I thought that I would actually write something for once instead of having one of my minions (Thanks, Fred!) do it or posting a video (once again, thanks, Fred!)

Most of you know, I'm a big beer and wine guy. One could even say I'm the wine manager at a store. One could also claim that I'm exceedingly handsome and witty.

Anyway, I get the chance to sample a lot of great wines. I am also given a lot of wines to bring home and sample, with the hopes that I will be extra generous with my opinion of said wine once I have consumed an entire bottle, and maybe buy an entire dump truck full of it, thus allowing the salesperson to retire somewhere tropical, like Canada, or maybe Oklahoma.

Here's what none of them realize: I do one of two things with these bottles. One, I drain them and fill them with the blood of hobos that I kill, which will be used in terrible dark rituals under the moon, or as a delicious secret ingredient in my barbecue sauce. Two, I put them in my wine rack, to be pulled out when my girlfriend asks if I remembered to get wine for dinner, and I can answer with a resounding "yes!"

Tonight, I called Melissa on her way home and asked her to pick up some cheap beer, because I was in the mood for cheap beer. I had been moving appliances and doing basic house maintenance involving duct tape, banging on things, and cursing at them when they wouldn't move. As we all know, this requires cheap beer.

If you're attempting to knock a doorknob off of a door with a wrench because the screws are stripped out and you have no other tools available, you need a beer such as PBR or High Life. As much as I love New Holland Sundog Amber, I would feel terrible drinking one at that point. Mainly because I usually end up throwing the beer at the doorknob, and I feel much better wasting a High Life. Also, Sundog only comes in bottles and the last thing I need is shattered glass all over the floor to create more problems.

Man, I got off track there. So, after agreeing to buy me beer, she asked if we had any chilled white wine available, as it is June in South Carolina, which means that sometimes you can actually mold the metal in your belt buckle into new shapes because it is so fucking hot outside. Seeing that we did not in fact have any chilled white wine available, I did the logical male thing and lied. Then I had to scramble through the house to find something to chill quickly. What did I wind up with?

Childress Vineyards Classic White Table Wine. I'm sure some of you are scratching your heads, thinking "Childress? Where to I know that name from?" Allow me to refresh your memory - they're a very well-known and successful racing family...and as we all know, if you're good at driving really fast and turning left, logic dictates that you also make excellent wines. Kind of like how rappers are also excellent architects.

Anyway, Melissa is not stupid (although she is living with me, so there may be some debate there,) and she realized that I had just thrown the first bottle of white wine into the fridge that I could find. Luckily, she's also very understanding (once again, she lives with me...) and decided to give it the old college try. She made an interesting face, and handed the glass to me. I also tried it, and made some sort of noncommittal noise. Not one to be deterred, she asked what I thought. The most polite thing I could think of?

"Mmmm.....I can almost taste the left turn in there."

JT out.