Alcohol. All alcohol is dizzying — just on different flavorful levels. Bourbon tastes like tree sap. Similar to gin. Both remind me of older people sitting on the porch with double shots in high ball glasses, nothing else. I don’t think I’m a fan of bourbon. I’ve had it all but can’t recall a bourbon drink I liked, or can even remember. I like Mai Tais. Sweet, fruity, pretty.
Natalia wasn’t a big bourbon fan. She preferred rum, but since she was out of her element and not interested in offending anyone she thought “well, bourbon it is”. Her mind wandered to the “type” of people that prefer and drink bourbon by choice. What’s so great about it? Every alcohol had a different effect on her. Tequila made her obnoxious, vodka made her aggressive, Jack Daniels made her impulsive and mouthy. But rum smoothed her out. Mellow Yellow.
She never drank. She just… wasn’t raised that way. But she sat in her kitchen, staring at the tall glass bottle of bourbon. Would she? Without giving it a second thought, ignoring the tiny glass to her right, she twisted the bottle open and took a huge swig straight from the bottle. It was terrible and burned her throat on the way down, making her cough and gag. She continued drinking, pouring it all down her throat over the course of an hour. After the bottle was empty, she curled into a ball in her living room, crying. But she had reason to. Her best friend- no, scratch that- the love of her life was dying.
Bourbon and water. I sit with it, meaning to sip, but end up knocking it back in one gulp. It’s been one of those days. I don’t have them often, but when I do, drink is my only friend.
The fragrant bourbon vanilla conjures up images of beauty, freedom, happiness, carefree living. Beach sunsets by the ocean, fresh sea breeze, Caribbean air. The healthy, light way of living, where stress is virtually non existent, neither is any negativity. White flowers, orchids, everywhere. Fabrics flowing in the air, peace encompasses all….Then I wake up and realize that reality is only my vanilla sweet potato cake on the table in front of me…
People were still curious about the dark zone, and its supposed occupant. The committee had to step up its warnings, and even resorted to insinuating that traces of a disease called the “Bourbon Virus” – a RNA based virus that they claimed had a 100% mortality rate, had been found in the vicinity, in order to scare people away from the area. When Morris reported this to Clara, she almost laughed, but caught herself in time. She had heard of the disease, detected in the early twenty first century. That 100% mortality rate referred to one, solitary instance of the virus in one, solitary patient who had died. This made Clara all the more curious about what the committee was trying to hide.
OH boy. Where to start. This is the kindest friend and toughest enemy. Been sober for 4 years now, but not a day goes by when I don’t miss my dear friend. Tell ya what, for a liquid that has such a rude taste, all it does is care.
Amanda sat slumped in the tattered green wingback nearest the bay window facing the pond: Peter’s chair. Her unfocused gaze rested wearily on the twilight orange trail bleeding across the water towards the copse where Peter’s body had been found hanging. Her eyes dropped to the tumbler in her trembling hands. ‘Hateful bourbon’ she thought as she lifted it to her lips; the last drops of Angel’s Envy! Amanda had taken to ritualistically drinking a tumbler full of Peter’s poison every night since his death in order to once and for all drain the final bottle from which he would, in recent years upon returning home from work, generously pour the first of several large tumblers of Bourbon neat, while bitterly pronouncing the future of their evenings together: ‘ . . .and flights of angels sing thee to my rest’.
The warm liquid slithered down her throat, leaving an unpleasant trail of burning sensations until it reached the end of its trail.
[You will forget all your troubles. You will be free.]
She stumbled off her chair, knocking over her glass in the attempt to save herself from falling completely over. She felt arms come up from behind her and prop her up as she gradually found her footing and lifted herself from her slump.
[You’re almost there, just a bit more and you won’t remember a thing.]
bourbon I know that it is a type of alcohol, but I don’t think that I have ever tried it. I imagine old men in powdered wigs sipping it while complaining about the British loss of the colonies. Also old naggy women.
What on earth is a bourbon? I have absolutely no idea what to write seeing as I don’t know what it is. I watched a movie last night, a cool one, one about magic, love, and don’t worry, there wasn’t any terribly disgusting thing in it. Does anyone know what a bourbon is?
“Yo ho yo ho a Pirate’s life for me” sand Bobby from the top of the bar.
Monica just shook her head in disappointment at her drunken friend. The guy really couldn’t handle his bourbon.
Drinking alcohol is a fascination experience. It goes down in a way a person might not expect. My first drink i expected to be cold…and it was. It seemed like it was cold, but it warmed my insides. It was a delightful and unique experience.
Is that a drink?.. I think it’s a drink. Sounds like, it would be a drink… Or a type of fish? I wonder what Jesus would do in this situation. I should consult a doctor. My back has been getting theses weird bumps lately. I’ll see the doctor tomorrow.
He smelled strongly of bourbon. She couldn’t stand it when he drank like this. He always came home to her, slurring his words and trying to grope her while she slept. She hadn’t been happy for a while, and tonight was the night she would end this poisonous relationship. Tonight it ends.
The bartender filled my glass half full with bourbon before letting the apple juice cover it. It was murky like Los Angeles smog, but more fit to drink and easier on the stomach. I watched as she sprinkled cinnamon on top, too. It was called a Broken Leg, she said. I smirked at the idea of offering someone a Broken Leg. Hell, that was tempting, come to think of it, given my current mood and the way the burly men, the ones with curly hair and leather jackets sitting at the corner table, kept leering at me.
Sweet, fiery weakness be mine. Small sips of appreciation for the craftmanship of such fine poison. Sometimes taken over ice depending on the strength of the batch. Mmm, just thinking about that heady pleasure – yes, I think I will have a pull of bourbon at the show tonight.
I think I´ve never drunk bourbon in my whole life. It must be really expensive, especially if it´s the real thing. Probably some people can afford it. It´d be nice to try it with the right person sitting around.
Tha glass was on the table. A old, short circle table. His finger are surronding the glass wanted another sip.
I have absolutely no idea what bourbon means, and I don’t think I’ll ever want to find it. Ok, maybe I want to find out a little.
Alcohol. All alcohol is dizzying — just on different flavorful levels. Bourbon tastes like tree sap. Similar to gin. Both remind me of older people sitting on the porch with double shots in high ball glasses, nothing else. I don’t think I’m a fan of bourbon. I’ve had it all but can’t recall a bourbon drink I liked, or can even remember. I like Mai Tais. Sweet, fruity, pretty.
Natalia wasn’t a big bourbon fan. She preferred rum, but since she was out of her element and not interested in offending anyone she thought “well, bourbon it is”. Her mind wandered to the “type” of people that prefer and drink bourbon by choice. What’s so great about it? Every alcohol had a different effect on her. Tequila made her obnoxious, vodka made her aggressive, Jack Daniels made her impulsive and mouthy. But rum smoothed her out. Mellow Yellow.
Just for one night, I would drink bourbon with you. I would be a blond fitness guru for you. I would inflate assets like flat tires for you.
She never drank. She just… wasn’t raised that way. But she sat in her kitchen, staring at the tall glass bottle of bourbon. Would she? Without giving it a second thought, ignoring the tiny glass to her right, she twisted the bottle open and took a huge swig straight from the bottle. It was terrible and burned her throat on the way down, making her cough and gag. She continued drinking, pouring it all down her throat over the course of an hour. After the bottle was empty, she curled into a ball in her living room, crying. But she had reason to. Her best friend- no, scratch that- the love of her life was dying.
Bourbon and water. I sit with it, meaning to sip, but end up knocking it back in one gulp. It’s been one of those days. I don’t have them often, but when I do, drink is my only friend.
The fragrant bourbon vanilla conjures up images of beauty, freedom, happiness, carefree living. Beach sunsets by the ocean, fresh sea breeze, Caribbean air. The healthy, light way of living, where stress is virtually non existent, neither is any negativity. White flowers, orchids, everywhere. Fabrics flowing in the air, peace encompasses all….Then I wake up and realize that reality is only my vanilla sweet potato cake on the table in front of me…
People were still curious about the dark zone, and its supposed occupant. The committee had to step up its warnings, and even resorted to insinuating that traces of a disease called the “Bourbon Virus” – a RNA based virus that they claimed had a 100% mortality rate, had been found in the vicinity, in order to scare people away from the area. When Morris reported this to Clara, she almost laughed, but caught herself in time. She had heard of the disease, detected in the early twenty first century. That 100% mortality rate referred to one, solitary instance of the virus in one, solitary patient who had died. This made Clara all the more curious about what the committee was trying to hide.
OH boy. Where to start. This is the kindest friend and toughest enemy. Been sober for 4 years now, but not a day goes by when I don’t miss my dear friend. Tell ya what, for a liquid that has such a rude taste, all it does is care.
Amanda sat slumped in the tattered green wingback nearest the bay window facing the pond: Peter’s chair. Her unfocused gaze rested wearily on the twilight orange trail bleeding across the water towards the copse where Peter’s body had been found hanging. Her eyes dropped to the tumbler in her trembling hands. ‘Hateful bourbon’ she thought as she lifted it to her lips; the last drops of Angel’s Envy! Amanda had taken to ritualistically drinking a tumbler full of Peter’s poison every night since his death in order to once and for all drain the final bottle from which he would, in recent years upon returning home from work, generously pour the first of several large tumblers of Bourbon neat, while bitterly pronouncing the future of their evenings together: ‘ . . .and flights of angels sing thee to my rest’.
[Medicating will be good, they said.]
The warm liquid slithered down her throat, leaving an unpleasant trail of burning sensations until it reached the end of its trail.
[You will forget all your troubles. You will be free.]
She stumbled off her chair, knocking over her glass in the attempt to save herself from falling completely over. She felt arms come up from behind her and prop her up as she gradually found her footing and lifted herself from her slump.
[You’re almost there, just a bit more and you won’t remember a thing.]
bourbon I know that it is a type of alcohol, but I don’t think that I have ever tried it. I imagine old men in powdered wigs sipping it while complaining about the British loss of the colonies. Also old naggy women.
What on earth is a bourbon? I have absolutely no idea what to write seeing as I don’t know what it is. I watched a movie last night, a cool one, one about magic, love, and don’t worry, there wasn’t any terribly disgusting thing in it. Does anyone know what a bourbon is?
bourbon is a chocolate I think.. i ate bourbon biscuits.. Thats all I can remember about the word bourbon. bourbon biscuits.. cadbury bourbon.
I don’t know much about bourbon or any alcoholic drink in fact, she said while looking straight into his eyes, I’m a teetotaller.
“Yo ho yo ho a Pirate’s life for me” sand Bobby from the top of the bar.
Monica just shook her head in disappointment at her drunken friend. The guy really couldn’t handle his bourbon.
Drinking alcohol is a fascination experience. It goes down in a way a person might not expect. My first drink i expected to be cold…and it was. It seemed like it was cold, but it warmed my insides. It was a delightful and unique experience.
Is that a drink?.. I think it’s a drink. Sounds like, it would be a drink… Or a type of fish? I wonder what Jesus would do in this situation. I should consult a doctor. My back has been getting theses weird bumps lately. I’ll see the doctor tomorrow.
creamy wonder between two layers of hardness. with or without sugary tops. bite into it – you feel the hard and soft crumbling together.
He smelled strongly of bourbon. She couldn’t stand it when he drank like this. He always came home to her, slurring his words and trying to grope her while she slept. She hadn’t been happy for a while, and tonight was the night she would end this poisonous relationship. Tonight it ends.
He poured me a drink, bourbon being all he had.
The glass slid across the table, stopping in front of me. We both knew it was poisoned, but I lifted the glass and down the drink in a single gulp.
“Happy birthday, Frank,” he said to me.
“Yep. Happy birthday.”
The bartender filled my glass half full with bourbon before letting the apple juice cover it. It was murky like Los Angeles smog, but more fit to drink and easier on the stomach. I watched as she sprinkled cinnamon on top, too. It was called a Broken Leg, she said. I smirked at the idea of offering someone a Broken Leg. Hell, that was tempting, come to think of it, given my current mood and the way the burly men, the ones with curly hair and leather jackets sitting at the corner table, kept leering at me.
Sweet, fiery weakness be mine. Small sips of appreciation for the craftmanship of such fine poison. Sometimes taken over ice depending on the strength of the batch. Mmm, just thinking about that heady pleasure – yes, I think I will have a pull of bourbon at the show tonight.
I think I´ve never drunk bourbon in my whole life. It must be really expensive, especially if it´s the real thing. Probably some people can afford it. It´d be nice to try it with the right person sitting around.
I wonder if I’m
Merely a derivative
Or a new angle?