Bumping uglies on the Gulf Coast during the Oil Spill of 2010.

What self respecting college kid is going to drive Daddy's car down to the Alabama Gulf Coast next spring to get drunk, smoke weed, watch wet T shirt contests and bump uglies with the locals.....soaked in oil? The answer, NO ONE!!!!!!! It's not a good time to be in the service industry along the Gulf Shore now or in the future on Day 68 of O'Bama's Chernobly! The dark cloud of sooty smoke has lifted over my head since I moved North to the Highlands for my tasting. Tonight I'm enjoying a 1.15 Glenfarclas, light, flowery, and fruity. A great breakfast dram. Wish you were here. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman

Tommy wonders, Why don't we turn Herr Docktor Maximilien Aue loose on Brad Thor's terrorist?

Dear Dave, As the first sip of a nicely chilled 54.7 Aberlour from a sherry cask traverses my esophagus and rapidly diffused through my gastric mucus into my blood stream, thoughts of the days eight hour robotic cystectomy, radical prostatectomy, bilateral lymph node dissection and ileal conduit rapidly dissipate and I couldn't help but think that Herr Docktor Maximilien Aue seems to be a recurring theme in your emails. He appears to have a profound effect on you. Almost like a recurring bad nightmare. Perhaps the thought of him having his way with Brad Thor's nasty goat herders would be as soothing as the Aberlour is to me after a big day of surgery. By the way, you must try this Aberlour, a Speyside, Highlands. Very sweet and delicious chilled to a little cooler than I usually drink my whisky. Slainte, Tommy (very much missing the Islays) Maaltman

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

Tar balls and a Presidential fly over in Air Force One

Week two and Jill is making slow but steady progress. Less pain, less numbness, and more range of motion. Which reminds me of the answer one of my favorite old patients used to say every time I asked him about his wife. "Oh, she's as ornery as ever!" I'm celebrating with a 1.153, Bowmore (Islay) with a distinctive sea salt taste of brine and an undercurrent of petroleum products. Come to think of it , most of my Islay's have a strong petroleum taste, almost as if someone sprinkled tar balls into my pristine whisky. I'm going to ask President Obama for a fly over in Air Force One at tax payers expense of course to check out the situation. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman

Tommy's better half gets the knife as described in a letter to Brother Dave

Dear Dave, At the conclusion of a tough week and the beginning of a new one, I am sitting in the sun room at our house with your sister, my better half, sipping a cask strength 111.7 (Lagavulin, from Islay.). I chose wisely. The whisky expression was harsh, with a strong taste of iodine and antiseptic. It reminded me of the smell of Betadine, a surgical scrub soap swabbed on Jill's neck seconds before the business end of a stainless steel number 15 scalpel blade expertly plunged into her neck stopping a millimeter short of her spinal cord. I personally feel more comfortable in an operating room of a hospital than in most social settings. Especially, ones attended by JAG/kinder garden teacher whom I thought was quite rude in retrospect. Perhaps she saw my written critique of her meatballs. Seriously, who makes Mexican Italian meatballs? In any event, Jill's nerves are healing nicely and she should be 100% in a few weeks. Meanwhile I'll continue to soothe my neves with this fine whisky. Wish you were here. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman.

Community Organizers and historic parallels.

Several years ago an obscure minority became exceedingly facile in his ability as a community organizer. Through the years he rose through his party ranks to become leader of his country. As the leader he radically changed the course of a nation into one of socialism, collectivism and communism. Do you know who I am talking about? Some might say Barak Obama but I am actually referring to Josif Djugashvili, better known as Joseph Stalin! The similarities are uncanny. To settle my nerves I decided to have a very large dram of 22.28 (Glenkinchie) a Lowlands and the President's choice. No not Obama's, Allan Shane's. It pays to be in the President's club of the SMWS. The whisky was smooth, warm, mellow and had a taste of honey. Very easy to drink and enjoy. The perfect dram to calm things down when you get agitated. Let me know if you plan on visiting Michigan this summer. It's getting close to whisky tasting on the shores of Lake Michigan season. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman

Dentists, anesthesia, an Islay and Tommy remembers loosing his two front teeth.

While I was pondering the Time Square act of terrorism, I enjoyed a large dram of cask strength single malt from the Distillery, Bowmore, an Islay. If you have ever been anesthetized with ether, you will never forget the sickening smell of old rubber and phenol as you drift off into a disturbed sleep. That is exactly what the dram tastes like when cut with a few drops of water. It reminded me of when I was three or four and was administered ether by an old alcoholic dentist with a severe Parkinson's tremor prior to pulling out my two front teeth. It brought back fond memories of being asked mockingly at Christmas time, Tommy will you sing All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth?, until the permanant ones finally grew in several years later. As you know, I am a big fan of the Islays, but I must admit not Dentists, and this was a remarkable whisky. With this most recent act of terrorism I can't help but wonder, are we the American public becoming anesthetized to these assaults on our way of life? I hope not. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman