I began drinking at 6PM sharp. I thought a crystal tumbler would do. I poured myself my first glass of Virginia Black and flicked a dash of water into it.
It opened well -- the character is dark, slightly spiced, with just a touch of peat. Drake’s first attempt at investing in a distillery is a mild success, but there’s no telling where it could go from here. It’s a semi thick whiskey that leaves pleasant legs on your glass. Not too much smoke either, just the essence of that burnt toothpick is what stays in your mouth.
So then I took like three Klonopins because, you know, I like to take things from 0 to 100. At this point, I promised myself that I’d finish this whole damn bottle in one sitting. The veracity of that claim will be explored at a later point.
I finished that glass pretty quickly. I figured for my next drag I’d put it on the rocks, since that’s how I usually go. The cold tends to force the whiskey to close up, but I’m appreciative of that. ‘Digital Dash’ is on my Spotify playlist. Fuck yes! My dope in the bushes! I should make an homage to him later this night.
Fuck me, this is a lot tastier now, for some unimaginable reason. I gripped the glass in my right hand and knocked it back. I could almost taste the EMOTION that Drake has clearly poured into the hearts of the other people who made this for him, as my neck flexed involuntarily.
I’m a little tingly. I reexamine the bottle. It’s a pretty elaborate design. I suddenly realize I don’t know too much about the craftsmanship behind this booze. I google “Drake’s” and the dropdown is “whiskey”, “real name”, and “ghostwriter”. I’m guided to the website of Aubrey’s alcohol. Hell yes I’m 21. This website looks like a wrapper for Trojan magnums.
The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth glasses aren’t too special in any unusual way. But this isn’t your usual whiskey drunk. I feel on top of the world right now. Charged up. One of the primary benefits of ethanol.
I feel that the more I drink this liquid confidence the more likely I am to text every single girl in my phone. Or… Star67 them? Why did Drake make a song about that? I curse him out loud.
Speak of the devil! The patron saint of Canadian acting, wheelchairs, and kitten sweaters appears right in front of me.
“You must go to my city: the city of Toronto. There you will find the woman that used to call you on your cell phone. Tha god wills it.”
“But I’m an atheist. And Toronto is very far away,” I reply.
“SILENCE INFIDEL!” the vision screams, his toothpick now clenched in his fist. My Virginia BlackTM bursts into flames. “I know exactly who you could be if you were to go. It is not such a bod ting.”
Fearing further reprisal from this being, I defer to his judgment. So I start sprinting in the general direction of Toronto. I think it’s just past Whistler!
It’s snowy. It’s either the whiskey or the weather but my balls are sliding upwards into my digestive tract. Oh VB, I love you so much. I’m putting you in my mouth again now. Is it weird to put your whole mouth around the rim of a bottle? I think that that’s something Aubrey would do.
I miss you Debbie. It’s 11:00 here so it’s like… 4:00 am where she is? I’ll call her.
“Who the fuck is this? It’s 4 in the morning.”
“It’s me… that dude from Tinder.”
Communications with the outside world ceased after that. Also I dropped my phone. I promptly collapsed into the snow and assumed the wheelchair Jimmy position.
I look up and see the faint outline of my spiritual guide.
“Bodmon ting…” he says.
“You must to go to my city.”
“No my city is Atlanta… Or Houston… Or the bay… Or Vegas… I can’t keep track of them all…”
Then he disappeared again. I blacked out. When I came to, I was somehow in Dallas.