need some help and thats were you come in whiskey you numb him and put him to sleep, something my mother could never do. you put his mind at ease and takes the worry and fear from the night. it may not be healthy, but its the only way he knows how.
is it always whiskey because it just was whiskey and i didn’t include my name and whiskey should be drinken with someone, is drunk…drunk with someone not alone except when you have a toddy and you are sick. that is the only time you should drink it alone. it burns going down. it is smokey. smokey like the wood fire of an old caste in scotland.
My mom told me the story of a pet duck. The duck’s legs fell off so it needed to drink whiskey water to numb the pain. The duck later became addicted to the whiskey and never drank regular water again. The duck lived a very long time, although it continued to have a legless and drunken wobble.
On the rocks. I don’t know, it’s some AC/DC song I once heard. It was pretty rad. I guess other than that, I remember the time I got wasted drinking whiskey and puked then passed out. Good time. I played molecule, I beleive, rolling around on the floor. IM A CLASSY GUY.
Whiskey. The drink of the alcoholic. Never had it, never will. At least, I hope so. See, when I was just a kid, my dad used to bring home bucket loads of the stuff. It was never a pleaseant experience the following day, spending all of my time tending to him. Jeez, who would have thought that an innocent drink could do such damage to a Persian rug? Although, I suppose that isn’t fair. Whiskey isn’t innocent. It’s far from it, one of the strongest drinks I can think of. I can only wonder what the guy who made it was thinking.
Ohhh whiskey, I love you at midnight every weekend. I love you from a glass or paper cup,; you are the fire beneath my feet when i dance the sinner’s tango.
Whiskey is a drink that classy people drink whilst amongst underaged drinkers who are looking for a mighty wild time, or it just might be a thirsty 90 year old man who only knows the cocktail whiskey on the rocks. I guess we shall never know… hmmm
omg i got so drunk the first night i ever had a drink. i remember it clearly: my first drink ever–wild turkey, straight up whiskey. it was terrible. tj had his motorcycle accident earlier that day and i was so stressed that i just figured what the hell? kelsey chased her’s with skittles. again, bad idea. i thought i was going to die. one drink and i couldn’t see or move. i collapsed on the couch next to tj and that was that.
Whiskey is a beverage that the average girl isn’t all that into. I’m a girl, and I’m really not all that into whiskey. But I do know a thing or two about Scotch, a close relative, and I like it. I like how it makes my mouth tingly and I like how it’s not a bitchy drink like an Appletini or Cosmo. Whiskey is a good idea.
Overcomes one’s body & makes them a different person that you don’t know. It scares you and makes you feel like, “Do I know you..?”. Why would one become so intoxicated and like the feeling?
is gross. i try to act like one of those super cool chicks who drinks like a tank and can do jameson shots like it’s water, but then i have to hide the fact that i instantly want to vomit as soon as the shot glass returns to the bar. i don’t get how people can be like ohhh i love jack. it tastes like anger in a bottle. but then you can probably describe most of those people the exact same way.
The old man drinks his bottle of whiskey at the same time at sunset everyday on that same old red porch. He enjoys watching the sun fade away and his vision blurring as the last spikes of daylight slip away. It brings him a divine peace.
He needed to feel it coursing through his veins. The sensation of liquid fire flowing through his body…it was what made the world go round. It was what he needed, what he craved, what he yearned for…
Once my granpa ate so much whiskey that he fell into an alternate universe. I had to fish him out with a fishing pole. It took 2 days. I missed my school bus because of it. He doesnt drink anymore.
whiskey. disgusting, yet so powerful. liquor is not something i enjoy. i actually hate it very much. it makes me sick to my stomach and i do stupid things, like try and cheat on my boyfriend. i don’t know what’s wrong with me, but alcohol is a terrible thing to be addicted to. all i gotta say.
Oh goodness, Whiskey killed my night last night. I have never puked from drinking, and after having 10 shots, smoked a couple bowls, and then taking 4 more shots of whiskey, there was no way that I wasn’t going to barf. It was a very interesting experience.
He sat quietly in his chair, the glass in his hand. John raised the glass to his lips– but no, his hand shook, and suddenly he was left with a lap full of whiskey. A voice from behind him spoke.
“Still trying to hard, John?” Her voice was cutting. She was still there. As usual.
el whiskey es una bebida que desde la antiguedad se le ha asociado a la gente adinerada, uno de los mejores whiskeys que se pueden beber es proveniente de escocia.
A porcelain sink with four grimy glasses
our crooked hotel room
the Bloomsbury gardens outside our tiny window
and a bottle of Bell’s
Whiskey enough to drop a few horses
and a whole Friday night ahead of us.
eating alone needs to be accompanies with wiskey…you seem to come off as more coooooool that way. I like eating alone, and a whiskey would be the exclamation point to my persona. The way the ice clinks, the sizzel stick being held by my finger so that it doesn’t poke me in the eye as I slam back a shot….what am I talking about…I don’t SLAM anything! I’m too cheap to waste a drink on one slug!
Digusting, hate it, makes me puke, but at the same time makes me wonder and be in a pararel universe i hope one day i can leave my adiction to alcohol… love it! stupid whiskey you’ve ruined my life!! hate ya!
Jack Daniels has a bitter kick to it, the kind of kick a mule’ll plant on your ass without thinking twice. I was never a fan of ol’ Jack, it felt too rough, too mean. It was the drink of sailors and industrial laborers, not me. Jameson is the drink of an artist and one unburdened by responsibility. To us.
because “cheese” in spanish doesn’t form a smile. a collective word as a group, slightly provocative in that we’ve all drank it but can’t openly admit it. a lonely secret. coupled with a cigarette in the foggy twilight on the back steps next to the trash can, wishing we could get the next train out of town
Whiskey is a strong influence. strong enough to take advantage of innocent people. it is what keeps us from staying sane. from hurting loved ones when we are hurt. it is what keeps evil inside us.
whiskey does not taste very good. There is a good whiskey, however, named Forty Creek Whiskey, made in Grimsby. Whiskey in Canada is actually spelled whisky. It is a Canadian spelling. Whiskey, i am not sure what else to keep writing about it. Is Jack Daniels whiskey?
Whiskey is my drink of choice. Not really. In fact, I find it a little repulsive. Instead of it being smooth, it gets caught in my throat, I can’t swallow. I don’t want to. I just buy it, because it’s cool.
I took my first sip, and it went down my throat with a horrid look on my face. But I liked it. I drank until all of those academic and social worries vanished. I lived in my own world where no one mattered but me. This was the beginning of the most lovely bad habit ever.
Whiskey poured from tap by a crusty octogenarian in Connemara.A cigar is lit alongside the stout glass to complete the summer scene on the West of Ireland. The texture is the ocean curling towards the shore,the flavour is the essence of the rustic bar filled with summer revelers,the colour is of the evening sky that awaits a happy tomorrow.
The whiskey tasted bitter on his tongue, but still he drank it feverishly. He did whatever he could to alter the world that he lived in–the world that let him down so frequently. A little more whiskey, and perhaps he could make it through another day….
Something I should never again drink. In fact, I should be banned from all alcohol after this weekend.
i remember whiskey. i remember shooting it out of red plastic cups and chasing it with coca cola. and coughing and gagging at the smell of it. and probably puking it up later while regretting a million and one decisions. we were all young once. and whiskey nearly did me in. you grow old. we all grow old. and we thank the things that got us to this point. the bourbon. the whiskey. the boys. the cars. the parents on vacations. the older cousins with a fake i.d. you learn so much when you’re so stupid. it’s those years where all you do is fail that you grow the most.
I think of an old mans breath after a long days work. Mom is cooking sew and bread in the kitchen wearing an apron that matches her eyes. The 3 kids are running around in the yard playing tag or some other game. Mom calls out to the kids, “supper!” and everyone gathers at the table for a family meal.
He gulped down the hot, searing drink, wishing he could blame the tears in his eyes on this godforsaken booze. He wished he could blame anything but the person sitting in his chair, wearing his coat and staring at him in the mirror. Most of all, he wished this booze did was it was supposed to; make him forget.
he holds it in his hand and smugly looks at me.
taunting.
tantalizing.
his eyes glimmer and glaze.
i can see his breath oozing from behind his teeth.
brown and thick.
his hand grips the glass and my throat.
oh whiskey the nectar for my father being who he is with the troubles he deals but he just need some help and thats were you come in whiskey you numb him and put him to sleep, something my mother could never do. you put his mind at ease and takes the worry and fear from the night. it may not be healthy, but its the only way he knows how.
is it always whiskey because it just was whiskey and i didn’t include my name and whiskey should be drinken with someone, is drunk…drunk with someone not alone except when you have a toddy and you are sick. that is the only time you should drink it alone. it burns going down. it is smokey. smokey like the wood fire of an old caste in scotland.
alcohol, beverage, fun, memories, hangover, jack, coke, dark,
My mom told me the story of a pet duck. The duck’s legs fell off so it needed to drink whiskey water to numb the pain. The duck later became addicted to the whiskey and never drank regular water again. The duck lived a very long time, although it continued to have a legless and drunken wobble.
On the rocks. I don’t know, it’s some AC/DC song I once heard. It was pretty rad. I guess other than that, I remember the time I got wasted drinking whiskey and puked then passed out. Good time. I played molecule, I beleive, rolling around on the floor. IM A CLASSY GUY.
Whiskey. The drink of the alcoholic. Never had it, never will. At least, I hope so. See, when I was just a kid, my dad used to bring home bucket loads of the stuff. It was never a pleaseant experience the following day, spending all of my time tending to him. Jeez, who would have thought that an innocent drink could do such damage to a Persian rug? Although, I suppose that isn’t fair. Whiskey isn’t innocent. It’s far from it, one of the strongest drinks I can think of. I can only wonder what the guy who made it was thinking.
BAD
wrong
pathetic
accident
mistakes
poor
bad family
poor family
neglect
fights
stupid
Ohhh whiskey, I love you at midnight every weekend. I love you from a glass or paper cup,; you are the fire beneath my feet when i dance the sinner’s tango.
Whiskey is a drink that classy people drink whilst amongst underaged drinkers who are looking for a mighty wild time, or it just might be a thirsty 90 year old man who only knows the cocktail whiskey on the rocks. I guess we shall never know… hmmm
omg i got so drunk the first night i ever had a drink. i remember it clearly: my first drink ever–wild turkey, straight up whiskey. it was terrible. tj had his motorcycle accident earlier that day and i was so stressed that i just figured what the hell? kelsey chased her’s with skittles. again, bad idea. i thought i was going to die. one drink and i couldn’t see or move. i collapsed on the couch next to tj and that was that.
Whiskey is a beverage that the average girl isn’t all that into. I’m a girl, and I’m really not all that into whiskey. But I do know a thing or two about Scotch, a close relative, and I like it. I like how it makes my mouth tingly and I like how it’s not a bitchy drink like an Appletini or Cosmo. Whiskey is a good idea.
Another night
blinded
and mislead
intentionally destroying
every memory of you I ever had
or ever will have.
Forgetting feels
so much better.
Overcomes one’s body & makes them a different person that you don’t know. It scares you and makes you feel like, “Do I know you..?”. Why would one become so intoxicated and like the feeling?
is gross. i try to act like one of those super cool chicks who drinks like a tank and can do jameson shots like it’s water, but then i have to hide the fact that i instantly want to vomit as soon as the shot glass returns to the bar. i don’t get how people can be like ohhh i love jack. it tastes like anger in a bottle. but then you can probably describe most of those people the exact same way.
The old man drinks his bottle of whiskey at the same time at sunset everyday on that same old red porch. He enjoys watching the sun fade away and his vision blurring as the last spikes of daylight slip away. It brings him a divine peace.
He needed to feel it coursing through his veins. The sensation of liquid fire flowing through his body…it was what made the world go round. It was what he needed, what he craved, what he yearned for…
Once my granpa ate so much whiskey that he fell into an alternate universe. I had to fish him out with a fishing pole. It took 2 days. I missed my school bus because of it. He doesnt drink anymore.
whiskey. disgusting, yet so powerful. liquor is not something i enjoy. i actually hate it very much. it makes me sick to my stomach and i do stupid things, like try and cheat on my boyfriend. i don’t know what’s wrong with me, but alcohol is a terrible thing to be addicted to. all i gotta say.
Oh goodness, Whiskey killed my night last night. I have never puked from drinking, and after having 10 shots, smoked a couple bowls, and then taking 4 more shots of whiskey, there was no way that I wasn’t going to barf. It was a very interesting experience.
He sat quietly in his chair, the glass in his hand. John raised the glass to his lips– but no, his hand shook, and suddenly he was left with a lap full of whiskey. A voice from behind him spoke.
“Still trying to hard, John?” Her voice was cutting. She was still there. As usual.
el whiskey es una bebida que desde la antiguedad se le ha asociado a la gente adinerada, uno de los mejores whiskeys que se pueden beber es proveniente de escocia.
I’ve never had whiskey.
A porcelain sink with four grimy glasses
our crooked hotel room
the Bloomsbury gardens outside our tiny window
and a bottle of Bell’s
Whiskey enough to drop a few horses
and a whole Friday night ahead of us.
This cannot end well.
eating alone needs to be accompanies with wiskey…you seem to come off as more coooooool that way. I like eating alone, and a whiskey would be the exclamation point to my persona. The way the ice clinks, the sizzel stick being held by my finger so that it doesn’t poke me in the eye as I slam back a shot….what am I talking about…I don’t SLAM anything! I’m too cheap to waste a drink on one slug!
Whiskey. Your choice of drink.
Fire. On your breath.
Sick. Is how it made me feel.
Done. With you and your drink.
love
laft
hugs
babys
dreams
hope
remember
history
books
vodka
flawers