nite life of buddy don: drankin at st. andrews with my irish friend

last nite after wurk me n my irish friend walked over to st. andrews on 44th street twixt broadway n sixth avenue sos we could have us a lil sangle malt n conversayshun.

we had jes cum thru a hard day on the corpor-rut battlefield, gittin blamed fer thangs we hadnt dun n fitin off them charges, sprizin folks with sum brakethrus we hadnt yet announced, n jes generly havin a good but hard time doin our jobs. we wuz verr tired by the end of our 11 hour day, so it seemed lack st. andrews wuz jes the thang. tiz a lot closern keens, fer one thang, n my irish friend hadnt never been thar.

me n miz bd had furst been to st. andrews fer the whisky dinner they had the nite before whisky fest. tiz a rite nice place with all the folk a'wearin tartans, kilts or skirts accordin to thar sex, n ever one of em speakin a purrfeck scotish brogue. they gut em 195 different sangle malts on thar menu n ye kin buy yer drams or yer tasters, witch yer tasters is bout half the size of yer drams n half the cost.

bout as quick as we gut seated, along cum our waitress sharon frum glasgow to git our order. fastern ye could say 'lickedy-split,' we had it all: our saucy red-hedded waitress lettin my irish frien have it fer makin a mess of our table witch we bofus made, only he gut the blame fer bein irish n i dint on a counta add mittin to (braggin bout?) havin scottish ancestors; a lil four cheese thin-crust pizza; n a strang of them tasters to share, filled with malts lack a 25 year old talisker, 16 year old lagavulin, 30 year old glenfiddich, 15 year springbank, 17 year glen scotia, 17 year glenfarclas, sum 1991 caol ila, that kind thang.

twuz a verr nice way to end a hard day battlin in them corpor-rut wars. twuz all over by 7:15 n i wuz home porin miz bd her furst scotch by 7:45.

life dont git much bettern that.