Went to a corporate whiskey evening last night.
Oh my God.
Crusoe was making me laugh, so when the very formal stand-up 'let's-tell-everyone-the-history-about-whiskey' guy mentioned the word corn, I became a nightmare in the medium of a fit of very unbecoming giggles.
Whiskey educational representative: “Whiskey is made from cereal. Can anyone guess which one?”
“Pro-Nutro!” she cried...
Silence in the room, hoping the fellow journalist representatives would at least fucking laugh, but nay nay. (What am I, chopped liver?)
He just says in response, one magic word: “Corn. Whiskey is made from corn.” (My dick feels like corn – Dane Cook.) Well, that was me. I was an unbelievably hopeless case from then on out.
Either nobody there had heard Dane Cook's live stand-up rhetoric on dirty talk in the bedroom and corn, or they equated the maizy foodstuff to their Kellogg's breakfast manifestation.
Since we had five glasses of whiskey to taste, I just got more pissed at as we went along. Eventually – the final glass, after the man waxed lyrical on how it had been stored in an oak case for such-and-such years and Queen Victoria ordained it or wha-eva, I gaily shouted out: “THIS TASTES LIKE...TYRES.”
It did though. No but it did though. Like Goodyears on a good year. So I wasn't exactly lying, but maybe a bit if discretion would have been the better option in traditional decorum of etiquettal nature.
Man, whiskey makes me pissed so easily. To the point where I was kinda playing footsie with a hot blonde woman under the table.
She was exquisite in that Fourways lots-of-makeup kind of way.
Giggling quite loudly, was I.
What a jolly nice and pleasurable media conference if I may so myself. It was fabulous. Sure beats the yoghurt shindigs I used to have to go to, that's for hell certain.
Needless to say, this is about a fraction of what chaos is about to ensue from 10:00pm this evening. That's when C and I get off a plane on the balmy, coastal, bunny-chowed shores of Durban. And we plan to make good use of our time the moment the said aircraft hits the tarmac. Hopefully at a crescendo deemed acceptable to passengers who are scared of flying, and have trouble breathing if shit goes wrong in an aerodynamic sphere.
Good luck, you little KZNites. Gooood luck.