1. Jim Beam
- Replace With -
Fighting Cock
Face the truth my friend, if you drink Beam you probably aren't too terribly interested in flavor. You probably mix this in the coke bottle as you dash to catch the bus to frat parties so you don't show up sober. After all, swill beer tastes best with a bourbon back. So why not spend $2.00 more per 750mL and put some real kick in your face? Fighting Cock is surprisingly palatable, mixes better, and sets you up for all sorts of double entendre when you serve it to the 19 year old Kappa you're trying to de-pants.
2. Makers Mark ? Year
- Replace With -
Eagle Rare 10 year
I grow weary of Makers Mark's reign as the staple bourbon in America's cabinetry. I have a long storied history with Makers Mark, it was the first beverage I ever had a loooong night with and it was the first booze I decided had no place in my bloodstream (unless given to me for free). The taste is average, let's face it. It is bottled in a 100% subjective manner, as it is removed from the barrels when a group of certified "tasters" all agree that it tastes good enough to be sold. Which, I promise you, is whatever date perfectly optimizes the demand for that month with their available product.
A growing crowd uses it to make Manhattans, something which is the death knell of drinking booze for its flavor, like making a rusty nail out of a particular scotch tacitly admits you don't care what scotch you use (J&B works well). Eagle Rare (for the same cost) provides a rich bourbon full of vanilla oaky flavor. It never gets old, works best when served neat, and makes you feel like an American because its got eagles all over it.
3. Jack Daniels
- Replace With -
Rhum Barbancourt or Weller
Jesus H Christ am I sick with our love affair with Jack. It's prevalent, it's the standard mixer bourbon, everyone sounds real hard saying Jack and Diet, and no one seems to notice that Jack Daniels has systematically lowered its proof in the past years by adding more and more water.
Let's cut the shit, people that drink Jack drink it for one of three reasons
I) Brought up to think that anything other than Jack, when mixed with coke, will detonate
II) Thinks that chicks will think he is hard from drinking Jack neat
III) Enjoys Hangovers
For these three people I have three solutions:
I) Drink Rhum Barbancourt, it is magically delicious and let's face it, you weren't drinking Jack and Cokes because you like the taste of bourbon.
II) Drink Weller. Comparable cost and is the Swiss army knife of bourbon. Wont melt face.
III) Drink Absinthe. Much more enjoyable the night of, similar experience the next day.
4. All of your Gin that isn't Seagrams
- Replace with -
Seagrams
Dear me, another sad truth. The day of the gin martini is finished. In its stead march a deadly array of substitutes, all of which profess a distinct lack of gin. Don't get me wrong, I love gin, but it seems like the only drink that steadfastly refuses to yield to choclatini's and Makers Mark Manhattans is the gin 'n tonic.
Sure, there may be some stubborn Churchill-style martini drinkers and a few ambiguous singapore slingers, but the gin aisle has shrank to nothing much more than the original standards. It certainly cannot keep pace with the marketing diarrhea coming from the vodka aisle. So do yourself a favor, don't waste your money on more expensive gins to make your summer standard gin and tonic. You simply cannot notice the difference, quinine is too powerful a taste to allow anything other than a nuclear bomb of flavor (tequila) through.
5. Aftershock
- Replace with -
Axe to face
Thursday, November 29, 2007
STOP WHINING!
Zoidberg is a government employee. Unlike a government employee, Zoidberg does enjoy doing his job, and doing it well and in a punctual manner. Like a government employee, Zoidberg absolutely despises working on Friday, and graciously accepts programs that let him skip every other Friday to sit around constructing models of old Soviet jets.
That being said, tonight I will watch my glorious Texasmen bring sheer hatred and righteous fury to Brett Favre and his delicious jaw line. Despite Comcast's best efforts to prevent me from watching the third most important NFL game of the season by not airing it, I am resolved to reconnoiter at a house that does not pipe glorious television straight from Lucifer himself. While watching Flozell Adams commit his 22nd false start of the season, I plan on obtaining the finest of bourbons I have not yet imbibed that do not exceed twenty-five dollars from across the Key Bridge in the rough streets of Northwest DC.
It has come to my recent attention that some of the new viewers of the Bourblogger are upset by the current lack of booze related posts (1 for 2). Someone also made the point that while bourbon and objectiveness go well together, as does fitness and objectiveness, they unfortunately do not obey the transitive property. Apparently, bourbon is an
"Old timey (?) southern drink meant for relaxation. Slower times and easing yourself from the fast pace of life. A sweet beverage enjoyed while in subtle contemplation of life and puppies."
-Some Old Woman
Fie on this! Bourbon is a swirling maelstrom of complexity! A drink that may be considered the titular ruler of all things southern, but below all the maudlin labeling with smoking grandads on the bottle lies the burning desire of wanton pleasure and superiority! Surely such a thing can be directly...nay...SIMULTANEOUSLY enjoyed while clean and pressing large rounds of iron through the ceiling!
The truth of the matter is, creating a feeling of satisfaction is something we must strive for as our most pertinent moral purpose. Whether it is drinking a fine adult beverage that I purchase with my well earned money, or enjoying the repose that follows a superior lift, the feeling is the same. Satisfaction and pleasure. It is the purpose of Zoidberg to make accessible the things of booze and exercise so that our readership, however misguided, can see the outlet of enjoyment and pleasure where previously they had not seen it.
That being said, tonight I will watch my glorious Texasmen bring sheer hatred and righteous fury to Brett Favre and his delicious jaw line. Despite Comcast's best efforts to prevent me from watching the third most important NFL game of the season by not airing it, I am resolved to reconnoiter at a house that does not pipe glorious television straight from Lucifer himself. While watching Flozell Adams commit his 22nd false start of the season, I plan on obtaining the finest of bourbons I have not yet imbibed that do not exceed twenty-five dollars from across the Key Bridge in the rough streets of Northwest DC.
It has come to my recent attention that some of the new viewers of the Bourblogger are upset by the current lack of booze related posts (1 for 2). Someone also made the point that while bourbon and objectiveness go well together, as does fitness and objectiveness, they unfortunately do not obey the transitive property. Apparently, bourbon is an
"Old timey (?) southern drink meant for relaxation. Slower times and easing yourself from the fast pace of life. A sweet beverage enjoyed while in subtle contemplation of life and puppies."
-Some Old Woman
Fie on this! Bourbon is a swirling maelstrom of complexity! A drink that may be considered the titular ruler of all things southern, but below all the maudlin labeling with smoking grandads on the bottle lies the burning desire of wanton pleasure and superiority! Surely such a thing can be directly...nay...SIMULTANEOUSLY enjoyed while clean and pressing large rounds of iron through the ceiling!
The truth of the matter is, creating a feeling of satisfaction is something we must strive for as our most pertinent moral purpose. Whether it is drinking a fine adult beverage that I purchase with my well earned money, or enjoying the repose that follows a superior lift, the feeling is the same. Satisfaction and pleasure. It is the purpose of Zoidberg to make accessible the things of booze and exercise so that our readership, however misguided, can see the outlet of enjoyment and pleasure where previously they had not seen it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Driving Green Begets False Moral Imperatives
Following my recent banishment from www.traineo.com (see link for poorly channeled John Galt speech : Throw off the shackle ) I have found my outlet for attempting to spread common fitness sense to the masses has been decidedly cut off. Not that you can't continue preaching to those deaf to your ravings, but it lost some of its mystique when every response was met with meager excuses citing genetics, lack of time, strenuous jobs, and terrorists.
I was sitting in my car at a red light the other day, and as I sat in silence (car is turd-shaped hybrid from 03) I noticed that the LCD readout currently read an accurate measurement of zero miles to the gallon. This is wholly correct, since I wasn't moving and the gas-motor was off the fact that I wasn't wasting precious bits of dead dinosaur didn't matter. However, the instant I started moving under electric power I would achieve an infinite fuel economy. In fact, the instant I started moving at any speed I would get an infinite MPG on the simple fact that I would consume no gas. It temporarily amazed me that the connection between zero and the infinite was related by such a small quantity, in this case any speed whatsoever.
This long-winded metaphor is exactly how I would classify an overwhelming majorities pursuit of exercise. People believe that the connection between the zero (never exercising, overweight, etc.) and the infinite (Arnold) can be interrelated with the application of any small quantity. Unfortunately for you, but fortunate for the makers of ellipticals, recumbent bikes, and other useless pieces of equipment...this is not the case.
I made a comment in the traineo diatribe that the biggest reason so many Americans are unable to achieve their fitness goals is their own mental inertia. Their own mental turpitude hinders them so that they try and place accountability in the hands of trainers, gyms, equipment, and fad regimens rather than their own mind. It is easy at first to seek the comfort of placing all responsibility, obligation, and duty in the hands of someone else. It means you gain all the glory if you miraculously achieve, and you losing nothing if you do not succeed.
It is therefore a moral imperative, before your hand touches the erg for the first time or you grasp the olympic bar before learning to squat, that you realize that the source of all your achievement and failure derives from the impetus provided by your own mind. No one else.
Now, so that you don't get too bored, here is a video of a 56 year old woman squatting 540 lbs.
I was sitting in my car at a red light the other day, and as I sat in silence (car is turd-shaped hybrid from 03) I noticed that the LCD readout currently read an accurate measurement of zero miles to the gallon. This is wholly correct, since I wasn't moving and the gas-motor was off the fact that I wasn't wasting precious bits of dead dinosaur didn't matter. However, the instant I started moving under electric power I would achieve an infinite fuel economy. In fact, the instant I started moving at any speed I would get an infinite MPG on the simple fact that I would consume no gas. It temporarily amazed me that the connection between zero and the infinite was related by such a small quantity, in this case any speed whatsoever.
This long-winded metaphor is exactly how I would classify an overwhelming majorities pursuit of exercise. People believe that the connection between the zero (never exercising, overweight, etc.) and the infinite (Arnold) can be interrelated with the application of any small quantity. Unfortunately for you, but fortunate for the makers of ellipticals, recumbent bikes, and other useless pieces of equipment...this is not the case.
I made a comment in the traineo diatribe that the biggest reason so many Americans are unable to achieve their fitness goals is their own mental inertia. Their own mental turpitude hinders them so that they try and place accountability in the hands of trainers, gyms, equipment, and fad regimens rather than their own mind. It is easy at first to seek the comfort of placing all responsibility, obligation, and duty in the hands of someone else. It means you gain all the glory if you miraculously achieve, and you losing nothing if you do not succeed.
It is therefore a moral imperative, before your hand touches the erg for the first time or you grasp the olympic bar before learning to squat, that you realize that the source of all your achievement and failure derives from the impetus provided by your own mind. No one else.
Now, so that you don't get too bored, here is a video of a 56 year old woman squatting 540 lbs.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
In My Sandbox Hell Has Few Pages
I'll spare the canned introduction. This blog comes at the suggestion from a friend that I obviously drink too much. His suggestion bears some truth, but not in the conventional manner. Thankfully my dipsomania is often justified by continued assertion that I always drink with company, even if these associations arrive via XBOX live.
Welcome to the visitors, come see the verbiage that is the literary manifestation of my hair loss.
Welcome to the visitors, come see the verbiage that is the literary manifestation of my hair loss.
Knob Creek Line, Zoidberg Answers
The first post that pretends to have content and casts aspersions on the world comes from my dear friend C.R. Fortynine. Fortynine phrased his question as such:
Might as well pass along the pressing question of the day: Woodford v. Baker v. Bookers v. Basil Hayden. To me, these are all the solid second tier bourbons but Basil is a clear winner. That's likely because I like mine smooth and soft. I could see a convincing argument being made for a meatier, more acerbic bourbon like one of the others. Do you care to make that argument?
I also like mine smooth and soft rather than rock hard and turgid. I agree with the choice of Basil Hayden completely. The Knob Creek line is a bell curve of enjoyment for me, with basil at the center and knob --- baker/booker at either end. Knob creek seems unrefined and brutish to me and I feel like the goal for Bakers/Bookers was just to see if they could make something 140 proof palatable. They can if drinking 140 proof bourbon was my modus operandi, but if I want to get faced and not feel it going down I'll just have 14 tequila sours.
With that in mind, Basil is the clear winner for reasons you just mentioned. It is smooth and woodsy without any hint of harshness, both in the initial flavor and in aftertaste. Now, BB is pretty good for the salient fact that it conceals the truth that it is torpedo fuel and it only burns initially, but it just isn't my bag. People that say they like it and you are too much of a pussy to handle it generally have tiny cocks. If I want to set my face ablaze with high octane booze, I won't stop because it burns. But this is bourbon, a sipping delight that says you like life a little sweeter than the surly scotch drinker. You don't mind taking more than 14 seconds to drink your drink, and when you want to get faced...you'll stop drinking bourbon rather than trying to combine the two elements.
I'll tell you something I found the other day at the ABC that surprised me, Sam Houston 12 (or 10?) year. Smooth tasting, yet big and expansive, just like the great state of Texas from which this drink derives its namesake. It wasn't expensive either. That also happens to be my problem with BB, $45-55. What the shit? It simply is not that good. When I buy BB I feel like I am buying Johnny Walker Black or Gold. Most of my money pays for marketing, the name, and that stupid wooden box it comes in. Who gives 2 shits about what the presentation of the bottle is? The Rip Van Winkle 23 year I recently acquired was nothing more than glass, a label, and fake velvet. Why? because what is inside is what counts unless you are a vodka distributor selling to 17 year olds that like the shiny stainless steel on their bottles.
Mmmmmmmm. Tastes like socialism.
Might as well pass along the pressing question of the day: Woodford v. Baker v. Bookers v. Basil Hayden. To me, these are all the solid second tier bourbons but Basil is a clear winner. That's likely because I like mine smooth and soft. I could see a convincing argument being made for a meatier, more acerbic bourbon like one of the others. Do you care to make that argument?
I also like mine smooth and soft rather than rock hard and turgid. I agree with the choice of Basil Hayden completely. The Knob Creek line is a bell curve of enjoyment for me, with basil at the center and knob --- baker/booker at either end. Knob creek seems unrefined and brutish to me and I feel like the goal for Bakers/Bookers was just to see if they could make something 140 proof palatable. They can if drinking 140 proof bourbon was my modus operandi, but if I want to get faced and not feel it going down I'll just have 14 tequila sours.
With that in mind, Basil is the clear winner for reasons you just mentioned. It is smooth and woodsy without any hint of harshness, both in the initial flavor and in aftertaste. Now, BB is pretty good for the salient fact that it conceals the truth that it is torpedo fuel and it only burns initially, but it just isn't my bag. People that say they like it and you are too much of a pussy to handle it generally have tiny cocks. If I want to set my face ablaze with high octane booze, I won't stop because it burns. But this is bourbon, a sipping delight that says you like life a little sweeter than the surly scotch drinker. You don't mind taking more than 14 seconds to drink your drink, and when you want to get faced...you'll stop drinking bourbon rather than trying to combine the two elements.
I'll tell you something I found the other day at the ABC that surprised me, Sam Houston 12 (or 10?) year. Smooth tasting, yet big and expansive, just like the great state of Texas from which this drink derives its namesake. It wasn't expensive either. That also happens to be my problem with BB, $45-55. What the shit? It simply is not that good. When I buy BB I feel like I am buying Johnny Walker Black or Gold. Most of my money pays for marketing, the name, and that stupid wooden box it comes in. Who gives 2 shits about what the presentation of the bottle is? The Rip Van Winkle 23 year I recently acquired was nothing more than glass, a label, and fake velvet. Why? because what is inside is what counts unless you are a vodka distributor selling to 17 year olds that like the shiny stainless steel on their bottles.
Mmmmmmmm. Tastes like socialism.
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