I may spend my days getting hollered at and hung up on by lawyers and politicians, but occasionally I get to spend my evenings drinking free booze at promotional parties. Last night I followed a Scotsman in a kilt into the Sixth Floor Museum and got loaded up on premium whisky, courtesy of Chivas. I don't give a lot of love to promo people, but these guys win the award for weirdest party location ever.
Thing is, I'm just not sure it's the best idea to get a bunch of people drunk and stumbling around the Sixth Floor. Booze lowers our inhibitions and opens our mind to new, exciting concepts; remember the thing with the whisk and the squirrel that seemed like such a great idea at the Kappa Kappa Kappa party back in college? But the friendly Scottish folk behind Chivas don't care if, after three sour apple whisky martinis, we start to believe there may have been darker forces behind JFK's death than just the sick mind of a killer. They just want us to drink more overpriced Scotch and listen to their kilted host tell jokes like, "Wearing pants is like checking into a cheap motel: no ballroom!"
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The moral of the story is this, however: Bad jokes do not a tasty whisky make, even if it's free and accompanied by well-preserved doctor's coats from '60s-era Parkland Hospital. Maybe I'm just a Jack Daniel's girl, but I'll take my sour mash over frou-frou Chivas any day. Unless it's free. --Andrea Grimes