A Fly in the Ointment 0
Take a sip of your Scotch, feel something, fish it out of your mouth, and realize it was that fly that has been buzzing around you all night. Even worse, realize that the damned fly died happy.
There’s an old joke dating from the days when the mob ruled Cuba (America has forgotten that, before Castro’s revolution, Cuba was pretty much ruled by La Cosa Nostra and Batista was their toady) about a bar that sold a drink so good that, the first time you ordered it, if there was a fly in it, you sent it back.
The second time you ordered it, if there was a fly in it, you fished the fly out and downed the drink.
The third time you ordered it, if there was a fly in it, you drank it fly and all.
I’m a common sewer of cheap Scotch. McCollough’s Scotch is okay (any Scotch is better than every anything else), but it’s not that good.
I poured a new drink.
