Tommy Maaltman jumps on the Donald Trump for President Bandwagon.

Maaltmen. What would you prefer? President Ronald Reagan's TRICKLE DOWN ECONOMICS based on across the board tax cuts, less government regulations and supply side Reaganonomics leading to prosperity and increased wealth for all or President O'Bama's Stalinistic based GUSHING UP POVERTY with increased taxes, monumental government intrusion, and a gargantuan national debt? Is it too early to start seriously thinking about The Donald for President? Remember, with lower taxes , there would be more discretionary money to buy quality cask strength Scotch single malt whisky like Bunnahabhain vol. 55.6%, silver in color, solvent and acetone nose, sweet and very smoky to taste, salty, and a chlorine, peat, and smoke in your face finish. News flash, January 24, 2014, President Donald Trump announces plans to raze the White House and start building the 110 story Presidential Washington DC Trump Taj Mahal saying, "Realistically people did anybody actually expect me to live in a two hundred year old mansion?". Slainte, Tommy Maaltman.

Tommy Maaltman's Wild, Wild West Range Wars.

Lassiter saw the clouds of war forming as he walked down the street towards The Hole in the Wall Saloon but since he wasn't getting paid to take sides he ignored the two groups of heavily armed men approaching each other from different directions. The year was 1893 and the Johnson County Range War between the cattle rustlers and the ranch owners was raging with bullet riddled dead bodies turning up all over the valley. Knowing it would be unhealthy to remain outside in the next few minutes, Lassiter walked into the saloon and up to Gums, the unshaven, toothless barkeep, and ordered a bottle of Caperdonich cask strength single malt whisky, a glass, and a small jug of water and sat down at a small round table facing the street. Seconds later the dusty street erupted in an hailstorm of gunfire. All the patrons, drunks, derelicts, and desperadoes in the saloon dove for cover except Lassiter who felt like a steam locomotive going full speed slammed into his chest knocking him off his chair and forcing his lifeless body eight feet back into the wall of the saloon. As the dust settled all the patrons of the saloon gathered around Lassiter's motionless body thinking how ironic it was that he, a stone cold, lone gunman, killer for hire, was killed by a random stray bullet fired in an unrelated fight. Suddenly , Sally, the attractive, young, highly educated school marm from back East who shortly learned she could make more money in one night at the Saloon than an entire year teaching frontier bastards at the single room school house, screamed, when she saw Lassiter slowly stand up, brush the dust off his black leather clothes and reach into his shirt pocket and pull out a copy of the Bible with a deeply embedded 45 caliber slug. Lassiter sat down at the table and finished his dram of Caperdonich, 48.6%, 38 year old cask strength single malt whisky with a ginger ale dark brownish gold color, nail polish remover nose, Florida orange grove blossom taste, and sweet orange blossom finish and said, "Momma was right when she gave me this Bible and said, Son, this Bible will save your life someday." Slainte, Tommy Maaltman

Tommy Maaltman's Wild, Wild West Lassiter has company for dinner.

Like a draft, almost imperceptibly, a tall thin man slipped through the door of Molly's Eatery and cautiously walked towards the table where Lassiter was sitting. The stranger with dark slim eyebrows and a dark slim mustache approached Lassiter and said, "Name's Slim, mind if I join ya?". Lassiter looked around the packed room and responded, "Don't look like I have a choice." Slim sat down opposite Lassiter and reached for the gravy stain spotted menu. Lassiter said, "No need to look at the menu, there's but one thing to eat here and that's Molly's country fried chicken steak, gravy and biscuits. Slim said, "That's fine by me." Molly brought the food and Lassiter bowed his head and said, "Let's grub." After eating a large quantity of food, Slim pushed back from the table. The next sound heard after the scraping of the chair's legs across the coarse wood floor as Slim stood up was the distinctive clicking sound of a 44 magnum Smith and Wesson six shooter being cocked coming from under the table where Lassiter was sitting. Slim froze. Lassiter said, "Aint you forgetting something?" Slim thought Lassiter meant that he forgot to pay, but knew better than to make any sudden movements for money in his front pocket inches away from where he leathered his two Colt 45 six shooters. Slim slowly sat down placing his hands in plain view on the table. Lassiter next said, "You know Slim, Molly works hard all day in a cockroach and rodent infested hot kitchen to make such a fine meal and it would be an injustice not to finish with a dram of fine cask strength single malt scotch whisky." The tension drained from Slim's body as he said, "Sir, you are absolutely right and I would consider it an honor and a privilege to join you." Lassiter signaled Molly who brought a bottle of Glenallachie, vol. 59.0%, with a clear Riesling color, hedgerows and laurel leaves nose, sweet tart hard candy taste, and a sweet, clean finish. With a belly full of country fried chicken steak, greasy fat laden gravy and biscuits cut by the high alcohol volume whisky, Slim knew it was time to go. Placing two five dollar gold coins on the table, more than enough to pay for the food and whisky with plenty left over for a generous tip for Molly, Slim stood up and slipped out the door never to be seen again in those parts. Bad manners were simply not welcome at Molly's. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman.

In Tommy Maaltman's Wild, Wild, West, trouble finds Lassiter.

Lassiter didn't have to look for trouble. Trouble found him. Thirsty, after a day's riding on the purple sage, Lassiter strolled into the Hole In The Wall Saloon and immediately noticed three well known cattle rustlers, Trampas, Shamus and Quint sitting at the corner table huddled together like rats, drinking cheap rot gut rye whiskey and nibbling on shelled dry roasted peanuts. Ignoring them, Lassiter walked to the bar and sat down next to Father O'Brien, the drunken, itinerant clergyman preaching Fire and Brimstone in the West for Sunday tiding plate offerings. Thinking Lasssiter was looking for them the cattle rustlers got up and quickly scurried out of the establishment. Lassiter ordered two glasses of Glenglassaugh, aged in oak 28 years, vol. 51.1% with a light gold color, cotton candy nose, red currants, nail polish remover, and vanilla tea taste, and a vanilla custard and glycine finish and gave one to the Padre. After finishing his dram, Lassiter walked out the door into a moonless, pitch black night. In the alley behind the saloon, Lassiter's steely grey, bobcat like eyes noticed three figures and said, "Gents, draw your steel.". A second later three blinding white flashes illuminated the alley followed by the thunderous repercussions of blazing 44 magnum Smith and Wesson six shooters. The Padre came staggering out of the saloon and saw Lassiter standing over the three rustlers' lifeless bodies each with a bullet hole between their eyes and the back of their skulls blown off, and said to Lassiter slurring, "What do you want me to do with them?" Lassiter said, " Bury them on Boot Hill next to the Gambler, but don't bother to dig three holes. Put 'em all in one since the three of 'em don't amount to one good honest sod buster. And Padre, don't bother to pray for their souls. They're already in Hell." Slainte, Tommy Maaltman

Tommy Maaltman's Wild, Wild West Lassiter's opinion of SMOKE FREE ESTABLISHMENTS

The year was 1873 and it had been several months since Lassiter last stepped through the doors of the Hole In The Wall Saloon. Upon entering he paused, built himself a smoke, placed it between his lips, cupped his hands around the end, looked down and sparked it. Deeply inhaling he looked around the room and immediately saw a large heavy wooden sign hanging over the bar with the words in big black, bold letters, THIS IS A SMOKE FREE ESTABLISHMENT. Sitting at the bar under the sign was Doc Stirling, the Army Veterinarian hired by the United States Federal Government to make sure the army mules weren't being abused during the Plains Indian Wars. Doc, having run three practices into the ground back east due to his fondness for the drink was sitting alone nursing a Seabreeze. Nervously looking around he noticed Lassiter eyeing the sign and instinctively dove to the dusty dirty ground for cover. Lassiter shaking his head with a since of rage boiling his blood pulled two Smith and Wesson 44 magnum six shooters and unloaded both into the sign. As the thundering repercussion of the blazing guns quieted and the smoke began to settle, the sign took one last swing and crashed to the ground almost crushing Doc. Lassiter turned to the terrified crowd of drunks, derelicts and desperadoes and said, "Gents, this ain't a smoke free establishment no more." Doc crawled up on his stool and resumed drinking his Seabreeze. Gums, the toothless, unshaven barkeep reached behind the bar and poured Lassiter a dram of a very smoky Laphroaig LPI, Elements of Islay, Speciality Drinks, 58.8 vol with a pale bullet shell casing brassy yellow color. Classic Laphroaig, heavy smoked kipper, industrial smoke, steam engine and grungy peat nose. Big peat and tarry flavor and crashingly loud peat, fish and smoke finish. Lassiter finished his dram, took the last drag from his smoke, tapped it out on the bar and placed the butt between his gum and his cheek. Still disgusted he turned and walked out the door. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman