Mike’s Midnight Tavern held the last dregs of the evening crowd. Steven slammed his whiskey glass on the bar and grumbled, “Hit me again.” “I think you’ve had enough,” Selena said replacing the glass with black coffee as she ten. “It’s not enough,” he replied defeated. “It won’t ever be enough until I find my son.”
He took a sip from the amber glass of whiskey and Gabrielle glared disdainfully. He had always taken a fancy to drinking, but it made getting her point across very difficult. She would tell him and he would probably throw a fit–his anger problems were awful without the liquor, but with he seemed to regress to a child throwing a tantrum.
Whiskey. I don’t drink it. I don’t drink any alcohol really. Yeah, I’m straight laced in that way. What’s the big deal anyway? I don’t honestly think I’m missing out on anything I really need to experience. Make me try a drink, it’s not hard, but if there’s alcohol, I’m just not gonna like the taste enough to bother with the side effects. Don’t see why I should.
Whiskey again, a frightening aspect of life, poison. But one sip can erase all of the terrible happenings in the world. In an instant. I wish I was old enough. Almost. Almost.
whiskey always makes me think of that one song by brad paisely or whatever and that other girl, dolly parton maybe? who really knows. it’s pretty sad, but a good song to sing i guess, because you can sing both alto parts and soprano parts, it’s really an amazing song though, and it has such a developed story that it’s almost painful to read through, or to watch the video for that matter. actually, most country songs seem to depress people, although there are some with happy times, but most seem to be terrible happenings, like one by the guy name blaine or blaze something, called how do you get that lonely, and it’s about him reading about suicide in the newspaper, as it was just another story, as if losing a life wasn’t newsworthy enough, and in the music video it has people singing the lyrics, like family members, the people that are going to his party, i feel like i’ve taken up a lot more time than 60 seconds, is that weird? maybe i have, maybe this is simply something meant to trick me, or maybe it’s meant to tricking me into thinking i’ve been typing for a minute, but i’ve actually been typing for a long period of time, so it can say something like, ‘now did you even pay attention to time?’ and i can say yes, because my eyes continue to wander down to the clock on my laptop bar. the blue thing with the start up menu on the bottom, and i’ve seen that i’m taken up quite a couple minutes already to type, i wonder if i did something wrong, the top of my computer is telling me that additional plugins are required to display all the media on this page, and i fear i’ve been typing this for no reason now, i suppose i’ll have to stop, and look and see what the problem is, theres really no point in me continually dictating what i’m about to do now is there? i mean i’ve exceeded the limit, so no one will read this, and my computer might have frozen so this will never be read, but hell, i don’t know if it’s meant to be read or not. i guess i’ll leave now. whiskey.
She grabbed the whiskey from the shelf and drank away all her thoughts, she drank to forget him and the heart he broke. The bitter taste of whiskey made her forget the world
so at first, based on the last three words, cross, escape, and mission, i thought there might be a subtle religious theme with this here website. but good thing i love my whiskey, because now i know this site is DOWN TO PARTY! 60 seconds was plenty of time for me to be already itching for tomorrows word.
I took a furtive glance at the bottle that was being passed arounf the circle. Finally, it came to rest in my hands, considerably lighter than the last time I had held it. I took a mouthful and coughing, swallowed in down.
“Anything I could get you?” the bartender asked, sensing a stricken life full of rules and regulations.
“I..uh.. I’m only 17, Sir.” he answered, ashamed by the his confession of youth.
“17? Then, what you doin’ here boy?”
“Escapin’ Sir. Running away to freedom.”
“I see, boy. I see. I was just like you as a kid. Did the ‘xact thing you’re doin’. Got me nowhere but where I am, standin’ in front of you today.”
“So, SIr, I guess now you’re gonna give me a big speech about how I should leave here, go back home, and talk my problems through, and get back on track?”
“Nah. You seem to already know all that. What I’m going to do is pour a little whiskey in this glass, and then just walk away. And besides, the world could always use more bartenders.”
Whiskey. I received a bottle from my late grandfather once. It was called Blue Label. There isn’t really anything more behind that story. We weren’t close at all, though I know we really could have been. We were so similar.
It was in a dark bottle as it fell to the ground and crashed. Years of work going into one bottle what kind of life is that ? The distillery stood on the old factory grounds of the Vineyard. It was empty now and just run by the family
I am a women of the night that sometimes loves to fight but only cause the whiskey is in me…Whiskey causes the wind to blow and the wolves to howl and the women of the night to get buck wild…
there was once a time, when i was uncorrupted. hard to believe, i know. long story short: i slept over my cousin’s house, she “mixed us drinks” and i ended up with a glass full of what we kindly named “whiskey cider”. i spent the rest of the night screaming about how i’m “a whiskey kinda girl” and inhaling hummus and crackers. regardless of this fact i haven’t touched the poison since, and last summer she even bought me whiskey flavored condoms. wheeee! moral of the story: apple cider and whiskey don’t mix. neither does alcohol and hummus. amen.
something to drink when your feeling down, typically when something bad happens, or depressing. I don’t recommend using this as a way to suffocate how your feeling though.
whiskers are pretty, people get drunk and whiskey is bad for your health. Why do people bindge and for what? and hangover? great. That sounds really refreshing and lovely. I hate poeple like that.
Uncle Jon was not a heavy drinker; at least, not by Finnley’s books. Uncle Jon was, on the contrary, the designated driver whenever he and his co-workers went out to get a little wasted.
So it was obvious that Finnley would find it a little weird when, the morning after his fight, he woke up to find Uncle Jon sitting at the table, newspaper in one hand and a glass half-full of whiskey in the other.
Whiskey? Haha, I just watched True Blood and one of the characters, beat up and soaking wet, asked for a towel and some whiskey. ‘Cause whiskey will help the situation. i don’t drink whiskey, don’t ever plan to do so.
hello old sailor, how about a big one, he said, looking at me with some kind of theatrical face.
No, i answered, looking back in what i guess was a somewhat discouraging manner, since the smile fell from the mans face and a streak of disappointment took its place as I ordered red wine – in a jar, mind you, but still.
whispering whiskey limericks. the groan that vibrates down her throat and rasps, that clasps on and grasps within a moment where few seconds have time elapse, where my hand has no time to eclipse the space betwixt our gazes… now they’re fixed solely on your prize and I’m paralyzed by a pair of eyes and paranoid by a pair of voices who won’t quit whispering whiskey limericks.
dark, simple breaths littered the air, giving it the scent of sweet poison. Life was not the best. He stared at the glittering stars, wondering about their existence in the sky that hovered so close above him. Gloved hands reached, wanting to touch their brightness.
Whiskey sounds like a cats name. It’s also pretty bad for you. I think that people shouldn’t drink. It clouds the thought process and people end up doing the most retarded bullshit. Whiskey also reminds me of Nevada. The Hotel, Whiskey Pete’s. I have passed there many times in my life.
Start.
Two shots. Running. One shot. Sword fighting. Three shots. Music.
theneverythingisprettymuchonehugeblur.
Vertigo, nausea, and bilebilebile.
My eyes close and all I can hear is your voice singing me to sleep.
Stop.
i prefer vodka, over whiskey, but dosent every teenager “hey rache
what do you want to drink?”
“vodka please.”
i guess its all we know of can get our hands on ive never hear a teen say i want whiskey
vodka beer or mikes hard lemonade . . . . .
you know, I’ve never liked the taste of alcohol but I suppose no one really does. I like cherry whiskey only because it doesn’t taste like booze. man, I sound like such a hick. I may be from the west but i’m smarter than this, I swear.
It had been a long day, a shit of a day in fact. Reaching for the bottle, she picked up the Whiskey, twisted open the top and poured herself a good slug. Raising the glass to her lips, she drank greedily of the amber fluid. “That really hit the spot”.
The golden burn rushed throughout her bones warming every suffering space. She reveled in the temporary warmth and pointed for her partner to pour another.
I wiped the whiskey of her chin with my left hand and hoisted her into the grave with the other.
Mike’s Midnight Tavern held the last dregs of the evening crowd. Steven slammed his whiskey glass on the bar and grumbled, “Hit me again.” “I think you’ve had enough,” Selena said replacing the glass with black coffee as she ten. “It’s not enough,” he replied defeated. “It won’t ever be enough until I find my son.”
He took a sip from the amber glass of whiskey and Gabrielle glared disdainfully. He had always taken a fancy to drinking, but it made getting her point across very difficult. She would tell him and he would probably throw a fit–his anger problems were awful without the liquor, but with he seemed to regress to a child throwing a tantrum.
Whiskey. I don’t drink it. I don’t drink any alcohol really. Yeah, I’m straight laced in that way. What’s the big deal anyway? I don’t honestly think I’m missing out on anything I really need to experience. Make me try a drink, it’s not hard, but if there’s alcohol, I’m just not gonna like the taste enough to bother with the side effects. Don’t see why I should.
Whiskey again, a frightening aspect of life, poison. But one sip can erase all of the terrible happenings in the world. In an instant. I wish I was old enough. Almost. Almost.
are they memories if you can’t remember them?
too many nights where whiskey wiped away thought….
whiskey always makes me think of that one song by brad paisely or whatever and that other girl, dolly parton maybe? who really knows. it’s pretty sad, but a good song to sing i guess, because you can sing both alto parts and soprano parts, it’s really an amazing song though, and it has such a developed story that it’s almost painful to read through, or to watch the video for that matter. actually, most country songs seem to depress people, although there are some with happy times, but most seem to be terrible happenings, like one by the guy name blaine or blaze something, called how do you get that lonely, and it’s about him reading about suicide in the newspaper, as it was just another story, as if losing a life wasn’t newsworthy enough, and in the music video it has people singing the lyrics, like family members, the people that are going to his party, i feel like i’ve taken up a lot more time than 60 seconds, is that weird? maybe i have, maybe this is simply something meant to trick me, or maybe it’s meant to tricking me into thinking i’ve been typing for a minute, but i’ve actually been typing for a long period of time, so it can say something like, ‘now did you even pay attention to time?’ and i can say yes, because my eyes continue to wander down to the clock on my laptop bar. the blue thing with the start up menu on the bottom, and i’ve seen that i’m taken up quite a couple minutes already to type, i wonder if i did something wrong, the top of my computer is telling me that additional plugins are required to display all the media on this page, and i fear i’ve been typing this for no reason now, i suppose i’ll have to stop, and look and see what the problem is, theres really no point in me continually dictating what i’m about to do now is there? i mean i’ve exceeded the limit, so no one will read this, and my computer might have frozen so this will never be read, but hell, i don’t know if it’s meant to be read or not. i guess i’ll leave now. whiskey.
She grabbed the whiskey from the shelf and drank away all her thoughts, she drank to forget him and the heart he broke. The bitter taste of whiskey made her forget the world
whisky whisky i drank em all it made me go craziee you see
youre a panacea to those who are emotionally ill,
youre taste summons all its kind
i want you
can i take you?
so at first, based on the last three words, cross, escape, and mission, i thought there might be a subtle religious theme with this here website. but good thing i love my whiskey, because now i know this site is DOWN TO PARTY! 60 seconds was plenty of time for me to be already itching for tomorrows word.
I took a furtive glance at the bottle that was being passed arounf the circle. Finally, it came to rest in my hands, considerably lighter than the last time I had held it. I took a mouthful and coughing, swallowed in down.
“Anything I could get you?” the bartender asked, sensing a stricken life full of rules and regulations.
“I..uh.. I’m only 17, Sir.” he answered, ashamed by the his confession of youth.
“17? Then, what you doin’ here boy?”
“Escapin’ Sir. Running away to freedom.”
“I see, boy. I see. I was just like you as a kid. Did the ‘xact thing you’re doin’. Got me nowhere but where I am, standin’ in front of you today.”
“So, SIr, I guess now you’re gonna give me a big speech about how I should leave here, go back home, and talk my problems through, and get back on track?”
“Nah. You seem to already know all that. What I’m going to do is pour a little whiskey in this glass, and then just walk away. And besides, the world could always use more bartenders.”
I will kiss the whiskey from your lips and with it will come all the things I need from you…
drink in her h ands
brings more to her eyes
makes her more alive
and I can’t stop it at all
she’s up for grabs
she’ll
When I smell it now, I gag. Because it smells like bad decisions and even worse consequences. And you.
Whiskey. I received a bottle from my late grandfather once. It was called Blue Label. There isn’t really anything more behind that story. We weren’t close at all, though I know we really could have been. We were so similar.
It was in a dark bottle as it fell to the ground and crashed. Years of work going into one bottle what kind of life is that ? The distillery stood on the old factory grounds of the Vineyard. It was empty now and just run by the family
I am a women of the night that sometimes loves to fight but only cause the whiskey is in me…Whiskey causes the wind to blow and the wolves to howl and the women of the night to get buck wild…
“It’s called a whiskey enema. It gets you drunk real quick like.”
“…You put it…in…your butt?”
“Dude, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“Your metaphors are confusing.”
there was once a time, when i was uncorrupted. hard to believe, i know. long story short: i slept over my cousin’s house, she “mixed us drinks” and i ended up with a glass full of what we kindly named “whiskey cider”. i spent the rest of the night screaming about how i’m “a whiskey kinda girl” and inhaling hummus and crackers. regardless of this fact i haven’t touched the poison since, and last summer she even bought me whiskey flavored condoms. wheeee! moral of the story: apple cider and whiskey don’t mix. neither does alcohol and hummus. amen.
something to drink when your feeling down, typically when something bad happens, or depressing. I don’t recommend using this as a way to suffocate how your feeling though.
whiskers are pretty, people get drunk and whiskey is bad for your health. Why do people bindge and for what? and hangover? great. That sounds really refreshing and lovely. I hate poeple like that.
Uncle Jon was not a heavy drinker; at least, not by Finnley’s books. Uncle Jon was, on the contrary, the designated driver whenever he and his co-workers went out to get a little wasted.
So it was obvious that Finnley would find it a little weird when, the morning after his fight, he woke up to find Uncle Jon sitting at the table, newspaper in one hand and a glass half-full of whiskey in the other.
Whiskey? Haha, I just watched True Blood and one of the characters, beat up and soaking wet, asked for a towel and some whiskey. ‘Cause whiskey will help the situation. i don’t drink whiskey, don’t ever plan to do so.
hello old sailor, how about a big one, he said, looking at me with some kind of theatrical face.
No, i answered, looking back in what i guess was a somewhat discouraging manner, since the smile fell from the mans face and a streak of disappointment took its place as I ordered red wine – in a jar, mind you, but still.
h
whispering whiskey limericks. the groan that vibrates down her throat and rasps, that clasps on and grasps within a moment where few seconds have time elapse, where my hand has no time to eclipse the space betwixt our gazes… now they’re fixed solely on your prize and I’m paralyzed by a pair of eyes and paranoid by a pair of voices who won’t quit whispering whiskey limericks.
the whiskey dripped off of his beard as he said, “darlin’, you won’t get anywhere in life with that frown on your face.”
golden brown view of life. warm, welcoming maturing with time and a drop of water.
dark, simple breaths littered the air, giving it the scent of sweet poison. Life was not the best. He stared at the glittering stars, wondering about their existence in the sky that hovered so close above him. Gloved hands reached, wanting to touch their brightness.
Whiskey sounds like a cats name. It’s also pretty bad for you. I think that people shouldn’t drink. It clouds the thought process and people end up doing the most retarded bullshit. Whiskey also reminds me of Nevada. The Hotel, Whiskey Pete’s. I have passed there many times in my life.
Start.
Two shots. Running. One shot. Sword fighting. Three shots. Music.
theneverythingisprettymuchonehugeblur.
Vertigo, nausea, and bilebilebile.
My eyes close and all I can hear is your voice singing me to sleep.
Stop.
he was at the bar drinking. i didnt know whhat it was but i kept staring at it or was it at him. i cant tell. am i in love or alcoholic
i prefer vodka, over whiskey, but dosent every teenager “hey rache
what do you want to drink?”
“vodka please.”
i guess its all we know of can get our hands on ive never hear a teen say i want whiskey
vodka beer or mikes hard lemonade . . . . .
…brainfart.
you know, I’ve never liked the taste of alcohol but I suppose no one really does. I like cherry whiskey only because it doesn’t taste like booze. man, I sound like such a hick. I may be from the west but i’m smarter than this, I swear.
It had been a long day, a shit of a day in fact. Reaching for the bottle, she picked up the Whiskey, twisted open the top and poured herself a good slug. Raising the glass to her lips, she drank greedily of the amber fluid. “That really hit the spot”.
The golden burn rushed throughout her bones warming every suffering space. She reveled in the temporary warmth and pointed for her partner to pour another.
Some thing to melt the pain away.
A shot right now, a pint later today.
Blood shot eyes with matching heels
I’m drowsy and shattered I forget how to feel
You said you had my heart’s key
Now I’m staring down this bottle of whiskey.