Strewth, Scotch Makes a Man!

I praised whiskey over at Cracked today, because somebody wanted to offer me money to do that. I mean, I was doing it anyway, but now I’m doing it in public.

Where there's smoke, there's firewater.

Where there’s smoke, there’s firewater.

Here, enjoy some bonus content from when this article was all about scotch rather than whiskey in general:

Scotch = self-awareness

And that’s why Scotch is the best thing to come out of Scotland since plaid and until Craig Ferguson.


The greatest living American.

For what is a man? Behold the Ferguson, the very portrait of masculinity. For hath he not suffered, sunk, overcome, risen, and conquered (and that’s just his hair)?

Yea, though he no longer indulges the amber kiss of the highland drink, he doth be the model of a man, taking the honest measure of himself in drops of Scotch. Sometimes it’s none. Sometimes it’s this entire bottle I keep under my pillow in case I need Scotch to kill your mom’s morning breath. The point is, masculinity is impossible unless you know yourself, your needs, your limits.

And if a guy whose name means “Son of the Angry” can drink and/or not drink his way to well-being, so can you.


Even his clan motto is “Stronger after difficulty”

Lesson learned: it’s not what you drink, but how you hoist it. Funny you had to drink Scotch to learn that.


Choose wisely.


Scotch! To warm the body, soul, and heart. You are once again alive. Though a stiff wind batters the door, you have a happy hearth and the louse-obsessed poetry of Robert Burns to keep you well.

Yea, the night is long and dark and the wind will rip the heat from your bones. But ye are tucked in your home with Scotch and strength, and you abide. For there is a secret to happiness that only the Scotch-drinking man knows, and it is — hang on, the results are in on what makes a man …

According to this, it’s “his ability to nurture eggs with prolactin after the female’s ovipositor deposits them into his brood pouch.” Hunh. Turns out the definition of manliness is “seahorse.” Tough luck, everybody.


Except you seahorses. Good job.

So join me in raising a glass to seahorses, the centaurs of the ocean. There is much we can learn from them about what makes a man, and we’ll do it with a drink in hand. We may grow up, and we may even let death happen to us one day, but we’ll never get old, for we are preserved in Scotch.

Brendan’s pretty happy he can now write off his bar tab as a research expense. Toast him on Twitter: @BrendanMcGinley.

Want to keep the classy booze flowing? Raise your glass to Martini-a-Go-Go!