Wherein a drunken Boosh offers up sad new year’s wishes full of...

Wherein a drunken Boosh offers up sad new year’s wishes full of regret and ennui


It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m drinking Black Bush. Irish whiskey. And I hate Irish whiskey. At least most of them. There’s a few I don’t mind. Someone gave me one of those DNA testing kits and it turns out I’m 40% Irish. The lads at the pub will laugh their arses off about that, once I tell them, after all the shit I’ve said about Irish whiskey over the years.

Eh, serves me right. Anyway, in 2018 I’m going to see if I can learn to like Irish Whiskey. Someone once told me that sometimes you just want an easy whiskey you don’t have to think too much about. That actually makes some fuckin’ sense to me.

So I’m drinking Irish whiskey alone on New Year’s Eve. Probably not the smartest move to make. Probably not a wise choice for someone who is prone to depressive, dark thoughts anyway.

You think you’ve got your shit together, right? You got your job and your friends and a hobby or two. You got the sports team you root for and you got some politics you believe in or at least can live with. And I hope you have some romance in the mix there somewhere. If not, hopefully you once did and have some reasonable hope of finding that again.

Point is, just when you think you’ve got it all working, something changes and throws you for a loop. Next thing you know it’s New Year’s Eve and you’re sitting at home drinking.

Dammit, Shelby leaving for California kind of hit me harder than I let on. I don’t have that many people in my life. There’s the Preacher of course but he’s in and out. Couple of folks here and there. Whatever. And there was Shelby. Shelby always smiles when she sees me. I think you need that in your life. Someone who smiles when you come in the room. I never had a daughter but I guess sometimes I think about her kind of like that.

Fuck it. I gotta stop thinking about this stuff. Too negative. I told you I was trying Black Bush. So here’s my review:


I hate it. It tastes like a funeral for a whiskey that had a lobotomy and then, mercifully, died. And after it died someone left the bottle open for six months and then poured it for you as a joke.

Yeahhhhhhh, that was a little harsh. I don’t know where that came from. Probably should make a policy of not reviewing whiskey on New Year’s Eve when I’m drinking alone. I’ll mark that down for next year.

Tell you what. Let me offer a few new year’s wishes for you in 2018:

  1. I hope you learn to like some kind of whiskey you don’t like now. Because if it’s out there, that means people like it. And if people like it, goddamit, I have to believe there’s a reason for that.
  2. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for in 2018, be it a rare whiskey or a smiling face. Whatever you’re tracking I hope you haul it in this year.
  3. I hope you realize that the people you care about are precious. And the years go by quickly. For better or for worse, things do not stay the same. Cherish the good and wait out the bad.

And I hope you find a whiskey in 2018 that has an amazing BOOSH when you swallow it!