A couple of weeks ago, I brought to you the news that three 102-year-old bottles of scotch—long lost in Antarctica after being left behind by explorer Ernest Shackelton—were returned to their icy home and reburied without anyone getting the chance to drink them. This was really lame, I said, because the scotch would be the oldest ever aged, and it could theoretically be the best in the world. It needed, no, deserved to be sipped. Think of the party where the scotch could have been polished off! It definitely would have taken place in a lodge that looks like the Super Adventure Club, and I'm envisioning everyone there wearing a monocle and/or a Panama hat. The event of the year, for sure.
Categories: {categories}Life
Tags: alcohol, bourbon, drinking, maker's mark, those greedy bastards
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