The only thing worse than drinking whiskey…is barfing it up. No whiskey for me, thanks!
Peaceable
whiskey was on his breath and there was no way i was going to kiss him. he gets all ths liquid confidence as soon as it flows down the back of his throat. yuck! i won’t be his whiskey girl! if he wants me he has to impress me…. sober.
is a drink that people drink in a place i don’t know.
late in the evening, when the grass was high and the fireflies glowed softly, they sat on the white porch and drank whiskey in wide brimmed hats. they remembered how this summer was nearly done, how it would soon be time to set down their glasses and walk inside.
Beca Baca
His whiskey breath stank of a broken heart, lonely nights and a handful of other overused country-music cliches.
Is bad for your health obviously. You drunk bastards. That’s all I have to say.
Jessica
it reminds me of craig when we tried to get into the pav underage and we stood around outside trinity after captain americas and i said i liked it even though id never had it before to seem cool and it shocked people
Ayla
Rain makes corn! And corn makes whiskey! We always bet on how many times that song will come on while we’re working. Usually She wins. Sixth sense or something. And whiskey makes my baby…
Tkot
I don’t always drink alcohol, but when I do I drink whiskey.
Looking back, I cringe at the thought of my drinking days. Although I didn’t drink much whiskey, I drank my fair share of wine. Today I have 17 years of sobriety.
for the life of me i can’t remember what happened to me that night. i can remember being belly up to the bar and ordering whiskey shot after whiskey shot, and then, after a certain time, nothing.my mind just went to sleep, although my body continued to do whatever it pleased. i came to on a table in the emergency room with the doctors stitching up my eye in desperate need of a cigarette. when they finally finished and i went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, i gasped in horror. it looked as though i had be hit it the face with a baseball bat about fifty times. for the next month, i had to drink my whiskey through a straw. poor me.
Whiskey in a jar. Whiskey in a bottle.
Either way it’s going to get me drunk.
Wasted.
Wasting my life away.
Praying I’ll find some hope and salvation in the dark brown liquid that has become my savior.
I have achieved thousands of moments of bliss.
But I can’t remember any of them.
tastes like dirt in the best possible way. complicated and yet not. warm, soft, harsh earthy honeyed woody. drinking drank drunk.
Julie
Whiskey in a glass, sitting on a marble counter-top. Little beads of sweat trickle down and taint the polished rock. Whiskey in a glass, waiting for its owner to awake from a dazed stupor.
jackie
He had the whiskey jug in his hand as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He then lifted it to his lips and took a swig.
Mary Lou Wynegar
He poured the whiskey slowly, a note in their conversation, a violin in her ear. She watched the glass fill for a moment before returning her eyes to his lips, staring in admiration at the slow curl of a smile. He was aware of her eyes.
he had a bottle that he kept in one of his side cabinets, praying that none of the others would find it there. he had his escape, and if anyone ever took it away, he would be lost.
me: two mesures and i’m full. Two mesures of you in the morning.
You: Am i wiskey?
me: You’re aged….
Catarina
He gripped the glass, rolling the amber liquid round. This would be his last, he had promised Ella and she really would leave him this time if he didn’t keep his promise. He lurched to his feet and, breathing hard, he threw the glass and its contents into the fire, creating a massive whoosh of flames. There. It was done.
I looked at the tiny glass of amber colored liquid. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to but I picked I up and slugged it back. GASPING for air… I said OMG so this is what whiskey tastes like.
I had to learn the phonetic alphabet and I think it’s funny when you say silly things like saying “Charles” instead of “Charlie”. Whiskey is gross. When I just smell it I want to vomit. I don’t know how people can drink the stuff. It’s funny, though, becasue apparently aged whiskey is kind of a big deal, just like scotch, but somehow it still seems a bit Colonel Sanders to me whereas Scotch seems more Richard Nixon.
Christa
whiskey and pure teenage wrecklessness. that is what she is made up of. she is nothing more than a selfish heartbreaker who leaves friends behind for the world around her. it all moves too fast, including her, but she finds herself not being able to catch up, to stay in touch with the reality she herself has created.
We gathered that night in his apartment. I sat on the window sill, and gestured around the room, asking if he had any wine. With a shake of his head, he brought out the whiskey and joined me on the windowsill. We sat and drank and surveyed life, swirling below us.
You looked at me with puppy eyes, glassy and looking away, retreating from my side and said that you had to go home, you are scared when your dad had one too many glasses of a drink. You could smell it in his breath, when he stepped closer to you and pressed you against the wall and hushed you to ask where you’ve been all day. And I could read your fear right at that moment, just what kind of life you have had until now, just with that smile you gave me before you turned around. And I wanted to hold your hand.
He poured the whiskey gently into the small glass with his valley wrinkled hands.
His eyes seemed to twinkle as the fluid touched his old tongue.
caroline
he took sixty four bottles of whiskey and chucked every last one into the sea, they bobbed in the water like small animals, dead, of course, and then he turned and wiped his face and walked off the pier and said ‘happy birthday to me’.
outback steakhouse
soon we are going to have whiskey, we are going to go into the room and we are going to sit down, take off our shoes, lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling and swirl the whiskey, whiskey on our tongues and tangled in your mustaches, your mustache, i never liked men with hair but in these times it’s the best i can do, best you can do, drink it drink it drink it go
asdf
The whiskey went down smoothly as she was trying to drown out the little voice in her head telling her not to call him again. She was not going to call, no way. But she missed him beyond what her spirit was willing to control.
The only thing worse than drinking whiskey…is barfing it up. No whiskey for me, thanks!
whiskey was on his breath and there was no way i was going to kiss him. he gets all ths liquid confidence as soon as it flows down the back of his throat. yuck! i won’t be his whiskey girl! if he wants me he has to impress me…. sober.
is a drink that people drink in a place i don’t know.
late in the evening, when the grass was high and the fireflies glowed softly, they sat on the white porch and drank whiskey in wide brimmed hats. they remembered how this summer was nearly done, how it would soon be time to set down their glasses and walk inside.
His whiskey breath stank of a broken heart, lonely nights and a handful of other overused country-music cliches.
sucking it down like fire in your throat
sadness to fiery raging anger
like a burning village in your eyes
Is bad for your health obviously. You drunk bastards. That’s all I have to say.
it reminds me of craig when we tried to get into the pav underage and we stood around outside trinity after captain americas and i said i liked it even though id never had it before to seem cool and it shocked people
Rain makes corn! And corn makes whiskey! We always bet on how many times that song will come on while we’re working. Usually She wins. Sixth sense or something. And whiskey makes my baby…
I don’t always drink alcohol, but when I do I drink whiskey.
Another drop of whiskey love?
Looking back, I cringe at the thought of my drinking days. Although I didn’t drink much whiskey, I drank my fair share of wine. Today I have 17 years of sobriety.
Whiskey! Can’t say I’ve had any, I’ve never said it when I take a picture, and can’t imagine some people without it.
Take a shot of whiskey and don’t you dare spit it out.
for the life of me i can’t remember what happened to me that night. i can remember being belly up to the bar and ordering whiskey shot after whiskey shot, and then, after a certain time, nothing.my mind just went to sleep, although my body continued to do whatever it pleased. i came to on a table in the emergency room with the doctors stitching up my eye in desperate need of a cigarette. when they finally finished and i went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, i gasped in horror. it looked as though i had be hit it the face with a baseball bat about fifty times. for the next month, i had to drink my whiskey through a straw. poor me.
Whiskey in a jar. Whiskey in a bottle.
Either way it’s going to get me drunk.
Wasted.
Wasting my life away.
Praying I’ll find some hope and salvation in the dark brown liquid that has become my savior.
I have achieved thousands of moments of bliss.
But I can’t remember any of them.
tastes like dirt in the best possible way. complicated and yet not. warm, soft, harsh earthy honeyed woody. drinking drank drunk.
Whiskey in a glass, sitting on a marble counter-top. Little beads of sweat trickle down and taint the polished rock. Whiskey in a glass, waiting for its owner to awake from a dazed stupor.
He had the whiskey jug in his hand as he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He then lifted it to his lips and took a swig.
He poured the whiskey slowly, a note in their conversation, a violin in her ear. She watched the glass fill for a moment before returning her eyes to his lips, staring in admiration at the slow curl of a smile. He was aware of her eyes.
he had a bottle that he kept in one of his side cabinets, praying that none of the others would find it there. he had his escape, and if anyone ever took it away, he would be lost.
me: two mesures and i’m full. Two mesures of you in the morning.
You: Am i wiskey?
me: You’re aged….
He gripped the glass, rolling the amber liquid round. This would be his last, he had promised Ella and she really would leave him this time if he didn’t keep his promise. He lurched to his feet and, breathing hard, he threw the glass and its contents into the fire, creating a massive whoosh of flames. There. It was done.
I looked at the tiny glass of amber colored liquid. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to but I picked I up and slugged it back. GASPING for air… I said OMG so this is what whiskey tastes like.
I had to learn the phonetic alphabet and I think it’s funny when you say silly things like saying “Charles” instead of “Charlie”. Whiskey is gross. When I just smell it I want to vomit. I don’t know how people can drink the stuff. It’s funny, though, becasue apparently aged whiskey is kind of a big deal, just like scotch, but somehow it still seems a bit Colonel Sanders to me whereas Scotch seems more Richard Nixon.
whiskey and pure teenage wrecklessness. that is what she is made up of. she is nothing more than a selfish heartbreaker who leaves friends behind for the world around her. it all moves too fast, including her, but she finds herself not being able to catch up, to stay in touch with the reality she herself has created.
We gathered that night in his apartment. I sat on the window sill, and gestured around the room, asking if he had any wine. With a shake of his head, he brought out the whiskey and joined me on the windowsill. We sat and drank and surveyed life, swirling below us.
You looked at me with puppy eyes, glassy and looking away, retreating from my side and said that you had to go home, you are scared when your dad had one too many glasses of a drink. You could smell it in his breath, when he stepped closer to you and pressed you against the wall and hushed you to ask where you’ve been all day. And I could read your fear right at that moment, just what kind of life you have had until now, just with that smile you gave me before you turned around. And I wanted to hold your hand.
He poured the whiskey gently into the small glass with his valley wrinkled hands.
His eyes seemed to twinkle as the fluid touched his old tongue.
he took sixty four bottles of whiskey and chucked every last one into the sea, they bobbed in the water like small animals, dead, of course, and then he turned and wiped his face and walked off the pier and said ‘happy birthday to me’.
soon we are going to have whiskey, we are going to go into the room and we are going to sit down, take off our shoes, lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling and swirl the whiskey, whiskey on our tongues and tangled in your mustaches, your mustache, i never liked men with hair but in these times it’s the best i can do, best you can do, drink it drink it drink it go
The whiskey went down smoothly as she was trying to drown out the little voice in her head telling her not to call him again. She was not going to call, no way. But she missed him beyond what her spirit was willing to control.