By Whiskey

Hello folks! It’s me, your oldest spirit friend, Whiskey, the official booze of the US of A and the number one cause of drunken fisticuffs since 1804. And I’m here with an important public service announcement. As of today, March 14th, 2018, I am officially requesting that my name no longer be mentioned in song. It’s been a good run and sure we’ve had some great musical times together, but like all good things/drinks, it must come to pass.  

Let’s be honest; my relationship with music has been on the rocks (whiskey pun hehe) for quite a while now. Still, we’ve managed to make some great work together. Anyone remember Chumbawamba But 21st century me is aged and fully matured now, and wants nothing more than to live out my remaining years in quiet alcoholic anonymity in a white-oak barrel in the Florida Keys. Yet, I can’t go ten seconds without hearing some Tony Lama boot-clad open mic hipster hillbilly sing my name like it’s the only Godforsaken word left in the rhyming dictionary. Yes, as it turns out, you CAN have too much of a good thing, even when that good thing is me, America’s greatest all-time beverage. Sure I’m good for a couple of shots, but if you keep it up, pretty soon you’re hurling ethnic slurs at the kindly neighborhood bartender and using your broken pool cue to fend off a trio of campus policemen. Everything in moderation.

I might have been able to soldier on another year or two allowing this whiskey lyric trend to continue unabated, but that was before I heard Red Stinton and His Potable Libations on 97.3 The Porch this morning singing their brand new red-dirt regional hit, “Whiskey This, Whiskey That, Let’s All Toss The Whiskey Back”. I’ll be honest; when my rye-infused eardrums encountered that, something in me finally snapped. Just look at this lyrical hooch poo:

Whiskey to my right

Whiskey to my left

Whiskey on my brain

Whiskey on my breath

Another round of whiskey

Around round or three

Take a shot of whiskey

Whiskey if you please

That single solitary verse mentions my name seven times! What the fuck man?!? Are you THAT obsessed with me or are you so ill-prepared to write a song that the only two English syllables you can successfully string together are whisk and key? It’s almost like I become a placeholder for writer’s block itself. “Hmmm, I can’t seem to find a word that fits here. But you know what everybody on Earth, especially in Ireland, likes? Whiskey! Yes, that’ll do the trick.” Wrong! Thanks to you buttwipes I’m now more played out than Johnny Cash’s middle finger.

And it’s not even just song lyrics anymore. Is it just me or is every other singer’s voice suddenly being described as “whiskey soaked”? What the Christ does that even mean? Do you ever hear a sound engineer enthusiastically shouting into the isolation booth, “Really liking those frappuccino-soaked vocals Karen!” Or “Whoa, those are some insane Faygo-soaked vocals Violent J!” Of course not. As if whiskey has an actual sound other than the sound of your Stepdad losing his job…

At first, I have to admit, it was fun being mentioned in so many songs. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be name-checked by everyone from Muddy Waters to Thin Lizzy to Post Malone? I was living the high life. Royalty checks, critic’s accolades, corporate sponsorships. Hell, people were even buying me drinks and I AM a drink! But after hearing my name screeched out for the 100 billionth time by a fifth-rate Kid Rock cover band, I feel confident in saying, I’m ready for the next chapter of my rotgut life.

Look, I don’t blame anyone really. Well, maybe Toby Keith, but he and I have been quarrelin’ ever since I got his sister knocked up in 1984. I don’t want to get into it. Here are the facts. I taste great. I make you feel good. I can give you the confidence you never dreamed you thought you could have. Who wouldn’t want to celebrate that? But I think people tend to forget, I’m also kind of a piece of shit. I’ve wrecked trucks. I’ve ruined marriages. I’ve ruined second marriages. I made your Uncle Terry think he could lift a futon all by himself. So let’s all remember that the next time your fiddle player brings a half-formed chorus to the band. Until then, just leave me the hell alone. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in Scotland. Pretending to be Scotch.

Sincerely,

Whiskey