Having the Boys Over For, Well, Drunken Revelry!

When I do the night audit at work, there generally comes a time in the evenings (mornings rather) that for all the TV shows I've watched, for all the books I've read and coffee consumed, I get restless.

I get the urge to shut down current activities and DO something. Create something.

Anything really.

The night in question produced a short picture story with the main character inspired by my coworker, who in the end we suspect is eaten by an alligator.

Seeing as how I've got another audit coming up, it behooves me to think of new adventures.

While in the booze section of the local Safeway, I decided to get my main character drunk. Bottle of Cabernet in hand (my spaghetti sauce secret ingredient), I was smacked to a halt by the gleaming bottles of 30 proof and above.

Bottles. Clear bottles, tinted bottles. Faceted bottles cut to impress...and lure you into spending more on looks rather than flavor. More alcohol than needed to give TEN woolly mammoths alcohol poisoning.

I needed to ed-u-ma-kate myself. "I shall have him drink whiskey" I murmured, "and he shall get drunk and possibly pass out in a decorative pond and drown."

This garnered me a fully deserved incredulous look and subsequent sidling away from the skinny Asian boy lugging his 2 liter bottle of Smirnoff melon flavored vodka. I hope he plans on getting help to finish that.

Of all the family names, the Whiskey clan is possibly one of the oldest and most respected of Moonshine County. The County of Tequila sometimes tries to best it in the local version of the Olympics, but it's hard for them to train. All they have to work with are deserts and cacti.

Like Jacob and his 12 sons, the four sons of whiskey are Jim, Jack, Johnny, and James(on). This leads me to believe that Whiskey's first name is James. Similar to the vikings, Jameson, as the eldest, took his name from his father. The triplet younger brothers, unable to have this honor, chose for themselves other names.

Jim Bean, Jack Daniels, and Johnny Walker. Mr. Walker was a great triathlete. Unfortunately, his liver went out on him before he got much older than 47. The others took heed of their brother's misfortune and only drank when they had Wild Turkey ;)

I took mental notes. I bought my wine and gently foaming antibacterial melon scented hand soap. All I need add to the mix now is 1)too little sleep, 2) copious amounts of coffee (diluted with half and half to satisfy my calcium/milk requirement), and 3) a certain twist of the mind that can only happen when I'm wearing my magic tie and vest.

Bring it on.