I blasted Scottish punk while drinking this spicy concoction, running around screaming. Had mulitple glasses while the tunes of Scottish punk blasted. I had never felt so in touch with my Scottish roots. Until I saw the lable say, “Irish Whiskey”. My deporesion was the likes of which God watching his one and only son die on the cross. Expect, I didn’t make an earthquake after. I made mulitple earthquakes. I smashed everything in my room. Threw the glasses at wall and the bottle at the TV. My rage knew no bounds. After I calmed down I called my dad to tell him all about it but he didnt care. He just asked why I didn’t go to the job interview he set up for me.