BoozeReviews.net

We all know what it tastes like and what it does to you and those within striking distance… but what liquor site would be complete without a Jack Daniels story?

Alright, let me preface all of this by stating one very important fact: My given First and Middle name is John Daniel.

My Dad claims he was hanging out with Jack while I was being slappped on the ass by a doctor and his nursing staff during my grand entrance to this world, and that Jack said to him “You name that little Sumbitch after me or I’m gonna hurt you in the morning.”

Now, if you’ve ever disagreed with Jack before, you know that it’s not OK to argue with the man. So, here I sit, John Daniel, writing about my namesake… and it feels like I’m doing so at gunpoint, since I’m well aware that it’s not OK to say anything bad about Jack: he’s like the mafia and he will hear about it and get even if you do.

Second key fact here: When I hear the word whiskey, I think Jack. Jack, to me, is whiskey. Everything else came after. Jack is as straight a shooter as you can get, the old standby, friend and foe. In some sense, everything else you ever read here will be written with Jack as the base booze. Think of Jack as the BoozeReviews control group.

Third Key Fact: Jack’s a giant, unabated and unremorseful asshole. What Jack wants, Jack gets. You hang out with Jack for more than an hour or two any given night, and you will do what Jack tells you to do. If Jack decides it’s a good idea, you will piss on your neighbor’s dog, you will puke on your wife’s petunias, you will eat things you didn’t know were edible just for shits and giggles, and you will screw just about anything.  Maybe even two of them.

Third-and-a-half Key Fact: For the first half of the evening of hanging with Jack, Jack will strongly encourage you to screw everything that doesn’t run too fast in the other direction (farm animals included if you’re from the deep south or New Zealand, see the paragraph above). For the latter half of the evening, he will give you Whiskey Dick, which will not allow you to screw anything, even if you happen to get lucky and land a supermodel while on your Jack bender. Whiskey Dick can be seen as either a blessing or a curse, depending on the scenery in your neck of the woods. I always found it to be a blessing.

Fourth Key Fact: Jack’s a racist dick. If you’re hanging out with Jack, then you’d best not make it an international pow wow. Jack hates everyone else, except maybe his good Buddy Weiser and his partner Jimmy Beam (thanks George). DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, drink tequila while you’re hanging with Jack. He hates Mexicans, most intelligent Mexicans hate him, and they will fight to the death inside your stomach. DO NOT, under any circumstances, drink Vodka, Gin or any kind of foo-foo drink after you’ve been hanging out with Jack. He hates pussies. DO NOT even consider drinking rum. Jack hates the tropics. NEVER EVER drink wine with Jack. Jack hates wine, hates fruit, hates California and France.

Fifth Key Fact: Jack likes Coke, which means you’ll get all wired up on caffeine and won’t go to sleep when you should, and you’ll end up buck naked someplace surrounded by cops when you really should be passed out on your mother-in-law’s lawn.

Sixth Key Fact: Jack’s a no-good-dirty-rotten liar. Yup that’s right, I said it. Jack’s going to tell you shit that makes you think you can do anything you want; he’s going to give you grand ideas that you think will make you millions, and then he’ll make you brag about it to all your friends and anyone else who will listen, and then you’ll wake up on the bathroom floor in the morning with a giant bar tab glued to your forehead with your own dried vomit.

Jack will find the biggest, ugliest, Harley-Eating fucker in the room and convince you that you can take him out.  Then Jack will pick a fight with the fucker and run away, leaving you alone with the shitty reflexes and blurry vision that Jack created before he left.

Seventh and Last Key Fact: Jack is not what he used to be. I am going to pay dearly for this the next time I meet him, but he’s getting soft in his old age. He’s now only 80 proof. Yup, that’s right, the Old No 7 recipe has changed. They ought to call it Old No 7-and-a-half now, since they knocked six proof off the recipe in the last year. Damn those bastards! But I can only imagine that some Jack Daniels higher-up woke up one morning in a Tijuana whorehouse with his pants around his ankles and his wallet missing, wondering “This is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife, how did I get here?” (thanks David), and then said to the nearest English speaking person “Gall Damn, I got to knock some proof off that shit!”

Alright then, I did it. I wrote a review about Jack Daniels’ Old No 7 Sour Mash. I’m not giving Jack a score here. Nope. You all know what Jack tastes like, you don’t need me to tell you. I do, however, expect my friend Slade to weigh in on this. Slade?