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| - Have I mentioned I really like single-malt Scotch? I mean, since this morning have I mentioned it?
So that makes it pretty hard to drive by a new wine/beer/hootch place without at least wandering in to see if they're, you know, "giving away samples." Rear back on the reins, whoa, now WHOA there, big fella... Pat O'Briens! (I really needed a house-warming gift for this weekend. Really. For real.)
Well, lookie here. Some of these-here Scotch bottles are actually on sale. The prices have been lowered. Is that even legal? Don't they know that it's a Brand New Day in America? That maximum profit is right there, in the New Bill of Rights? Come ON, people, mark these babies UP! (Sure, I argued with the guy, but I finally had to pay the sale price. It was... un-American, dammit! I should call Rush, let Him know.)
Nice place, if just a tad crowded: wines all over the front half, a tiny deli wedged into the back, then a modest booze annex. I was standing in front of the Scotch section, meditating, perusing, pre-drinking, when one of the three people working there came over to "help." Okay, I'll bite. How many cask strengths you got, here, Jethro? He froze in his tracks. I know, it wasn't fair of me, but HE started it, Mom!
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