Southern Comfort

I was out with a few girlfriends last night and somehow the conversation turned to brown liquor.  Most likely, I was bitching about Rocco and his stinky peaty scotch that inspires me to dry heave.

The only brown liquor I’ve ever been able to stomach is Southern Comfort.  I’m pretty sure growing up in North Carolina; you just don’t have an option.  There’s something in the air that makes you care about college basketball, prefer your pork pulled, drop peanuts in your soda, and drink SoCo on occasion.

As these two gals recounted their experiences with the various whiskeys, all I could contribute was a weak, “The only brown liquor I’ll touch is SoCo – but I don’t much like it.”

One of the gals grimaced then burst into giggles as she shared a bad college experience after consuming too much Southern Comfort.  Apparently after drinking copious amounts, she mistook a lawn chair in the middle of the living room for a toilet.  She dropped her britches and proceeded to pee on the chair, the floor, the everything.

Suddenly the other gal smacked the table and screamed, “You and every dude I’ve ever met!”

Really?  Note to self, never drink SoCo again.  More importantly, never EVER serve SoCo in my home.


  1. I had a bad experience with SoCo my first weekend in college until someone I tended bar with taught me to drink it with grapefruit juice.
    But I still don’t really go near it any more.

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