My Weak End of the Bargain - II

Dance with the one that brought you. Gwen's 40th birthday party extravaganza was at her friends' G&L's.  As a good extravaganza going guest, I brought host and hostess gifts.  One was a bottle of of Pinot Gris that I had altered slightly to have Gwen's full name on it (Almost gave out the last name there, my apologies!)

The other bottle was, well, the DEVIL.

I can't seem to remember the brand.  But it was a simple bottle.  White label.  Black cap. 126 proof rye spirits.  (2/3 rye, 1/3 malted barley.)  The bottle was a wealth of information.  It included the types of woods used to smoke the malt.  The size of the production batch run.  Made somewhere in Virginia.  The distillation date.

It was distilled on 2009-01-26, if I recall correctly.  Not BOTTLED,  DESTILLED!  I guess that whole "aging" stuff is for sissies.  It was completely clear, like vodka.  Went down like tequila's ugly, meaner cousin that no one speaks to at the family reunions, but who shows up anyway just to piss people off.  Smooth it wasn't.  Probably as close to legal "moonshine" as you're going to find.

But, you bring it, you drink it.

I was outside when the hostess came over to inform me that they'd cracked the bottle open, and that it was becoming the "Dare Ya" drink.  I went in to have a shot.

I was not handed a shot glass.

The shot glasses seemed to all be in use, but in fact, just sitting there, so I was given a highball glass instead.  Did I mention 126 proof?  The shot I had poured for me was tiny and sissy, and just barely covered the bottom of the glass.  No.  Hit that again, harder.  If I'm going to do a shot that everyone is daring me to do, I want to get some props for doing it right.  In the end, the shot was 3 or 4 ounces.  It was a touch higher than where I would pour the rum in a rum & Coke.

And with that, I tossed that bad boy back.  It hit my taste buds like kerosene, but I think I avoided 'the wince', and then let it go down the gullet.  Somewhere along the line, the kerosene caught fire.  Now, I've had whiskey the warmed as it went down, and that was a pleasant feeling.  This burned and scalded it's way down, napalm-esque, clinging to and burning my esophagus all the way down 'til it hit the pool of run & diet Pepsi in my belly, and the fire stopped.  I had heartburn all day Sunday and into Monday from it.

Over the course of the evening, I had probably 3 or 4 or 5 more of the shot glass sized shots.  Odd how the memory gets a little fuzzy on those details.  One thing I know for a fact:  Gwen didn't touch the stuff.  H did her shot like it was water.

And as wicked nasty as that stuff was, I can't help but wonder, "How would it be COLD?"