The WhistlePig “100/111” Rye (50 ml slow night antidote bottle)

Tasting notes:
     The Whistlepig Rye 11 100 111 intrigues me. Is that a code? In binary? The decimal conversion is 231, which is a scrambled 321 and a scrambled 123. Am I to suppose that this rye will change the order of the spacetime continuum? IS THAT YOUR PLAN, WHISTLEPIG? HOW DO THINGS CHANGE NOW THAT I’VE CRACKED YOUR DEEP CODE? And the hexadecimal coversion is 0xe7! What does this mean? I think that the Illuminati must have–

We apologize to all Malt Impostor readers. We had to pull Bill away from the keyboard to slap some sense into him. We keep trying to tell him: “11 100 111” isn’t a binary code; it isn’t a country code, nor is it 8/9 of an ISBN, or any such thing. It means “11 years old, 100% rye, and 111 proof.” You might want to…turn your head away from the monitor for a second.

          ☛  SPLURGGWHAP!  ☚

As you might have guessed, that was the sound of tonight’s dinner, four pounds of fresh swordfish marinating before grilling, being slapped across Bill’s face. I think he’s ready to return to the Malt Cave and to the review.

The color is a beautiful green copper, kind of like the color of the SKIN OF THE ALIENS THAT ABDUCTED STEPHEN AND JOHN LAST NIGHT! 

                              ☚  SPLURGGWHAP!  ☛

Enough with the swordfish! The color is pretty. Okay, benign enough for you? May I go on with my impressions? The nose is peanuts: Circus peanuts roasted over roasting chestnuts; and packing peanuts, packed around a top hat, monocle case, cane, and spats: that is to say, Mr. Peanut’s accoutrements. Special afternoon hibiscus tea served by Confederate granddaughters while waxing nostalgic. The finest linen, all flaxy, herby, wool socks, and Lana del Rey’s pout: all woven into 1800-thread count percale sheets. Patience is rewarded with sun-drenched nasturtiums after morning rain and narcissus after the sweetness was extracted out in a damascus steel laboratory vacuum-chamber. I also detect faint notes of rye, the cereal grain that is also used in making a distinctive bread found often in delis with ham and swiss cheese—not Emmentaler; the kind with holes LIKE THE HOLES DRILLED IN MY TEETH BY THE CIA, AND THEN THEY IMPLANTED A–

                          ☚☛  SPLURGGWHAP!  ☚☛

*thanks* The mouth is acidic and hot—DID YOU KNOW THAT 111 = 3 × 37?—a witch’s calderon of batwings, magma, and Julie Klausner’s flaming red hair. It fills the mouth not like an atomic bomb’s mushroom cloud, but rather like Buckminster Fuller’s evil twin’s GEODESIC DOME OF THE INFERNO! THE END OF DAYS IS COMING! Hold onto that swordfish, I got myself this time. After thunder, rain. Rain, and herbs: Tarragon, juniper berries, and sage syrup on pine flour pancakes. Jackie Onassis spewing insults at a baseball umpire, OR I SHOULD SAY, JACKIE ONASSIS SPEWING INSULTS AT A BASEBALL UMPIRE!
The finish goes on and on like a kayaker bursting through the reeds, endlessly falling and swirling in class 6 rapids—CLASS 666 RAPIDS! Will the merry-go-round ever stop? It doesn’t seem like it will.

–On the scale of scale of things that legally cleanse the doors of perception and rock your world–
The Whistlepig Rye 11 100 111 is Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon–I defy you to listen to it and remain unchanged ESPECIALLY IF YOU PLAY IT BACKWARDS, and the Whistlepig has redefined rye for a new age BUT NOT LIKE NEW AGE MUSIC WHICH IS STARSEED PANSPERMIA MUSIC!



Our thanks to Daniel Khan, Connor Wood, and WhistlePig for the sample! 

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