Tommy's Wild, Wild, West.

Having just read, Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey and The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains by Owen Wister I was inspired to think of days gone by. In the wild west of Tommy's world, I envision the sun drenched, dusty, parched, lone gunman named Lassiter, dressed all in black leather, kicking in the swinging doors of the saloon and walking up to toothless, unshaved bar keep and instead of saying, "gimme whiskey," croaking, "I'd like a dram of your best cask strength scotch single malt whisky, please." After a poignant deafening silence, all the derelicts and desperadoes in the bar burst out laughing as Lassiter slowly turns around and unloads two Colt 45 six shooters into the crowd silencing them forever. After the gun smoke clears, the gunman turns back to the barkeep who is now nervously but carefully measuring out 25 milliliters with a slight tremor of the best dram in the house, a Fettercairn 49.1%, 98.2 proof. The single malt does the job and quenches Lassiter's thirst with a hazy olive oil appearance, nutty, mossy nose, dried fruit and licorice taste and a once in a life time finish. Lassiter slaps a two bit gold piece on the bar, walks out the door, mounts his steed and rides off into the sunset. Slainte cowboys,Tommy Maaltman.