Gather 'round, kiddies! While Furie here is nursing a little hangover, he'll regale you with tales of the mighty bottle. That's right, back in times of yore (as in "yore gunna regret that in the mo'nin'"), Jim Beam was the drink of choice. I, too, was once a broke college student who needed booze, but refused to stoop to Old Crow or below.

Now, you've got to admit there is something sexy about cheap bourbon, in a struggling writer sort of way. It's been idealized as one of the cornerstones of the white trash mystique, the others being pick-up trucks, mullets, and cursing to make a Teamster blush. I was halfway into the white trash lifestyle (I won't tell you which half), so I naturally picked up on Jim Beam as drink of choice. From the bottle, baby. Who's your daddy?

For those that have never tried it, Jim Beam is akin to nail polish remover. Don't let that hearty amber glow fool you - Beam ain't for sippin'. Though you can, of course, if you are 21 and used to it. No doubt, Beam is rough stuff, but a rung above the plastic bottle liquors - a shelf above usually, too. I usually took it straight from the bottle's mouth, dumped that crap right down my gullet. And I say crap in all kindness; it's the sort of stuff that you break open with a group of friends and you know right away what kind of party it's gonna be.

On my 21st birthday, I crawled out of bed at 2 pm on a Sunday, strolled to the foot of my bed (passed down to me by a former housemate), and cracked open the gallon jug of Jim Beam I had got to celebrate. I felt too friggin cool for my own good, able to sup from the golden gallon at my leisure legally. The sheer crassness of guzzling cheap bourbon from a jug was the capper. I felt rebellious and alive as I strolled downstairs in a t-shirt and boxers to offer my housemates a share in the feasting. The irony, though, is that liquor is not sold on Sunday in Pittsburgh (where I lived at the time, sucko). I had to get a friend of mine to get it for me.

What makes Jim Beam feel so damn cool is that it, taken by itself, is something of an outrage against pleasant societal norms. It's cheap, rough edged, and not good for you. Who knows how many of those bottles I've killed? I even used an empty one as my bedside water bottle, for those nights when I make up dehydrated - usually from drinking Beam. Jim Beam lends a touch of danger to the proceedings. No wonder white trash superstar Kid Rock embraced Jim Beam as a way to legitimize his brand of wanking. Beam has mysterious powers, but, as they say, you can't polish a turd.

A half bottle of Beam was a great way to make friends at parties. Go there with a bottle in hand and offer drinks to those in need (or too often, those who sure as hell didn't need it. But hey, carpe diem). A little cheap bourbon was a nice way to cut the taste of cheap beer. Call it communal corruption, we passed the bottle around, sneering at cups and shot glasses, laughing at the dangers of lots of germs. Alcohol sterilizes, after all.

But man cannot drink Beam straight all the time. My favorite drink to make with Jim Beam was something I called a white trash cocktail. You get yourself a twelve ounce can of soda (Dr. Pepper was my favorite mixer) and sip a little off of the top. Replace the missing soda with Jim Beam and stroll among your peers casually. My favorite was when people would ask for a sip and find out that they're getting a wee more than they bargained for.

I still make white trash cocktails, but, alas, I've outgrown Jim Beam. There isn't quite the same effect when I've got eleven ounces of Coke with one ounce of twenty-dollar-a-fifth Irish whiskey. I get misty thinking about the days when I could throw a party for ten bucks - me and my five housemates could even split the cost. But my tastebuds have gone all snooty on me. Good beer, good whiskey, and good food have corrupted me (and turned me from being goddam skinny to merely slender). I wistfully caress the bottles of Beam in the supermarket until my gentle wife says, "Don't get that crap. It's fucking nasty." Indeed. Youth is like that, I suppose.

So, ultimately, is Jim Beam the bourbon for you? Maybe. Ask yourself a few questions: Is ten bucks your upper limit on booze? Are you a struggling writer/poet/artist? Or, are you trying to be a redneck but lack the mullet and can't stomach the racial slurs? Are you trying to get drunk for fun, instead of to suppress the horrible crushing reality of modern life? If you answered, "Hell yes!" to the previous questions, then this might be the bourbon for you.

However, if you want decent tasting whiskey, Kentucky has better brands available in your local store. Knob Creek, Makers Mark, and some of the higher end 12 year brands might suit you better.

Author's note: Don't drink from a bottle of bourbon first thing in the morning. It will make you a Jackass. I was a Jackass once and I spend the next day huddled in a fetal position praying for a swift death. Let that be a lesson for you.



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