I took a shot of whiskey. It was sour. It hurt my throat. I didn’t know what to do after I took, suddenly conscience of my body parts. I tried to act like this was normal behavior for me.
My friend and I had whiskey before it tasted like absolute shit we didn’t have anything to mix it with so she we mixed it with my aloe vera juice it still tasted like ass. My friend said you had to be a hairy lesbian with a beard to drink this shit. I agreed.
i heart whiskey i got drunk at a party whiskey and scotch aren’t the same cause they are from different places whiskey reminds me of beards. parties. the movie country sttrong. beerjoints. fun times. country stuff.
in my hand in golden tumbler because even tho i am alone i dont drink out of the seagrams 7 bottle. BECAUSE i am alone, actually. sips. again. time is running out. its why i bought it in the first place.
I like to drink it in the morning. It makes my breath smell like sunshine. Though I may not have in the nighttime, I will always in the morning time. I like to have it with my eggs. It makes them taste like sunshine. I like my sunshine every morning.
How funny that you should choose the word whiskey. Today, my best friend celebrated his 25th birthday. He’s a big fan of whiskey. If you open our cupboard, you’ll see over a dozen varieties of whiskey. He even makes his own whiskey sours- whisky, bitters, the skin of the lemon. He’s very sophisticated.
It was a day where we all drank whiskey from sun up until sun down. We watched the clouds envying their pace from afar, wishing life would move like that. We said goodbye that day, never to see each other again.
I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t know what whiskey (or any other drink for that matter) tastes, smells, or looks like. And I’m happy this way. I don’t need or feel a desire to change it.
and rye. byyyyyeee bye miss american pie drove my chevy to the levy but the levy was dry. them good old boys drinking whiskey and rye singin “this will be the day that i die, this will be the day that i die.” in master and commander, they gave a man whiskey so he wouldn’t feel the on-deck brain surgery they gave him. gross.
You’re following me. You’re taking over my life. One night I think I’m doing good, I don’t kiss your glass lip until 9 or so. And then it goes in gulps. Down, burning. Tomorrow it’ll feel like I have strep throat. I drink more than I ever did before I was “trying to stop.” I want to stop I just have nothing else to do but you.
She threw the whiskey down her throat, shot him a look as sharp as aged New York Cheddar and pissed on the floor. The perfect ending to a horrible date.
Every night, five shots. Taken with a chaser of lukewarm water from the bathroom sink. Brown, pretty brown, and stinky. Just like shit. I rub toothpaste along my teeth and gums before dinner so mom doesn’t smell it on my breath. I know she’s onto me. She’s the only one who’se noticed i’m an alcoholic.
Whiskey is my favorite. It’s good with coke, but also by itself. It reminds me of Zach, and the nights we would spend just laughing til 3am. It was such a good time that I never wanted to let it go. I can’t help that things never worked out between the two of us. He just was never at the right place at the right time.
Glass resting empty upon the table.
Reeking smiles flourish.
The remaining ice begins to die down
Mixed with relief
the discolored water restlessly waits.
Glass remains empty, but now
In his hands
As the anxious water moves it’s way
Down his palm
Odorless insecurities echo.
“So,” Myron said to the cool blond next to him as he slid onto the bar stool. “Do you know the difference between Scottish and Irish whiskey?” Danielle slid her eyes from the tips of his ears to his toes. Casually, she reached for a napkin. Sensuously, her long fingers opened his jacket pocket; slowly she withdrew a pen. She wrote on the napkin, which then turned toward the hapless Myron. On the napkin, was not her phone number as he had prayed. Instead, it was, “the letter E.” Danielle said. “The Scots don’t have it and the Irish do. And now you do as well,” she continued. “Because, I’m giving you an ‘E’ for effort, too.”
I like it in coke. I enjoy it as a shot. The letter w in the phonetic alphabet. Its fun to watch people with this stuff in hand. Drunk people are funny. Funny things make me laugh. So, I guess drunk people make me laugh? Yeah, that makes sense.
One of my first lesson horses was a handsome red gelding by the name of Whiskey. Willing, kind, and gentle, he was ideal for an eager beginner. How unlike my first experience with his namesake, an unkind libation who haunts the minds of men who would abuse him and makes fools of those women who misunderstand his power.
The first time I had you, I didn’t expect you. He told me you were like fire and I didn’t believe him. That was just a thing people say and not what they mean. But I coughed. As he wrapped his arms around me, I coughed because of the burn.
shots of whiskey by the bar as we made eye contact, smiling subtly with our lips curved upwards as we pressed our arms against each other and you laughed as i brushed the hair out of my eyes. i bit my lip purposely but you thought it was cute and an accidental habit of mine and you smiled with the intensity in your blue eyes on high and i thought it was natural but you did it on purpose and the whiskey made it okay.
Maybe whiskey will make this feeling inside of me go away. This feeling that even I do not know what it is. All I know is it hurts a bit and makes me ill a bit. If only it would go away, if only. Something’s missing.
old men sitting on a front porch in a swing clinking glasses and reminiscing on the days of the “Old South” where living was easy and things moved slow. They have gray beards and wrinkles now, but one sip of whiskey and they’re back where they once were, sharp hair and suave smiles. Those were the days.
In a heated frenzy, Jack D. is thrown against the wall. Though he does not shatter, he falls to the floor with not but a dark crack to show for the fight… it’s only the first such cracks that lead to a sad and dark insanity.
that scent, that sour familiarity of it; like a rush of blood to the head, the memories; (i once heard that every time you recalled a certain memory, in some unknowable way, it changed; due to the usage of the synapses–it makes me afraid to think what my grandmother’s hands must have really looked like, skin on bone, whiskey in the veins)
maybe if i had expected to smell that stench on you
maybe the way my head works, maybe it would’ve been different
but that was the moment i knew we could not turn back from, a regret in bloom
Ah, whiskey. The first word for us all. I’ve already shared my thoughts on the word–I’m just giving my share of time until I can move onto another word.
A heavy shot, just enough to burn your throat and keep you warm until the afterburn kicks in. The smell of the bar was heavy, all cigars and stale beer. A few whiffs of perfume from the other side of the bar, but you aren;t here for that now are you? No, you can;t be bothered to do shit now can you?
my dad tricked me into drinking whiskey at his second wedding. he told me it was diet coke and i was startles when i taste it and I’m still grossed out by it.
Jack Daniels, so smooth. Not like Makers Mark. I had Makers for the first time while I was down in Texas visiting my Aunt Brenda and Uncle Jr. I had a wonderful time. They threw a beautiful birthday bash for me. Jr’s entire family came over to enjoy the pool, food, and drinks. We played pool volleyball and I rocked that pool!!!! that night Steve, Jr and I began drinking. Steve thought he was tough and decided it was a good idea to chug some Makers Mark. That night I was cleaning seafood salad mixed with cheetos off my Aunt’s beige carpet and walls. Disgusting, but none the less a wonderful memory to keep. I was sad to leave Texas, If I could I would definitely move down there. I thought it might be a wonderful opportunity to go to school there and get my degree.
it started with one bottle of whiskey. then it turned into 2. and then 3. and soon we were all passed out on the floor we knew she was too small….but we didnt want to get in trouble. she died. we let her.
I took a shot of whiskey. It was sour. It hurt my throat. I didn’t know what to do after I took, suddenly conscience of my body parts. I tried to act like this was normal behavior for me.
I’m the kind of girl who prefers whiskey to wine, whiskey to good beer, whiskey to anything.
Mix it with coke or sunkist or nothing.
Sometimes you have to just say, “fuck the world”.
My friend and I had whiskey before it tasted like absolute shit we didn’t have anything to mix it with so she we mixed it with my aloe vera juice it still tasted like ass. My friend said you had to be a hairy lesbian with a beard to drink this shit. I agreed.
Whiskey kisses. Drunken sex. A bunch of sluts. On to the next. one, two, three, floor.
i heart whiskey i got drunk at a party whiskey and scotch aren’t the same cause they are from different places whiskey reminds me of beards. parties. the movie country sttrong. beerjoints. fun times. country stuff.
in my hand in golden tumbler because even tho i am alone i dont drink out of the seagrams 7 bottle. BECAUSE i am alone, actually. sips. again. time is running out. its why i bought it in the first place.
I like to drink it in the morning. It makes my breath smell like sunshine. Though I may not have in the nighttime, I will always in the morning time. I like to have it with my eggs. It makes them taste like sunshine. I like my sunshine every morning.
How funny that you should choose the word whiskey. Today, my best friend celebrated his 25th birthday. He’s a big fan of whiskey. If you open our cupboard, you’ll see over a dozen varieties of whiskey. He even makes his own whiskey sours- whisky, bitters, the skin of the lemon. He’s very sophisticated.
ah, whiskey, the elixir of life. . . smokey, pungent, biting and smooth. a deliciously contemplative, combative, concoction of mirth and madness.
I drowned within the bottle of whiskey
The pity i gained, the losses with all the pain
In my dreams, i was his obsession
It was a day where we all drank whiskey from sun up until sun down. We watched the clouds envying their pace from afar, wishing life would move like that. We said goodbye that day, never to see each other again.
I don’t drink alcohol. I don’t know what whiskey (or any other drink for that matter) tastes, smells, or looks like. And I’m happy this way. I don’t need or feel a desire to change it.
one night i was drinking some whiskey. it was dark and stormy. i was so lonely.
a few days ago, my wife left me. i don’t know why. she never said anything, never left a note. i had no clue. maybe that was my problem.
we have a kid. he’s the greatest. at only three, he has the vocabulary of a professor. it’s insane. must get it from his mother.
the fire’s almost out.
drunken ignorance blissful damages body falling can’t feel anything freedom and anger violence of intimate objects best days ever
and rye. byyyyyeee bye miss american pie drove my chevy to the levy but the levy was dry. them good old boys drinking whiskey and rye singin “this will be the day that i die, this will be the day that i die.” in master and commander, they gave a man whiskey so he wouldn’t feel the on-deck brain surgery they gave him. gross.
You’re following me. You’re taking over my life. One night I think I’m doing good, I don’t kiss your glass lip until 9 or so. And then it goes in gulps. Down, burning. Tomorrow it’ll feel like I have strep throat. I drink more than I ever did before I was “trying to stop.” I want to stop I just have nothing else to do but you.
She threw the whiskey down her throat, shot him a look as sharp as aged New York Cheddar and pissed on the floor. The perfect ending to a horrible date.
Every night, five shots. Taken with a chaser of lukewarm water from the bathroom sink. Brown, pretty brown, and stinky. Just like shit. I rub toothpaste along my teeth and gums before dinner so mom doesn’t smell it on my breath. I know she’s onto me. She’s the only one who’se noticed i’m an alcoholic.
Whiskey is my favorite. It’s good with coke, but also by itself. It reminds me of Zach, and the nights we would spend just laughing til 3am. It was such a good time that I never wanted to let it go. I can’t help that things never worked out between the two of us. He just was never at the right place at the right time.
Crown Royal and High School craziness.
Glass resting empty upon the table.
Reeking smiles flourish.
The remaining ice begins to die down
Mixed with relief
the discolored water restlessly waits.
Glass remains empty, but now
In his hands
As the anxious water moves it’s way
Down his palm
Odorless insecurities echo.
The ice is lifted
alongside his worries
Everything goes away
Until,
The next sober day
Whiskey is the kind
of thing that killed my mother.
She’s no longer here.
“So,” Myron said to the cool blond next to him as he slid onto the bar stool. “Do you know the difference between Scottish and Irish whiskey?” Danielle slid her eyes from the tips of his ears to his toes. Casually, she reached for a napkin. Sensuously, her long fingers opened his jacket pocket; slowly she withdrew a pen. She wrote on the napkin, which then turned toward the hapless Myron. On the napkin, was not her phone number as he had prayed. Instead, it was, “the letter E.” Danielle said. “The Scots don’t have it and the Irish do. And now you do as well,” she continued. “Because, I’m giving you an ‘E’ for effort, too.”
I like it in coke. I enjoy it as a shot. The letter w in the phonetic alphabet. Its fun to watch people with this stuff in hand. Drunk people are funny. Funny things make me laugh. So, I guess drunk people make me laugh? Yeah, that makes sense.
One of my first lesson horses was a handsome red gelding by the name of Whiskey. Willing, kind, and gentle, he was ideal for an eager beginner. How unlike my first experience with his namesake, an unkind libation who haunts the minds of men who would abuse him and makes fools of those women who misunderstand his power.
The first time I had you, I didn’t expect you. He told me you were like fire and I didn’t believe him. That was just a thing people say and not what they mean. But I coughed. As he wrapped his arms around me, I coughed because of the burn.
shots of whiskey by the bar as we made eye contact, smiling subtly with our lips curved upwards as we pressed our arms against each other and you laughed as i brushed the hair out of my eyes. i bit my lip purposely but you thought it was cute and an accidental habit of mine and you smiled with the intensity in your blue eyes on high and i thought it was natural but you did it on purpose and the whiskey made it okay.
Throw it back and let it burn.
The sting turns it into a sheet
of warm,
comforting numbness.
Maybe whiskey will make this feeling inside of me go away. This feeling that even I do not know what it is. All I know is it hurts a bit and makes me ill a bit. If only it would go away, if only. Something’s missing.
old men sitting on a front porch in a swing clinking glasses and reminiscing on the days of the “Old South” where living was easy and things moved slow. They have gray beards and wrinkles now, but one sip of whiskey and they’re back where they once were, sharp hair and suave smiles. Those were the days.
In a heated frenzy, Jack D. is thrown against the wall. Though he does not shatter, he falls to the floor with not but a dark crack to show for the fight… it’s only the first such cracks that lead to a sad and dark insanity.
that scent, that sour familiarity of it; like a rush of blood to the head, the memories; (i once heard that every time you recalled a certain memory, in some unknowable way, it changed; due to the usage of the synapses–it makes me afraid to think what my grandmother’s hands must have really looked like, skin on bone, whiskey in the veins)
maybe if i had expected to smell that stench on you
maybe the way my head works, maybe it would’ve been different
but that was the moment i knew we could not turn back from, a regret in bloom
drink me into oblivion
let me help u scare those things away…the things ur scared to face…
just for today…let me be your guide
Ah, whiskey. The first word for us all. I’ve already shared my thoughts on the word–I’m just giving my share of time until I can move onto another word.
A heavy shot, just enough to burn your throat and keep you warm until the afterburn kicks in. The smell of the bar was heavy, all cigars and stale beer. A few whiffs of perfume from the other side of the bar, but you aren;t here for that now are you? No, you can;t be bothered to do shit now can you?
my dad tricked me into drinking whiskey at his second wedding. he told me it was diet coke and i was startles when i taste it and I’m still grossed out by it.
substance that makes you dizzy and comes from Russia, it can also be a name of a Dog
Jack Daniels, so smooth. Not like Makers Mark. I had Makers for the first time while I was down in Texas visiting my Aunt Brenda and Uncle Jr. I had a wonderful time. They threw a beautiful birthday bash for me. Jr’s entire family came over to enjoy the pool, food, and drinks. We played pool volleyball and I rocked that pool!!!! that night Steve, Jr and I began drinking. Steve thought he was tough and decided it was a good idea to chug some Makers Mark. That night I was cleaning seafood salad mixed with cheetos off my Aunt’s beige carpet and walls. Disgusting, but none the less a wonderful memory to keep. I was sad to leave Texas, If I could I would definitely move down there. I thought it might be a wonderful opportunity to go to school there and get my degree.
it started with one bottle of whiskey. then it turned into 2. and then 3. and soon we were all passed out on the floor we knew she was too small….but we didnt want to get in trouble. she died. we let her.
His kisses addictive
His smile is a slow burn
A taste of whiskey on every word