Don't lie. You know that overpriced crap tastes just like the Jim Beam... in other words, like turpentine. It all does. They only put it in different shaped bottles and sell it for different prices so booze snobs can claim to tell the difference. Give them a glass of paint thinner and a glass of vodka, blindfold 'em and they can't tell the difference. After about three drinks, they can't tell day old donkey piss from sour mash whiskey. They only think they can. It's booze, for cryin' out loud. The whole purpose of distilling it in the first place is so that you can get sloppy ass drunk, scrog fat women and pick a fight with someone you can't possibly beat up. Your tastes in food, women and farm animals goes right out the window. Your driving skills go to shit, but you still think you're Mario Andretti. You're instantly the world's greatest poker player, lover, bass player and political analyst. Only, you're not. Every bottle of booze that's sold should come with a lime green wig, a honking nose, inflatable shoes and a colostomy bag.
