Chernobly, Obama, and the Carnival.

It's day 55 of O'Bama's Chernobyl, i.e., The Gulf (of Mexico) War. I am so distraught that I have made a major decision in my life. While this debacle continues I will no longer drink my beloved Islays. The taste of the Ocean, sea salts and their characteristic essences of creosote, tar, gasoline, kerosene, and oil remind me too much of how this disaster is being managed. Seriously, who drills for oil in over 5000 feet of hurricane churned water? Oh, we do because federal regulations prohibit drilling in shallow uninhabited lands we own. I realize as a U.S. Senator and CCO (Chief Community Organizer,) O'Bama is not responsible, but as my favorite rapper Fifty Cent would say, "***** please." Don't feel bad for me. I simply am moving north to the Highlands for all my whisky tasting for the time being. In fact as I write , I am enjoying a 9.2 Glen Grant cask strength single malt with a sweet floral and fruity nose, sugary presence and after taste of pink cotton candy. The kind I enjoyed as a kid served by a skinny sun damaged carney with a stingy long greasy mullet and black dirt under his fingernails. I sure am glad restaurant owners now have signs in their bathrooms saying, Restaurant Workers Are Required To Wash Their Hands After Going To The Bathroom. Perhaps with these delightful expressions of the Highland Whiskies I will be more able to clearly determine whose neck to put my boot to and whose ass to kick. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman