Distiller's Pure True Handcrafted Original Master's Small Batch Reserve

So, the doorbell rang (which is weird because I don't have one) and standing there in his mustard yellow outfit was my local FedUp delivery guy. "Package for Mr Evolved." "Do I need to sigh..." I asked, but he simply dropped the box at my feet and darted away before I could finish. Was he scared of the package's content or the fact I didn't have any pants on? I'll never know. The box was covered in Asbestos Warning stickers with a return address that just read 'Latrine'. Clearly the can's seal was broken as the bottom of the box was already saturated in something fluorescent yellow and smelling of bug spray and Elmer's glue (the school kind). Inside, the rusted can was already punctured, but it seemed like it was that way on purpose- like maybe there was something living inside that needed an air hole. I swished it a bit and a splash of the liquid hit the floor and immediately turned the shag carpet from its normal burgundy to a shaved, stained burnt orange. Hmm, must be high proof. I raced for the kitchen and grabbed the dirtiest Glencairn I could find. One still had a slimy, gray clump of tar at the bottom along with a few bits of tree bark stuck to the side- I had just sampled some Octomore the other day. Perfect, I thought. Once in the tasting glass, i gave it a swirl only to have the liquid fold over itself with a resounding "glop". I swirled it a bit harder and it rewarded me by revealing its legs- the legs of a quadruple amputee. That first sip really hit home. I've never tasted sadness until now. Salty tears of a clown college dropout. It clings to your tongue like your first obsessive ex-girlfriend. Run bro, run. The finish, well...it's not the fact the whisky is done so much as it's you're finished. My liver literally failed. I read on WebMD that you can restart a failed liver by chugging an American light lager so I shotgunned a couple of PBRs and that's the only reason I'm able to post this review right now. Overall, this is a solid first offering from the guys at Distiller. I still have 5-6oz left so I'm going to drink the rest of those PBRs in the fridge and invite the ex-wife over because she said we should get together over a couple of drinks and talk about reconciliation. Wish me luck. Cheers, my friends.

Now that's what I'm talking about! Just in time for spring time gardening season too. Amazing multi-functional use of sipping whiskey, garden fertilizer, and plant insecticide...all in one. Aromas of chloroform, and some potassium sulfate (which makes amazing tomatoes too when used as a fertilizer). On the palette you get a bit of a heat tinge, followed by lacerations and profuse internal bleeding...which by the way, also adds to its amazing properties as an insecticide and vermin killer. My only complaint is the finish. It's really quick. Like in micro-seconds. That's because all sensory feeling is lost by then. Overall, a highly recommended buy, available also in the home and garden center, near the vermin killer aisle.

After the first sip of this dram, I have had my esophagus removed and replaced with a pipe from an alloy of silver and einsteinium. The whisky went down much smoother after that, and I pick up notes of Rolex watches and purple paint (yes, of course purple paint tastes differently from other paints, you philistine). It really combines well with the nose, which is basically exhaust fumes from a home made dune buggy, with some parsley. The finish is an contradictio in terminis, for it doesn't really finish. Ever. Rather, the bleach-like burn kind of stays with you. Pairs well musically with slightly melancholic yet serene music like Maximum the hormone - F (seriously, look it up on YouTube).

I mean...wow. I felt like I was transported back to 1776. The nose is ripe with 12th use bath water, anti louse powder and the ashes of a witch burned at the stake. Tastes of Tuberculosis medication, horse manure, dirt, but in a good way. You can really taste the oak barrels made from George Washingtons wooden teeth. The finish is smooth with a hint of the sweat of an old man with scarlet fever. The rusty can presentation was a nice touch. Really makes me want to don my powdered wig and ride around on my horse with my musket rallying the militia. I sure do hope this becomes an annual release!

I must have had a drop still left on my lips when I gave my son a kiss before his nap. An unknown male came downstairs looking for the rest of the can about an hour later. His chest hair was flowing wildly and he was squeezing out of a pair of OshKosh B'Gosh overalls, something like Lennie Small. He threw open the door to the liquor cabinet, quickly cleaned out the rest of the tin can, along with everything else. He turned to me, punched me in the face and trudged out the front door leaving it hanging from the hinges. The warning label should have been larger. Also I no longer have lips.

I just got back from an overnight trip to Wisconsin, where I encountered this lovely dram. It was left for me as a gift from the previous owners of the house we just bought, and I do have to say it was much appreciated. The nose reminded me of bratwurst grilled on a rusted-out charcoal Weber - smoky, meaty, intensely metallic - along with fresh dairy farm notes. The palate is smooth enough to round out your "O"s, doncha ya know, with a lingering well-water finish. A real crowd-pleaser here, and the perfect pair for your Friday night fish fry at the Fraternal Order of Eagles Lodge!