Making Whiskey

There seemed to be no reasonable way to get the De Soto out from the Helicopter. “No matter, the whiskey park is just down the block anyways. Soon enough you’ll see how we make the world’s best whiskey in the world!” With that, they all began marching down the sidewalk. Chatpers followed without a word to anyone about Gerry’s interaction with Teddy and Jonah was quick to resume her post on Gerry’s arm. The streets were filled with apartments, places one could pick up alcohol, and of course drunk people. Gerry was a little perplexed that there weren’t any stores or other commercial enterprises, just places that judging from the window one could just walk in and pick up frozen dinners. There were a few pizza joints, but no one seemed to be manning the counter. Only eating the food. Just as they rounded a corner, Jonah’s hand slinked a little south on Gerry’s rear and she whispered in his ear, “You kno- *hic* know, you seem like a really intelligent man for your age. I like intelligent me- *hic* men. I’m a bit of a smart person myself.” Gerry was stumped for a way to disprove that one when suddenly they came into view of a great city park. There was a little creek and great trees, fed light by the giant beacon that still hung overhead in the cavern that Drinkadoo resided in. Inside the park were more drunk workers, this time dressed in overalls and wearing straw hats. They all seemed to be speaking in southern accents, a fact that was further exaggerated by their inebriated state. They were all standing in little clusters around burning fires and strange contraptions. “Mash be ‘bout ready anytime. Yes sir, be real good soon.” An old timer, grey beard reaching his waist, muttered. “You damned fool, it ain’t almost ready! Be least, ‘nother twenty minutes er so.” Another countered. The two soon fell to arguing, then punching, then kicking, then more swearing, before another drunkard in the group took the mash off and added some into the pot but mostly spilled it on the ground. Ole Grandpa halted and turned around, “This! This is where all of Ole Grandpa’s whiskey is made. By genuine drunk rednecks, in the out of doors, in real moonshine distilleries!”