"So, do you realize that you have a Visible Panty Line... The Dreaded VPL?"

That is how I decided to toast the beginning of my weekend... Well, that and the fifth of Gentleman Jack I decided to take a nice blind swat at guzzling this past Friday night.

And while I am on the topic, I must take a moment to relay my opinions on what has been known to many a wife beater as the 'water of life'. I am an experienced Jack consumer. I will not claim that I am a connoisseur... Mostly because those that self-proclaim themselves to be connoisseurs walk up to a ditzy blonde with their pink collars popped, discreetly enjoy taking it in the ass, and lift weights way too much.

"Pink is the new black!" Give me a Goddamned break.

But I've downed more than my share of this water of life in my time. I've been broke and bought the standard black label... without knowing a damned thing about it, picked up the green label Jack, and have not known the difference... thought that I would be fancy and splurge for the Gentleman Jack (Which only seems to turn me into more of an asshole).. and picked up the bottled Jack that has a glowing halo emanating from the corked neck.

The little known secret behind the single barrel is that much like a run of fat chicks, you can get into a terribly satisfying rut. If you come across a run of bottles from a bad barrel, then you're plugged for dropping almost half a C-Note to get something that you will not admit is second rate, and proceed to enjoy the stunningly endowed and bosomy alcohol content.

"A mouth is a mouth, is it not?" Think carefully next time this is ultimate question, the final puzzler standing between you and Siddhartha's Nirvana.

And as I tasted (Swilled) my Gentleman Jack... I thought... and thought... and thought... About the last fat girl I boned.. and thought a little more about how much I'd rather be sucking down a nice jigger of Knob Creek.

Because, The Gentleman Jack is never getting past first base.. With the Knob.. at least I'm getting a little bit of the sensually invigorating Slob.

And By The Way... Women do not appreciate being told they're sporting bloomers. No matter how much you tell them of your fetish for the Prarie look.

Gook-YA