64 Bourbons Bracket: Round of 32 (Matchup 11):
Booker’s Boston Batch vs. Old Tub
Songs battling it out in 64 Bourbons Bracket: Round of 32 (Matchup 11):
Entombed: “Scottish Hell”
vs.
Down: “Learn From This Mistake”
I started with Old Tub and went back for five sips before having the first sip of Booker’s. Usually I only have one sip, and sometimes a second of the first bourbon. Old Tub came out of the starting gate with a substantial burst of delicious speed. And then I started sipping on Booker’s and before going back to Old Tub I realized that I had half as much Booker’s left as Old Tub, so it was obviously going down damn smooth. I had written plenty about the feel/finish and nose and only had “oak” for taste. Then I added baklava. I became lost in the finish and complexity of the Booker’s. Time to go back to Old Tub before Booker’s is gone.
The songs started a fist fight from the get-go. Down was better when mellow, and a touch distracting as it progressively got heavier. Entombed was much heavier, yet brought focusing energy and a level of sleaze appropriate for the Jim Beam distillery non-chill filtered funk. “It consumes you, it haunts you like the devil. It’s the art of the process…” How can “Learn From This Mistake” not advance? I kept getting sucked in on the junkie without happy endings and the art of the process. This 64 Bourbons Bracket is about the art of the process and mistakes, and also a bit of overindulgence. We are all closer to junkie status than we would like to admit. Just one rush could change all of our lives, and one push could end us all together. As Queensryche says, the needle only lies. But there is no way to spell “believe” without lie smack dab in the middle.
Song advancing to the Sweet 16 is “Learn From This Mistake” by Down.
Ha! I finished my glass of Booker’s and hadn’t done a Kentucky chew, which is mandatory for me. I need to add a separate category for Kentucky chew. I will do that from here on out. So, I made an OT pour and I started playing “Learn From This Mistake” progressively louder and louder. And went on my patio, beneath 94 degrees heat — as our dog stalked a destructive mole (and our dog sought to excavate with a superhero’s prowess). Neighbors in paint-on t-shirts (with precision facial hair grooming scowled through fence slats) as I raised a toast : “to bourbon and mistakes” to which he confusingly raised a vapid wave. And I hit the volume plus on my Bluetooth speaker, took another sip of Booker’s and allowed the Temperature to elevate near 100 degrees. And. Shit! I still haven’t done the Kentucky hug with the Booker’s. Let me not shit, but get off the pot — and dance as Jimmy Bowers or whoever the non-Pantera fuck from Down shreds at the 3:15+ point of the song… get lost in the bourbon and music. Join me. Pour a high proof bourbon. Put this song on repeat and play it really loud. Destress. Let go. Live and let live. Live free and fuck Patrick Henry’s ghost!
I am drunk. Booker’s Boston Marathon Batch advances. I can’t articulate it now, but if you piece together some cryptic and less cryptic shit from above; it might make sense. Learn from all mistakes. Old Tub is an absolute steal at its price. Yet, this slow-starting Booker’s (they all limp out of the gate) took me on a ride, transfixed me, and placed me in a high proof trance. Then I was drunk as fuck (forgive my lack of vocabularial creativity). Stop, Hammer time. Did you see that obnoxious use of poetic license? Vocabularial? Moving on. The art of the process kills off all the devils, and this time Old Tub was a devil. Why? Because Booker’s Boston Marathon Batch is a fucking journey and not a destination. Sneaky, like Loki. This is Loki’s batch. Old Tub was running away with the victory. Then I was entranced and neatly shooting Booker’s Boston Marathon Batch, and pouring OT pours, and embarrassing my family name, and then melting in 100 degree heat index folly.
Booker’s Boston Marathon Batch advances to the Sweet 16. Learn from all mistakes. Just say no to Fentanyl. Namaste. 🙏🏼