In only the 2nd of many product reviews we intend to bring you, may I present: Löwenbräu. Yes, that Löwenbräu. Imported Bavarian beer. Beer your parents drank. This beer is the surprise hit of 2008 with our bunch of sots. Just like that old friend who you haven’t seen or heard from in forever that shows up and rocks the house and makes you wonder how you ever drifted apart, this is that beer-friend. Willkommen zu Hause!! Several weeks ago while sitting at the bar with Lord von Lord I ordered one on impulse and I’m glad I did. Soon enough we were both drinking them down and recalling the nostalgic jingle and recreating unknown scenes of the 1970’s as our elders tippled this fine brew. Just this past weekend we met at the bar and ordered ‘em up aplenty. We had a blast as always and of course were obnoxious to boot. (sings) “Here’s to good friends Tonight is something special…”

On with the review; first their’s from the official website:

When trying to impress a beautiful Fraulein, order her a Löwenbräu. Once it arrives at the table, lean in close and say: Did you know…Löwenbräu is a traditional Munich-style beer that’s exclusively imported from the Löwenbräu brewery in Munich. Löwenbräu Original Lager beer is made from the highest quality ingredients giving it a superb natural head, golden color, distinctive, refreshing flavor and a pleasant, enjoyable aftertaste. Brewed according to the Bavarian “Reinheitsgebot” (Purity Law) dating back to 1516.

Yes, a very professional, accurate description. They even use sexual motivation as an incentive to learn more about their fine beer just like we do!

Now my review:
I agree. What can I say better than they do? It is natural, golden, distinctive, refreshing flavor with a pleasant, enjoyable aftertaste. Okay it also:

  • Goes well with shots (even Jagermeister)
  • Tastes better than any domestic macro brew
  • Goes with whatever you’ve been drinking all day and night to keep the good times rolling
  • May even impress an American girl, but I doubt it
  • Did I mention the catchy jingle?
I encourage all of you to go out and drink this fine-ass beer this weekend, especially if you haven't tried it before. But I warn you, once that damn jingle gets in your mind it is impossible to ignore. And why would you ignore it? Tonight is something special. The beer you'll pour must be something more. So tonight, let it be Löwenbräu!


Go piss up a rope, Aerosmith

So...Steven Tyler checks into rehab. Again. Let's see...sixty years old, positive Hep test, incredible hypocrite douche. Yep, that sums it up.

Allow me to expound on my interest in this seemingly sad story: His Lordship hates Aerosmith. Not all of it, in fact everything up to and including Toys in the Attic is pretty sharp. However, during the late 80's this once relevant band started going down the proverbial toilet. Pink? Love in an Elevator? That goddamn song and video with Alicia Silverstone?

All shit. Complete drek from a band that should have gracefully bowed out and partied it up in private. You've noticed that while this is not primarily a music blog, we do have some heated conversations about music from time to time. Mackey and King Randal's neverending struggle over Van Halen and The Police is the most well known. Most everyone has a conventionally popular band that they hate. His Lordship knows people that cannot abide AC/DC, Boston, The Eagles and so forth. It's cool.

I listen to ESPN 1180 AM most of the day in my office. Apart from the excessive "Don't trespass on the railroad" commercial tragedies, the most repetitive bit of patter is Joe Perry and Douchebag Tyler lecturing us about the ills of drinking and driving for those faggots at RADD. The hubris on these fucking guys. You live a lifestyle of profligate drinking for decades and now you lecture me? Eat a bowl of dick, hypocrites...good luck getting cured off the Wild Turkey or vikes or whatever the hell it is you pack up your ass for jollies, Tyler.


This is rich. Now, Tyler is saying a foot injury is the reason for his rehab. What an ass.

Bar Peeve 1.0

Kids in the damn bar.

Okay, first let me say that I have never had a saintly tongue. Nor does anyone associated with this online tub of shiesse (just to be clear though Mackey and King Randal are far worse with their profanity) for that matter. It is said that profanity is the inevitable linguistic crutch of the inarticulate motherfucker. Then again, PJ O'Rourke counters with the assertion that profanity enlivens otherwise bland opinions.

We tend to congregate with the latter school of thought.

Having said all this, allow his Lordship the time to rail on his number one bar pisser-offer: Children in the damn bar. Look, we all know that responsible parents can toss back a few(many) and that they still can be good parents. For what it is worth, procreation is recognized as essential by the collective authors here. However, those of us lucky enough or unlucky enough not to have kids(depending on what fucking school you come from) will tell you that the barfly lifestyle is conducive and compatible most with not having the little shits around.

When I am knee deep in blood and whiskey, the last thing I am thinking about when I rant on for hours is the little bastard running around the foosball table after nine bells. Get his or her ass out of there if you don't want him or her hearing about: pussy, cock, bitch, whore, bastard, fuckface, fucker, fucking fucker, whore/prick of doom, asshole, prick of the year, and countless references to what is known to the hip kids on Al Gores internet as "butt secks"

Seriously, do you expect me to tone down my hatred/rage/joy/mirth by keeping a firing solution on your hellish drop all night? Get fucking real. Take them home before DCS gets a slurred phone call from the bar. One more thing, the little rat bastard needs some exercise.


Don't Drink and Dive

So much fun stuff happened this past holiday weekend that I can hardly keep up with it all. We drank a lot. We ate a lot. We laughed a lot. However one event stands out on its own, and that would be my idiotic ass diving into a 3' pool and taking half the skin off my nose, lip and chin. Adding insult to my injuries is the fact I knew it was only 3' - 4' deep and I did it anyway. The scars really aren't that bad and have mostly healed already. My damaged reputation may never heal, especially around our group of arseholes. I guess I possiby deserve this after all the recent talk of Joe Leduc's "blood oath".


Maui Wowie

Ho! Despite my best efforts to self-implode overseas, I have returned to the C48 with many observations and reflections about the bucholic Hawaiian Islands.

In my chronicles, I have tried to maintain consistancy but given my crude notes and even more baffling recorded memos on my almighty cell phone talky box it's all a crapshoot at this point. Here goes.

Flight departs Knoxvegas to Atlanta...travelling with the rents and other family so I am nervous about getting an eye opener at the early flight. The point is moot, bar closed at McGhee Tyson and the regional flight literally mocks you with the lack of beverage service. Arrival at Hartsfield(a layer of Faustian Hell akin to O'Hare, the lowest pit of betrayer's ice) is also too early to get good and tucked, but traveling back in a week's time will allow me to scout out potential bars to dull the the boredom during layovers.

Flying to Salt Lake City begins the trip in earnest...Delta offers drink service in first class, but showing self-control I decide to wait. After all I am traveling back several time zones and who wants to travel to the State of Mormon needing beverages only to find 3.2% misery. Feh.

Delta flight to Kahului Maui. Now we're cooking with gas. Cocktails are gratis in first class, and the Lord gets his drink going in full force. After loudly informing everyone in first and business class that Jack Daniels is a traitor's drink, I settle into Woodford Reserve minis. Drink by drink, brick by brick I build a wall of strength to keep the sober wolves at bay. Honestly, homos, why are you up with the elite if you aren't going to booze it up? Five drinks later and some pretty pills, I am sloshed and staring out my window at miles and miles of blue. Damn, that's thirsty work. I get number six on the tray when the pilot announces gleefully we'll be setting down early due to a healthy tailwind. Great news for 99.9% of the passengers, bad news for the Lord as he quaffs his bourbon on the rocks. By the way, straight drinks rather than mixed cocktails or beer is the only practical way to booze on the plane, lest you spend time in line for the head. I prefer the front end of drinking rather than spending all day pissing in a glorified chemical crapper.

After landing and settling into the first of my two digs,

The Lord realizes he needs to acclimate to his new surroundings and the heat. So hydration will be the watchword of the day. That lasts 20 minutes and two bottled waters. So I am off to the grocer, whereupon I find that Hawaii's liberal liquor laws allow booze to be purchased with such staples as rice, pop tarts, and various stewed meats. Ok, that's more of a Turkish thing.

Around 9:51 AM local time, I decide that I would like to find some literal Maui Wowie to make the trip complete. Alas, where to search? Who is trustworthy? What are the rules here?

10:17 AM local time-Maui Wowie obtained. Here, quite easily in fact:

The coincidence is palpable. If you are asked for the time, the locals are holding. Just sayin'

Tuesday night, the Lord and his few cousins and cousines that consume the brew are out and about. We have some Longboard Lagers at a local Sportspage Bar on South Kihei Hwy and I noticed something. The folk of Maui love tacos. There were three separate joints within earshot of the bar. Maui Taco, Tortillas of Maui, Taco Up Your Ass in Maui(a franchise with origins in Taco Up Your Ass, Buenos Aires Argentina). Who knew?

Wednesday, after moving my accomodations to the Grand Wailea in Makena

This place fucking rocks. Huge bill to pay, but totally worth it to ditch the sober folk. They have thirteen pools, including the always splendid swim-up bar. The primary restaurant and bar is Humukumu's. Actually the name consists of 30 plus characters, an anomaly in a phonetic alphabet of limited consonants and stunted vowels. The bar is literally an aquarium, salt water of course and surrounded by fountains with terracota dolphins and semi-naked islander gods and goddesses. Some native fish in there as well, but I might have hallucinated that part. The Maui Wowie is strong with this one, some scarred fart in a samurai helmet once said.
Spectacular open air eatery...and of course, the sun sets just so...the pools and fountains become sublime examples of simple majesty.

The real kicker is that my bar tab was transferred to the table(thus becoming the always sought after cadged drink) when the father and mother of the groom picked up the tab. Scallops for appetizers, spiny lobster(still in season) and a filet tartar set the night off wonderfully. Wine from Oregon, more whiskey...damn, this place truly is God's own backyard. I swore I could have seen fireworks. Oh, right there were...

Granted, I am so torched at this point I thought Nagumo's carrier's were at it again, and that Commander Genda himself was leading Zeke's to strafe my vacation. Not so, but fireworks are closely regulated here so offshore boats are the preferred platform. It was really spectacular and when combined with the scantily clad women, a real delight...till I passed out on the beach and try as I might could not get to my high dollar room. Fuck. Where is the concierge when you need him? No doubt fucking the Phillipino maid in a closet/conjecture-editorial license/

The wedding itself was Thursday morning and the hammer of Thor was pounding in my skull. Surprisingly I did not hurl in Makena Cove nor on the Road to Hana, but I did seek to defile this blog's prominent Hawaiian friend by micturating on just about everything. Oh yeah, drank some weak ass champagne that was lukewarm after the service. Sorry for the low mention, but the Lord despises that merde'

That evening, we made the long ass drive to Lahaina on the northern end of Maui for a proper Luau. At first, I was skeptical but soon even I was convinced this was the place to be. At nearly a hundred bucks a head these fackers pile in 6-800 people a night and rake in the dough, with gratis drinks to a point. Culture, wickedness, lust, and pagan idolatry all rolled into one. Sumbitches over there never heard "thou shalt make no graven image" memo that's for sure.

Let's get to the tits shall we?

There are quite possibly only two other sets of breasts in the world more splendid than what I saw that night, and have decided that coconut bras should be brought to the mainland. More on that when I see how that turns out. Seriously though, I highly recommend this luau. Fine swine, steak, and other local cuisine that will really do the trick.

On the way back, we passed some po-po setting up a roadblock. Good thing I wasn't driving. Flat beer and Mai Tai's still will get you in heap big trouble.

Friday we hopped by helo over to Oahu...very Magnum PI-ish. On a serious note, the trip to Pearl Harbor demands the utmost in respect so no drinking reviews there. Just solemnity and sense of greater honor to those that will never sip a beer on this earth again.

The Missouri was impressive though, a fine example of the killpower we drunk Americans can produce. Only the nation of misfits and boozers can make 16/50's and CIWS towers.

The next time someone smarts off about being able to drink enough to float a battleship, tell them to piss up a rope.After Pearl, we headed into Honolulu proper and took in some of the local fare and sights. Goethe tells us that where there is much light there is also much shadow. Truth. It's a big town, and some parts are quite hideous and slummy. Even in paradise, there are the dregs.

Now, world famous Waikiki Beach is another equation entirely. Dior, Gucci, Armani shops all along a main drag that is only feet away from some of the most gorgeous, if crowded beaches in the free world.
Then of course, there is also the little fact of meeting my future wife...hold fast sublime creature, daddy will return for you one day.

Holy shit. Holy f'n shit. By the way, this was a very important moment in my 35 winters. Trust me, it was.

I can't really recommend drinking on the cheap in Waikiki...it's not going to happen. Even the token beers and drinks I had at The Cheesecake Factory required a bank note.

To wrap up, finally my drunk ass gets back to the Kahului airport and I am ready to depart...having a couple of hours before boarding I of course get tanked in the bar like any decent red-blooded American. The Slav they had behind the bar offered me another Longboard and mentioned their special of shots for 3 bucks with the purchase of a beer. Clearly he was a little confused when I asked if it was well drinks only. He gestures vaguely to everything and I proceed to clobber his Knob Creek bottle. Big time. Well done Ivan, no doubt your boss has canned your shit by now, but you put my ass on the plane in fine fettle. So much so that I had one drink on the plane before passing out. In first class, the attendent pretty much tucks you in...or I assume so, since my drink was gone and the tray table was up.

Anyway, more of the same boozing on the way over repeated itself on the trip home...and the scouting at Hartsfield paid off at a Sam Adams themed bar. Flat broke at this point, put two imperial pints later I am ready to get back to Knoxvegas.

Whew. Blogging it was more tiring than actually living it. To all the readers(all six of you) get your ass over to Hawaii or I'll kick you in the shins. And so, the sun sets on this tale.


Tora, Tora, Tora

Against my better judgement, I'm posting a entry on virtually zero sleep. Combine that with 3 days relative sobriety, jetlag that would make Einstein's musings on relativity stand up on end, and a night drive back from the coast and it is like I am drunk.

Ironically, the authors here have a gentleman's agreement to post sober. Weird yes on a blog dedicated to drinking, but we all think that the clarity and pain of the morning after is a better mental state to edify the public.

I'll be posting soon about Maui, obviously with reviews of local joints, airline/airport commentary, thoughts on Hawaii law enforcement, and plenty of pictures. Stay tuned or fuck off.


Tuesday Hangover

Okay I’ll make this brief since I’m a day late…

Friday – Tag constructed a shelf in his kegerator with the capacity to hold a ½ barrel keg and we put it to the test. The “testers” were me, Tag and King Randall. Yep, it worked like a charm and we put a hurtin’ on that beer. Or maybe it put a hurtin’ on us? What was originally planned as dinner and a few beers turned into dinner, a shitload of beer, an extended period in the Opium Den II, listening to the Rat Pack, and passing out on his couch overnight. (and I didn’t even get a goddamned blanket!)

Saturday was a lazy affair of nothingness and couch recovery.

I received several calls from KRTI and others trying to lure me out to another early day of drunkenness but I slept through most of them and ignored the rest until I was ready to go. Upon my late arrival at the bar I discover KRTI has already been “slowed down” and we have to go to another bar. Great shots! We indulged. We misbehaved. We were generally lewd and I somehow stumbled home without serious injury.
Sunday Feast was a wash. We had planned to cook an enormous feast of steaks, hang by the pool at the penthouse, and drink like fishes. Instead we welcomed Lord von Lord back from Hawaii and took it rather easy. A few beers at Tags, some shots at the bar, and called it a weekend.


Thursday's Excuse & The Mic

Monday Hangover will have to wait...

This weekend got an early start when we decided to go out on Thursday to whoop it up for no particular reason. It was rainy and cold, Sundown in the City was relocated, and there weren’t throngs of people crowding the streets or bars – a perfect scenario for some solid drinking.

The night got off to a bad start. I had made plans with Tag to have some drinks indoors before going out, what we refer to as “front loading” (thank you Modern Drunkard Magazine). I laid down to rest for a few minutes before he arrived and went straight to sleep. Not a problem usually, but I had left my phone in another room and didn’t hear it ring when he called to be let into my place. So I fucked up that part of the evening and collected about 10,000 prick points for my nap. I blame the couch. Later I end up meeting King Randall The Insufferable downtown at our local spot. We were joined by a few of the usual suspects and before long we are already using “the mic” to start trouble. When I say “the mic” I am referring to our imaginary microphone styled in the 1970s era – the long, skinny kind most people would associate with Bob Barker of Price is Right fameOurs is similar but we modeled ours after Memphis wrestling announcing legend Lance “Banana Nose” Russell seen here with longtime color announcer / weatherman Dave Brown
Okay, so ours is really just a couple of clear, plastic straws with a cocktail stirrer attached at the top. I regret not having a photo of this technologically advanced instrument to share with you. We almost always follow the wrestling genre of conversation by invoking past “rasslin” legends and all the show-talk that goes with it. We find it hilarious, our neighbors….that’s probably a different story. The volume goes up as the drinks go down. We recruited the “Human Buzz Saw” to participate and she did not disappoint. At 5’2”, 95 lbs this girl is an attack force of verbal smack talk – and that’s just any day without drinking or being prodded to act up. She was all revved up Thursday and we had a blast, even bringing other tables into the fray for the first time. We should have started a Battle Royale of Drinking right there on the spot but apparently that has been set in motion for a completely separate event on its own. I can’t wait. Trinken!!


1984 vs. Synchronicity

For the past several weeks I've been embroiled in a bitter dispute with one King Randall The Insufferable about which 80's rock album is better: 1984 by Van Halen or Synchronicity by those English douche bags The Police. Honestly I don't care about either of these albums anymore which is why it is so amusing that we argue the point at all.

Nevertheless we seem to bring this up a couple times each week and talk a bunch of shit until we become distracted and/or drift to another topic. Let's take a look:

The Police - Synchronicity

  1. Synchronicity I
  2. Walking in Your Footsteps
  3. O My God
  4. Mother
  5. Miss Gradenko
  6. Synchronicity II
  7. Every Breath You Take
  8. King of Pain
  9. Wrapped Around Your Finger
  10. Tea in the Sahara
  • I guess I like a couple of those songs
  • Escalating band tension and Sting's popularity caused band breakup


  • That damn video for Every Breath You Take with the ashtray and bitchy, whiny song
  • That damn video for Wrapped Around Your Finger with all the candles
  • Sting's solo career launch pad

Van Halen - 1984

1. 1984
2. Jump
3. Panama
4. Top Jimmy
5. Drop Dead Legs
6. Hot For Teacher
7. I'll Wait
8. Girl Gone Bad
9. House Of Pain


  • Cool album art and kick-ass synthesizer intro
  • Video Hot For Teacher features kid-size Van Halen perhaps leading the way for recent social issue of predatory female teacher sex scandals
  • 1980's era Rock and Roll summer tour!!


  • Band breakup ultimately leads to Van Halen III with that guy from Extreme
  • Paves way for "glam band" era including Poison, Warrant, Jackyl, etc.
  • First of several annoying Van Halen albums with numeric titles


Hawaii Five Blog

Aloha bitches.

Some trusting family member has allowed me to purloin their pc, so we get the unexpected joy of liveblogging from Maui...south Kihei to be exact.
Gorgeous place, and liberal booze laws. Picked up a metric fuck ton of bourbon whiskey in the damn grocery store for cheap. I didn't expect that.

By the way, flying first class is tits. Five gratis Woodford Reserve drinks and America's favorite pastime of pharaceutical abuse got me through the long ass plane ride. Hail Delta.
Shockingly, not all of the Lord's family members are drinkers...so a small cabal of cousins and cousines are rallying to drink this place dry. More on that to come...but for now I am going to eat some pills and drink in the pool.
Mahalo gentle readers.


The World's Biggest Jackass Is...Me.

The weekend was a total washout. I managed to almost obliterate my liver and egaged in multiple forms of douchebaggery. I would like to apologize to anyone who had the misfortune of crossing paths with me this weekend. The only thing worse than a jackass is a drunk jackass. This weekend I was "that guy." Nobody wants to be "that guy." On the bright side, apparently Drinking War Games have been set up and teams are joining the fray at a rapid pace.

Monday Hangover

Well another weekend gone by means another Monday Hangover, and this was a good one. As you have already seen we paid a visit to Marie’s for what I’d like to call Olde Timey Fun. We had a grande time and I didn’t even mind the reunion with some olde friends: PBR tallboys. Usually I’d scoff at that shitty frat beer but “When in Rome you do as the fucking Romans do” or something like that. This was only the first half of the night, and the only half I remember, so I’ll share my favorite aspect of the bar and move on. The Elvis décor really sets the atmosphere at Marie’s:

So we roll out the door and head to the next bar. The first thing we do upon arrival is order shots. Then another round of shots. And that is all I remember, aside from the dirty look from the bartender as he realized I am falling-down-drunk. Well not exactly at this point but soon after, as I was informed on Saturday that I had indeed fallen down. Twice. At the bar. In front of everybody. Somehow I made it home – and no, I didn’t drive, so fuck off.

Normally I wouldn’t return to the very bar I was cut-off from the previous night. But since I blacked out and had no idea I’d fallen down I was unaware of my transgressions. So for the next hour or so the bar staff had the unexpected joy of ripping me to shreds for being such an idiotic drunk the night before. I deserved it, but denied any accountability and eased into some modest beer drinking the rest of the night. That is until our group (Lord von Lord, King Randall The Insufferable, Tag B, and others) were set upon by the youth faction at our bar talking shit. Then he stepped in it by challenging us to a drinking contest. We’ll get into this more when the time is right, but for now we’re all licking our chops waiting for the opportunity to drink these pussies under the table. I envision it something like this:
But it will more likely be something like this:

Sunday was mild for the second week in a row. Early evening drinks at Tags. Then went out for just a couple more to send LVL on his way to Hawaii, which I’m sure we’ll all have to hear about over and over after he returns. Of course KRTI was there so we had to do some shots, Jager this time. Then again. You see how this goes…


I am getting the fuck out of here.

Hitting Maui for almost a week, then my fine ass will be sending rounds down range with the pipe-hitters union.

Well needed break, actually, before I throttle the living shit out of some people that desperately have it coming.

So, it is with that bipolar desire for fun and blood on my mind that I blow this taco stand. Pictures, story time, and reviews of whereever I can scrounge up a drink over there to follow.

Just An Idea

This may not fly with some, but here we go. Have you ever seen those commercials where a sad lady, man or couple is sitting there wondering what their kid would be like (while kids playing, smiling and having fun flash on the screen) if they hadn't had that abortion? Well I want to see the commercial where the sad parent is sitting there looking like shit (with their kid going crazy in the back ground) as they wonder what it would have been like if they would have had that abortion; flash to couple driving off in their boat, or having a nice relaxing night by the fire that looks like it could lead to more. Come on pro choice people get to it I know I would laugh.

Bar, er...beer joint review

Marie's Olde Towne Tavern

A beginning is a very delicate time--Irulan Corrino

So, naturally our first review of a bar is a beer joint with a proclivity for adding e's to words for the middle English effect. Classic. Marie's is located near the bus station, that approximation is all you really need to know. This place is an old Knoxville stalwart, having been part of the community for decades. Beer only, no draft...cans and bottles. Heineken is the top of the food chain there, and unlike trendy college fucks, the patrons here drink PBR and High Life because that is what they can afford. A small cash register sits near a notepad...that's how they run the drunkard's tab.

After the initial shock of the regulars at young(ish) professionals descending among them, an amazing thing happened...we were as accepted as they were, part of the gang. It was a pretty good feeling. King Randall, Mackey, Disco Dan and myself spent a few hours there getting to really mix it up with the regulars. Most look to be ephemeral characteratures, transitory relics of a bygone time...and they can drink. A metric shit ton, in fact. What meant to be a short time visit lasted most of the night. King Randall, after first being labeled as a Greyhound patron, quickly made introductions for the rest of us.

One thing that must be said about Marie's: Customer service is king. Being a regular at another establishment, we've been granted a wide berth there. Special treatment. Marie's staff, and I use the term loosely, pays close attention to your needs and will provide you with possibly the saltiest of popcorn right when you need it. They believe in the strange but ancient practice of reverse tipping, and mingle seemlessly among dart players and working folk who take the edge off of life's struggle one sip at a time.

If you really need proof this place is a product of a bygone era, check out the old school ashtray in the shitter. I mean, in today's nanny state smoking is a faux pas even here in Knoxvegas. Here, they still smoke like tramp steamers and apparently find the thought of throwing the butt in the crapper proper or the trash can is unacceptable.

The place has grown on us, gentle reader. We'll be back. Try it sometime if you find yourself dodging the usual denizens of Knoxville.


Memo to the mosquitoes...

that have eaten me up this week at the pool and lake. If there is any solace to being a buffet for family Culicidae, it's that my alcohol stream was so robust that any blood taken must have killed you little bastards. Fuck off.


Noah's Mill Bourbon

In the first of many product and bar reviews we select something close to our hearts and even closer to our livers - bourbon. I present to you: Noah’s Mill.

First, from their website:

Noah’s Mill----------------
Aged in wooden barrels, bottled by hand at
57.15% alc./vol. (114.3 proof)

Noah’s Mill Genuine Bourbon Whiskey is handmade in the hills of

This is a Bourbon of extraordinary character and smoothness not
found among younger whiskies. Its superior taste and flavor characteristics are
made possible only from using the very finest quality ingredients at the outset
along with the long years and patience necessary for nature to mellow everything
to perfection. We bottle this Bourbon at a strength that best compliments its
age, and we’re sure you’ll enjoy it like no other Bourbon.

Okay now our review, but let’s set some guidelines: all spirits are first consumed straight without any mixer – no water, soda, juice or even ice, just the pure product.

I have to admit I had this bottle of bourbon sitting on a shelf at my house for about two weeks before I tried it. I knew it would be a formidable opponent, so after some mild drinking one evening with Lord Von Lord we decided to have a go at it. First reaction: Pure fucking gasoline! No, Rocket Fuel!!

Have you ever had a strong taste of any booze that just takes your breath away? I mean literally, it takes the air out of your lungs, your face turns red, sweat beads on your forehead, you loosen your shirt collar, etc. Well this was one of those. I've had similar experiences with PGA, Absinthe, and some other high volume whiskeys/bourbons. It made me feel like I could breathe fire, something like this: http://members.shaw.ca/legion_roll_call/reserve/subs/fire_lad/

I've never heard of Fire Lad before I did a search to find someone breathing fire, but it seemed appropriate, sorta.

Fire Lad (Staq Mavlen), of the planet Shwar, was endowed
with flame breath when he inhaled weird vapors from a crashed meteor.
Yeah, that's about how I felt. The following weekend I transported this highly flammable substance to our friend Tag's house for a group sampling. This went over much better, as there were women present thus challenging us to behave as men instead of pussies. We also had it over ice which allowed a more drinkable experience. By the time you poured a glass the ice melted so quickly it was like mixing it with water and you could actually taste the smooth flavors the distillers mentioned. Aside from the first near-deadly encounter it really does have some flavor and mellow character if you add ice or water. It went down faster than we expected, so apparently everyone liked it. I can't say I'll be drinking this very often since it costs $50 a bottle, but give it a try if you're looking for a special occasion bourbon to add to your liquor cabinet. Plus you can use it to shut up that asshole friend who always thinks they can drink anything. "Hey buddy, let me pour you a shot of this new bourbon I've got...."


Ah yes, the first shakedown cruise of the spring. Belated this year to be certain, but no less anxious and rewarding. Anxiety in the sense that you wonder if the boat will self-imolate, sink, blow an engine, or simply not start when you get entirely too far away from shore. Rewarding when you make it back to K-town arrest free and indeed, the boat did not sink.

So yeah, we booze it on the lake...and yeah sometimes we aren't entirely safe out there. Now before any of the uptight league get their panties in a wad, it's not like we are speeding around at midnight pounding bourbon. Those days are over. For one thing, night boating should be leisurely and clandestine, and we are always waaaayyyy out of bourbon by those late hours.

The first cruise of spring is usually a small affair, held on a weeknight usually. A fine repast was prepared of kabobs and various side items. The specifics aren't really important when we take to the lake, mostly because of the haze and full-on blackouts that usually preclude memory.
Expect some posts on where to find cheap booze on the water, where to find parties, and other general information for the nautical drinker. Drinking games on the boat, blender drinks, tomfoolery, the occasional pistol or rifle report, bad attire, and tales of intrigue will abound.


Examine a shooter 1.0

Kentucky Bow-Legged Woman(amounts approximate)

Jim Beam(1-1.5 ozs)


Pineapple Juice

Lime Juice

Triple Sec(the black sheep bastard everyone forgets)

Combine, shake, and strain out. Will fuck you up big time, so make certain you have a free morning to shake off the guilt and baleful glances of friends and co-workers.

Favored by booze-mongers in K-town, this preferred libation of the group is feared and respected by the new generation as never before. Once a staple drink of the authors, now used strictly as a strategic nutshot during the Liquor War of 07-08.

In Vino Veritas

It's been mentioned by Mackey that we went to a new(well new-ish) pub over the weekend. I've posted before that we write this blog for our own entertainment, primarily, and that holds true for one other aspect of Drinking Knoxville. It's a resource.

You the reader(who may now be counted in double digits, mayhap an even dozen) will get the straight dope on bars and pubs we frequent, or even the places we go intermittantly like some sort of wine-swilling diplomat. While you get this valued information and decide where to spend your filthy shekels, we are challenged to strike out from the comfortable barstools and tables where scores of servers and tenders of the bar refer to us as regulars. (Most of the time with hate in their beady, hopeless eyes.)

Together we will assault the bars and joints in this Brigadoon of a town...sparing you only the noxious reviews of franchised eateries and soul-murdering chain bars. They can eat a bowl of dick.

One more thing, if you are ever asked by a beautiful woman if she can sample your wine...don't be surprised when the hooker bitches at you when she spills it. It's an odd but universally held conception that no good deed goes unpunished.

The Best Unknown Party In Town

Now before all you party host get puffed up about your great 4th of July bash or what ever, this is the best public party in town that you probably have never been to. There is one huge reason I regard this party so highly, but I will save that for last. First reason to attend is the host; The Shrimp Dock on Kingston pike. If you haven't been there you’re missing out on the freshest seafood you can take home, plus at lunch an awesome po'boy, and good frozen soups, with many more things for a great meal at home. They throw this party as customer appreciation, but I feel more like thanking them for doing it every year. Second is the food; an all out shrimp and crawfish boil, and a shuck it your damn self oyster bar. There are many other good features to this party, but let’s get to the big one. BYOB, I am not sure if everyone will see how spectacular this is, but think about bring the beer you choose at the price you usually pay. No $5 a pop for some crap beer that you shouldn't pay a $1 for. Big beer companies want you to buy their beer at home for too much, then at an event charge you six times as much for the same swill, all while standing around looking at their ads that are plastered on everything. What do we get out of that? About 3 beers short of a good buzz, and an empty wallet. That's the reason front loading has become so important. So next year on the Sat. before Cinco de Mayo get your favorite brew and come watch the drunk white people dance to bad 80's covers, while eating some great free food.


Derby Aftermath.

With my annual assault on my liver over, here's what Derby weekend consisted of for me.

Thursday-The Queen, Disco Dan, and I got on the road around 4. Traffic was surprisingly bearable and we made good time. We caught up with T-ROC and Lady Beth in L'town, then proceeded to Buca De Beppo, one of our annual Derby stops. We then retired to our hotel for a night of bourbon guzzling and Jager shots.

Friday-I awoke wired with the kind of energy that comes from too much Four Roses and Jager. After rousting the group, I proceeded to consume the first beer of the day. One of my better ideas. We parked at BJ's on Rodman Street, one of my favorite places on the planet. The world's best eggrolls and fried bologna sandwiches are produced there. We headed to the track after a few drinks and some food. It rained violently most of the day. At one point, I considered hearding animals two by two and building an arc. The rain did subside enough to allow us to take in the Oaks from the grandstand. Drinking and hilarity ensued after the races. The Oaks now has it's own signature drink, the Lily. Finlandia, Cranberry Juice, and Triple Sec. A little bit sweet, but not awful.

Saturday-Derby Day. I was nowhere near as energetic as the day before. We made our way to BJ's and a wonderful pork chop sandwich helped revive me. On to the races, where we downed copious numbers of mint juleps and had a huge time. Fortunately, we were spared the sight of Eight Belles going down, because the track feed stayed focused on Big Brown. Back to BJ's for soul food, dancing, and drinking. All in all, a glorious day.

Sunday-A quick brunch and on the road. Again, traffic was no problem. Returned to Knoxville, made some phone calls, and headed to the Downtown Grill and Brewery for drinks, conversation, and video game bowling. A fine way to cap a quality weekend.

Monday Hangover

First Friday - Like every other Friday of the week I am ready to get stinko starting at 5:01 or sooner if I'm lucky. As luck had it I was able to leave work a few hours early and get a head start on the weekend. For those who don't know about it, First Friday is basically a group of downtown businesses offering special events, artists, or discounts to attract people to their shops. Bars usually offer extended happy hour drink specials, which is nice. So I arrive downtown early to get my drink on and land a perfect patio spot. The weather is cool, friends stop and visit as they come and go by, drinks are flowing, life is good. (fades)

Saturday - What the hell? Another one of those nights. It was rainy so I just stayed in until late afternoon when I finally had enough energy to go exercise. By then the weather was nice and I met up with some folks at a new restaurant in the Old City. The best aspect of our visit was the background music provided by our various handheld media devices vs. their piped-in Muzak. Needless to say we drank a lot, went elsewhere and drank a lot more. King Randall The Insufferable wasn't in town to supply endless shots to everyone so I actually made it home in decent shape. Barely.

Sunday - This was a good day. Not having a smashing headache and with plenty of rest I was able to do some errands, clean up the place, have some food, then move on to drinking. But first wouldn't you know there are some favors I've agreed to: moving furniture and pool repair. What the fuck was I thinking, and both on the same day! So I make it to Lord Von Lord's to move his over sized sectional to the garage. (Didn't we used to burn these) After a couple beers we proceed to some German bastards to help repair the pool. The good news is he has a tap system and a full keg of beer. The bad news is we still have to work on the pool, and it kicked our sorry asses. The consolation is that we still get to drink beer the rest of the day and grill out.

So that's a very tame weekend wrap. Not very eventful, but hell I'll take that once in a while compared with all the other shit that usually happens. No lost cell phones, no accidents, no fights, no arrests - it was a good weekend. Looking ahead we should have a recap of the KY Derby from KRTI, a product review and who knows, maybe a couple of introductions.


Rossini Festival

Rossini Fest was held last weekend and as usual it was a blast. Since I accidentally discovered it a few years ago it has become an annual excuse to get plastered and stumble around the streets of downtown Knoxville. Opera, music, artists, yeah, yeah, yeah - point me to the beer and wine vendors! Now we're talking. That other stuff is all well and good but does anybody think it would be so successful without alcohol? Exactly.

A brief recap of the day:

Begin by front loading with Lord von Lord at my place. Walk downtown and notice bums taking bath in fountain at World's Fair Park. Stop at food vendor for delicious Italian sausage with marinara sauce. Meet King Randall the Insufferable downtown for drinks. It's KRTI's birthday - shots for everybody!

We're off to a good start. Continue drinking before heading to the streets for more drinks. Already feeling good and the trash talk is flowing. Have some wine and see someone I know in a compromising situation. Snap picture for evidence: 2 college guys having a caricature done - appalling! After we're done horse-laughing we continue to roam the street and decide to go to KRTI's for some reason, probably more drinks. First cigars for KRTI and LVL. Then on to the penthouse. Oh hell no, SCOTCH!!

Things just got worse from there. KRTI kicks us back out to the streets, apparently he had enough for the day - by 6:00. Have second Italian sausage of day. It is getting cooler and I head home for wardrobe change and return downtown for 2nd act. By this point we're crocked and meet up with the rest of the group to continue drinking.

Things get fuzzy at this point, but we did manage a full 12 hour drinking day and had tons of laughs throughout it all. Looking forward to doing it again next year.